V
THE KIRTLE OR PETTICOAT

The kirtle or petticoat is in reality a development of the tunic. It is the tunic which has become a closely fitting bodice, with long draperies, more or less formal, attached. The names of the different portions of dress have at different periods varied almost indefinitely. The first item of the habit of the Order of the Garter is successively described as tunic, coat, surcoat, and kirtle.

The kirtle, therefore, takes up the story of costume from the time when the loose tunic gave place to a more formal attire—broadly speaking, from the Norman Conquest.

During the eleventh century, however, woman's dress was still the loose tunic, the principal change being in the remarkable development of the sleeves, which, although close fitting along the whole length of the arm, either had an extraordinary attachment at the wrist in the form of a bag or pouch, or were abnormally extended and widened at the wrist and tied in knots to avoid treading on them. This fashion is satirised in the figure of the devil from the Cotton MSS., given in the introductory chat of this work.

In the "Romaunt of the Rose," written at the close of the thirteenth century, John de Meun relates the story of Pygmalion, representing him as adorning the statue he had created with a succession of the garments of the fashion of the period of the poem, with the purpose of discovering which became her best:—"He clothed her in many guises; in robes, made with great skill, of the finest silk and woollen cloths; green, azure, and brunette, ornamented with the richest skins of ermines, minivers, and greys: these being taken off, other robes were tried upon her, of silk, cendal, mallequins, mallebruns, satins, diaper, and camelot, and all of divers colours. Thus decorated, she resembled a little angel; her countenance was so modest. Then, again, he put a wimple upon her head, and over that a coverchief, which concealed the wimple, but hid not her face. All these garments were then laid aside for gowns, yellow, red, green, and blue; and her hair was handsomely disposed in small braids, with threads of silk and gold adorned with little pearls, upon which was placed, with great precision, a crestine; and over the crestine, a crown or circle of gold, enriched with precious stones of various sizes. Her little ears were decorated with two beautiful pendants of gold, and her necklace was confined to her neck by two clasps of gold. Her girdle was exceedingly rich, and to it was attached an aulmoniere, or small purse, of great value."

In the reign of Edward III. the close-fitting bodice appears, with the girdle over the hips, the sleeves either tight or provided with an upper sleeve with long tippets or streamers from the elbow. Later a kind of "spencer"[13] jacket, or waistcoat, was worn, faced and bordered with miniver or other fur. These "spencer"-like jackets lasted for a considerable period. An example appears in the effigy of Joan of Navarre, Queen of Henry IV. A similar jacket again appears in the reign of Henry VI.

The Italian cassone, or marriage chests, of the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries, furnish us with many examples of graceful dresses of a character peculiar to that period and nation, but which fashion obtained to some extent elsewhere; a good deal of the grace of these things is due, however, to the fine convention adopted in the work of this period. A feature of this dress is the long wide sleeves streaming from the shoulders, part sleeve and part cloak. The illustration which forms the heading of Chat IV. will serve to give some idea of this dress.

At the commencement of the Tudor period the costume of the ladies is still that of the period of high head-dresses of the middle of the century. The waist is still high and narrow, the gown long, ample and flowing, often edged with fur, and with fur collar and cuffs. By the end of the reign of Henry VIII., however, costume had undergone a marked change. The waist suddenly drops, the stomacher appears, together with the bell-shaped open gown, with richly embroidered petticoat, which lasted for a considerable time—to the time of Charles I., in fact. Both cut gown and inner petticoat were ornamented, either by woven patterns or embroidery, the richest ornaments being reserved for the petticoat; the turnovers or "collars" of the skirts being plain, in contrast to the rich ornaments of the upper surface.

An interesting portrait of Queen Mary (Red Mary) by Lucas de Heere, in the possession of Sir William Quilter, was recently shown at the exhibition at the Guildhall of the works of Flemish painters. She wears a black dress with stiffened collar behind, ornamented with gold embroidery, open at the neck, disclosing a pink bodice also richly embroidered, the sleeves furred at the elbows.

The era of petticoat inflation began about this time; it was such a remarkable development that the consideration of it is reserved for a separate chat.

In Holinshed's Chronicle, 1577, appears an amusing cut of "Makbeth and Banquho" met by "the iij weird Sisters or Feiries." "Makbeth" is figured as wearing an astonishing Life Guard helmet and plume. "The iij weird Feiries" are fascinating creatures, gaily dressed in ornamented kirtles, with panniers, puffed sleeves and shoulders, and, in one instance, with a remarkable peaked turban with streamer on her head.

The dress of the Tudor period was magnificent beyond description. In a wardrobe account of Henry VIII., seven yards of purple cloth-of-gold damask is apportioned for a kirtle for Catherine of Arragon. As in the case of the men, the sleeves were invariably the richest portion of women's dress. "Amongst the inventories of this reign we find: three pair of purple satin sleeves for women; one pair of linen sleeves, paned with gold over the arm, quilted with black silk, and wrought with flowers between the panes and at the hands; one pair of sleeves of purple gold tissue damask wire, each sleeve tied with aglets of gold; one pair of crimson satin sleeves, four buttons of gold being set on each sleeve, and in every button nine pearls."

This extravagance was more than continued during the reign of Elizabeth. It is thus satirised by Beaumont and Fletcher in "Four Plays in One."

The beauties of the Court of the Merry Monarch are made familiar to us by the pencil of Sir Peter Lely.[14] The age was distinguished in the case of the women not so much for the magnificence of its costume as for the scantiness of it. It was to a certain extent a return to the simplicity of Nature!

"If," says Addison, writing in the Spectator, "we survey the pictures of our great-grandmothers in Queen Elizabeth's time, we see them clothed down to the very wrists, and up to the very chin. The hands and face were the only samples they gave of their beautiful persons. The following age of females made larger discoveries of their complexion. They first of all tucked up their garments to the elbow, and, notwithstanding the tenderness of the sex, were content for the information of mankind to expose their arms to the coldness of the air, and injuries of the weather."

They affected a mean between dress and nakedness, which occasioned the publication of a book entitled "A Just and Seasonable Reprehension of Naked Breasts and Shoulders," with a preface by Richard Baxter, temp. Charles II.

Herrick's lines may be said to foreshadow the period:—

The remarks of our diarist Pepys on the subject of dress are always entertaining, although he displays perhaps less interest in his wife's dresses than in his own.

"April 15th, 1662.—With my wife, by coach, to the new Exchange, to buy her some things; where we saw some new-fashion petticoats of sarcanett with a black broad lace printed round the bottom and before, very handsome, and my wife had a mind to one of them."

His wife's dressmaker's bill is apparently a much less serious item than his own dress expenses, which is perhaps the reverse of the present order of things.

"October 30th, 1663.—To my great sorrow find myself £43 worse than I was the last month.... But it hath chiefly arisen from my layings-out in clothes for myself and wife; viz., for her about £12, and for myself £55—or thereabouts,(!) having made myself a velvet cloak, two new cloth skirts, a new shag gown, trimmed with gold buttons and twist, with a new hat, and silk tops for my legs, and many other things, being resolved, henceforward, to go like myself"(!!).

"March 2nd, 1669.—My wife this day put on her first French gown, called a Sac, which becomes her very well."

May Day of the same year: "My wife extraordinary fine with her flowered tabby gown that she made two years ago, now laced exceeding pretty; and indeed was fine all over. And mighty earnest to go, though the day was very lowering; and she would have me put on my fine suit—which I did"(!).

A certain affectation by the ladies of male costume made its appearance towards the close of the century. Laced and buttoned coats and waistcoats were worn, together with a smartly cocked hat surmounted with a feather. It also appeared earlier, during the reign of Elizabeth, and was satirised by Stubbes, and later, in the Spectator, by Addison. We picture Die Vernon in a habit of this kind, which was chiefly worn for riding, but also for walking. Fielding describes the appearance of Sophia Western at the inn at Upton in a similar habit.

The rigidity of the bodice at the commencement of the Hanoverian period was an echo of an earlier time, when Good Queen Bess strutted it in wheeled farthingale. It was strongly fortified with whalebone strips, and formed a V in front.

One of the chief characteristics of the dresses of this period was the naturalistic floral patternings, which were seen everywhere, and even invaded the dress of the men, whose waistcoats were gay with embroidered flowers. This floral patterning was the outward and visible sign of the general interest which was then taken in natural form. LinnÆus, at Upsala, was propounding his botanical system; gardening was generally popular. Mrs. Delany thus describes a dress which she saw at Court in February, 1741, and which is sufficiently indicative of the generally prevailing taste: "The Duchess of Queensberry's clothes pleased me best; they were white satin embroidered—the bottom of the petticoat brown hills covered with all sorts of weeds, and every breadth had an old stump of a tree that ran up almost to the top of the petticoat, broken and ragged and worked with brown chenille, round which twined nastersians, ivy, honeysuckles, periwinkles, convolvuluses, and all sorts of twining flowers, which spread and covered the petticoat; vines with the leaves variegated as you have seen them by the sun, all rather smaller than nature, which makes them look very light; the robings and facings were little green banks with all sorts of weeds; and the sleeves and the rest of the gown loose, twining branches of the same sort as those on the petticoat. Many of the leaves were finished with gold, and part of the stumps of the trees looked like the gilding of the sun."

The quilted petticoat with figured panniers which is associated with the name of Dolly Varden is a charming dress of the rustic or idyllic sort. Like the rigid bodice, it was a development of the dress of an earlier period; it was, in fact, the stiff outer kirtle of the Elizabethan and Stuart periods looped up in folds.

The fashionable luxuries of the latter half of the eighteenth century are thus commented upon in the London Magazine of February, 1773:—

"The modes of dress, as well as those of house-keeping, are articles of incredible expense. Here the ladies are beyond description extravagant.

"They have spring and summer, autumn and winter silks; brocades, gold and silver stuffs; some of which are bought at the enormous price of thirty guineas a yard. The birthday suit is never worn a second time. Their heads are adorned with Dresden and Mechlin lace, enriched with jewels of immense value: large estates hang upon their ears. How brilliant are their diamond necklaces and stomachers, their watches, and other trinkets!—their very buckles are set with pearls and precious stones."

A character in "Bon Ton; or, High Life Above Stairs," by David Garrick, 1775, exclaims:—

"This fellow would turn rake and maccaroni if he was to stay here a week longer—bless me, what dangers are in this town at every step! O, that I were once settled safe again at Trotley-place!—nothing to save my country would bring me back again: my niece, Lucretia, is so be-fashioned and be-devilled, that nothing, I fear, can save her; however, to ease my conscience, I must try; but what can be expected from the young women of these times, but sallow looks, wild schemes, saucy words, and loose morals!—they lie a-bed all day, sit up all night; if they are silent they are gaming; and if they talk, 'tis either scandal or infidelity; and that they may look what they are, their heads are all feather, and round their necks are twisted rattlesnake tippets—O tempora, O mores!"

In the Lady's Magazine for April, 1782, the following announcement of fashionable dress at Paris is given:—

"The Queen of France has appeared at Versailles in a morning dress that has totally eclipsed the levÉe robe, and is said to be the universal rage. The robe is made of plain sattin, chiefly white, worn without a hoop, round, and a long train. It is drawn up in the front, on one side, and fastened with tassels of silver, gold, or silk, according to the taste of the wearer; and this discloses a puckered petticoat of gauze or sarsenet, of a different colour. The sleeves are wide and short, drawn up near the shoulder with small tassels, or knots of diamonds; under sleeves of the finest cambrick, full plaited, and trimmed at the elbow with Brussels or point, give infinite charms to the whole. The fastening of the waist is not straight down the stays, but gently swerved, and trimmed with narrow fur, as is the bottom of the robe. A round pasteboard hat, covered with the same sattin, and without any other ornaments than a diamond buckle, or an embroidered one, finishes the dress, which, it is said, will be worn through the summer, made of lighter materials."

The French Revolution was productive of many things—not the least of which was the change it brought in the matter of dress. The revival of classicism in costume during the Empire, which was to a great extent due to the influence of the painter David, was an echo of the earlier classic revival in architecture, mainly represented in this country by the work of the brothers Adam, who designed, as well as architecture, carriages, furniture, plate, and even a sedan chair for Queen Charlotte. With the advent of the Revolution the fashion suddenly changes. The oft-quoted couplet—

a parody on a popular song, "The Banks of Banna"—expresses the disappearance of that portion of the body, which had previously been absurdly long. The ample flowered skirts of the middle of the century gave place to light gauze clinging coverings which exhibited as much of Nature's form as was—desirable. The merveilleuses appeared in gossamer gowns, slit from the hips and buttoned at the knees after the fashion of the Macedonian girls alluded to in a previous chat, the legs encased in fleshings. "Behold her, that beautiful citoyenne, in costume of the ancient Greeks, such Greek as painter David could teach; her sweeping tresses snooded by glittering antique fillet; bright-dyed tunic of the Greek woman; her little feet naked as in antique statues, with mere sandals and winding strings of riband—defying the frost."[15]

"English Costume from Pocket-books," 1799, tells of a Russian officer, who, having been accustomed at home to estimate the rank of a lady by the warmth of her clothing, offered a woman of fashion a penny, in Bond Street, under the impression that from her nakedness she must be a pauper!

The Empire gown is figured in the illustration of a walking dress, 1810. It lasted practically until the advent of the crinoline in the forties, when it finally disappeared. There has been recent talk of its revival, but dancing men are found to be opposed to it, if for no other reason than the difficulty of knowing where to place their arms; and dancing men are apparently a necessity.

The really fashionable people are those who are not in the fashion. This may at first sight seem a paradox, but a moment's consideration will be sufficiently convincing. The Empress of Germany gives an order to her dressmaker for four dresses, on the strict understanding that no others are to be made like them (vide daily paper). This is the genuine woman of fashion. The people who are "in the fashion" are the sheep. "Bell-wether takes the leap and they all jump over." In other words, there can be no really beautiful dress unless the spirit of individualism is fostered. Dress should "express" the wearer and provide an index as to character. Indeed, it does, as the spectacle of a woman or a man following blindly the dictates of fashion is sufficient evidence that he or she possesses no character at all.

There is also a manner of dressing and of wearing, a certain elegance that distinguishes people of taste from the vulgar, which gives each portion of the dress its due importance, and imparts a harmony to the whole, as in the composition of a picture, which weaves every detail into one design and impresses the beholder as a masterpiece.

Moreover, there is a charm and piquancy of manner quite apart from the dress itself, or even the personal beauty of the wearer, which distinguishes the fascinating woman. A character in "The Belle's Stratagem" exclaims—with what degree of truth the reader himself must determine:

"Pho! thou hast no taste! English beauty! 'tis insipidity: it wants the zest, it wants poignancy, Frank! Why, I have known a Frenchwoman, indebted to Nature for no one thing but a pair of decent eyes, reckon in her suit as many counts, marquisses, and petits maÎtres, as would satisfy three dozen of our first-rate toasts. I have known an Italian marquizina make ten conquests in stepping from her carriage, and carry her slaves from one city to another, whose real intrinsic beauty would have yielded to half the little grisettes that pace your Mall on a Sunday."