ROYALTY AND FASHION

Some two hundred and fifty years ago, a fashionable colour was a peculiar shade of brown known as the “couleur Isabelle,” and this was its origin: Soon after the siege of Ostend commenced at the beginning of the seventeenth century, Isabella Eugenia, Gouvernante of the Netherlands, is said to have made a vow that she would not change her chemise till the town surrendered. Despite the fact that the siege lasted over three years, the ladies and gentlemen of the Court, in no way dismayed, resolved to keep their mistress in countenance, and hit upon the expedient of wearing garments of the presumed colour finally attained by that which clung to the imperial Archduchess by force of religious obstinacy.

This is only one of many instances in which royalty has been responsible for inaugurating silly and eccentric fashions from some circumstance of an untoward nature. Thus when Francis I., owing to a wound he received in his head, was obliged to wear his hair short, this became a Court fashion. Charles V. suffered so intensely from headache that he had his hair cut close, and thence arose the mode of wearing it short. Charles VII. of France introduced long coats to hide his ill-made legs, and full-bottomed wigs were invented by a French barber, named Duviller, to conceal an elevation in the shoulder of the Dauphin. Tradition, too, tells how Queen Blanche provided her consort, Louis IX., with a wig to hide his baldness, for, said she, “our bald kings have never been lucky, and it ill befits a sovereign that he should not be better provided with flowing locks than a mendicant at the gates of Notre Dame. It shall never be said that Louis, our well-beloved consort, went about with as little hair on his crown as a monarch retired from his vocation, and shut up in a cloister.” By this incident the perruque was popularised in France, and Louis became the patron of “artists in hair.”

When Louis XIII. succeeded Henry IV. at the age of nine years, the courtiers, because “the new king could have no beard, resolved that they would have none themselves; and every wrinkled face appeared at Court as beardless as possible,” with the exception of the honest Sully, who, although jeered at for his old-fashioned appearance, made no change.

Shoes with very long points were invented by Henry Plantagenet, Duke of Anjou, to conceal a large excrescence on one of his feet, whereas the charming Isabella of Bavaria introduced the fashion of leaving the shoulders and part of the neck uncovered to show off her beautiful skin. The reign of Charles II., it has been remarked, “was the dominion of French fashions,” and the custom of baring the bosom was made the subject of frequent comment by the moralists of the day. Catherine of Braganza, it is said, “exposed her breast and shoulders without even the gloss of the lightest gauze,” and in one of her portraits “the tucker instead of standing up on her bosom, is with licentious boldness turned down, and lies upon her stays.”[117] Anne Boleyn is said to have had on her throat a large mole, which she carefully concealed with an ornamental collar-band, a fashion which was imitated by the ladies of the Court, who had never thought of wearing anything of the kind before. Nor was this her Majesty’s only defect, for it appears she had a malformation of the little finger of her left hand, on which there was a double nail, with something like an indication of a sixth finger. “But that,” says Wyatt, “which in others might be regarded as a defect, was to her an occasion of additional grace, by the skilful manner in which she concealed it from observation.” On account of this peculiarity she wore the hanging sleeves mentioned as her peculiar fashion when in France, a practice which was quickly followed by the ladies of the Court in this country. It may be mentioned, too, that Anne Boleyn had great taste and skill in dress, and we are told that “she was unrivalled in the gracefulness of her attire and the fertility of her invention in devising new patterns, which were imitated by all the Court belles, by whom she was regarded as the glass of fashion.”

Some sovereigns attended to the dress of their subjects, as the Emperor Paul of Russia, whose instructions were regulated by the police. It was ordered that ordinary dress should consist of a cocked hat, or for want of one a round hat pinned up with three corners, a single-breasted coat and waistcoat, knee-buckles instead of strings, and buckles in the shoes. A lady at Court, it is said, wearing her hair rather lower in her neck than was consistent with the decree, was ordered into close confinement, to be fed on bread and water.

Similarly, it seems that James regulated the dress of his subjects in Scotland, for in 1621 he enacted that the fashion of clothes in use be not changed by man or woman “under the pain of forfeiture of the cloths, and an hundred pounds to be paid by the wearer, and as much by the maker of the said cloths.” According to the fashion in use, no person could wear lawns or cambrics, or cloth trimmed with gold, or feathers on their heads, or pearls and precious stones, &c. But, to make this law more arbitrary and invidious, it exempted from its operation “noblemen, prelates, lords of session, barons of quality, their wives, sons, and daughters, as also heralds, trumpeters, and minstrels.” And, it may be remembered, short and tight breeches were so much the rage in France that Charles V. was compelled to banish this fashion by edict.

Louis XI. greatly disliked finery, and on one occasion dismissed a gendarme from his service for appearing before him in a velvet doublet; and his Majesty had an open quarrel with the Duke of Cleves by showing his disapprobation of his extravagance in dress. Similarly, Ferdinand V., the Catholic, is reported one day to have turned to a gallant of the Court noted for his finery, and, laying his hand on his own doublet, to have exclaimed, “Excellent stuff this; it has lasted me three pair of sleeves!” But this spirit of economy was carried so far as to bring on him the reproach of parsimony.[118] Henry IV. of France curtailed as much as possible his wardrobe expenses, usually wearing a plain grey habit, with a doublet of either satin or taffeta, without any ornament. Oftentimes, when he saw a courtier in his costly apparel, he would humorously remark that he “carried his castle and his wood on his shoulders.”

During the closing years of his life Charles V. was singularly indifferent to his apparel, and, according to a contemporary account, “when he rode into the towns, amidst a brilliant escort of courtiers and cavaliers, the Emperor’s person was easy to be distinguished among the crowd by the plainness of his attire.” In the latter part of his reign he dressed wholly in black. Roger Ascham, who was admitted to an audience by him some years before his abdication, says that his Majesty “had on a gown of black taffety, and looked somewhat like the parson of Epurstone.” His natural parsimony came in aid of his taste. It is told of him that once being overtaken by a storm in the neighbourhood of Naumburg, he took off his new velvet cap and remained uncovered whilst he sent into the town for an old one. “Poor Emperor,” thought one of the company, who tells the anecdote, “spending tons of gold on his wars and standing bareheaded in the rain for the sake of his velvet bonnet.” But his Majesty had not always shown this disregard of dress, having been inordinately fond of finery, especially of jewellery. At one time, writes Dr. Doran, “his toilet-table was covered with miscellaneous articles, like that of Charles of Burgundy, and there was as much variety in its drawers.”

Frederick William I. in his early life ignored fashion, and showed a great aversion to regal pomp and luxury. One day he threw a dressing-gown of gold brocade into the fire, and, it is said, he would often lie for hours in the sun with his face greased to give it a tanned, soldier-like appearance. Frederick the Great was slovenly in his person, a defect that increased as he grew older; for he so far disregarded fashion as to wear ragged linen, dirty shirts, old clothes, and cracked boots.

Similarly, James I. of England was quite indifferent to his dress, and is said to have worn his clothes as long as they would hang together. On one occasion, when a pair of shoes adorned with rosettes were brought to him, he inquired whether it was intended to make “a ruffe-footed dove” of him; and at another time when a new-fashioned Spanish hat was shown him, he pushed it contemptuously away, remarking that he neither liked the Spanish, nor their fashions. It is even said that on one occasion he went so far as to borrow a pair of scarlet stockings with gold clocks from one of his courtiers when he was anxious to make a special impression on the French Ambassador. According to Walpole, James hunted “in the most cumbrous and inconvenient of all dresses, a ruff and trouser breeches,” which must have presented a somewhat quaint appearance.

Perhaps one of the greatest sensations made by royalty in the matter of dress was that of Christina of Sweden, who on passing through France on her visit to Louis XIV., in her strange dress and uncurled wig, looked, according to public criticism, “very like a half-tipsy gipsy.” Her coat has been described as a garment neither of man nor woman, and it fitted so ill that her higher shoulder appeared above the neck of the dress. Mesdames de Montpensier and de Motteville describe her chemise, which was made according to the fashion of a man’s shirt, as appearing and disappearing through, under, or over, other parts of the royal costume in a very puzzling way; but what most astonished and horrified the ladies of fashion, “who wore trains from the moment they rose in bed, were the short petticoats worn by Christina, which left her ankles exposed to the sight and criticism of all who chose to look at them.”[119]

But if some sovereigns have been naturally parsimonious in their dress, some were so from force of circumstances, as in the case of Isabella of AngoulÊme, consort of King John, for, although his Majesty never spared his own personal expenses, he was mean to his queen. Thus we find in one of his wardrobe rolls an order for a grey cloth pelisson for Isabella, guarded with nine bars of grey fur. There is another order for cloth to make two robes for the Queen, each to consist of five ells, one of green cloth, the other of brunet; also cloth for a pair of purple sandals and four pairs of women’s boots, one pair to be embroidered round the ankles. The richness, however, of his own dress and the costly splendour of his jewellery partly occasioned the demands he made on the purses of his people.

Edward I., on the other hand, disliked show, and, according to his chronicler, “he went about in the plain garments of a citizen, excepting on days of festival.” When remonstrated with by a bishop on his unkingly attire, his Majesty answered: “What could I do more in royal robes, father, than in this plain gabardine?” And Catherine of Aragon apparently was much of the same opinion, for she was accustomed to say that she considered no part of her time so much wasted as that passed in dressing and adorning herself. Henry VIII. was fond of show in dress, and Queen Elizabeth’s excessive love of fashion and finery, like that of her namesake, queen of Philip II. of Spain, has long been proverbial. Indeed, it has been said that “her toilet was an altar of devotion, of which she was the idol, and all her ministers were her votaries: it was the reign of coquetry and the golden age of milliners.” The list of her Majesty’s wardrobe in 1600 shows us that she had at that time 99 robes, 126 kirtles, 269 gowns, 136 foreparts, 125 petticoats, and 27 fans, in addition to 96 cloaks, 83 save-guards, 85 doublets, and 18 lap mantles. As Elizabeth grew older she tried more and more to hide the dilapidations of nature by the resources of art; and, if we are to believe all that has been said of her, “she was the mistress of many million hearts and full a thousand dresses.” She inaugurated a reign of extravagance; and, as Mr. Thornbury has remarked, “she seems to have lost her jewels upon public occasions almost as frequently as Prince Esterhazy, who used to shake off so many pounds’ worth of diamonds every time he went to the opera. At Westminster, on one occasion, the Queen drops a golden acorn and oak leaf; on another, two gold buttons shaped like tortoises; on another, a diamond clasp given her by the Earl of Leicester, and which fastened a gown of purple cloth of silver.” Her Majesty, it is said, was never seen en dÉshabille by the male sex but on two occasions. The first time was on “a fair May morning when Gilbert Talbot, the Earl of Shrewsbury’s son, walking in the tilt-yard about eight o’clock, chanced to look up, and saw her at the window in her night-cap. ‘My eye,’ said he, ‘was full towards her, and she showed to be greatly ashamed thereof, for that she was unready and in her nightstuff. So when she saw me after dinner as she went to walk, she gave me a great fillip on the forehead, and told my lord chamberlain, who was the next to see her, how I had seen her that morning, and how much she was ashamed thereof.’” Twenty years later the luckless Essex surprised her in the hands of her tire-woman, and he paid severely for his blunder.

With the wardrobe of Elizabeth may be compared in size that of Augustus III., second Saxon King of Poland, which filled two halls of the palace, there having been for each dress a special watch, snuff-box, sword, and cane. Every dress was painted in miniature in a book, which every morning was presented to “his most serene Excellency,” as he caused himself to be called. He had as many as 1500 wigs, so that when his palace was occupied by Frederick the Great during the Seven Years’ War, he exclaimed contemptuously, “So many perrukes for a man who has no head.”

The portraits of Anne of Denmark, queen of James I., indicate, it is said, a masculine character, and “display a tawdry and tasteless style of dress.” And it was at this period that the enormous fardingale was worn at Court, concerning which “unnatural disguisement” Lord Lytton, in his pedigree of the English gallant, tells the following amusing story: “When Sir Peter Wych was sent ambassador to the Grand Seignor from James I., his lady accompanied him to Constantinople, and the Sultaness, having heard much of her, desired to see her; whereupon Lady Wych, attended by her waiting-women, all of them dressed in their great fardingales, which was the Court dress of the English ladies at that time, waited upon her Highness. The Sultaness received her visitors with great respect, but, struck with the extraordinary extension of the hips of the whole party, seriously inquired if that shape was peculiar to the natural formation of English women, and Lady Wych was obliged to explain the whole mystery of the dress in order to convince her that she and her companions were not really so deformed as they appeared to be.”

A pleasant little anecdote would lead us to imply that Henrietta Maria, consort of Charles I., relied on her own natural charms; for on her arrival in this country, when Charles seemed surprised to find her taller than he had expected, and cast his eyes upon her feet, as it suspecting that she had made use of artificial means to improve her stature, she immediately raised one of her feet, and pointed to the shoe. “Sir,” she said, “I stand upon my own feet. I have no helps of art. Thus high I am, and I am neither higher nor lower.”[120]

This incident reminds us of Catherine of Braganza, who tried to introduce short skirts, being desirous, as Lady Carteret told Pepys, “to have the feet seen,” probably, it is said, owing to her having, like most of her countrywomen, small, well-turned feet; but, despite her exhibiting herself in this new fashion, she found few imitators, the ladies of the Court adhering to their long-flowing draperies.

Another queen who had a strong aversion to artificial adjuncts was Mary Beatrice of Modena, wife of James II. It was the fashion for the ladies of the Court to paint, and, when the King told her that he wished her to do the same, she refused not only as a matter of taste, but from a religious scruple. But at last she consented and put on rouge, which, when Father Seraphin, a Capuchin friar of great sanctity, to his grief and surprise saw, he exclaimed, “Madame, I would rather see your Majesty yellow, or even green, than rouged”—a remark which much amused the Queen.

William III. one day asked Peter the Great what he thought of London, to which he replied “that he had been particularly pleased to see a simplicity, meekness, and modesty of dress in the richest nation of Europe.” The Czar was always very plain in his own dress, and a diplomatic agent who resided many years at his Court says: “I saw him in 1721 give a public audience to the ambassadors of Persia, when he entered the hall of audience in nothing more that a surtout of coarse brown cloth. When he was seated on the throne, the attendants brought him a coat of blue gros de Naples, embroidered with silver, which he discarded as soon as the ambassadors were gone. Catherine, who was present, was much amused at seeing the Czar in his spangled silk vest. He introduced the dress of Western Europe among his courtiers, but his subjects generally, it is said, were not so easily reconciled to the new fashion, which necessitated his laying tax on long coats, as he had already done on long beards.

Queen Anne was extremely particular in all matters of dress; and, it may be remembered, the wig costume of the Court was a source of much discomfort to Eugene of Savoy, in 1712. When Lord Bolingbroke once appeared before her in a simple tie-wig instead of a full-bottomed one—having been summoned in the utmost haste—she exclaimed, “I suppose that the next time his lordship appears at Court he will come in his night-cap.” Addison speaks in high praise of the coiffure then in fashion, which, as may be seen by the later portraits of Queen Anne, was elegant, the hair clustering in graceful curls down the back of the neck, “and though hair-powder was worn by some, her Majesty’s chestnut ringlets are unsullied by that composition.”[121]

An amusing anecdote is told of George I., who was somewhat indifferent to the fashions of dress. During the war of 1743, a victory gained over the French was celebrated by an ode written and set to music for the occasion, and performed several nights before his Majesty in the great council chamber. On these occasions George appeared in a hat, coat, sword, and scarf which he had worn at the battle of Oudenarde, and as after forty years fashion had much changed, it can be easily understood that the company assembled could with difficulty restrain from laughing on seeing their King attired in these “antiquated habiliments. And when the following couplet proclaimed that—

there was a general titter, which soon exceeded all the bounds of Court decorum,” at which one of the lords of the bedchamber clapped his hands. The company took the hint and joined in a general plaudit, at which the old king was highly pleased, without knowing the real cause of the compliment.

“Our tars,” writes Mr. PlanchÉ, “are too gallant to feel annoyed by the fact that their uniform was first worn by a lady. In 1748 George II. accidentally met the Duchess of Bedford on horseback in a riding-habit of blue faced with white, and was so pleased with the effect of it, that a question having been raised as to the propriety of deciding upon some general dress for the royal navy, he immediately commanded the adoption of those colours.”[122]

Caroline Matilda, the posthumous child of Frederick, Prince of Wales—who at the age of fifteen became the wife of Christian VII., King of Denmark—gave great offence to the graver Danish matrons by riding in that costume astride like a man. “An abominable riding-habit,” writes Sir Robert Keith, “with a black slouched hat has been almost universally introduced here, which gives every woman the air of an awkward postillion. In all the time I have been in Denmark I have never seen the Queen out in any other garb.”[123] Her horsemanship, however, was the admiration of the ladies of Denmark.

When Queen Charlotte arrived in England, out of respect for the women of her adopted country, she appeared in the dress which was then most in vogue among the English ladies. She was attired in a gold brocade with a white ground, “had a stomacher ornamented with diamonds, and a fly cap with richly laced lappets”—a mode of dress which was much appreciated.

As D’Israeli has remarked in his “Anecdotes of Fashion,” “the Court in all ages and in every country are the modellers of fashions;” but occasionally, it must be acknowledged, they have incurred their own ridicule, or discomfort. When Louis VII., for instance—to obey his bishops—cropped his hair and shaved his beard, his consort, Eleanor, revenged herself as she thought proper, disgusted at his unusual and ridiculous appearance. His Majesty obtained a divorce, after which Eleanor married the Count of Anjou, afterwards our Henry II.

The chief majesty of Louis XIV. lay in his wig, a fact which he recognised. Every night he allowed his valets to undress his body, but not his head, and when the disrobing was completed—save the head—he retired behind the curtains, which were carefully closed. With his own royal hand he then removed his wig, and thrusting it between the curtains gave it to a valet. Before the curtains were opened in the morning the wig was passed back to the monarch, who was never seen without his wig.

Similarly, Catherine II. of Russia kept her perruquier for more than three years in an iron cage in her bedchamber, to prevent his telling people that she wore a wig.[124]

In the reign of Louis XVI. dress was carried to an height, and the story goes that when M. Roland, on his appointment as Minister for the Home Department, was presented to his Majesty, the simplicity of his apparel excited the ridicule of the Court satellites, who derived from etiquette their sole importance. “Oh dear, sir,” said the master of the ceremonies, whispering to Dumourier and glancing at Roland, “he has no buckles in his shoes.” “Oh, shocking,” re-echoed Dumourier, “we shall be ruined and undone.”

The mention of shoes reminds us that, according to one authority, silk stockings were first worn by Henry II. of France at the marriage of his sister in 1559, but before that time Edward VI. had secured a pair from Sir Thomas Gresham, who imported them from Spain, where they were first manufactured. The story goes that a loyal-minded grandee thought he could not do better than present a pair of silk stockings to his queen, and to that end placed them in the hands of the first minister of the Crown, who astonished him by returning them, bidding him remember that the “Queen of Spain had no legs.” Another version tells us how when Maria Anne, mother of Charles II., was on her way across Spain as the bride of Philip IV., she stopped at a town famous for the manufacture of stockings, some of which the AlcÁide of the place offered her, when he was thrust out by the Mayordom with the words, “You must know the Queen of Spain has no legs.” Upon hearing which the young Queen began to cry, saying, “I must go back to Vienna; if I had known before I set out that they would have cut my legs off, I would have died rather than come here.” This remark made even Philip smile, although he is said to have laughed only three times in his life.

Before Mademoiselle Bertin became so celebrated as Marie Antoinette’s milliner, she was not only very plain in her attire, but very economical, a circumstance which she was wont to say gave great umbrage to the other princesses of the Court of Versailles, who never showed themselves from the moment they rose till they returned to bed, except in full dress, while she herself made all her morning visits in a simple white cambric gown and straw hat.

Many amusing anecdotes have been recorded in connection with her Majesty’s toilette. It appears that Mademoiselle Bertin had invented a new head ornament of gauze, ribbons, flowers, beads, and feathers for her Majesty; but when the royal hairdresser, according to custom, attended on her, he had with him some steps of which she did not perceive the use. “What are these steps for?” exclaimed she to the tire-woman. The knight of the comb advanced, and making a most profound bow, humbly represented to her Majesty that Mademoiselle Bertin, having so enormously increased the height of the head ornaments, it would be impossible for him to establish them upon a firm foundation unless he could have a complete command of the head they were to be fixed upon; and being but of the middle size and her Majesty very tall, he could not achieve the duty of his office without mounting three or four steps, which he did to the great amusement of the Queen and the party present.[125]

According to another anecdote, on the day of the great fÊte of the Cordon Bleu, when it was the etiquette to wear diamonds and pearls, her Majesty had omitted putting them on. As there had been a greater affluence of visitors than usual that morning, writes Princess Lamballe, and her Majesty’s toilette du chambre was overthronged by princes and princesses, “I fancied that the omission proceeded from forgetfulness. Consequently, I sent the tire-woman in the Queen’s hearing to order the jewels to be brought in. Smilingly her Majesty replied, ‘No, no! I have not forgotten these gaudy things, but I do not intend that the lustre of my eyes should be out-done by the one, or the whiteness of my teeth by the other; however, as you wish art to eclipse nature, I’ll wear them to satisfy you, ma belle dame!’”

Alas! as it has been often remarked, who would have dared on such an occasion, and among those smiles, to have prognosticated the cruel fate of the head which then attracted such general admiration.