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46<br />
starlightmasquerade.com photos<br />
FRENCH DRESSING The extraordinary ornamentation<br />
of 18th-century formal wear can be seen in these photos<br />
of a modern re-creation. Note that the stomacher is<br />
an insert that fastens over the bodice front.<br />
BODICES AND BOWS<br />
Clothing for the aristocratic<br />
French woman<br />
in the 18th century took<br />
real skill and patience to<br />
put on, and frequently<br />
required more than a<br />
few attendents' assistance.<br />
Open-fronted<br />
bodices could be filled in with a decorative "stomacher,"<br />
as seen, top, often festooned with numerous<br />
ribbons and bows, above. The process of dressing<br />
began with a chemise or shift, below, a loose-fitting<br />
<strong>sm</strong>ock usually<br />
made of cotton.<br />
Over that was<br />
worn a corset,<br />
and then layers<br />
of petticoats<br />
with a hoop<br />
frame, followed<br />
by the various<br />
sections of the<br />
outer gown.<br />
TOILETTE TOIL<br />
A young woman<br />
dresses for the evening<br />
in "La Toilette" by<br />
Madrazo y Garreta.<br />
wikimedia.org photo<br />
and “Walking in the Luxembourg Gardens in Disguise<br />
and Getting So Angry Over Soldiers’ Advances<br />
that She Closed the Gardens to the Public, Who Hated<br />
Her For It.”<br />
Born Marie Louise Élisabeth d’Orléans, the Duchess<br />
of Berry was a “legitimized” granddaughter of Louis<br />
XIV, who allowed her to live in the Luxembourg Palace<br />
after her husband died in 1714. She was also “one<br />
of the most odious young women whom the Court of<br />
France had ever seen.” That’s the blunt asses<strong>sm</strong>ent<br />
of H. Noel Williams, who in his book Unruly Daughters<br />
(1913) goes on to say: “She had all her mother’s<br />
arrogance and deceit; all her father’s irreligion and<br />
licentiousness, to which she joined a violent temper,<br />
drunkenness, gluttony, a contemptuous disregard of<br />
ordinary decency and a most foul tongue.”<br />
In other words, the Duchess was hardly a sympathetic<br />
character. Yet I can’t help feeling sorry for her<br />
because she became so infatuated with one Sicaire Antonin<br />
Armand Auguste Nicolas d’Aydie, the Chevalier<br />
de Rions (aka Rion) that she allowed him to dictate<br />
what she should wear. Even worse, as Stendhal writes<br />
in Love (1818), he did this for kicks:<br />
(Rion) would amuse himself by making her<br />
change her coiffure or her dress at the last minute;<br />
he did this so often and so publicly that<br />
she became accustomed to take his orders in<br />
the evening for what she would do and wear<br />
the following day; then the next day he would<br />
alter everything, and the princess (Duchess de<br />
Berry) would cry all the more. In the end, she<br />
took to sending him messages by trusted footmen,<br />
for from the first he had taken up residence<br />
in the Luxembourg; messages which continued<br />
throughout her toilette, to know what ribbons<br />
she would wear, what gown and what other<br />
ornaments; invariably he made her wear something<br />
she did not wish to.<br />
Choosing your own outfit every day is so important<br />
that the freedom to do so should have been spelled out<br />
in the French Revolution’s Declaration of the Rights<br />
of Man and of the Citizen. This very personal deci-<br />
We don’t know whether Rion spent most of<br />
those 48 hours jumping her bones or rifling<br />
through her closet – for future reference in case<br />
she, too, were to fall under his sartorial spell.<br />
FALL 2016