He employed a numerous staff, well-paid for those days; his fitters earned from six to eight hundred francs a year, and his sempstresses from two to three hundred, and they were all given board and lodging, as was the custom. He did not only dress Josephine, but nearly all the women of the Court, with the exception of the Marechale Lannes, who had been offended by his insolence, and the Marechale Lefebvre, who had no liking for the heights of elegance.
Despite bis insufferable self-conceit, the man was the oracle of Paris, the obligatory supplier of all the Napoleonic Courts. Couriers and diligences carried his delivery boxes to Cassel, Naples, Madrid and Lucca. In the course of a few years, although he was an inveterate gambler, and spent some time every night in the gaming dens of the Palais-Royal, he had saved more than 760,000 francs.
His prices, laughable today, were considered extravagant at the time. He hardly ever charged more than 18 francs for making a dress, but as he provided the materials and trimmings, he made a large profit on these as a set-off. An ordinary dress of Josephine's ended by costing 3,000 francs, and the Imperial bill for a single year amounted to the pretty total of 143,314 francs, 10 centimes. Note the ten centimes.
For the ladies of the Court the reckoning was of course more modest. When Mme de Remusat paid 1,200 francs, and Mme Maret 1,500 for a Court dress it was considered an event. As a rule the extravagances of these ladies hardly exceeded fifteen louis, and the same can be said of Mme Duchatel, Mme de Brignolle, Mme de Montmorency and the Duchess of Rovigo.
In course of time dresses became a little heavier. There would still be a vogue for sequinned tulle, but silk and velvet materials, recommended by Napoleon for the sake of helping the industry of Lyons, would also be much in demand. It remained to be seen whether they would adapt themselves to straight lines as well as thin veilings, and whether in some cases they would not accentuate embonpoint.
As soon as Josephine began to put on weight, especially after the divorce, the dresses that had looked marvellous on her pretty Creole figure had a much less felicitous effect. C A certain part of her person, in particular, has increased in size to an extraordinary degree/ says Mme d'Abrantes, 'and the way she dresses helps to make her look stouter still/
It is clear that fashion under the First Empire would have nothing to do with the concealments offered by panniers, which the crinoline and the bustle would again permit, half a century later. For the moment no trickery was possible; women had to show themselves as they were, with the very short corset hardly supporting the breast. With heelless buskins there was no hope of adding to one's height, either. It was *a sincerity fashion', as someone said very justly.
'Dressed in tins way, an ugly woman becomes more so, a pretty woman looks prettier, a really beautiful woman scores a triumph/
There was, however, one artifice not disdained at the Tuileries, but even employed to excess, and that was make-up. Though a few notorious beauties had attempted to renounce it in the early days o£ 1800, Josephine soon restored it to honour. She made herself up like any actress in the attempt to retain a youthfulness already on the wane. The thick layer with which she plastered her face and neck peeled off sometimes as it dried, covering her bodice with starch. She attributed this drawback to an irritation of the skin, and when people inquired after her health she would say, 'I'm not well, as you can see. Tm all over flour!'
Napoleon was probably alone in considering this riot of rouge and white grease-paint natural. His eyes were so accustomed to it that he could no longer imagine a woman's face without the borrowed brilliance, of which Jezebel knew the secret before the days of Martin the perfumer. 'Why are you so pale?' he asked a lady one day. 'Are you just recovering from a confinement?' And to another he said even more bluntly, 'Go and paint your face, you look like a corpse!'
No wonder Josephine bought more than 3,000 francs' worth of rouge every year from the afore-mentioned Martin, from Mme Chaumeton and others. Since Napoleon liked make-up, he must have his money's worth. Even so he must have found other items of the budget,, such as jewels, lace, furs and shawls, infinitely heavier to meet. Without going into details of the sumptuous frivolities that Frederic Masson has studied with so much care, it can be said that the Empress possessed a prodigious wardrobe. When it was inventoried in 1809 it was found to contain 666 winter dresses, 230 summer ones, and sixty cashmere shawls, some of which had cost 10,000 francs, while her trousseau included 500 chemises trimmed with Valenciennes and Malines lace, but only two pairs of drawers.
On the latter point, though not on the others, Empress number one was beaten by many lengths by Empress number two, for four years later Marie-Louise is known to have bought two dozen pairs of drawers and twenty-two pairs of pantaloons, proving that young ladies were not brought up at the Court of Vienna as they were under the banana-trees of Martinique.
But whatever the personal tastes of the two sovereigns may have been —and Heaven knows how different they were! — the feminine luxury of the Court was maintained till the end of the reign. Leroy and his official designer Auguste Garneray went on thinking out, for Mmes the Duchesses and Mmes the Marechales, the 'grand overdresses' with long trains, the gowns of silk or lame tulle, with the cherusque fastened between the shoulders, which were the dazzlernent of the Imperial receptions.
So that men's dress should harmonize with that of the women, etiquette soon prescribed, for civilians and military alike, a gala costume reminiscent of pre-Revolutionary elegance: the coat, embroidered in bright colours, differed from that of Louis XIV's day only by the width of the collar and facings.
Cambaceres was laughed at when he appeared in this guise at one of the first balls given by Mme de Montesson, his full suit of cloth of gold 'lighting up the whole drawing-room'. But since the Emperor had ordained that work must be given to the silk-mercers and embroiderers, everybody was bound to obey orders, and at Court festivities even Marshals no longer appeared in uniform. One of the strangest sights was that of Augereau in white satin breeches and Junot in a dress coat of dove-coloured shot silk.
Ney was the last to give in. Before an entertainment at the Trianon in 1811 he even had a domestic scene on the subject, the Marechale begging her husband to don a handsome embroidered coat she had had made for him on the sly, while he, in a fury, hung this Shrove-Tuesday rig-out on the shoulders of the maidservant and swore that he would keep to his uniform. Like everybody else, he probably gave in in course of time, since such was the will of the Master. But what an odd appearance some hardened warriors must have presented in such gallant accoutrements!
9 A Ball at Sceaux
Hair styles and fashions, c. 1800
The fashions of the town remained more sober. During the last half of the Empire they even tended to become a trifle middle-class. Warm quilted wraps were seen on the women's shoulders, and ample Grecian cloaks suggesting the fear of colds rather than a wish to imitate the antique models of David.
It was also the heyday of furs: lynx capes, tippets of Siberian lamb, every sort of pelt was worn, in every sort of shape. The fur shop A la Reine d'Espagne drove a roaring trade, and fashionable women greeted one another with descriptions of their latest acquisitions. 'Ah, you should see my ermine!' 'What sort of fur is yours, dear, blue fox or silver fox?'
But they were all united in their longing for the skin of a certain wild cat from South America, called chinchilla. There were only twenty of them in the whole of Europe, apparently, and only four or five Parisennes had the good fortune to possess one.
With the advent of spring, shawls reappeared from the cupboards; they were now worn three-corner fashion. As for hats, small to begin with, or replaced by turbans, they soon assumed the most varied shapes, and sometimes the most preposterous ones. Hats a TAnglaise, toques like Doctor GalTs, headgear a la Sphynx, helmets a la Mirierve, hats a la Clorinde, a la Babet, a la Glaneuse, top hats a la Pamela garnished with a peak and, if desired, a 'curtain 7 -masterly confections of straw, felt or satin, ranging from the minute bibi to the huge poke bonnet, there was something for every taste, even, alas, for the worst!
Paris offered innumerable opportunities to the coquettes wishing to show off these masterpieces, but the finest was undoubtedly the Promenade de Longchamp during the three days before Easter. The traditional parade was less brilliant than under the old regime, being hardly more than a procession of carriages, cabriolets and horsemen, among the latter a wag or two riding a donkey. But for the women Longchamp still had its prestige; they longed to shine there. £ Ah, my dear/ sighed one, Tve been told I must not spend more than 20,000 francs on that day, including my carriage. Isn't it mean?'
But in spite of their husband's niggardliness, the ladies* dresses were as magnificent as ever, and their carriages most luxurious. Some coach-builders agreed among themselves to obtain a harmony of colours. In 1805, for instance, the interior of many carriages was upholstered in pale blue, and this was one of the most successful parades ever seen. Starting at eleven in the morning, it went on till nightfall. With the return of the procession in view, Garchi had opened new rooms at Franscati, and they were packed all day long.
Press reports, however, were somewhat critical. Too many soldiers keeping order, it was said, a fashion review must not be just a 'review*. And then instructions had been carried out with disagreeable severity. Under pretence of preventing pedestrians from crossing the roadway, they had been roughly handled, as the Prefect of Police was obliged to admit. In after years he drew attention himself to the exaggerated zeal of the men on duty. One infantryman drew his sword on an individual who was not moving fast enough; a citizen had his coat torn; two guardsmen ran after a man on horseback and pricked him with their bayonets.
Even if one is living under the sign of Mars, such an abuse of the strong hand was bound to scandalize peaceable people, and old Parisians looked back with regret to the days when a few pickets of mounted police were enough to keep onlookers in order while Guimard's coach drove along the Grand Avenue of the Champs-OElysees, with a louis d'or emblazoned on it, and the porcelain chariot of the Beaupre went past, with a prince of the blood for equerry.