broadsides, and caricatures, set forth his
famous picture of English ways and manners
two hundred years ago; so, too, has Thomas
Carlyle drunk inspiration for his vivid
chronicle from the flood of wild pamphlets
abroad in that age: it is like looking at
Napoleon's St. Helena hat, or at Marie
Antoinette's slipper, or at the faded characters
of an old letter. Very gladly would we learn
in what guise this fifteenth Louis went forth
to hunt of a morning, how he whiled away
an evening at the Trianon, what were his
books, his jokes at the little suppers? We
would have those glittering Versailles receptions
brought up again before us; we would
know how the stately company found amusement
how they sat, and played, and flirted;
how Richelieu sneered, and Dubarry flaunted;
how the queer medley of courtiers, soldiers,
queans, dwarfs, and players moved onward
through the gay and gilded Versailles
galleries, toward the Revolution. Such prospect
is not altogether unattainable.

It is natural enough that the world should
be curious to know in what guise this Paris
beau-monde, male and female, went forth
upon those neatly sanded boulevard
promenades, and showed themselves at spectacle,
ball, or opera; in what rich material the
Richelieus and D'Aiguillons came flocking to
Versailles assembly; what the latest device
in style and cut introduced by Monsieur le
Duc—king's own tailor—from the Quai de
l'Ecole, or by Lemaître, of the Rue des
Fossés; what were the fashionable charges
of those artistes; what was the "castor"
most à la mode, with a few little secrets
concerning the lace and jewellery then most
worn, would all have their place in a surface-
sketch, or coloured photograph, of sunshiny
Paris some seventy or eighty years ago.

Monsieur le Duc, then—tailleur de sa
Majesté—reigned on the Quai de l'Ecole, and
his salons were dailed peopled with lions and
exquisites of the very first water: herr
Schellington, who had the true German
talent for fashioning garments, came in for
his share of high patronage—being, perhaps,
taken up by the officers of the Royal
Allemand and other German regiments.

For sitting in of a morning, when under
the coiffeur's or valet's hands, Monsieur le
Duc could furnish a handsome robe de chambre,
of rich cloth of gold fabric, with flower
pattern interwoven, at very reasonable cost—
say, from one to six guineas per French yard.
How many yards such loose flowing robes
absorb is not to be determined here; but, if
a rough guess may be hazarded, twenty-five
to thirty guineas must have been the figure.
Truly luxurious is this notion of being shaved
and coiffèd in cloth of gold and rich flower
pattern. In the winter season he could send
forth Monsieur le Marquis upon town, arrayed
in cloth, plain black Pagnon or bright scarlet
Gobelins, or else in velvets covered over
with embroidery, and set off gorgeously by a
waistcoat of cloth of gold and silver
profusely flowered. These famous waistcoats
were meant to be perfect cynosures—all
other portions of the dress being sacrificed to
their splendours. Monsieur le Duc had such
things by him, at from six to twelve guineas
a-piece. But for light summer wear, for that
promenade en carosse in the Boulevards,
camlets and flowered silks were mostly worn. But
any special embroidering of Monsieur's suit
was a very costly business—not to be
attempted handsomely under twenty-five
guineas. Monsieur le Duc—being tailleur de
sa Majesté—was, of course, well skilled in the
nice complexities of court mourning. He
must have known how to apportion the shade
and tint according to the precise affinity.
He could prescribe the moment when
passionate grief was to glide from sombre
woollens into silks and black ornaments, and
from these again subside gently into little
grief and diamonds. Such decoration was,
of course, for the ladies—the gentlemen
appearing in silver swords and buckles.
Perhaps he could not so readily have
furnished a reason why madame was expected
to mourn monsieur a year and six weeks,
while monsieur's sorrow for madame was
supposed to heal in six months.

For ladies' dresses, the materials most in
fashion were the native Lyons silks, and rich
Indian stuffs brought over by the great
French company—such as Pekins and Armosins—
not to mention taffetas, mostly of British
make—evidence of the Anglomania shortly
to set in. There was also a British moire,
sold by the dress at from four to sixteen
guineas. Lace, too, in the shape of superb
manchettes, was much affected by the haughty
Parisian belles, who thought little of giving
twenty or even fifty guineas for a single pair.
On those fair arms might be seen the famed
point d'Argentan—better known as Alençon
lace—or the no less costly point d'Angleterre
—familiar to us as Brussels point—and
Valenciennes, even then noted for its ochre
tint. No doubt the magasins in the Rue de
l'Écu and Place Dauphine, where such dainty
articles abounded, were well frequented by
those fair but lavish customers. But it was
at the gorgeous Versailles assemblies that
the marvels of female dress were displayed in
all their splendour. On such occasions, the
rich modistes of the Rue St. Honoré, the
Rue de Roule, and Palais Marchand,
furnished forth their choicest stores. They could
supply the new fashionable caps or turbans,
known as bonnets au cabriolet and bonnets
à la comète. There might be some grounds
for likening a head-dress to the vast hood of
a vehicle then common enough in Parisian
streets, but the significance of the comète cap
is not quite so apparent. Such gear, too, as
blondes de Soye, ajustemens de blondes,
fichus, scrupuleuses (whatever they might be),
mantelets, gazes, entoilages, gazes d'ltalie,
might be all had in abundance, and at reasonable