The Fashion Historian

Part 1: Introduction
Part 2: Baudelaire on Fashion
Part 3: Tissot's Paintings

Tissot was intimately connected with fashion. One writer remarked, “At present time in England, Mr. James Tissot and Mr. George du Maurier exercise considerable control over the fashions.” Another wrote that Tissot “seems to have devoted himself chiefly to recording the fleeting fashions and affectations of modern costume, sometimes choosing for this purpose the most bizarre and the most hideous… the heads are quite subordinate to the turbulent mass of millinery which occupies the principle part of the canvas."

James Tissot. Too Early. 1873. Oil on canvas. London: Guildhall Art Gallery

James Tissot. Hush! 1875. Oil on canvas. Manchester: City of Manchester Art Galleries.

James Tissot. The Ball on Shipboard. 1874. Oil on canvas. London: Tate Gallery.

One of the most curious aspects of the three works I'm analyzing is the repetition of dresses, both within each painting and within the group as a whole. The woman who dominates the center of the canvas in Too Early wears a light salmon-pink dress with burgundy trim, the skirt falling in endless layers of ruffles. In the same work, a woman can be seen ascending the stairs, the coloring of dress and trim suggesting the same garment. The same dress is also worn by the woman sitting closest to the violinist in Hush!. The layers of ruffles and burgundy trim are also on a snippet of garment viewable at the edge of the canvas. The same dress is seen three times in The Ball on Shipboard, worn by a woman climbing the stairs, a seated woman, and a woman walking with a gentleman.

James Tissot. The Ball on Shipboard. 1874. Oil on canvas. London: Tate Gallery.

The Ball on Shipboard presents the most obvious set of duplicates. The two women standing by the railing wear identical dresses of white with black trim. In a group seated in the back corner, two women wear identical green dresses while another two wear low cut light blue dresses. These light blue dresses also look very similar to the gown worn by the subject of The Bunch of Lilacs (1875), and the two central figures in In the Conservatory (The Rivals) (The pink and burgundy dress also makes another appearance in this work).

Several explanations have been suggested for this repetition. Sometimes twins or sisters dressed alike. The repetition may have been derived from the multiple views of a single dress shown in fashion plates of the period. It may suggest the social faux pas of multiple women wearing the same dress at a social event. Or it may suggest a passage of time, with a single woman moving to different parts of the canvas. One of the most popular explanations is that Tissot had a limited number of actual dresses which he used as studio props, and so he simply repeated them in his various paintings.

However, the most compelling argument is that this repetition is a commentary on society and a reflection of Baudelaire’s modernity. Nancy Rose Marshall argues that “this sort of repetition suggested that ‘Woman’ in 1870s society was little more than a mass-produced commodity.” With the popularity of the department store and the rise of the ready-to-wear clothing industry, fashion was becoming more homogenized and democratized. Class lines were no longer easily distinguishable through dress. Women could purchase garments which were fashionable, but mass produced. While in previous centuries luxury was relegated to the few, increasingly in the nineteenth century luxury—or at least an appearance of luxury—could be gained by the many. As noted by Baudelaire, a womans dress was connected with her very being, thus indicating that a woman in a mass produced dress is a mass produced figure herself. This idea is reflected in the fashion in Tissot’s art, the repetition of clothing creating duplicates. The women are literally mass produced. Continuing in this line of reasoning, the women then become commodities, just like the clothing they wear. Their fashion sells the woman. As one commentator wrote, “The reason for the present extraordinary luxury in dress is that the surplus million of women are husband-hunting and resort to extra attractions to that end.” In the case of the women in Too Early, The Ball on Shipboard, and Hush!, the ostentation of their dress suggests that what they are promoting is their wealth and new status in society.

Tissot’s paintings emphasize the artificiality of society through the artificiality of fashion. As one writer wrote in 1867, it was an “age of shams”. He continues, saying “unreality creeps into everything… the consequence is that woman has become an imposture and men have learned to fear that what they most admire may be but a successful art.” With the elaborate construction of fashion in the early 1870s, women had literally become scaffolding on which to display ideas of wealth and beauty. Yet for the nouveau riche, this was a false portrayal, masking the reality of a newly emerging upper class which did not fully understand the rules of society. This was the reality of modernity, or at least the perceived reality of social commentators.

Selected Bibliography
Ash, Russell. James Tissot. New York: Harry N. Abrams, Inc., 1992.

Baudelaire, Charles. The Painter of Modern Life. Translated by Jonathan Mayne. London: Phaidon Press, 1986.

Garb, Tamar. Bodies of Modernity: Figure and Flesh in Fin-de-Siecle France. New York: Thames and Hudson Ltd, 1998.

Hollander, Anne. Fabric of Vision: Dress and Drapery in Painting. London: National Gallery Company Limited, 2002.

Marshall, Nancy Rose. “’Transcripts of Modern Life’: The London Paintings of James Tissot 1871-1882.” PhD diss., Yale University, 1997.

Marshall, Nancy Rose and Malcolm Warner. James Tissot: Victorian Life/Modern Love. New Haven: Yale University Press, 1999.

Perrot, Philippe. Fashioning the Bourgeoisie: A History of Clothing in the Nineteenth Century. Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1994.

Simon, Marie. Fashion in Art: The Second Empire and Impressionism. London: Zwemmer, 1995.

Wood, Christopher. Tissot. New York: Little, Brown and Company, 1986.

Myth: It is ancient tradition that each of the clans of Scotland has it's own unique tartan.

The lords of three Scottish clans from Disney/Pixar's movie Brave (2012).

Sadly, this is a myth. I've always thought it was rather fun to find the family tartan. But this 'tradition' is actually the result of a 19th century marketing scheme to capitalize on the popularity of the romanticized Highlander myth.

The colorful tartan pattern seems to have originated in Flanders and came to the Highlands through the Lowlands. Sixteenth century writers note that the plaids of chiefs were colored and those of their followers were brown, indicating that any differentiation in color was a mark of social status rather than being connected with a particular clan. The clan system itself had been destroyed after the Scottish rebellion of 1745, when acts of Parliament removed chiefs from their jurisdictions and banned any Highland costume. This last act wasn't lifted until 1782, at which point the general population of the Highlands, having become used to trousers, didn't see any reason to return to the traditional belted plaid or tartan, or the new convenient kilts (invented in 1727, a topic for another post!) The upper classes, on the other hand, enthusiastically picked up the traditional garb reclaiming their lost 'heritage'.

The romantic movement had swept in, bringing with it the cult of the noble savage. The endangered traditional Highlander fit perfectly into this romantic notion. Romanticized Scottish history was given a further boost when King George IV made a momentous visit to Edinburgh in 1822. The King wished to see Highlanders in their traditional garb, and thus created a huge demand for tartans. The biggest manufacturing firm was William Wilson and Son of Bannockburn. Messrs., which released a "Key Pattern Book" in 1819 when the royal visit was first announced, showing samples of their various tartans and which clan they belonged to. When the King finally arrived in Scotland, he himself was dressed in a kilt and gave a toast to "the chieftains and clans of Scotland."

But the most important figures in the creation of clan tartans were the brothers Allen, an eccentric pair who often appeared at fashionable events dressed "in all the extravagance of which the Highland costume is capable-- every kind of tag and rag, false orders and tinsel ornaments." In 1829 they presented their aristocratic patron, Sir Thomas Dick Lauder, with a manuscript entitled "Vestiarium Scoticum", or The Garde-robe of Scotland. According to the brothers, this manuscript had belonged to John Leslie, Bishop of Rosss, the confidant of Mary Queen of Scots. Supposedly it had been written much earlier by a knight named Sir Richard Urquhart, and featured descriptions of the different clan tartans. But it wasn't until 1842, and under the new patronage of Lord Lovat, that the Vestiarium was published in a lavish limited edition with colored illustrations. Then in 1844, the Allen brothers published an even more lavish folio, titled "The Costume of the Clans", which cited ancient sources and claimed that Highland dress was actually a relic of the universal dress of the Middle Ages.

Unfortunately for the Allen brothers, their works received little notice. They themselves were discredited in 1847. After making numerous claims of royal blood, the brothers, who had at this point changed their name to Sobieski Stuart, were exposed as phonies in an editorial in the Quarterly Review. The brothers never recovered, and their works never gained a great amount of publicity. However, the idea of clan tartans was growing ever more popular, and the rest of the century saw the publication of numerous books of clan tartans, all derived from the Vestiarium.


There is so much more fascinating detail to this story than what I have put here, so if you'd like to learn more I highly recommend the article The Highlander Myth by Hugh Trevor Roper.

Photo Credit

Part 1: Introduction
Part 2: Baudelaire on Fashion


Too Early (1873) is one of Tissot’s most celebrated and famous works. Louise Jopling, an artist and friend of Tissot, wrote that the painting “made a great sensation” when it was shown at the Royal Academy in 1873. She continued in her praise, saying that the painting was “a new departure in art, this witty representation of modern life.” Too Early shows a snapshot in time, a moment of awkward embarrassment in which guests have arrived too early to a party. As proclaimed by contemporary etiquette, “A ballroom should be entered at an hour suited to the habits of those who invite you. It is extremely inconvenient however, to be too early, as you may disconcert your friends.” The hostess administers last minute instructions to the musicians, while her guests fidget and avoid eye contact. In the back corner, too servants peer through a slightly opened door, seeming to laugh at the awkwardness of the scene before them. This social faux pas indicates that the guests are only pretenders, members of the nouveau riche with plenty of money but none of the social graces of a true aristocrat. Critics praised Too Early for this “truthfulness and delicate perception of the humor of the ‘situation,’ for a parallel to which we must look in the novels of Jane Austen, the great painter of humor in ‘polite society.’”


Hush! (1875) presents another snapshot, perhaps from a later moment at the party seen in Too Early. Like the previous painting, critics found themselves able to identify with the scene. “This is a picture which cannot fail to interest the majority of the visitors to the academy, because it deals with incidents and people with which the are abundantly familiar,” wrote one. Although all the guests have arrived, they still appear vastly uncomfortable. No one is interested in the impending performance, too concerned are they with appearing fashionably nonchalant. The sweeping curve of the staircase, viewed through a back doorway, and the circle of chairs around the violinist suggest a literal social circle, into which the viewer is invited. The room depicted is a salon in Kensington, and the party has been identified as one hosted by the Coope family and attended by Tissot. Although Tissot claimed the subjects were anonymous, scholars have identified various real figures: Sir Jules Benedict (the pianist), artists Giuseppe de Nittis and Ferdinant Heilbuth, and Vanity Fair publisher Thomas Gibson Bowles. Hush! was Tissot’s greatest commercial success, selling for 1200 guineas.


The Ball on Shipboard (1874) presents a different, although no less awkward, social scene. The painting is set on the royal yacht, the Victoria and Albert, at Cowes on the Isle of Wight. The ship is decorated with various national flags, and various members of London society have gathered for socializing and dancing. Yet once again, there is an overtone of boredom. The woman closest to the viewer, wearing a black and white striped gown, stares blankly into the distance. Two women in matching white dresses stand awkwardly, looking away from each other with neutral expressions while their elderly companion leans lazily against a railing.

Critical reception to The Ball on Shipboard was negative. The work was described as “vulgar”, a loaded term in the nineteenth century. According to John Ruskin, vulgarity could be defined as “an undue regard to appearances and manners… and an assumption of behavior, language, or dress, unsuited to them, by persons in inferior stations of life.” Indeed, although the figures on the ship seem to be members of good society, a deeper analysis suggests otherwise. The women in green and blue, seated in the background on the left of the canvas, display too much décolletage for the daytime. One commentator described the image as “a set of rather showy than elegant costumes, some few graceful, but more ungraceful attitudes, and not a lady in a score of female figures.” Furthermore, the gowns worn by many of the women are unnecessarily showy, with bright colors and multiple ruffles, suggesting the ‘vulgar’ ostentation associated with social climbers and the nouveau riche. These elements combine to suggest the instability of society of the period, where wealth was replacing heredity, an uneasy notion for many.

Part 1: Introduction



Tissot’s London paintings provide a detailed and nuanced look at contemporary society. He captures ‘modernity’, a word coined by Baudelaire in The Painter of Modern Life (1863). For Baudelaire, an important element of this modernity was the correct representation of contemporary fashion. He writes:

“The draperies of Rubens or Veronese will in no way teach you how to depict mouire antique, satin a la reine or any other fabric of modern manufacture, which we see supported and hung over crinoline or starched muslin petticoat… Finally the gesture and the bearing of the woman of today give to her dress a life and a special character which are not those of the woman of the past. In short, for any ‘modernity’ to be worthy of one day taking its place as ‘antiquity’, it is necessary for the mysterious beauty which human life accidentally puts into it to be distilled from it.”

Baudelaire places emphasis on fashion and beauty, citing it as one of the key visual indicators of modernity. He argues that for a work of art to take its place in the annals of history, a human essence and sense of life must be present. The artist can best portray this intangible concept through capturing his surroundings, for example, the clothes, gestures, and particular beauty associated with that particular moment in time. It is that which the artist is most familiar with, which the artist truly understands, because that is the context in which the artist lives. As Nancy Rose Marhsall summarizes, “The clothing of the body in fashion, a procedure representing its socialization, worked to locate the female form in a particular moment, removing it from the realm of the ideal and investing it with cultural and historical specificity—with modernity, in fact, which Tissot embraced.”

Baudelaire places such an emphasis on fashion because he associates it with the essence of humanity itself. The artist must represent contemporary fashion because fashion is an essential part of humanity, and it is through fashion that this can be seen. He particularly focuses on women, writing:

“Everything that adorns woman, everything that serves to show off her beauty, is part of herself; and those artists who have made a particular study of this enigmatic being dote no less on all the details of the mandus muliebris than on Woman herself… What poet, in sitting down to paint the pleasure caused by the sight of a beautiful woman, would venture to separate her from her costume?”

Baudelaire's arguments have since become one of the key theories in the field of fashion history, but I believe that is a topic for another post.

I've put these posts on the internet because I want to share them with the world. This is all about the dissemination of knowledge. HOWEVER, these posts take a lot of time and effort to put together and many represent my own personal research findings. So if you'd like to copy and paste a quote to your own blog/tumblr/whatever, that's fine, but please don't copy the entire post. I would also appreciate it if you could credit me with my name, Katy Werlin, and a link back to the entry you have quoted.

Thank you.

Another month, another series of posts to give an in depth look at a particular fashion idea. This time, I'll be using Baudelaireian theory to analyze three paintings by James Tissot from the early 1870s. I hope you enjoy it!



In his seminal essay on painting and modernity, Charles Baudelaire wrote of the modern painter: “The crowd is his element, as the air is that of birds and water of fishes. His passion and his profession are to become one flesh with the crowd.” James Tissot embodied this sense of modernity. His paintings of contemporary life read as snapshots into the lives of the upper classes in the late nineteenth century. In particular, three works, Too Early, The Ball on Shipboard, and Hush!, painted in the early 1870s while Tissot was living in London, give a particularly fertile glance into society. These snippets of bourgeois society demonstrate, as Baudelaire wrote, the “fugitive, fleeting beauty of present-day life, the distinguishing character of that quality… we have colled ‘modernity.’” In his essay, Baudelaire emphasizes fashion as a crucial component to modernity. Contemporary fashion is intimately connected to contemporary life, thus giving a living humanity to a painting. Most importantly, fashion is connected with women. Baudelaire writes that contemporary fashion is a part of a womans being, an element which cannot be separated. In his three paintings from the early 1870s, Tissot explores these ideas of modernity and the identity of fashion.

James Tissot painted by Edgar Degas c. 1867-68. In the collection of The Metropolitan Museum of Art.

Jacques-Joseph Tissot was born on October 15, 1836 in Nantes, France. His father, Marcel-Theodore, was a linen draper and his mother, Marie Durand, was a milliner, exposing Tissot to the world of fashion from his earliest years. He attended the Ecole des Beaux-Arts, where he befriended men such as James Whistler and Edgar Degas. However, the man who would have the most influence on his early career was Baron Hendryk Leys, who painted detailed scenes set in Northern Europe in the sixteenth century. Tissot admired the high degree of finish and real human interactions portrayed in Leys’ work. Tissot’s work was first exhibited in 1859, and to keep in line with a recent trend of anglophilia, Anglicized his first name to James. Through the early 1860s, Tissot displayed several ‘costume pieces’, set in previous centuries. In the mid 1860s Tissot broke from his historic style, keeping the focus on human emotions and interactions and a sumptuous materialism, but setting his pieces in the present day. With this work, Tissot finally began to achieve critical success.

In 1871, after the disastrous Franco-Prussian War, Tissot moved to London. He achieved great success, becoming a well-known public figure. In addition to full size paintings, he contributed several caricatures to newly launched Vanity Fair, a publication run by Tissot’s friend Thomas Gibson Bowles. In these sketches Tissot makes gentle mockery of public figures of the day, a theme repeated in his London paintings, which can be seen as a caricature of modern society. In 1876, Tissot met Kathleen Newton, a young divorcee. The two fell in love and began an affair. While many artists of the day had mistresses, few actually lived with them and non painted them with the frequency with which Tissot painted Newton. They lived together until 1882, when Newton died. Emotionally devastated, Tissot left London and returned to Paris. Increasingly interested in spiritualism and religion, Tissot’s art took a religious turn in the mid 1880s. His works on religious subjects were highly admired, once again earning Tissot fame and fortune. In the final years of his life, Tissot became increasingly recluse. He died on August 8, 1902 at Buillon, a private estate inherited from his father.

The gown immediately caught the eye of the Empress, and Worth’s career as the great couturier of the nineteenth century began.

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Part 2
Part 3
Part 4

And here is the conclusion to this study, which I hope you have enjoyed! I had a wonderful time doing this research.



Self Portrait with a Harp, by Rose Adélaïde Ducreux, c. 1791. In the collection of The Metropolitan Museum of Art.

A consideration of the political situation of September 1791 is also important in analyzing Self Portrait with a Harp. Ducreux’s portrait was displayed at a crucial point in the French Revolution. On June 21-25, the royal family attempted to escape from France, but were caught in the small town of Varennes and brought back to Paris in disgrace. This marks a turning point in the attitudes of the Revolution. While at first the people had been willing to work with the monarchy, functioning under the belief of a good king ill advised, and hoping to create a constitutional monarchy, the royal flight disillusioned them. The thought of the King abandoning his country, combined with a letter left by Louis XVI denouncing the Revolution, caused the public to turn against the monarchy.

The flight of the royal family and their subsequent capture ushered in a brief period of paranoia and a previously unseen radicalism. While the National Assembly was working towards a new constitutional monarchy, the French people demanded Louis XVI abdicate the throne completely. On July 17th, a large group gathered at the Champs de Mars to sign a petition demanding the abdication. The situation grew out of control, and the National Guard arrived, attempting to keep the peace. Shots were fired and several people were killed. The Champs de Mars massacre polarized the nation, with some believing it was an act of peace keeping against dangerous radicals, while others believed it was the monarchy attempting to crush the will of the people.

By September 1791, the same month as the Salon of 1791, a new constitution had been completed, creating a constitutional monarchy. Completed on September 3rd and signed by Louis XVI on September 13th, it represented the hope that the monarchy could work together with the people to restore the glory of France. However, by 1792 the Revolution was falling to pieces and the Reign of Terror would begin the most violent and terrifying period of the Revolution. But in the fall of 1791, this threat had not yet materialized. It was a period of wariness, disappointment with the king, but hope that the political turmoil could finally be resolved.

This was the political context in which Ducreux exhibited her painting. France stood on a precipice, engulfed in feelings of wariness and betrayal, yet hope for a more egalitarian future. Ducreux’s painting embodies the dual ideologies present in this period. The luxury of her garments nods to the tradition of the monarchical system, a system the Revolutionaries currently wanted to preserve with modifications, not completely abolish. The neoclassical style points to the new aesthetics and ideas that were emerging, ideas of democracy and equality. Her inclusion of her harp points to an embracing of traditional gender roles, as espoused by late eighteenth-century thinkers. Thus her painting creates a perfect symbol of the times.

Selected Bibliography

Baker, Keith Michael, editor. Readings in Western Civilization: The Old Regime and the French Revolution. Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1987.

Duncan, Carol. “Happy Mothers and Other New Ideas in French Art.” The Art Bulletin, Vol. 55, No. 4, (1973): 570-583.

Irwin, David G. Neoclassicism. London: Phaidon, 1997.

Koda, Harold, and Andrew Bolton. Dangerous Liaisons: Fashion and Furniture in the Eighteenth Century. New Haven: Yale University Press, 2006.

The Metropolitan Museum of Art, “Self Portrait with a Harp.” http://www.metmuseum.org/Collections/search-the-collections/110000662.

Oppenheimer, Margaret A. “Women Artists in Paris, 1791-1814.” PhD diss., Institute of Fine Arts, New York University, 1996.

Ribeiro, Aileen. The Art of Dress: Fashion in England and France 1750-1820. New Haven: Yale University Press, 1995.

Ribeiro, Aileen. Dress in Eighteenth Century Europe 1715-1789. New Haven: Yale University Press, 2002.

Ribeiro, Aileen. Fashion in the French Revolution. New York: Holmes and Meier, 1988.

Rose Adélaïde Ducreux, Self Portrait with a Harp, Salon of 1791. The Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York.

Sheriff, Mary D. The Exceptional Woman: Elisabeth Vigee-Lebrun and the Cultural Politics of Art. Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1997.

Shovlin, John. The Political Economy of Virtue: Luxury, Patriotism, and the Origins of the French Revolution. Ithaca: Cornell University Press, 2006.

Tackett, Timothy. When the King Took Flight. Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 2003.

Weber, Caroline. Queen of Fashion: What Marie Antoinette Wore to the Revolution. New York: Henry Holt and Company, 2006.

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Part 3



Self Portrait with a Harp, by Rose Adélaïde Ducreux, c. 1791. In the collection of The Metropolitan Museum of Art.

Between the soft curves abounding in her portrait and the display of musical talent on the harp, Ducreux sends a strong message of her femininity, an important point to note in both the context of the art world and France at large. Painting had traditionally been a male profession, with women artists taking up an extremely small percentage. In 1770, the Royal Académie, which had never welcomed more than a handful of female artists into its membership, placed a quota for four female members. However, women increasingly made an effort to put their works on display, and at the Salon of 1791, twenty two women exhibited their works. While women artists were making great strides towards recognition, they remained the minority. Pierre-Jean-Baptiste Chaussard was alarmed at the 1806 Paris Salon to note that out of 350 artists, fifty were women.

In a broader context, these negative reactions towards women artists reflect the strong reinforcement of gender roles which took place at the end of the eighteenth century. The cult of motherhood became a particular concern, with writers and artists urging women not to pass their children off to a nurse but to rear them personally. Motherhood was espoused as the natural state for women, and, as one writer said, “The sensations experienced by a woman when she becomes a mother are of a kind superior to anything she feels in other circumstances.” This attempt to relegate women to the roles of mothers and nothing else is indicative of this larger trend of strongly defined gender roles. With society being completely restructured in the Age of Revolution, perhaps these strict definitions were a way of clinging to a sense of natural order.

As a female artist, Ducreux inhabited a traditionally male occupation. Although the fine arts were seen as a relatively natural outlet for women, due to their delicate sensibilities, a participation in the fine arts was none the less a step outside the home. Ducreux counters concern about women straying into a male world by emphasizing her femininity in her painting. The soft curves and the demonstrated accomplishment on the harp all signify Ducreux as an accomplished woman, showing off her feminine attributes. Her less radical clothing choice further symbolizes her devotion to traditional femininity. The soft and supple textiles and traditional style of dress portray Ducreux as a woman being a woman, not a woman attempting to enter the male world of personal autonomy and power as Marie Antoinette did.

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Self Portrait with a Harp, by Rose Adélaïde Ducreux, c. 1791. In the collection of The Metropolitan Museum of Art.

Ducreux’s portrait is in the neoclassical style, an important aesthetic to the Revolution. As opposed to the opulent rococo aesthetic, which had previously dominated the fine arts, neoclassicism valued simplicity and sought to emulate the plain elegance of the art of Ancient Greek and Roman societies. Neoclassicism was important to the ideals of the French Revolution in two respects. Firstly, its simplicity rejected the over-the-top luxury of the rococo aesthetic. It was a style everyone could embrace, not just those rich enough to afford it. It removed the luxury and decoration and left something plain, elegant, and basic. Secondly, it represented both classical and contemporary political equality. The inspiration for neoclassicism was taken from the ruins of Ancient Greece, famously the first democratic society. It was also an aesthetic that started in England, a constitutional monarchy where the people held power over the monarch. Neoclassicism represented an end to consumption by the few at the cost of the many, and the end to an absolute monarchy system, where the people held no power.

Ducreux’s painting features a plain background with an applied column forming the only wall decoration, and on the table next to her sits a Greek-esque vase, all signifiers of neoclassicism. Gone is the circular composition, the unnecessary frills, and rosey color palette of the rococo. Instead, Ducreux’s painting has a strong linear composition, and a mossy, more natural color palette. Neoclassicism was seen as a return to the natural, a theme reflected in the soft yellows, grays, and greens of Ducreux’s painting. She embodies a world not of colorful superfluity, but of sober simplicity. However, there is no harshness in this soberness. The stripes of Ducreux’s dress seem to mirror the column, elongating it into a soft, feminine curve. This, combined with the soft curves of the harp and the vase, detract from the harsh, straight, masculine lines and give the painting a softer, more feminine feel.

Traditional ideas of femininity are also reinforced in the use of the harp as a prop. Although the harp was a popular prop in eighteenth-century portraiture, Ducreux truly was a talented musician as well as painter. Musical talent was an important part of female accomplishment. In 1722 John Essex wrote that music “is certainly a very great Accomplishment to the LADIES; it refines the Taste, polishes the Mind; and is an Entertainment, without other Views, that preserves them from the Rust of Idleness, that most pernicious Enemy to Virtue.” The harp was considered a ‘womans instrument’, as it allowed not only the display of musical virtuosity but display of the female body. The light dancing of fingers across the strings showed off a woman’s hands and the nimbleness of her fingers, and the pedal harp allowed a woman to show off her delicate feet and ankles. Furthermore, the softer sounds produced by the instrument are in line with feminine ideals. It could also be argued that the harp was considered easier to play, as key signatures can be easily set and a consideration of sharps and flats are unnecessary, therefore it was an instrument well suited to the simplicity of the female mind.

Part 1
The Chemise a la Reine

Today's post considers other garments Ducreux might have worn in her portrait. For background on the chemise a la reine, please click the link at the top to read my post about it.



Self Portrait with a Harp, by Rose Adélaïde Ducreux, c. 1791. In the collection of The Metropolitan Museum of Art.

By the early 1790s, fashion periodicals were urging women to dress in a more simplistic manner. Combinations of jackets and skirts were popular democratic wear, the Journal de la Mode et du Gout declaring in 1790 that “This undress is called The Democrat.” Also popular were French versions of English styles such as riding habits and the redingote. On September 11, 1789, the Magasin des Modes Nouvelles wrote “We have all become soldiers”, emphasizing that women had a role to play in the Revolution as well. While men fought in the ‘battlefield’, women could do their part by wearing appropriate fashions. Women were urged to wear fabrics made in France, and of simpler fibers such as woolen stuffs and printed cottons. Overall, high luxury in dress was beginning to disappear. The Journal de la Mode et du Gout wrote in June 1790: “Luxury is dead, cried out the shopkeepers. Already gold and silver are no longer used in finery.” And indeed, a more democratizing choice for Ducreux would have been to paint herself in a jacket and skirt combination or a redingote, made of less costly fabrics.

Another fashion option for Ducreux was the chemise a la reine, introduced by Marie Antoinette in the early 1780s. However, to wear the chemise a la reine would have associated her with Marie Antoinette. Although, when looked at outside its political context, the chemise a la reine seems to indicate the egalitarian principles of the Revolution with its light, inexpensive fabrics and simple construction, it’s association with Marie Antoinette forever tainted the garment.

The robe a l’anglaise worn by Ducreux, while initially seeming to symbolize luxury, is in actuality in line with Revolutionary ideals. The robe a l’anglaise, literally meaning ‘English dress’, was also a new style of garment in the 1780s. Previously, women had worn the elaborate robe a la francaise, a garment which took an enormous amount of fabric to construct and decorate. The robe a l’anglaise had developed in England as an expression of the simple English aesthetic, and indeed was extremely simple in cut and décor when compared with the robe a la francaise. Furthermore, in France, to wear English styles was to align oneself with the constitutional monarchy of England, which the early years of the Revolution strove for. For Ducreux to wear a robe a l’anglaise, she not only embraced traditional gender roles but aligned herself with a more egalitarian society.



Madame de Pastoret and her Son by Jacques Louis David, c. 1791. In the collection of The Art Institute of Chicago.


Mme Charles-Louis Trudaine by Jacques Louis David, c. 1791. In the collection of The Louvre.

Ducreux’s fashion is on the more luxurious end of the spectrum when considered against other portraits from the period. Jacques Louis David painted Mme Charles-Louis Trudaine in 1791-92, and Madame de Pastoret and her Son in 1791-92. Both portraits feature a plain background and women in very simple garments, of one basic color (white in the case of Madame de Pastoret and a dark gray in the case of Mme Trudaine) and a non-lustrous fabric, most likely signifying a cotton or wool. However, fashion historian Aileen Ribeiro explains that “this paradox can partly be explained by a deliberate desire on the part of the artist to subdue intrusive details of fashion which might detract from the character of the sitter, or a tactful decision, in a time of great social and political stress, on the part of the sitter to be portrayed in a simple, informal costume.”



Mademoiselle Duplant by Francois-Andre Vincent, 1793. In the collection of the Musée Calouste Gulbenkian, Lisbonne.

Other painters portrayed a simpler fashion aesthetic as well. Francois-Andre Vincent’s painting of Mademoiselle Duplant from 1793 shows the sitter in a striped dress of non-lustrous material, most likely made of a non-silk fiber, wrapped in a plain white muslin fichu and lightly embroidered yellow shawl. In 1792, Henri-Pierre Danloux painted Mademoiselle Rosalie Duthe in a similar dishabille. The sitter wears a simple white dress, most likely made of a fine muslin, with a sleeveless white bodice over top, tied with lavender ribbons.



Maria Theresa of Bourbon by Elisabeth Vigee-Lebrun, 1790. In the collection of the Musée Condé, Chantilly.

Portraits by Elisabeth Vigée-Lebrun lean towards a more luxurious aesthetic. In her portrait of Maria Theresa of Bourbon from 1790, the sitter wears a robe of grey-brown velvet, with an underdress of lustrous blue silk, tied around the waist with an embroidered golden sash. Another Vigée-Lebrun portrait, of Countess Maria Theresia Bucquoi from 1793, shows the sitter in a puce silk taffeta gown, the coloring significant in that Marie Antoinette popularized the shade in 1775, with an orange sash and embroidered red shawl. While these paintings show fashion more in line with the aesthetic presented by Ducreux, it is worth noting that Vigee-Lebrun fled France in 1789, and was considered an emigrés. Thus her paintings are not an accurate representation of trends in portraiture during this period.



Countess Maria Theresia Bucquoi by Elisabeth Vigee-Lebrun, 1793. In the collection of the Minneapolis Institute of Arts.

How, then, does Ducreux’s painting fit in with its contemporaries? It is more reminiscent of previous styles of portraiture than contemporary styles, which in general show a movement towards simplicity. One view is that Ducreux’s luxurious satin fabrics are a celebration of the French textile industry, which had suffered from the popularity of imported muslins. However, less expensive fabrics of French origin were encouraged in the fashion press, and perhaps a more politically savvy move for Ducreux would have been to paint herself in a less luxurious garment. But despite its luxury, Self Portrait with a Harp was admired by critics, its more Revolution-friendly aspects perhaps outweighing the display of luxury in the textiles.

Today's post is on the chemise a la reine, which I talked about in the BBC article about shocking trends in fashion history here. I wanted to put this up now, because it's important background information for the next part of my post on Self Portrait with a Harp.



La reine en gaulle, by Elisabeth Vigée-Lebrun, 1783. At the National Gallery in Washington DC.

The gaulle, or chemise a la reine, was made infamous by Marie Antoinette in the early 1780s. In contrast to the highly structured garments worn by the French court and society at large, the gaulle was incredibly light and simple. The gaulle consists of layers of thin muslin, loosely draped around the body and belted around the waist with a sash. It was the perfect garment for lounging in the country in the spring, and the fashionable ladies of France and England quickly took up the trend. However, when Elisabeth Vigée-Lebrun painted Marie Antoinette in her new clothes, the portrait launched a scandal and helped to solidify the peoples’ hatred for their queen.

By the time Marie Antoinette introduced the gaulle, she had already begun a string of rebellions against the ritual and structure of French court life. Actions such as abolishing the morning toilette, allowing commoner Rose Bertin into her inner circle, and escaping to the Petit Trianon had all caused anger and suspicion with the aristocracy. Marie Antoinette’s highly public persona and extravagant habits were also cause for concern. Traditionally, French queen’s led quiet lives, bearing sons to carry on the family line and retreating into the background for a private and relatively simple life. Marie Antoinette’s behavior, on the other hand, was more that of a King’s mistress, and thus highly criticized. Even when Marie Antoinette entered into a more private lifestyle at the Petit Trianon, the exclusivity of her retreat continued to raise criticism, as the traditional right of the aristocracy to constant access to their monarch was cut off.



Antoine-Laurent Lavoisier and His Wife, by Jacques-Louis David, 1788. In the collection of The Metropolitan Museum of Art.

In these rebellions, Marie Antoinette attempted to gain a personal autonomy. With a marriage that remained unconsummated for seven years and a lack of political influence with her husband, Marie Antoinette wanted to gain a power she lacked in other aspects of her life. Through her fashion and decadent lifestyle, she attempted to convey a powerful persona. This desire for a sense of personal autonomy and individuality is represented in the gaulle, famously presented to the world in a highly controversial portrait by Elisabeth Vigée-Lebrun. Unlike traditional portraits of French queens, Vigée-Lebrun’s portrait removed all references to the king, portraying Marie Antoinette as her own person, individual from her role as wife to the reigning monarch. Marie Antoinette’s hatred for the structure and ritual of court life at Versailles is symbolized in the unstructured and simple nature of her gaulle.

It seems as though this simpler style, representing a more democratizing spirit and costing much less than the queen’s previous elaborate court wear, would have been celebrated by the public. Yet when Vigée-Lebrun painted Marie Antoinette in her new garment, there was an enormous public outrage. The simple garment looked like a chemise, the basic undergarment worn by all women. The public thought their queen had been painted in her underwear, a highly shocking notion. Subsequently, the garment gained the moniker chemise a la reine.



Lady Elizabeth Foster by Angelica Kauffman, 1785. Elizabeth Foster was British, and a close friend of Georgiana, Duchess of Devonshire, showing the international appeal of the chemise a la reine.

There were more symbolic issues with the garment as well. It represented an economic threat, as it was made from fine muslin imported from England. When the chemise a la reine caught on, the French silk industry reported enormous financial losses. More importantly, in the eyes of the public, the chemise a la reine symbolized the queen’s rebellion against traditional political and gender roles. Marie Antoinette asserted her identity as an independent woman, removing the traditional signifiers of royalty and taking on a new role. To a country entrenched in an absolutist system, where the glory of the monarch was constantly reinforced, this individuality was an insult to the glory and power of the monarchy, and in taking power for herself, Marie Antoinette represented a political threat.



Madame Seriziat by Jacques-Louis David, 1795. In the collection of The Louvre.

None the less, the chemise a la reine became a popular garment both in France and abroad. Famous British fashionista Georgiana, Duchess of Devonshire wrote that she received a chemise a la reine from Marie Antoinette, and many notable English women of the period are painted in the garment. In the broader spectrum of fashion, despite its controversial beginnings, the simplicity of style and material became the norm. In the above picture, Madame Seriziat wears a slightly more structured version of the chemise a la reine, showing its adaptation by the broader population. Thus this controversial garment was a lynchpin in fashion history, signalling a transition to the light and natural garments favored in the early 19th century.

Today's post is about my favorite painting, Self Portrait with a Harp by Rose Adélaïde Ducreux. Last semester we had an assignment to pick a painting and write about it, so naturally I jumped on the opportunity to find out more about this beautiful work. Over the next few days I'll be posting my research. Here's part 1!



Self Portrait with a Harp, by Rose Adélaïde Ducreux, c. 1791. In the collection of The Metropolitan Museum of Art.

Self Portrait with a Harp, from circa 1791, is an elegant example of late eighteenth-century portraiture, praised when first displayed for its beauty and realism. At first glance it seems odd that a painting depicting such a luxurious garment would be praised during the French Revolution, a time when the population of France rose up against luxury and absolutism. Yet a closer look reveals ideas closer to the ideology of the French Revolution. Ducreux’s painting represents the transitional time of 1791. With the luxury of the fabrics contrasting with the simplicity of the neoclassical background, and its reinforcements of femininity, Self Portrait with a Harp seems to embody the dichotomy of the politics of 1791.

Rose Adélaïde Ducreux is a relatively unknown artist. She was born on August 19, 1761 to Joseph Ducreux and Philippine-Rose Cosse. Her father Joseph was a painter himself, and had been a portraitist to Marie Antoinette, travelling to Vienne to paint her in 1769. Rose was taught to paint and draw by her father, who gave all of his surviving children an artistic education. Rose Ducreux exhibited her first work at the Salon de Correspondance in 1785, but as she was not a member of the Académie Royale de Peinture et de Sculpture she was not allowed to exhibit her works in the official Paris Salons until their doors were opened to the general public in 1791. Self Portrait with a Harp was exhibited at the Salon in September 1791, receiving a favorable response from critics. Ducreux continued to exhibit at Salons between 1793 and 1799. She left Paris in 1802, travelling to Saint Domingue with her fiancée, Francois Lequoy de Montigiraud, a prefect of the island, and her father. She died of yellow fever in 1802, her father dying of the same disease two days later.

The Salon of 1791 was held just two weeks after the National Assembly decreed that all artist could participate, saying “All artists, French or foreigners, members or not of the Académie Royale de Peinture et de Sculpture are equally admitted to present their work in the department destined in the Louvre for this purpose.” Representing the more egalitarian principles being espoused by the public, the National Assembly’s decree was a sign of the changes being brought on by the French Revolution. The reviews for Self Portait with a Harp were highly favorable. The Abbé de Fontenay wrote “A new muse presents herself with grace, under the colors of Terpsichore… It is Mademoiselle Ducreux playing the harp. Her choice of pose, the beauty of the fabrics, the graceful use of the brush and the good effect distinguish this charming piece.” Another writer described it as “A graceful body, and fabrics most real.”

At first glance, it seems odd that during the democratizing French Revolution, a painting exhibiting such luxurious fashion would be praised. In her portrait, Ducreux wears a turquoise and white robe a l’anglaise with a zone front, the luster of the fabric suggesting a silk satin. The outer robe is made of a turquoise and white striped fabric, while the zone front and petticoat are a pure white. A translucent silk fichu with satin stripes is wound about her torso, and her sleeves are overlaid with a delicate lace. Fringe decorates the bottom of the petticoat. Luxury is suggested in ever detail. The textile of the outer robe shows highly skilled workmanship, with three smaller, subtle, lustrous stripes residing within each white stripe. The fichu is similarly decorated with satin woven stripes and polka dots.

The cloister from St-Michel-de-Cuxa. The Metropolitan Museum of Art, The Cloisters Collection.

The above image is of the cloister of Saint-Michel-de-Cuxa, in the collection of The Cloisters at The Metropolitan Museum of Art. You may be wondering, why am I posting a picture of stone carvings on a fashion history blog? Well believe it or not, these beautiful stone columns contain valuable information on theories of the medieval body!

Saint-Michel-de-Cuxa was a Benedictine abbey founded in the early ninth century in southwestern France, in the foothills of the Pyrenees. The cloister on display at The Cloisters was constructed between 1130 and 1146, under the direction of the Abbot Gregory. Originally the cloister consisted of sixty-three capitals topping columns arranged in a trapezoidal shape at the south end of the church. The structure at The Cloisters is about half the dimensions of the original, but still conjures the atmosphere and spirit of the original structure. Although the capitols may not be arranged in their original order, the original cloister having been dismantled in the nineteenth century, the carved vignettes were not supposed to be viewed in a specific order or tell a specific story. Instead, they provide individual ideas with which the monk could form a larger narrative.


Cloister capital from St-Michel-de-Cuxa. The Metropolitan Museum of Art, The Cloisters Collection.

There are three different variations of the grotesque present in the capitals of the Cuxa cloister. Some capitals feature naked dancing men, others feature human-animal hybrids such as sirens— half woman, half fish—, and a third type feature strange beasts such as humans and monkeys aping each other or roaring lions devouring men. These strange images provoke ideas of sin. The obscene and ignoble gestures of the dancing men deform the body, therefore deforming the image of God. The sirens represent the dangers of women and lust. The humans imitating the monkeys shows “the degeneration of man into beast” and the roaring lions represent the terrors of the mouth of hell.


Cloister capital from St-Michel-de-Cuxa. The Metropolitan Museum of Art, The Cloisters Collection.

To interpret such images and their place in a cloister, it is necessary to understand the medieval idea of the human body as a microcosm, originally created in Gods image and perfect. The faithful had perfect bodies, and used orderly and elegant gestures which reflected the harmony of their souls. In contrast, those that succumbed to base desires and sin became physically grotesque in their gesture and form, aligning themselves with animals who possess no immortal soul. The physical body was thus seen as a reflection of the inner soul. William of St-Thierry, a Benedictine abbot from the twelfth century, wrote in book two of The Nature of the Body and Soul that man is formed “in the image of him who created [the soul].” The good stand tall “reaching toward heaven and looking up [and this] signifies the imperial and regal dignity of the soul”, while those who “slavishly serve the lusts arising from the senses… have put off the image of the Creator and have put on another image, one that looks at the ground like an animal, one that is beastly.” The grotesques on the Cuxa capitals, representing all sorts of physical and therefore spiritual deformity, would serve as reminders to the monks of the dangers of sin, and subsequently help to shape their behavior.


Cloister capital from St-Michel-de-Cuxa. The Metropolitan Museum of Art, The Cloisters Collection.

Furthermore, the Cuxa capitals and these medieval theories of the body coincide with an interesting moment in textile history! A new sect of Benedictine monks had emerged in 1098, the Cistercians, who believed the Benedictines were too excessive in their way of life, and who had subsequently strayed from the word of God and true religious devotion. The Cistercians sought instead to return to a strict asceticism. One of the ways of doing this was wearing plain white, undyed garments, rather than the traditional black worn by Benedictines. This shift in fashion was mocked by the Benedictine monks. Peter the Venerable described: “I have seen I know not how many black [monks], laughing at a white [monk] whom they meet, as if he were a monster, and showing by their voices and movements that they are amazed….” In the context of medieval religious thought, the grotesque gestures of the laughing monks reflected a grotesqueness of the soul that could easily be connected with the figures on the Cuxa capitals. The capitals therefore would remind a monk, perhaps walking through the arcade and mocking the fashion Cistercians, of the sinfulness of his behavior. The capitals were reminders not only of the greatest sins to be avoided, but of the small ones as well. Even something as simple as a hostile opinion to textiles could deform the soul. Think about that next time you mock some one's outfit!

I couldn't decide if I wanted to compare to an extant garment or an illustration, so you get both!


Left: Karl Lagerfeld for House of Chanel, Spring 2012 Couture
Right: Evening dress, 1925, from The Metropolitan Museum of Art


Left: Karl Lagerfeld for House of Chanel, Spring 2012 Couture
Right: George Barbier illustration, early 1920s