Reverend John Cotton.
Reverend Cotton Mather.
There was certainly great diversity in dress among those who called themselves Puritans. Some amusing stories are told of that strange, restless, brilliant creature, the major-general of Cromwell’s army,—Harrison. When the first-accredited ambassador sent by any great nation to the new republic came to London, there was naturally some stir as to the wisdom of certain details of demeanor and dress. It was a ticklish time. The new Commonwealth must command due honor, and the day before the audience a group of Parliament gentlemen, among them Colonel Hutchinson and one who was afterwards the Earl of Warwick, were seated together when Harrison came in and spoke of the coming audience, and admonished them all—and Hutchinson in particular, “who was in a habit pretty rich but grave and none other than he usually wore”—that, now nations sent to them, they must “shine in wisdom and piety, not in gold and silver and worldly bravery which did not become saints.” And he asked them not to appear before the ambassador in “gorgeous habits.” So the colonel—though he was not “convinced of any misbecoming bravery in a suit of sad-coloured cloth trimmed with gold and with silver points and buttons”—still conformed to his comrade’s opinion, and appeared as did all the other gentlemen in solemn, handsome black. When who should come in, “all in red and gold-a,”—in scarlet coat and cloak laden with gold and silver, “the coat so covered with clinquant one could scarcely discern the ground,” and in this gorgeous and glittering habit seat himself alone just under the speaker’s chair and receive the specially low respects and salutes of all in the ambassador’s train,—who should thus blazon and brazon and bourgeon forth but Harrison! I presume, though Hutchinson was a Puritan and a saint, he was a bit chagrined at his black suit of garments, and a bit angered at being thus decoyed; and it touched Madam Hutchinson deeply.
But Hutchinson had his turn to wear gay clothes. A great funeral was to be given to Ireton, who was his distant kinsman; yet Cromwell, from jealousy, sent no bidding or mourning suit to him. A general invitation and notice was given to the whole assembly, and on the hour of the funeral, within the great, gloomy state-chamber, hung in funereal black, and filled with men in trappings of woe, covered with great black cloaks with long, weeping hatbands drooping to the ground, in strode Hutchinson; this time he was in scarlet and cliquante, “such as he usually wore,”—so wrote his wife,—astonishing the eyes of all, especially the diplomats and ambassadors who were present, who probably deemed him of so great station as to be exempt from wearing black. The master of ceremonies timidly regretted to him, in hesitating words, that no mourning had been sent—it had been in some way overlooked; the General could not, thus unsuitably dressed, follow the coffin in the funeral procession—it would not look well; the master of ceremonies would be rebuked—all which proved he did not know Hutchinson, for follow he could, and would, and did, in this rich dress. And he walked through the streets and stood in the Abbey, with his scarlet cloak flaunting and fluttering like a gay tropical bird in the midst of a slowly flying, sagging flock of depressed black crows,—you have seen their dragging, heavy flight,—and was looked upon with admiration and love by the people as a splendid and soldierly figure.
We must not forget that the years which saw the settlement of Salem and Boston were not under the riot of dress countenanced by James. Charles I was then on the throne; and the rich and beautiful dress worn by that king had already taken shape.
There has been an endeavor made to attribute this dress to the stimulus, to the influence, of Puritan feeling. Possibly some of the reaction against the absurdities of Elizabeth and James may have helped in the establishment of this costume; but I think the excellent taste of Charles and especially of his queen, Henrietta Maria, who succeeded in making women’s dress wholly beautiful, may be thanked largely for it. And we may be grateful to the painter Van Dyck; for he had not only great taste as to dress, and genius in presenting his taste to the public, but he had a singular appreciation of the pictorial quality of dress and a power of making dress appropriate to the wearer. And he fully understood its value in indicating character.