And this naturally suggests the question, What is to be the future of masculine costume? Is the present formlessness and gracelessness and monotony of hue to last forever, as suited to the rough needs of a work-a-day world? It is to be remembered that the difference in this respect between the dress of the sexes is a very recent thing. Till within a century or so men dressed as picturesquely as women, and paid as minute attention to their costume. Even the fashions in armor varied as extensively as the fashions in gowns. One of Henry III.’s courtiers, Sir J. Arundel, had fifty-two complete suits of cloth of gold. No satin, no velvet, was too elegant for those who sat to Copley for their pictures. In Puritan days the laws could hardly be made severe enough to prevent men from wearing silver-lace and “broad bone-lace,” and shoulder-bands of undue width, and double ruffs and “immoderate great breeches.” What seemed to the Cavaliers the extreme of stupid sobriety in dress, would pass now for the most fantastic array. Fancy Samuel Pepys going to a wedding of to-day in his “new colored silk suit and coat trimmed with gold buttons, and gold broad lace round his hands, very rich and fine.” It would give to the ceremony the aspect of a fancy ball; yet how much prettier a sight is a fancy ball than the ordinary entertainment of the period!
Within the last few years the rigor of masculine costume is a little relaxed; velvets are resuming their picturesque sway: and, instead of the customary suit of solemn black, gentlemen are appearing in blue and gold editions at evening parties. Let us hope that good sense and taste may yet meet each other, for both sexes; that men may borrow for their dress some womanly taste, women some masculine sense; and society may again witness a graceful and appropriate costume, without being too much absorbed in “featherses.”
L.
SOME MAN-MILLINERY.
We may breathe more freely. The religious prospects of America brighten. Our dealers have received the “Catalogue of Clerical Vestments and Improved Church Ornaments manufactured by Simon Jeune, 34 Rue de Cléry, Paris.”
Why are we not a nation of saints? Plainly, because the church-apparatus has hitherto been so very deficient. Religion has been, so to speak, naked. The dry-goods stores, supplying only the laity, have left the clergy unclothed. In what ready-made-clothing store can you find any thing like a proper alb? Ask your tailor, if you dare, for a chasuble. At Stewart’s shop New Yorkers boast that you can buy any thing; but fancy a respectable citizen entering those marble portals, and demanding a cope or a dalmatic! As for an ombrellino, or an antependium, you might as well attempt to go buffalo-hunting in Broadway. In that case you would at least find the dried skin of the animal; but we doubt if there is to be found on sale any thing nearer an ombrellino than a lady’s parasol. They order this thing otherwise in France.
Mr. Simon Jeune provides every one of these simple luxuries. Not a device by which a rich man may enter the kingdom of heaven, but he has it at his fingers’ ends. None of your cheap salvations mar the dignity of 34 Rue de Cléry. “We do not manufacture these articles at a low price,” he calmly announces. There is no limit in the other direction. You can lead souls to heaven in a robe worth twenty-five guineas; but, if you insist on parsimony in your piety, you must patronize some other establishment.
Yet who that reads this catalogue, and revels for a half-hour amid its gold and jewels, would care to be parsimonious? What is money worth, except as a means of putting one’s favorite minister into a chasuble “in gold cloth with glazed friz ground, double superior quality”? Since the Christian must at any rate bear his cross, is it not a satisfaction to have it “on a gold ground, richly worked in gold and silver”? If there is no true religion without a cope, is it not well that its “hood and orfraies” should be “surrounded with glazed gold-columned galloon”? And, as death must come at any rate, is it not something that your pall may bear “a handsome design of silver tears in emboss in the centre of the cross,” price only six guineas?
Time would fail to tell of the banners and the dais, the altar-cloths and frontals, the pastoral stoles and benediction-scarfs, the pyxes and chalices, and, in short, all dear delights of consecrated souls. This saintly upholsterer makes as many “fresh sacrifices,” it would appear, as any other retailer; but, as this does not prevent him from pricing a dais as high as four hundred pounds sterling, there is no danger of the purchasers finding any thing cheap enough to be really discreditable. And the goods are all warranted to be as indestructible as the lowly virtues they symbolize.
M. Jeune positively announces that he “supplies every article connected with the Roman Catholic Church.” Perhaps he reserves the faith, hope, and charity for the next catalogue, as they do not appear largely in this. In other respects, reading this catalogue is as good as a seat in the most fashionable church, and leaves much the same impression. It is especially useful for summer-time, when one may wander in the country, to the peril of one’s soul, and may consider the lilies a great deal too much, and may come to thinking religion a thing obtainable on cheap terms, after all. This would not do for M. Jeune’s business: let us return to the realities of time and eternity, and consider this “embroidered glory of spangles and prul,”—whatever prul may be.
But can it, after all, be possible that these gorgeous garments are to be worn by men only, and that those same men will sometimes treat it as a reproach to women that they are fond of dress?