A poem from 1754 called “Receipt For Modern Dress” satirizes the immodesty and frivolousness of the “robe a la francais.” It was an increasingly popular style of dress among the elite, shown above on a portrait of Madamde du Pompadour. As the poem describes, it consisted of an outer dress, or robe, with a loose, flowing sack-back, that was attached in the front by a fanciful stomacher, often with ribbons, and worn with hoops and a skirt of matching or contrasting fabric. These gowns were often exceedingly expensive, because their flowy nature was achieved through the use of yards upon yards of fabric!
In the early 19th century, when clothing was self-made, expensive, and time-consuming to produce, Parisians could buy their clothing used at Temple Market, one of the first and largest thrift markets in Europe. Opened in 1811, its approximately 11,000 square meters were comprised of an astounding 1,888 shops. Visitors could rummage through everything from barely-worn fine evening dresses to dirty rags contributed by street rag-pickers; from men’s coats and women’s corsets to linens and tablecloths. All manner of Parisians shopped at the Temple. A contemporary writer describes the lure of cheap, well-worn finery to working-class girls:
“chambermaids, maids, cooks, cleaning women…on Sunday, after a week of labor and privation, they have two hours of freedom…they rush to the Temple and buy a five-franc calico peignoir [dressing gown]…or a tulle bonnet with pink ribbons. The poor girl has never had anything so pretty; she runs up her six flights, dresses before a mirror the size of her hand, and as pleased as a great lady goes to a dance hall…” (51).
But customers included wealthy women discreetly shopping for unique accessories - shawls, baubles - to compliment their fine, custom-made outfits. One always had to be careful, however, to inspect the clothing before purchasing it: shopkeepers took advantage of the dark rooms to disguise low-quality garments, and some even went so far as to fill in holes with wax! For more information, check out Philippe Perrot's Fashioning the Bourgeoisie.If you can read French, or are okay with clumsily-translated English, this site has some interesting pictures and a first-hand description of the market.
“Battle of Bailleul. Men of the Middlesex Regiment holding a street barricade in Bailleul, 15 April 1918, just before the fall of the town.“ Taken by photographer John Warwick Brooke.
“Battle of Pozieres Ridge. Troops of the 1st Australian Division (1st ANZAC Corps), some wearing German helmets, photographed between La Boisselle and Pozieres on their return from the taking of Pozieres, 23 July 1916.” By John Warwick Brooke.
This is a symbolic weapon, also named “the sword of France”, it was presented by the king to his constable at the end of a ceremony. In receiving his sword directly from the hands of the sovereign, the constable was officially invested with the supreme command of the army. Bertrand du Guesclin (1320-1380) and Anne de Montmorency (1493-1567) are among the most famous people who have been promoted in this manner.
Construction wise, this weapon is based on the medieval swords. The blade though is very light and of poor quality reflecting its exclusively ceremonial character. The orientation of its ornamentation, especially of lilies carved and gilded enriching quillons, pommel and the heel of the blade and the circular cartridge in the center of it, indicates that the sword was designed to be fully revealed during the royal entries or ceremonies.
The leather scabbard, miraculously preserved, is also dotted with lily gilded brass. The presence of the sword until the Revolution in Chantilly, former estate of Montmorency, suggests it might have belonged to one of two family members who benefited from the constabulary in the 16th century, especially to Anne Montmorency. Despite its archaic figure still evoking the 15th century, the weapon would be dated to the first half of the 16th century
Unlike Philippe, I had less freedom to do what I wished. I was the heir to the throne. My fate was sealed as the firstborn son. Philippe had the luxury of obstinateness and he delighted in it. He knew quite early that all eyes were on me. He took every opportunity he could to get away with anything.
As children, we spend some time around our mother’s ladies. They were an extravagant mix of the French and the Spanish. Our mother was the Infanta, daughter of Philip III of Spain. Both of us could speak Spanish as fluently as French by the time we began our studies.
“¡Hola, Louis! ¿Cómo estás?,” Philippe said to me one afternoon. He learned to speak rather quickly as if he was born to talk.
“What,” I said, surprised. I looked around to make sure no heard him. “You must speak French, Philippe.”
“No,” he said defiantly, stomping his little feet on the floor. “I hate French. I like Spanish. It is our mother’s language.”
“French is the language of our father,” I answered. “He is the king.”
“I do not care,” he said, crossing his arms.
“We are French,” I began. “We live in France, not Spain.”
“I will speak the language I want when I want,” he said. He knew I would give into his demands but I knew our mother better.
Very well, Philippe,” I began. We will speak Spanish among ourselves. Not with Mother. She will be angry. Do you understand me, Philippe?”
“But why, Louis,” he asked sadly. “She is Spanish.”
I could tell he wanted to tempt the hand of fate. He always want to see I was telling the truth.
“Philippe, no,” I said as firmly as I could.
“Very well,” he answered, pouting. It was hard for me not to indulge my brother and he knew this. All we had was each other as there were few children in the court in those days. Papa did his best to see as often as he could. When he was with us, I could see in him a longing in him I did not understand as child.
I came to believe that Philippe and I had a closeness that he never had with our uncle, Gaston. I wondered if their discord was the reason he made sure his sons were seldom apart. I came to believe this when he took us on a trip to a special place one day.
**** **** **** ****
The carriage ride seemed long. As always, Philippe kept himself occupied by wriggling endlessly as he pointed to everything along the way. Papa could not help but laugh.
“Philippe,” he said. “You are a handful.” He seemed to have something on his mind. It must have been sobering because his eyes were longer full of light as I had remembered. As if he could hear my thoughts, his attention turned to me.
“What are you thinking about, Louis,” he asked.
“Nothing, Papa,” I answered softly. “Where are we going?”
“To my favorite place,” he said smiling. “I am sure you and your brother will love it as much I do.”
“Papa, there are trees,” Philippe said, trying to lean out of the window. Our governess struggled to keep him still, but Philippe was having none of that.
“Yes, Philippe,” I said. “Those are trees.”
He turned quickly toward me with a vicious glare on his face. If he thought I was teasing him, he was correct.
“I know, Louis,” he said. “There are lots of trees.”
Suddenly, the trees began to disappear as we came upon a clearing. Looking out of the window, I could see a small château—far smaller than to what I had become accustomed. As our carriage came to a stop, I could see the relief on our governess’ face as Philippe bounced off her lap and over to Papa.
“What is that, Papa,” he asked eagerly.
“That is my home away from home,” he answered. “This is my castle at Versailles.”
Little Philippe shows off his Spanish skills. Then one day, Louis and his brother are taken on a little trip to a château at Versailles.
There are a million reasons why I should not tell you the truth, but only one reason why I should–I have to. Even I know that things are not always what they seem. I may be the Sun King, but I have lived in the shadows–most often, of my own light. There was nothing I could not have in this life except for one thing–her. My life began at my birth, but I only had begun to live it when we met. Until that moment and every moment thereafter, life for me seemed an endless misadventure–a staged performance I longed to end.
**** **** **** ****
I was an unexpected gift from God. After years of struggling to produce an heir, I was born 5 September 1638 at Château Neuf Saint-Germain-en-Laye. I was known as Dieudonné. I was the God-given and I came to believe it to be true as I grew older. My father, Louis XIII, was as a walking shadow to me. I wish I had more time to learn from him the secrets of the crown I was to inherit. I remember very little about my father, but what I remember was good. He kept me at arm’s length until the birth of my brother. I did not understand why, but I credit him for the miracle of our father’s love in those last two years we had with him.
When I was barely two years old, my parents received leur second cadeau de Dieu—my brother Philippe. His arrival was my earliest and most treasured memories. When he arrived, I wanted to see for myself. I knew it was coming but at the time, I did not know from where. I wanted to see for myself this new baby everyone had been talking about. I had been separated from my mother because this creature for what seemed an eternity.
“Louis,” a voice said. I looked up to see who called my name. It was my father. “Would you like to see your new brother?”
I nodded. He scooped me up from the floor, addressed my governess and whisked me away. Moments later we entered a room where my mother was resting. Papa put me down and I made my way over to her. I heard strange noises coming from a cradle nearby. I quickly changed course and cautiously moved toward it. I peered inside to see a small infant. For a moment he seemed to look at me in fascination. I looked at my parents as I pointed at my new brother.
“His name is Philippe,” my mother said.
I turned my glance back to my new baby brother who seemed to be smiling at me. I knew then he was my Philippe—a friend and a brother for life. I could hardly wait for him to grow up. That, too, seemed to take forever in my infantile understanding of the world.
Once Philippe learned to walk, he seemed to want to follow me everywhere. Though I was but two years older, I towered over him like a shading tree. Whenever I would leave a room, Philippe would slowly rise from the floor and begin his trek behind me, stumbling awkwardly and flailing his arms to keep his balance. When he would fall, he would burst into tears. I would comfort him until he stopped crying. Then, as if nothing had happened, he would get up again and carry on behind me. It seemed like an eternity to walk down the long halls of the palace with him.
I was never more thankful to God than when he learned to run. Even at my tender age, I was protective of Philippe. He was no more helpless than I was, but I was going to be king one day. At that age, I thought my only responsibility as a future king was taking care of my brother.–The Secret of the House of Bourbon–XIV by Jaynaé Marie Miller. 10-16-2021
In case you didn’t scroll far enough down to see the first exit about Louis XIV, here it is.
I’m Jaynaé Marie Miller (and will be writing as all the Kings of the House of Bourbon) Nice to meet everyone. For the most part, I’m new on Tumblr (even though I have another book on here). I’m still learning how to post things. Yes, even after over 5 years. I’m not exactly tech savvy. Enter, my co-author, @fortunatelyclevercandy (who will be writing as all the Kings’ brothers from the House of Bourbon). She knows how to figure this stuff out (and will write me 30-page books about it).
Anyway, today is the first day for Louis XIV to make his debut. It will be on Wordpress today. There is a reason I shifted gears and began working on Book III of @thesecretofthehouseofbourbonbook, but the main reason was because my co-author was working on Book III while I was starting Book II and I wanted to maintain consistency. However, that does not mean I will not continue working on Book II. I multitask (probably because I had ADHD). So, I will be working on a few projects at the same time (including @tkwrtrilogy3, that is still in progress). Please Note: At some point, years from now, this will all make sense.
Anyway, I look forward to what I do best–writing. Whether or not I’m good at it, I will let you decide. I just hope you will enjoy it.
Claim to fame: An advocate for women’s education, Christine is the first European woman known to have made her living as a writer.
Born the eldest child of the personal physician to King Charles V of France, Christine was well educated and benefited from access to the King’s vast library.
Christine was married at 15 and widowed just 10 years later. After her husband’s death, she turned to writing to support herself and her family, serving as a court writer for several dukes as well as Charles VI of France.
Her 1405 book, ‘La Cité des Dames’ (‘Book of the City of Ladies’), catalogued female accomplishment and helped establish her popularity. This book is considered by many as the inaugural text in the field now known as women’s studies.
Christine completed forty-one works during her career. Her work contradicted negative female stereotypes and countered unjust slander of women within other literary texts. She argued that women have the same aptitudes as men and thus the right to the same education. Christine’s influence in the otherwise male-dominated field of rhetorical discourse lead Simone de Beauvoir to acknowledge her as the first woman to “take up her pen in defence of her sex”.
Jeanne Laisné (nicknamed Jeanne Hachette - ‘Jean the Hatchet’).
Born 1456 - died ?
Claim to fame: a French military heroine who prevented the capture of Beauvais.
In June of 1472 Charles the Bold, Duke of Burgundy, laid siege to the French town of Beauvais. Over the course of the three week siege, a peasant woman named Jeanne Laisne joined a contingent of women and children responsible for loading the town’s cannons, delivering munitions and dumping boiling liquid over the walls onto the attackers.
By 27 June, many of the French defenders had lost hope and begun to flee as an assault from the Burgundians seemed set to defeat the town. An officer was about to plant the Burgundian flag on the wall and claim Beauvais when Jeanne grabbed a hatchet and flung herself upon him, hurling him off the wall and tearing down the flag. Her bravery revived the courage of the garrison and the French soldiers returned to their posts, keeping the Burgundians at bay until reinforcements arrived and the town was saved.
By way of recognition, King Louis XI heaped favours on Jeanne and ordered for the ‘Procession of the Assault’ to take place in Beauvais every year with women marching at the head of the parade. This tradition still continues.
In 1851, a bronze statue sculpted by Gabriel-Vital Dubray (pictured above) was unveiled in Beauvais by Louis-Napoleon Bonaparte.
![Francois Boucher, Madame du Pompadour, 1756 [x]. A poem from 1754 called “Receipt For Modern D](https://64.media.tumblr.com/d922e73a77cf9c2ed188e156ed691c99/tumblr_n59wj6OOfx1rzspuzo2_500.jpg "Francois Boucher, Madame du Pompadour, 1756 [x]. A poem from 1754 called “Receipt For Modern D")
![Francois Boucher, Madame du Pompadour, 1756 [x]. A poem from 1754 called “Receipt For Modern D](https://64.media.tumblr.com/86ebf88f20beca531dd2b88a33e4ec75/tumblr_n59wj6OOfx1rzspuzo1_640.png "Francois Boucher, Madame du Pompadour, 1756 [x]. A poem from 1754 called “Receipt For Modern D")
