The Atlantic Monthly, Volume 05, No. 27, January, 1860: A Magazine of Literature, Art, and PoliticsVarious
General
The Atlantic Monthly, Volume 05, No. 27, January, 1860: A Magazine of Literature, Art, and Politics
Various
American periodicals
[Footnote B: That cultivated gentleman, John Evelyn, two centuries ago
wrote some amusing words on this subject. After quoting the witty saying
of Malvezzi,--"I vestimenti negli animali sono molto securi segni della
loro natura, negli nomini del lor cervello,"--he goes on to say, "Be it
excusable in the French to alter and impose the mode on others, 'tis
no less a weakness and a shame in the rest of the world, who have no
dependence on them, to admit them, at least to that degree of levity as
to turn into all their shapes without discrimination; so as when the
freak takes our Monsieurs to appear like so many farces or Jack Puddings
on the stage, all the world should alter shape and play the pantomimes
with them. Methinks a French tailor, with an ell in his hand, looks like
the enchantress Circe over the companions of Ulysses, and changes them
into as many forms.... Something I would indulge to youth; something to
age and humor. But what have we to do with these foreign butterflies? In
God's name, let the change be our own, not borrowed of others; for why
should I dance after a Monsieur's flageolet, that have a set of English
viols for my concert? We need no French inventions for the stage or for
the back."--From a pamphlet entitled _Tyrannus, or the Mode_.
"Si le costume bourgeois," says George Sand, in _Le Péché de M.
Antoine_, "de notre époque est le plus triste, le plus incommode et
le plus disgracieux, que la mode ait jamais inventé, c'est surtout au
milieu des champs que tous ses inconvénients et toutes ses laideurs
révoltent.... Au milieu de ce cadre austère et grandiose, qui transporte
l'imagination au temps de la poésie primitive, apparaisse cette mouche
parasite, le _monsieur_ aux habits noirs, au menton rasé, aux mains
gantées, aux jambes maladroites, et ce roi de la société n'est plus
qu'un accident ridicule, une tâche importune dans le tableau. Votre
costume gênant et disparate inspire alors la pitié plus que les haillons
du pauvre, on sent que vous êtes déplacé au grand air, et que votre
livrée vous écrase."]
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