Understanding “Fourreau” – a Deeper Look from a New Perspective

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Understanding “Fourreau” – A Deeper Look from a New Perspective

I’ve been both amused and interested by the blog buzz in the historical costuming community over the ‘fourreau’ issue. Only someone deeply absorbed in costume minutiae and fascinated by language would add to the discussion on such an obscure topic. I suppose I am that person! So, with apologies, and at the risk of beating the subject senseless, I feel compelled to provide my thoughts based on my linguistic background and my understanding of French history of the late 18th century. I’m going to set out reasons why I believe there have been misunderstandings or misinterpretations by fashion historians and researchers which have led to confusion over this unfortunate word, and try to provide some clarity. I was originally trained as a historian and linguist, am fluent in French and German, and have worked extensively with antique French fashion publications for the last two decades. From a linguistic and historical standpoint, attempting to trace the long and convoluted train of usage of the term ‘fourreau’ requires some time and patience – it’s a bit like a game of snakes and ladders, forward in some areas, sideways in others. In this paper I’ll try to explain my ideas, with the help of illustrative examples, and propose a fresh insight on the history and use of the word ‘fourreau’ and its infamous corollary, ‘en fourreau’. I’ve read the much-shared and much-discussed blogs on the subject of ‘fourrreau’ and ‘en fourreau’ by Lauren Stowell (of American Duchess), and by “Cassidy” (of A Very Beguiling Accomplishment). Both blogs are helpful starting points, but there are some stumbling points and misinterpretations that I’ll discuss further on. The blogs are available here for reference: http://blog.americanduchess.com/2018/10/the-en-fourreau-myth.html http://www.mimicofmodes.com/2013/12/the-fourreau.html

Misconceptions or misinterpretations of the 18th century French language are, I believe, the source of much of the confusion, resulting in misunderstanding and misnomers by a some fashion historians and writers on the subject over the decades, including in particular the use of the phrase ‘en fourreau’.

The opinions and conclusions expressed here are my own. Translations from the French throughout this article are mine. French terms are shown in italics, and my notes on illustrations or translations are in square brackets [ ]. I invite you to join me in examining this elusive subject! I believe linguistic history is a key, if not the key -- to untangling the “fourreau puzzle” and clarifying some of the apparent contradictions that have been pointed out by others. Accordingly, I’d first like to review the etymology of the word ‘fourreau’ (pronounced in French something along the lines of “foo-row”, with the accent on the last syllable, plural: ‘fourreaux’) and explain some aspects of French grammar before delving into the historical uses of these terms in costume history. I hope you’ll forgive my linguist’s geek- like deep dive into this topic. 2

One disclaimer: I have not re-examined the findings of linguists mentioned in this article in order to confirm them, but have accepted most of them as presented, trusting that the world’s greatest language experts have done the necessary research work and had good reasons to conclude as they did. Most of the findings make perfect sense from the point of view of historical linguistics, a field with which I’m reasonably familiar. I do have one significant disagreement, which forms part of the basis for my subsequent explanations, and which I’ll explain further on.

The Robert1 dictionary (essentially the French equivalent of the Oxford English) explains the etymology of ‘fourreau’ as follows (my translation and notes): Fourreau: [Plural: fourreaux] – Masculine noun, derived from the 11th century French word ‘furrel’ with the same meaning, from an even older French word, fuerre, taken from the old French fôdr (meaning sheath). [According to Robert, this fôdr root is unrelated to the old Germanic homonym fôdr (meaning forage, or feed). I disagree, and will be saying more on this later]. According to the Robert, the (modern) definition is: “Enveloppe allongée, destinée à recevoir une chose de même forme pour la préserver quand on ne s’en sert pas. »

[“Elongated envelope, intended to receive something of the same shape, to protect (keep) it when not in use”]. This noun is of course related to the French verb ‘fourrer’ which has three distinct but connected meanings bearing directly on the use of the noun ‘fourreau’ in French. Those three meanings of ‘fourrer’ are: (1) To line or cover with something, to protect, preserve, or embellish (e.g. ‘fourrer une médaille’ = to cover or laminate a medal with gold, silver, etc.) By extension, laminating in plastic, etc.; also lining a garment with fur in particular. (2) To place something inside something else (as in a sheath or scabbard), e.g. ‘Fourrer ses mains dans ses poches’ = to stuff one’s hands in one’s pockets). There is also the sense of disorder, as in putting something (or a number of things) in a jumble into something else – like stuffing a whole lot of belongings into a big purse. By extension a ‘fourre-tout’ is anything into which a whole lot of various things are stuffed indiscriminately. (3) (se fourrer): To put or place oneself into something (as in ‘se fourrer sous les couvertures’ = to snuggle down under the covers [of a bed]); by extension to meddle in (“stick one’s nose into”) something.

Keep these three general realms of meaning in the verb ‘fourrer’ in mind as you read through the following explanations of the 18th century use of the noun ‘fourreau’ as related to fashions.

I hate to argue with Robert on the etymology of the noun ‘fourreau’, but here is where the plot thickens, linguistically-speaking. I think there is evidence that both roots were involved in the evolution of these 3

words into French, in the sense that there was a bifurcation of meaning at some point (a very common phenomenon in linguistics, where one branch spawns a line of words relating to one side of the meaning, and the other a line of words with perhaps a related, but different meaning). These are very old, foundational words and as such appear to have been had, by metaphoric extension and historical shift, a number of different connotations over the centuries (or millennia). I’ll explain what I mean.

The Germanic root ‘fôdr’ is the derivation of the modern German word ‘Futter’ (meaning feed or fodder, but also – by long extension of history -- lining [of a garment], in the sense of a filler or feed, i.e. to line a garment is to fill it or, metaphorically feed it, with something). This old root ‘fôdr’ (likely connected further back to the Indo-European) is also the genesis of the English word ‘fodder’, amongst others. In addition, the Encarta Concise English Dictionary2 gives the derivation of the English word ‘fur’ (as in fur coat, etc.) as “Old French: ‘forrer’ < ‘forre’ (lining)”, which in turn is noted in French dictionaries to trace back to ‘fôdr’ . It doesn’t take too much noodling to realize that, long before the Normans arrived in what is now northern France, the Germanic tribes were lining their winter skins with fur. Are you beginning to see the connection? That connection, I propose, was from the Old German ‘fôdr’, borrowed into Old French as ‘forrer’ or ‘forre’, meaning, broadly, some sort of interior layer of a garment (and thence of course to the English ‘fur’). That was one branch of meaning, which I’ll call here the first steam of meaning – something that fills or completes the inside of a garment. Incidentally, I should mention here that the modern German word for “fur” is “Pelz”, to which the English word “pelt” is related. These words have no relationship to ‘fôdr’. However, the modern French word ‘fourrage’, which is directly related to, and derived from ‘fôdr’, still means “forage” or “fodder” today. This is related to the second branch of meaning described below. Incidentally, the English word “furrow” has no connection with ‘fôdr’; it derives from a different root, old English ‘furh’, which has been traced by linguists to another (Indo-European) source. The second branch, which I’ll call the second stream of meaning, flowing from the idea of ‘fôdr’ into the French ‘forre’ and/or ‘fuerre’, meant something filling another thing closely, or “feeding into it”. This developed into ‘fourreau’ in the sense of a sheath. Indeed, the word ‘fourrer’ in modern French means to line (or embellish) a garment with fur (the original Germanic meaning!), as well as to introduce or put something closely into something else (as in the modern use: “Fourrer la main dans sa poche” [stuffing your hand in your pocket], or “Fourrer son nez dans…” (stick one’s nose into…, in the sense of insinuating oneself). From this sense of filling closely, it was a small jump to ‘fourreau’, meaning a sheath or scabbard, and all that followed from that particular image, including references to garments. It seems clear to me that these two streams of meaning produced somewhat different concepts in the linguistic imagination, which evolved from there. But their meanings aren’t entirely divorced. What they have retained in common, generally speaking, is the idea of something put closely inside another thing, whether feed to fill an animal’s stomach, a lining to fill a coat, or a sword inside a sheath. In this regard, there is still a morphological link between most of the subsequent words. My view, based on this cursory linguistic research, is that the Robert, despite its gravitas where the French language is concerned, was wrong about the two ‘fôdr’ roots being disparate homonyms and 4

entirely unrelated. Perhaps the authors didn’t look far and wide enough into other languages’ history in coming to that conclusion. It seems to me the root was indeed the same, but the usage diverged slightly at some point in time. It’s not difficult to make the mental/visual leap from ‘fôdr’, as something that fills or feeds into another, by extension to the sheath of a sword, especially for peoples who wore fur linings in their garments and carried swords. Indeed, right up to the present, in French ‘fourrer’ means to line or embellish with fur. There is support for this idea that the two meanings converge in the same historical root word. The Larousse3 states that both ‘fourreau’ and ‘fourrer’ (as well as its relative ‘fourrure’ [“fur”]) were borrowed from the German root ‘fôdr’.

Perhaps a visual representation would illustrate this concept better (see the next page):

This complicated story boils down to the fact that the longer a word has persisted in use in a language, the wider its application can often become, gathering accretions by way of analogy and metaphor. So it is with the word ‘fourreau’, which long denoted a scabbard or sheath (of a sword), but through a likely even older connection to the old Germanic term ‘fôdr’, also a filler or liner of some sort (including fodder to fill up an animal). These two concepts, by extension, gave rise to a number of other uses, some to do with costume, some not. Hence in modern French usage for example, an umbrella cover is ‘un fourreau de parapluie’. A “robe fourreau” today is a sheath dress, a “jupe fourreau” is a pencil skirt, and the closely related verb “fourrer” 6

has at least three distinct meanings, as noted earlier. All of these phrases have one thing in common – they refer back to the original visual concept of one thing fitting over or into another (including even a “fourreau de cheval”, the sheath-like covering of a horse’s penis). Perhaps because modern English speakers have largely forgotten the origin of the word “sheath”, it’s easy to overlook that connection in 18th century French. In any case, as I’ve outlined above, we need to look at the terms ‘fourreau’ and ‘en fourreau’ from a historical-linguistic standpoint to recognize that, in the French mind of the 18th century, they represented two separate but related visual ideas where costume was concerned. The examples I’ll present here will demonstrate first how the noun ‘fourreau’ (as in: ‘un fourreau’) has been used in two different contexts with regard to costume. Once we understand the concept of different streams of meaning, there are still two problems that seem to me to add to the confusion, especially over the term ‘en fourreau’. First, there is the purely technical issue of understanding that ‘un fourreau’ (or simply ‘fourreau’) and ‘en fourreau’ are completely different grammatically, which I’ll get into further on when I discuss the phrase ‘en fourreau’. Second is the problem of historical and social distance. I agree with those who say that it’s impossible to ever be 100% accurate in re-creating past dress or in understanding historical costume in all its contemporary context. But I would argue that it is possible to get reasonably close by shining new light on the subject from a variety of disciplines. In this regard I see the modern attempt to assign the French term ‘en fourreau’ permanently to a specific garment as being largely misguided and near-futile (and a very 21st century trait besides – see my comments toward the end of this essay), leading to frustrating dead-ends and confusion. The term ‘en fourreau’ in the 18th century did not describe one particular garment, as I will show, but was used as a metaphor. It is a descriptor by association, meant to evoke an image that would have been very familiar at the time, i.e. a sword enclosed in its sheath. In other words, it belonged to the second stream of linguistic meaning. So did ‘un fourreau’ (the noun) denoting a simple frock, related to the child’s garment.

But the term ‘un fourreau’ or simply ‘fourreau’ (the noun) itself had a second, somewhat different application in 18th (and 20th) century dress, referring to under-dresses that served as fillers or completers for costumes, which I’ll discuss later. In this use, ‘fourreau’ belongs to the first stream of meaning. Studying the contemporary 18th century evidence, it’s clear that these two meanings became slightly intermingled or indistinct toward the end of the 18th century –like two colours of paint mixing here and there – but they were not completely interchangeable, as I’ll demonstrate in the examples further on. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Historical Use: A Tale of Many Fourreaux The Robert dictionary places the date of appearance of the use of ‘fourreau’ with regard to women’s costume to about the year 1780, but gives no source or reason for this statement. It defines the word in 7

its modern sense (aside from its sense as a sword sheath), as a very close-fitting woman’s dress that molds to the body – something completely familiar to most of us in English as a “sheath-dress”. The type of gown we’ve come to regard as a “robe à l’anglaise en fourreau” was fashionable around 1775-85, as was the ‘fourreau’) dress for women. So the 1780 date is reasonable. However, the term ‘fourreau’ was also applied to simple, back-lacing little girls’ dresses (this has been well documented in the costume history literature). Boucher states that these fitted, but unboned little girls’ gowns appeared about 1740. If we take these two statements together at face value, then the girls’ dresses called ‘fourreaux’ appeared earlier than the women’s dresses referred to as ‘fourreaux’, i.e. the latter was named by reference to the former. I’m certain this is correct and I’ll give more detail on this, including some illustrative examples, later on. Still, at least one contemporary 18th century source uses the word ‘fourreau’ only in reference to little boys’ garments, not the dresses of little girls, in spite of the latter being back-lacing. I will argue that, as often happens in language, there was a metamorphosis of meaning, so that by the 1770’s and 1780’s, ’fourreau’ was used widely to apply to little girls’ dresses. Nonetheless, it’s important not to link the 18th century French word ‘fourreau’ necessarily, or too closely, with the idea of a back-lacing dress; the fact that these dresses were back-lacing is incidental to the primary meaning of the word, as I’ll demonstrate further on. From a linguistic standpoint, I suspect that the word ‘fourreau’ referring to a simple, one-piece child’s dress – or perhaps some sort of sheath-like adult garment – may have existed in the French language far earlier than 1740. However confirming this would require research beyond the parameters of this study. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I’d like to start by working backwards in time from the present day, to pick up the linguistic thread (pun intended!) of the French word ‘fourreau’, and follow it back to the 18th century. As I’ll show, the sheath dress or ‘fourreau’ turns up in several decades, in different guises, sometimes jumping from French to English usage, but always denoting a similar concept – a body-skimming garment of one kind or another.

(1) Modern Day (mid-20th to 21st Century): A ‘robe fourreau’ in modern French is the “sheath dress” in English: a closely-fitting woman’s dress, long or short, usually fairly simple in cut, and often (but not always) sleeveless, often fitted to the body with darts or curved seaming. Two examples are below, a very familiar modern style. This basic idea of the close-fitting but simple sheath dress is still current today, and had persisted on and off for decades in the 20th century, probably as far back as the late 1920’s. The modern term ‘robe fourreau’, then, comes within the second stream of meaning, referring by visual metaphor to the sword in its close-fitting scabbard. Intriguingly, as I will show later, the way many modern sheath dresses are fitted to the body with long darts or seams is not far from the original 18th century concept.

(Tamotsu sheath dress, 2001, from (2018 Liz Claiborne sheath dress) a Vogue sewing pattern)

(2) Early 20th Century Concepts of ’Fourreau’: Moving a little further back in time, beginning in the early years of the century with the “Gibson Girl” silhouette, then continuing in late 1907 with the raising of waistlines and appearance of sinuous silhouettes, through 1908 and especially in 1909, the fashion for body-skimming “sheath” gowns was prominent. But these were quite different from their ca. 1880 predecessors (see Section (3)). Although the wearer would be firmly corseted under these gowns, the outer impression, unlike the rigid-looking sheath gowns of the early 1880’s, was lithe and flowing. This is the ‘robe fourreau’ in the scabbard/sheath (second stream) meaning. The Edwardian ‘fourreau’ gowns had much in common conceptually with the 18th century notion of a sheath following the body’s shape in a revealing manner, even though the ca. 1909 designs were anything but “undress”. For a brief period, these early to mid-Edwardian ‘fourreaux’ were all the rage, as attested by the following commentary from a spring, 1909 French magazine, discussing fashions for a bridal party:

My translation: “Our model in pink charmeuse seems appropriate as the gown for the lady taking the collection*; and the skirt gathered at the waist is quite the fashion note of the moment, this style competing with the ‘fourreau’.” *quêteuse: The young lady in a formal church bridal party who would take up the collection or alms plate. 9

Here is a 1904 gown (offered as a sewing pattern), described as a ‘fourreau’, an early type of the 20th century sheath dress concept. Interestingly, it differed dramatically from the usual, overly-flouncy fashions of the era, but the two styles continued to exist together up until about 1910, when fashion made a more radical shift to columnar silhouettes:

The French description reads:

“Fig. 13 (Pattern to size: 2 francs 25). – Evening toilette: ‘fourreau’ in black crêpe de Chine trimmed with sequinned black Chantilly lace.”

Some further examples of Edwardian ‘fourreau’ gowns, all from 1909:

And an evening ‘fourreau’ gown from 1909, which I have replicated and offer as a sewing pattern, the epitome of the style for formal wear:

************** 11

I have also encountered the word ‘fourreau’ used in the early 20th century (from about 1904 up to 1919) in the first stream sense, as a filler, under-dress, or completer of sorts for a dress (usually a formal one). Further on in this paper, I’ve pictured examples of these types from 1904 and 1919 (the latter are shown side-by-side with their 18th century counterparts – see Section 5). This particular ‘fourreau’ concept is quite distinct from a “lining” in 20th century French usage, which would normally be called “doublure” (understood as a simple, unembellished “doubling” of the outer garment). By contrast, these early 20th century ‘fourreaux’ “completers” in the examples shown were more ornamented or finished than a mere lining would be, and actually formed part of the visible costume. I suspect that all these usages of ‘fourreau’ in the early 20th century were dredged up directly from 18th century fashion by Edwardian designers. Other archaic terms were in fashion use around the 1912-20 time period, most notably ‘panier’, and ‘fichu’, which appear often in descriptions of fashionable dress of the time (these terms had been used in the 19th century as well, although in quite a different fashion context).

(3) 19th Century: The term ‘robe fourreau’, or simply ‘fourreau’ was used in French and English in the 19th century, during the late 1860’s and again in the late 1870’s to early 1880’s, but applying to two different fashion concepts. In English Women’s Clothing in the Nineteenth Century,4 C. W. Cunnington notes the appearance, in 1864 of new type of gored morning skirt. He quotes from a contemporary source: “The Fourreau skirt (so gored that it fits the figure without pleats at the waist) is common for morning dress.” He later quotes from a text of 1865, showing that this idea had evolved into a new type of day dress: “The short dress may be of ‘the Princesse shape now beginning to be called by an old name, the “fourreau”, and buttoning all down the front’; frequently worn with a ‘Peplum’ fastened round the waist under a band.” As far as I can recall from my extensive work with mid-19th century French fashion texts and patterns, the French themselves did not refer to these ca. 1866 dresses as ‘fourreau’. They preferred to call them a “robe princesse”.

I have made one of these dresses recently, from an 1866 French pattern. The key features are the relatively simple shape, the princess cut, the body-skimming fit and the curved seaming that achieves it. Below is the French fashion plate on which my dress was based, exactly the type of 1865 ‘fourreau’ dress described by Cunnington, complete with separate peplum. (You can see me in the finished dress on my website home page). 12

Later Cunnington quotes from an 1866 fashion text. Here we have a description not unlike what we will see (further on) as a fourreau overdress of the late 18th century: “’It is now possible to cut a fashionable dress from 13 yards of material.’ The skirt may be trimmed up to the seams or to simulate a double skirt. […] or a ‘fourreau’ (i.e. ‘sheath’) overdress, descending to the top of the deep pleated flounce of the underskirt; the bottom of the fourreau cut in deep vandykes.”

Cunnington (in the work cited earlier, at page 273) later gives a description of a different sort of ‘fourreau’ dress, from 1874: “The ‘Fourreau dress’ (en princesse), trained, long-waisted and gored in front which is quite plain, the back mounted in full pleats. The train is caught up with a wide sash and buckle at the side; […].”

Here the seaming is still “en princesse”, but the overall silhouette is radically different, far more a true sheath concept. By the late 1870’s and early 1880’s, gowns were indeed narrow, enclosing sheaths (‘fourreaux’) on the body, from neck to ankles. This is about as literal as the word ‘fourreau’ has become in comparing fashion to a sword in its scabbard. In The Cut of Women’s Clothes5, Norah Waugh discusses this 19th century style (at page 144), and provides examples of fashion plates. She refers to this style as a “tie-back dress”, but notes the fashionable term was ‘fourreau’. It was used in French as well, in the same sense. This style is familiar to anybody who knows late Victorian costume. 13

The Robert quotes the French author Alphonse Daudet (1840-1897) in his use of the word ‘fourreau’ in this sense:

“[Le] long fourreau de lainage bleu où sa taille pleine ondulait” (Alphonse Daudet, 1840-1897) (Translation: “The long blue wool sheath in which her voluptuous figure undulated”).

What an erotically evocative word picture this is, beautifully musical to speak aloud in French! Daudet was using the word ‘fourreau’ in the second stream sense, describing the visual impression of a garment that clung to, and followed every curve of the body like a sword in its sheath: “le long fourreau” – the long sheath -- a closely-fitted body-skimming gown of the late 1870’s or early 1880’s.

Below are some examples of this 19th century type. These ‘fourrreaux’ or sheath gowns are from 1878, 1880 and 1881 respectively, but are typical of the short-lived fashion for sheaths between the two bustle eras. [Source: Issues of La Mode Illustrée]:

The Eighteenth Century. Here, in order to make sense of the evolution of the ‘fourreau’ in the 18th century as a whole, I have to stop the reverse time travelling, and work forward from about 1740 to near the end of the century.

(4) Mid-18th Century – Children’s Costume (ca. 1740 onward): Based on the research I’ve done, I have no doubt that the women’s dresses which were later called ‘fourreaux’ evolved from the prototype of the earlier children’s garments. Boucher says these went as far back as the 1740’s, and I accept his opinion on the subject. There is one irrefutable 18th century source for information – as limited as it may be – on these children’s garments, and that is the Art du Tailleur6 by Garsault. Without translating the pages of instructions and descriptions included in that volume (which I plan to do as a separate study piece at some point), I’ll attempt to summarize here what Garsault explained as, and presumably what the French of 1769 understood to be, a child’s ‘fourreau’.

There are two children’s garments described in some detail in the Art du Tailleur.

A. Girl’s “Fausse Robe”: The first is called a “Fausse robe pour les filles” – a “false” gown for girls. Interestingly, it is not called a ‘fourreau’. Its skirt is made with 7 widths of fabric (remember that 18th century textiles were narrow!), with a centre back closure that runs from the neck to a little below the attachment seam of the skirt. The skirt is constructed with side openings to access the pockets (which would be worn underneath, perhaps over an under-petticoat or even a hoop skirt). It is described as then being “sewn around the bottom of the ‘corps’” (a foundation bodice). The ‘corps’ laces at centre back, and the skirt would hook or otherwise fasten from there down to point “a” shown on the skirt diagram below. The skirt top is finely pleated, and sewn to the corps (which is worn over the shift). Little detail is given for the girl’s ‘corps’; it is simply described as being “pointed and without large basques (tabs) at front”. Diagrams for both the skirt and the corps are given in the volume, and are reproduced below. Clearly the later little girls’ dresses referred to in the 1780’s as ‘fourreaux’ were developments from this basic form (even though, at this point, in 1769, the girls’ dresses were called ‘fausses robes’, not ‘fourreaux’). When or exactly why this change in name happened is a mystery, although we can easily imagine it may have been by way of association with the boy’s ‘fourreau’, as a general term applying to any child’s sheath-like garment. Below are the ‘corps’ and skirt diagrams for the ‘Fausse Robe pour les filles’ (False gown for girls) – I’ve cropped off the non-relevant diagrams that were on the same page of the 1769 volume. The long vertical edge at the right of the skirt diagram is centre back (the diagram is half of the skirt). The curved top edge at left is the front. It is unclear (and not explained) whether the fronts overlap somehow, or are to be seamed at the vertical front edge. The eyelets can be seen at centre back of the ‘corps’ diagram, confirming this was a back-lacing garment: 15

Foundation/body section (or ‘corps’) for girl One-half of skirt – girl’s garment

B. Boy’s Jacket or Fourreau (‘Jaquette ou Fourreau pour les garçons’):

The second ‘fourreau’ dealt with by Garsault in 1769 was a boy’s garment. He called this a ‘Jaquette ou Fourreau pour les garçons’. A loose translation might be “boy’s frock jacket”. In the construction of this garment we may have even more clues about the subsequent development of women’s dress of the 1780’s. There is far more attention paid to instructions for making the boy’s ‘fourreau’ than the girl’s ‘fausse robe’. This, in brief, is how Garsault describes how to make this garment (not a direct translation, but my précis of the instructions):

Two widths of fabric are used for each front (marked “a” in the diagram below), and three for each back (marked “b”). The dashed lines in the drawing show where the sections are seamed. The jacket is then pleated, as described below, and mounted onto the ‘corps’ (foundation/body lining), which is shown below as No. X. This boy’s ‘corps’ is said to simply have a rounded bottom front edge and no side tabs. No specific directions are given for the construction of the boy’s ‘corps’, aside from some the instructions on making ‘corps’ (foundations) generally.

The pleating is done as follows: First, one long, diagonal pleat (essentially a dart) is made from the neck edge of the jacket front to just above the front point of the ‘corps’. Three more similar, parallel pleats are to be made in the front, all ending just above the bottom of the ‘corps’ and all being left free (loose) below that point. Two tucks or pleats are then made at the hip, also left free from the bottom of the ‘corps’ to the jacket hem. 16

A wide pleat is then made at centre back, its widest part at the shoulder edge; this pleat ends at the top of the jacket’s basque (peplum) and its back surface will cover the eyelets (in centre back of the ‘corps’). Three more pleats are made on each side of the upper (bodice) portion of the back, the same as done for the front; plus two open tucks at the back hip (on each side), as for the front. (Although it isn’t specifically mentioned, we can assume all these pleats are sewn in place on the outside, as on most other 18th century garments, i.e. not sewn invisibly on the wrong side as are modern darts).

A band of fabric is then applied to cover the shoulder area, the side seams are sewn (leaving an opening between the hip darts/tucks for a pocket on each side); then the lower centre back seam of the two back sections is sewn. Braid trim is applied extensively, and the sleeves (given as diagram “c”) are sewn into the armscyes.

The diagrams for the three parts of this boy’s ‘fourreau’ are shown below. The markings for the eyelets can clearly be seen at the left edge (centre back) of the ‘corps’ diagram. The ‘fourreau’ or jacket front (piece “a”), back (piece “b”) and sleeve (piece “c”) are shown together on the following page.

Boy’s ‘corps’ (foundation/body) Boy’s jacket (‘fourreau’) and Sleeve (piece “c”)

The reason I’ve given so much detail on these two children’s garments is that they are the origin of what follows in later costume related to the ephemeral term ‘fourreau’. Indeed the description of the shaping pleats (or perhaps darts) on the boy’s ‘fourreau’ is astonishingly similar in concept to the shaping pleats described on a woman’s ‘fourreau’ of 1779 (an early type for adults) which I’ll be dealing with further on. As a matter of fact, the entire woman’s garment of 1779 is cut and molded to the body along similar lines as the boy’s ‘fourreau’. 17

For the moment, for easy reference, I’ve inserted (on the following page) a cropped image of the 1779 woman’s ‘Robe à la Levantine’ (taken from Galerie des Modes), as there is much about its construction that echoes the earlier ‘fourreau’ for boys.

This garment is specifically described in the French text as being cut ‘en fourreau’ at back. This fashion plate will re-appear later in this essay, with a full explanation. Keep this connection between the two garments in mind – the boy’s ‘fourreau’ and this early women’s ‘fourreau’ -- when looking through all the examples of the women’s ‘fourreaux’ which follow later.

From the centuries of meaning connected to the word ‘fourreau’ and its original root, fôdr, as well as from the two children’s prototypes described in Garsault’s work, flow all the subsequent concepts 18

and places in which fashion used the word ‘fourreau’. What is amazing is how persistent yet capricious this fashion word was, popping up in various iterations in at least four centuries.

(5) Late 18th Century & Early 20th Century - ‘Fourreau’ as Liner, Under-dress or Completer: I first want to deal with a lesser-known use of the term ‘fourreau’ in the 18th century, then move on to the more familiar forms of that century. There exist a couple of examples from late 18th century fashion plates of a type of costume worn under (or with) a jacket (caraco) being referred to as a ’fourreau’, a fact which has puzzled some fashion historians. Yet viewed from the linguistic perspective of two parallel streams of imagery arising from the same root yet remaining connected, the meaning is clearer. I submit that the French were seeing these particular accoutrements of dress primarily in the first stream meaning, as a filler or completer for a costume when describing them as ‘fourreaux’. We’re back to the medieval idea of a fur lining which completes and embellishes an outer garment. At the same time, there is clearly the sheath-like aspect to these under-dresses, in the second stream meaning of the word ‘fourreau’, resulting in a “mixing of meaning” in the mind’s eye. In the 18th century plates shown below, the “filler” or “completer” for each costume is the ‘fourreau’, the ruffled neckline and cuffs of which can be seen beyond the edges of the jacket in the first plate. Given the dates (1784 and 1786 respectively), I believe these ‘fourreaux’ may be the types of trompe l’oeil dresses (“fausses robes”) that is, a one-piece dress (bodice and skirt joined) made to appear to have two separate skirts as if a petticoat were worn underneath, but nonetheless a ‘fourreau’. This explanation would account for why the dress worn under a caraco in each of the following 18th century fashion plates would be called a ‘fourreau’, even though neither looks at first glance like a typical one-piece ‘fourreau’. (See my detailed discussion on these trompe l’oeil dresses or ‘fausses robes’ further on). The alternative explanation for the second plate (the green and white coloured ensemble) would be that the white portion is part of a complete ‘fourreau’ dress worn under a caraco that has a very long, wide train-like back (such as that of a redingote). A very similar use of the word ‘fourreau’ as a costume completer or filler surfaces again in French fashion of the early 20th century. It isn’t hard to see the conceptual connection between the late 18th and early 20thcentury examples below, both called a ‘fourreau’ in their time. I expect the 20th century usage was a direct borrowing from the 18th century of the notion of a sheath-like under-dress that was more than a mere lining but less than an outer garment, designed to actually be seen and to enhance the overall costume. I’m placing two sets of these examples side-by-side for easy comparison. My translations of the accompanying French texts follow the plates. 19

(Plate 1: 18th Century (Plate 2: 20th Century [Source: La Mode [Source: Galerie des Modes, 1785] Illustrée, 1919)

My notes on Plate 1 (18th century plate above): Translation of caption: “The beauty, despairing of her lover’s infidelity, who had sworn an inviolable love for her, demonstrates by her sadness that this affront has been deeply felt; Seizing in her turn on an oath to never in future allow her heart to be surprised; She is coiffed à la Nicolet* and dressed in a gauze fourreau with a striped sash.”

[This fashion plate is using an allegorical pose, perhaps from a popular play, to demonstrate a fashionable costume.]

* One of the multitude of names given to hair styles and head-dresses during the late 1700’s, research into which was beyond the scope of this article.

The accompanying text (from 1785) reads: “Fourreau of gauze, with striped sash. “The most recent (i.e. newly fashionable) ribbons” – Canary or soft sulfur-yellow, striped in three colours, to wit: canary-tail, deep green, and church violet; [or] solid deep green; church violet.” 20

In this case, I believe the ‘fourreau’ of gauze refers to a “false gown” (i.e. with a 2-section, joined skirt, meant to resemble the structure of a true gown), worn as a completer under the jacket (pierrot/caraco), but which is nonetheless constructed overall like the usual sheath dress (‘fourreau’) of the era. I think this conclusion is borne out by the garments and text shown in the illustration marked “Plate 3” further on.

Compare the 1785 ensemble above to this 1787 ‘fourreau’ dress (which I’ll discuss in more detail later). Aside from the “faux” double skirt, the construction is virtually the same, including the ruffle- embellished pointed bottom of the bodice front:

My notes on Plate 2 (the 1919 ball gown): Translation of caption: “Ball gown for young woman or middle- aged woman. ‘Fourreau’ of matte satin, fringed with pearls [pearl beads]. Draped tunic, corsage [bodice] and train of brocade.” The 1919 ‘fourreau’ is a sort of underdress in sheath form, a filler or completer, in the same sense in which the 18th century term was used. As mentioned earlier, I believe the word ‘fourreau’ was borrowed by 20th century designers with direct reference to the 18th century, since other 18th century fashion terms such as ‘panier’ and ‘fichu’ were in frequent use between 1912 and the early 1920’s.

The fashion plate shown on the next page (of the green and white 18th century ensemble), supports the premise that an 18th century ‘fourreau’ in this context was the simple dress or frock which formed the basis of the costume. What we are seeing is either a caraco jacket with a very long back train, somewhat like a redingote, over a complete ‘fourreau’ dress in white, with a separate apron worn at front, or possibly one of the “fausses robes” (the ‘trompe l’oeil’ dresses, which I’ll be discussing later). This style seems very similar to what is described in this 18th century French text (from ‘Magasin des Modes’, 1786):

My translation: “It is today’s biggest fashion, especially for morning promenades when the weather is fine, these ‘fourreaux’*, these ‘robes à l’anglaise, and the long caracos of solid white lawn, with a matching petticoat, and a white petticoat underneath. […]”. [The rest is not relevant to this topic] *The use and meaning of the word ‘fourreau’ in 18th century French fashion will be more fully discussed later in this paper. In the case of the fashion plate which follows, the “long caraco” might be the green garment, or – as mentioned above – possibly a ‘fausse robe’, i.e. part of the ‘fourreau’ itself, with ruffled front edges resembling a true gown. Admittedly it’s a little difficult to tell precisely which is being portrayed in this sketch, and the text unfortunately doesn’t clarify the matter

Plate 3: 18th Century [Galerie des Modes, 1786] Plate 4: 20th Century [La Mode Illustrée, 1919]

There was, as I pointed out earlier, a mixing of meaning in the use of the French word ‘fourreau’ in both of these 18th century examples, since it functions not only as a completer or liner (in the first stream sense), but accords with the usage in French of ‘fourreau’ as a less than formal costume that fits closely to the body (the second stream sense). As I’ll show further on, a ‘fourreau’ could be a “costume completer” as a transparent or diaphanous overdress as well!

My translation of relevant portion of Plate 3 (18th C.): “She is dressed in a carraco [stet] and ‘fourreau’ of taffeta.” The meaning here again is of a sort of “completer” of a costume. The ruffled ends of the long sleeves of the ‘fourreau’ can just be seen beyond the green jacket sleeves. The apron is wide enough to mask the ‘fourreau’ at the front. In other words, this is a 3-layer costume: taffeta ‘fourreau’ (possibly in the form of a 2-tone ‘fausse robe’); long green caraco; and fancy apron (probably also taffeta). [I have to note in passing how interesting and unexpected those outside pockets are! They may have been intended to draw attention, making the viewer see an apron over a true gown]. A propos of the same topic, the German costume historian, Carl Köhler7 mentions the following: 23

“About 1780 it became the fashion to put on over the elegant costume worn indoors and outdoors – this including the short over-dress* known as ‘fourreau’ – a tablier (pinafore or apron). This was of some fine white material, and was trimmed all round with a broad frill called falbala (flounce, or furbelow). These tabliers were as a rule very wide, and almost as long as the dress. They had two large pockets sewn on. The fashion lasted only a few years.” *[My note: In the original German, “over-dress” would have been “Über-Rock”, which in the German is understood as a dress put on over the head, not necessarily a dress placed over another. As we have seen however, the ‘fourreaux’ also existed as diaphanous over-dresses, although I do not think that is the case in this particular fashion sketch.]

This description is so detailed, it might even be imagined he was looking at the dress shown in Plate 3 above, with its wide apron adorned with big pockets! This statement by Köhler, based on what must have been good research (he was a professional costume historian), helps to bolster the idea that the ‘fourreau’ was worn as an integral part of such day costumes, at least for a short period during this era. Indeed below is yet another ‘fourreau’ worn with a fancy apron, but with a short caraco jacket, from Galerie des Modes, 1787. Here I think it’s easy to clearly see the separate garments and the outline of the ‘fourreau’ itself:

The 1919 ball gown shown in Plate 4 has a ‘fourreau’ in a similar vein to that of Plate 2: a pretty, slightly embellished under-dress of satin, which follows the body’s form fairly closely and is intended to be part of the visible ensemble.

My notes on Plate 4 (20th C. gown): Translation of caption: “Ball gown for young lady or young woman. ‘Fourreau’ of supple satin embroidered with pearls; tulle bodice and tunic. Garland of small roses.”

[I would point out that in French fashion of this era (ca. 1919), the satin ‘fourreau’ here would not be called a lining (‘doublure’). It is both too visible and too embellished for that designation.]

Can we distinguish the late 18th century ‘fourreau’ of this type (in the sense of a completing dress) from a proper 18th century gown with a separate ‘jupon’ (petticoat) by simply looking at fashion plates – that is, without help from an 18th century text describing the differences in construction? Probably not at our distance in time. For example, there may be difficulty in seeing, from the illustrations alone, a significant difference in construction between the 18th century ‘fourreaux’ dresses shown above and the gown with ‘jupon’ shown below (from Magasin des Modes, 1786-89).

The descriptive text reads: 25

Translating the relevant section only (marked in red): “The gown shown in this plate is cut à la Turque*. It is in white lawn, trimmed with the finest English lace. The ‘jupon’ [the petticoat], made of the same lawn, but over a blue transparent**, is embellished with three wide furbelows (‘falbalas’) of lace, the same as that on the gown.” *à la Turque – One of the many different types of gowns of the late 18th century which were given names associated with various historical or social events or persons of the era; in this case, the fashion for things from the near-orient, influenced by Mozart’s opera featuring Turkish-style costume and dance, amongst other works.

**’Un transparent’ –A ‘transparent’ was an under-layer of costume, the colour of which was intended to show through an outer layer. The outer layer is by definition a diaphanous or translucent fabric, such as lawn, lace, net, batiste, fine transparent linen or silk, etc. In other words, the ‘transparent’ was the thing showing through, not the transparent layer on top – a reversal of the usual logic! By extension, the verb ‘transparenté(e)’, meant a garment (most often a skirt) constructed in such a way. This term (and concept) was also widely used in early 20th century dresses in exactly the same sense.

The reader may be interested to know that the French text also explains that, had this gown been in pink, violet or lilac striped silk, rather than lawn, it would have been appropriate for a wedding gown.

Nonetheless, we do have in Plates 1 and 3 shown earlier at least two 18th century examples of the word ‘fourreau’ being used to refer to garments in the first stream meaning of the word as a filler or completer, coupled with the concept of a sheath dress in the second stream meaning. The adoption of this idea in the early 20th century by French designers lends weight to this interpretation, as the following fashion sketch shows (from an issue of La Mode Pratique of 1904). See the following page for the translation: 26

My translation of the descriptive text: “Fig. 10 (Pattern by measurements, 3 francs). – Evening gown for young women: ‘fourreau’ of black silk gauze over a “transparent”* of taffeta, with medallions in black Chantilly lace on gold fabric [likely chiffon]; Front panel (‘tablier’), bolero and upper sleeves (‘plaques’) in the same lace on gold fabric; shoulder straps in black velvet; Jewish-style sleeves in grey Venice lace; silk fringe along lower edge of bolero.” *See my earlier explanation regarding the use of the word “transparent” in French fashion.

In other words, the “black silk gauze” ‘fourreau’ here is the outer layer of the gown proper, a rich material meant to be seen and on display. Clearly the meaning of ‘fourreau’ here is similar to the 1919 and 18th century examples above, that is, a fairly simply-cut base or completer garment that nevertheless forms an integral or visible part of an ensemble, but more elaborate (and of a finer textile) than a mere lining.

(6) The ‘Fourreau’ for Children and Women after the Late 1770’s I’ve shown one use of the word ‘fourreau’ in late 18th century dress as being a completer-like garment or filler for a costume, especially under a short jacket (caraco). But this type of example appears less frequently in the contemporary 18th century sources than other instances where the word ‘fourreau’ occurs. In this Section (6), I’d like to deal with these more common late 18th century usages of the term ‘fourreau’. 27

These are the usages which seem to cause most of the confusion and debate on this subject, that is: ‘un fourreau’ (or simply ‘fourreau’) as applied to a certain type of woman’s undress, and the problematic ‘en fourreau’. These phrases are grammatically distinct, which is essential in understanding their use. I’ll explain this point further on. I maintain that these two 18th century usages (‘un fourreau’ or ‘en fourreau’), referring to a type of woman’s undress, follow the second stream of meaning, that is, by metaphoric extension from the concept of a fitted covering, a blade in a close-fitting sheath, etc., rather than a liner, filler, or completer of a costume as discussed earlier (in Section (5)). This meaning of a sheath is also the sense in which the word ‘fourreau’ was used in later centuries (sheath gowns).

(i) ‘Fourreau’ (Women’s & Girl’s Dress -- Late 1770’s to late 1880’s): The French ‘un fourreau’ is usually translated as “a sheath” or “a sheath dress” (the word ‘un’ is a pronoun meaning “a/an”). In this usage, ‘fourreau’ is a noun. One could also perhaps think of ‘fourreau’ in the English language meaning of “frock” as a simple, dress-like garment, but the problem with this word is that it doesn’t clearly convey the French metaphoric sense of something close-fitting to the body. As noted previously, the name ‘fourreau’ was in use earlier than the 1780’s, referring to a type of simple jacket-overdress for little boys. I’ve described in detail from the 1769 French texts the model for this garment and its construction. There are a fair number of fashion plates of the 1780’s showing a type of little girl’s dress or frock, to which the word ‘fourreau’ is applied. As I’ve mentioned, I believe that word became transferred in concept from the boy’s ‘fourreau’, meaning a simple, close-fitting, sheath-like garment that fit over something else (in that case the back-lacing ‘corps’ or foundation garment), into a general name for the similar little girls’ dresses, whether back-closing or not. I’ll include a few examples below.

Incidentally, keep some of the translated descriptions connected with these illustrations of little girls in mind when looking at the fashion plates of women’s dresses later on.

The illustration above is from Galerie des Modes, 1780. My translation of the caption: “The little girl seen facing forward is dressed in a ‘Fourreau’ of taffeta trimmed with gauze; she has a gauze apron. Her ‘Fourreau’ is made in the English style (à l’anglaise).” “Henry IV style hat. The other little girl has on a ‘Fourreau” of burat*, pulled up Polonaise-style (retrousée à la Polonaise).” [My note: since this plate is dated 1780, the “English style” may refer to a tightly-fitted bodice, as opposed to the earlier little girls’ fourreaux which were rather less structured, or may refer to the even hem length all around. Unfortunately this is not explained in the text.] * I’m not clear as to exactly what textile “burat” is in this context. It appears the smaller girl is wearing a matching petticoat (actually an under-petticoat), the skirt of the dress itself being drawn up à la Polonaise, but there are no other details in the text. Even the first little girl’s doll wears a ‘fourreau’ virtually identical to her own. Another plate, on the next page, shows a little girl in a ‘fourreau’ that appears not to be fastened at back. As I’ll discuss later on, I do not believe that the concept of ‘fourreau’ in 18th century French meant necessarily or exclusively a back-fastening dress.

My translation of the caption: “Children’s outfits in the “new style [new taste]”. The text (shown next page) accompanying this plate is important in its clarification of the construction of these dresses. I’ve translated the relevant portions (my own emphasis in bold), as follows:

“Fifth Figure [Plate] -- Children’s Fourreaux. This illustration shows two little girls, in modern outfits; the first, seen from the front, is dressed in a solid-coloured ‘fourreau’ [the frock/sheath dress in blue], trimmed with sabots* and a lawn flounce**, with a puffed edging in filet lace, gathered at places, serving as a neckline trim; a straw casque-style [i.e. bucket-shaped] hat on her head. The other girl is wearing a ‘fourreau’ pulled up in Polonaise fashion, in such as way as to reveal the furbelow-decorated [under]skirt***. She is wearing a Hungarian-style hat [etc.]. People have had the notion, on the pretext of making these outfits more graceful, to fasten them only at the front; but is it to be hoped that this idea will not catch on; One must – in effect – dislocate the child so to speak in order to dress them in such ‘fourreaux’, as a result of which accidents could occur. […]”

*Sabots were the flat, applied cuff-like additions to the bottoms of sleeves, usually embellished with frills or furbelows (as in this drawing). The word sabot usually referred to wooden shoes. What the connection was is unclear, unless the allusion was to a flat shape like a rather flat wooden shoe, rather than flounced cuffs like a fancy high-heeled shoe. **The blue dress on the girl facing forward has a white lawn flounce; the dress on the girl facing away is worn over an underskirt, i.e. the ‘fourreau’ in this case is almost a sort of polonaise gown, but with a closed skirt at front (this can just be seen at the edge of the figure). ***The ‘jupe’ referred to is clearly an underskirt (the white portion in the drawing), longer than, and showing below the ‘fourreau’ itself, another variant of the ‘fourreau’ concept.

So here we have a clear 18th century explanation for why some of these little girls’ gowns were fastened at front – to make children look more fashionable! And for good measure the 18th century author adds a remonstrance to parents to stick to back-fastening for safety reasons. I have little doubt that the “dislocation” of the child that is mentioned is referring to the child being the “wrong way round” in the dress, i.e. not being positioned in a way that would allow a safety cord or tie to be held by the adult from the back (see the plate further on of the young “sister” walking her little brother this way). Such “leading-strings” attached to children, either fancy ribbon or otherwise, were common in the 18th century, even for children older than toddlers. There are several other fashion plates in the Galerie des Modes of 1778 through 1780 showing girls in similar, closed, one-piece dresses, mostly back-fastening. I think we can accept the French costume historian, François Boucher’s, opinion (see quote further on) that these dresses were -- at least conceptually -- the prototype for the women’s eponymous fashion. The women’s fashion of the 1780’s referred to as ‘fourreau’ was both a development from the child’s dress and from the increasing desire for simpler, lighter, less constricting costume. In the spectrum of women’s dress of the era, the appearance of the ‘fourreau’ falls about halfway between the tight, stiff, boned gowns of the first three quarters of the 18th century to the near- nudity of the neo-classical era ca. 1800-10. In any case, it seems from fashion texts and plates of 31

the period that the adult ‘fourreau’ – at least initially – was understood as a dress with a closed skirt, close-fitting but less constrictive bodice than typical gowns, back-lacing, and typically worn with a large coloured sash. But perhaps we should avoid being too rigid in attempting to define these fashions. There appears from the various plates and texts to have been some diffusion of meaning in the 18th century French fashion mind, in the sense that a ‘fourreau’ was not only a close-fitting sheath which revealed the body in ways a full gown with petticoat and stomacher didn’t, but also something that was not quite full dress, i.e. a filler, under-dress or lining in the original sense of fôdr. This blurring of the lines of meaning between two distinct but related uses of a word, like two colours blending slightly on a palette, is not an unusual linguistic phenomenon. 18th century paintings and fashion plates depict ‘fourreaux’ in what seems to be varying fit from the late 1770’s to late 1780’s. Some types are indeed quite close-fitting through the upper body, despite being “undress”, some are less so, and closer in concept to the later “chemise”-like dresses. Nonetheless, it is clear that this type of informal, semi-undress did evolve into the ‘chemise de la reine’ type, the light, unstructured, chemise-like dress attributed to Marie Antoinette, by the late 1780’s often simply pulled over the head and worn with a waist sash. In the preface to the 13th issue (“Treizième Cahier”), May 15, 1786, of the Cabinet des Modes, the author describes, with a perceptible tone of alarm (or is it excitement?), these changing fashions:

“On pourroit avancer, sans craindre d’être contredit, qu’il n’est plus guère d’usage aujourd’hui pour les Femmes, de porter des Robes de grande Parure, non plus que pour les Hommes de porter des Habits à la Françoise, avec le chapeau sous le bras, & l’épée au côté. On ne fait plus ces Toilettes que pour les Assemblées d’apparat, telles que les Assemblées de Noces, les Bals parés, les grands Repas, & autres pareilles, qui sont en très-petit nombre. […] Tout est changé: les Femmes ne sont plus, coëffées en cheveux; elles portent des Chapeaux ou des Bonnets. Leur gorge & leur col ne sont plus découverts. Plus de cul postiche; à peine portent-elles de petits coudes aux poches pour donner une certaine ampleur. Toutes s’appliquent aujourd’hui à avoir une taille svelte & déliée. […]”

My translation: “One could suggest, without fear of contradiction, that there is hardly any occasion today for women to wear grand formal gowns (‘Robes de grande Parure’), nor for men to wear formal French habits*, with hat carried under the arm and sword at the side. These toilettes (costumes) are no longer made save for ceremonial occasions, weddings, fancy balls, grand [formal] dinners, and other occasions which are very limited in number. […] Everything has changed: women no longer wear their hair dressed with embellishment, they wear hats or bonnets. Their bosoms and necks are no longer uncovered. No more cul postiche [false bum or bum roll], they barely wear little pads in pockets in order to provide a bit of width [to skirts at the hips]. Every woman endeavours these days to achieve a svelte and lithe shape.” *Habits were the formal French style of men’s suit throughout much of the first three quarters of the 18th century. 32

Below is another commentary on the changing fashions, from Cabinet des Modes of 1786. Is this nostalgia or approbation? It’s difficult to tell, although this text gives us an insight into what was worn underneath the new gowns:

My translation: “All women today endeavour to have a svelte and lithe appearance. The only thing that has been retained of the former costume is the corps (i.e. foundation or stays) to reduce the waist, and rich gown embellishment.”

Alas, everything is swept away! The final expressions of this freeing of costume, as we know, were the diaphanous neo-classical fashions of the end of the century that were ultimately considered appropriate even for balls and soirées. A fashion that started out as rather sloppy (‘indolante’) undress ended up as formal dress. To sum up this section of the discussion, the important point is that the word ‘fourreau’ could apply to at least three forms of costume by 1780, all linguistically related: the girl’s frock (and perhaps still the boy’s ‘fourreau’), the woman’s sheath or frock dress worn on its own, and a sheath “filler” or completer of a costume, as in the examples given above. In his book 20,000 Years of Fashion8, François Boucher describes the ‘fourreau’ that appeared around 1781, as “a gown cut in one piece, with a lightly-boned, back-lacing bodice and a closed skirt. This model had already been worn by children since the middle of the century […]”. Here is his further description of this type of woman’s gown. Keep in mind that this is a translation from the English version of Boucher’s book – the word “Sheath” would have been ‘Fourreau’ in the French:

Here I want to add that, based on what we’ve seen in the Garsault volume about the construction of children’s dress, it seems – around 1769 – that it was the boy’s coat which was referred to as a ‘fourreau’, not the girl’s dress. As I mentioned earlier, it’s likely that little girls’ dresses later came to be called ‘fourreau’ (by the 1780’s) because of their general association as a child’s garment, and that the adult dress was given the name ‘fourreau’ in reference to little girls’ dresses. The end result is the same, but the starting point was slightly different (or at least more complicated) than Boucher states. 33

Boucher includes examples of the woman’s ‘fourreau’ in his book (see below), although I must admit I find it hard to see the details in these paintings enough to discern any specifics of construction. I’ll take his word that they do indeed show examples of a woman’s back-closing “undress-type” of gown called a ‘fourreau’. The commonalities are: the one-piece construction with closed skirt, the sash, the simple, body-skimming fit of the bodice, and the back-fastening. (As an aside, the young girl in the colour painting below also appears to be wearing a ‘fourreau’, with a sash that is looped criss-cross around the torso and tied at back.) Boucher does not mention 18th century dresses that are ‘en fourreau’ (in fourreau form), but this isn’t surprising. As I’ll explain later, the term ‘en fourreau’ in the 18th century was not a specific garment, but a way of attaching a descriptor to various garments that looked a certain way or evoked a certain image.

In the painting reproduced in colour at right above, the dress worn by the woman at the far left of the tableau is clearly getting very close to the ‘chemise de la reine’, more so than the ‘fourreau’ below, which is from a few years earlier (1784, Galerie des Modes). In the following examples, I’ve translated the salient portions of the captions and/or texts.

My translation of the caption:

“Young lady in indolent undress (‘negligée’), wearing a simple ‘Fourreau d’Agnes’*, sleeve in amadis style [likely refers to the cut], triple fichu, etc. […]” Below is the French text that referred to this illustration: 35

[Aside from giving the name of this gown in the title (“Fourreau d’Agnès”), the rest of the text says nothing about the dress itself; it describes how the new sport of hot air ballooning has influenced hats and coiffures.]

*The name Agnès here may derive by association with the character of Agnes, in L’école des Femmes, a comedy by Molière (1622-1673), although there were other famous women of history named Agnès, including a daughter of Louis XII and a Roman martyr of the 4th century. It’s impossible to know for certain. The name is related to the French word for lamb, ‘agneau’ and by extension, ‘L’agneau de Dieu’ (Jesus Christ).

Another example, from Magasin des Modes, 1786:

Here we at least have a detailed description, and – perhaps even more importantly – an explanation of the appropriate use of such a dress (the French text follows my translation):

“The young lady is dressed in a ‘fourreau’ of solid white lawn, the sleeves of which are made ‘en sabot’ (the flat, ruched cuffs) of the same lawn. Under this ‘fourreau’, a petticoat (‘jupon’) of white taffeta. The biggest fashion today, especially for a morning promenade when the weather is very fine, is that of ‘les fourreaux’, that of the English gowns (‘robes à l’Angloise’ [Anglaise]), and that of long jackets (‘caracos’) of solid white lawn, with a matching petticoat (‘jupon’), and a white petticoat [i.e. an under-petticoat] underneath. No more of those blue, pink, violet, etc. ‘transparents’* which we used to wear under white muslin, gauze, or lawn petticoats.” *transparents – See my earlier explanation of this French fashion term.

This is a wonderful amount of 18th century fashion information packed into two paragraphs! What this text is telling us is that by 1786, fashionable young women must be dressed in all white, no more of the old colour layering (‘transparents’). It also confirms that the proper occasion for such ‘fourreaux’ dresses was informal morning promenades, and that caraco jackets with petticoats (all in white), or English gowns, were just as fashionable for this use. The only point that may seem unclear in the French description is whether the “jupon” (petticoat) said to be worn underneath the ‘fourreau’ meant that the dress itself did not have a closed skirt, but an open gown with a visible petticoat. However I doubt this is the correct interpretation, since the description in the next paragraph of the same text is a caraco jacket with a matching lawn petticoat, and a white under-petticoat (‘…et un jupon blanc dessous’…). Accordingly, I am certain the text above is describing a white taffeta under-petticoat being worn underneath the white lawn ‘fourreau’ dress. This would make fashionable sense at the time (partly for the sake of modesty under a translucent lawn dress, and partly to give the clinging lawn dress some 37

loft and shape. It also makes linguistic sense within the meaning of the text. In addition, the fashion plate itself appears to clearly show a completely closed robe, which would be consistent with the idea of an (unseen) taffeta petticoat worn underneath.

Below is part of a fashion plate (I’ve cropped off the irrelevant portion), showing a little girl’s dress, which I think helps to further explain what 18th century French fashion considered a ‘fourreau’, that is, a simple sheath of some kind that skims the body closely (as a sword in a scabbard – i.e. the second stream of meaning). This plate is from Cabinet des Modes, 1786 (Feb. 1). Look very closely at this illustration. A detail I had missed at first glance was that the ‘fourreau’ here refers to an outer sheath, i.e. a transparent over-dress. This had puzzled me initially, since the description referred to the girl wearing a corset and jupon [a bodice with a separate petticoat], which makes no sense at all in terms of a one-piece, back-fastening ‘fourreau’. I’m glad I looked again! It is an over-dress, or transparent sheath, worn over the coloured taffeta 2-piece gown. See if you can see this transparent over-dress, just visible at the wrists, below the end of the pink bodice sleeve underneath and along the lower sleeve area. I’ve circled where it is most noticeable. Now that I’ve seen this, the French description makes perfect sense. I’ll translate the accompanying text first, so you can then compare it to the drawing:

“The second child is a young girl holding a rose in her hand. She has only a band of blue ribbon for a coiffure. Chemise trimmed like a collerette*. Corset [refers to the sleeved bodice] and petticoat of pink taffeta, and over this a white muslin ‘fourreau’, bordered at bottom by two blue ribbons. Belt [sash] of black ribbon; silver buckle.”

*A collerette is a flounced or frilled little cape-like or collar-like accessory, here referring to the white flounce around the neckline

I think we’re getting the impression that a ‘fourreau’, in this second stream meaning, is a somewhat elastic term within the general parameters of a closed, usually back-fastening sheath or frock, considered “undress”, with a close-fitting but less rigid bodice than earlier gowns. As I will show, the woman’s ‘fourreau’ borrowed from the child’s dress followed the same type: a simple yet versatile and easy garment for the era. Let’s move on to some 18th century plates that seem to show “hybrids” of this sort of woman’s dress. It’s clear, judging from the following texts and plates of the era, that a ‘fourreau’ could be made in a number of variations. This text is from Galerie des Modes, 1785 (47th volume, 3rd figure). I haven’t included the colour plate of the Pelisse referred to as it’s irrelevant to this topic (aside from being a pelisse fourrée!), but the text accompanying it is certainly germane (I’ve translated the salient portion, marked in red):

My translation :

“Women’s current costumes in Paris – Gowns and ‘fourreaux’ à l’Anglaise, à la Turque, à la Janséniste, à la Circassienne, are still in fashion. When a lady is wearing a green ‘fourreau’ à la Levite, she’ll wear a high straw hat embellished with a violet ribbon, tied with a cockade, the two ends of the ribbon hanging loose by two or three inches.” 39

What I find most interesting about this passage is that it confirms that women in Paris in 1785 were wearing variations on the theme of a gown (robe with a visible petticoat) as well as variations of the ‘fourreau’ dress. The actual names (i.e. ‘à la-this-or-that’) apply to more or less small differences in the cut and design that designated one from the other. But the important idea is that both ‘fourreaux’ and ‘robes’ – meaning both undress and more formal gowns – were being created, and were fashionable in any of these styles. Even more to the point, the ‘fourreau’ could be a ‘fourreau à l’Anglaise’. (Incidentally, you might be wondering why the “e” was dropped in the French description (‘Anglais’ rather than ‘Anglaise’), this was either a spelling variant or – more likely -- the writer made an error, trying to make what he thought was an adjective agree with the two (mixed gender) nouns, normally the correct procedure.) Indeed, here is the thing itself – referred to as a ‘fourreau à l’Anglaise’, a fashion plate from 1787, Galerie des Modes: The caption reads: “The beautiful Sophie, waiting for her “gallant” (gentleman friend). She is wearing a ‘fourreau à l’Anglaise’ &…” (The rest seems to be missing, perhaps a description of the bright blue sash).

I’m hard pressed to see the difference between this dress and the light green ‘fourreau’ of 1784 pictured earlier, but we have to assume that the French saw the distinction enough to call this one “English style”. It’s unfortunate that we can’t see better detail of the construction. The text accompanying this plate of 1787 reads: 40

My translation:

“Fourreau à l’Anglaise – Apart from all the robes [in this sense, gowns, i.e. gown plus visible petticoat] which ladies wear, they continue to dress in very long ‘fourreaux’. It’s no longer allowed [i.e. no longer fashionable] to make them of silk materials, or of coloured linen, as previously; one can only make them of white lawn or plain white muslin, even though those made of muslin are still rare. One does sometimes dare to wear them [the ‘fourreaux’] over pink, blue, green or violet ‘transparents’*; but the best, and the most fashionable way is to wear them without ‘transparents’*.” *See my earlier explanation of this term

Aha! This reference to ‘transparents’ is exactly the description of a fine muslin ‘fourreau’ worn by the little girl over a pink taffeta gown body and petticoat shown in the 1786 plate I included earlier. This whole French text seems a confirmation that the women’s ‘fourreau’ fashion, in its various forms, colours and fabrics, was a direct borrowing from the little girls’ dresses (and/or overdresses) of the same name, as Boucher claims. Except that – as the 18th century text above makes clear – coloured layering was by this point (1787) not quite so à la mode as plain white muslin or lawn. Further, I believe the designation of this garment as an “English-style” ‘fourreau’ may be connected with the fact that the skirt portion is not trained, i.e. floor length evenly all around the hem. This connection will be clearer from an 18th century text I’ll be translating further on. I have found validation on the construction and use of women’s ‘fourreaux’ from another contemporary source. In her journal9 covering the period before and after the French Revolution, Henriette-Lucie Dillon (later Marquise de la Tour du Pin) describes what she wore when she was taken in the late morning to visit her future husband, just after he had signed the “articles” of proposed marriage. This was in the spring of 1787, when she was 17 years old:

“My toilette was very simple. I had requested my grandmother to let me order it myself. At that time the gowns which were worn were laced behind and plainly indicated the figure. They were therefore called “sheaths” (fourreaux). My robe was of white gauze, without any ornaments, with a sash of dark blue ribbon with fringed ends of brilliant English silk.”

Her description of the ‘fourreau’ gives us the sense that the contemporary view of this sort of dress was that it was more revealing of the female body in a way that the older gowns were not. Incidentally, since these memoirs were translated from the French, the word ‘fourreaux’ shown in brackets in this excerpt 41

would have been the actual word used by Henriette. The word “robe” in English was the choice of the translator of the book, who may not have appreciated the fashion difference between “robe” and “dress” in this context; I would have used the latter word here. We can imagine Henriette in precisely the sort of ‘fourreau’ shown above, or the one below, also a fashion plate from 1787 (Galerie des Modes, 57th vol. 2nd fig.). The caption reads [my translation]:

“Lady of distinction in a morning ‘fourreau’ with a sash of brocaded gauze; she is wearing a ‘chapeau gallant’ [large wide-brimmed hat], [etc.]”

The text (shown below) which refers to the above plate is virtually the same as the earlier description of the white ‘fourreau’ with blue sash. I haven’t translated it, as it repeats the one quoted earlier, making the same points about ‘fourreaux’ being long and the ‘transparents’ falling out of fashion. 42

On the subject mentioned in the text of the earlier plate, i.e., silk dresses being completely ‘démodées’ by 1787, we have corroboration from Mlle Dillon as well (from the same memoir). She writes the following in May, 1787: “Inside the vast wardrobes [i.e. the large pieces of furniture holding garments] had been brought together the fine trousseau which my grandmother had given me, the price of which exceeded 45,000 francs. It was composed of linens, laces, and muslin dresses. There was not a single silk dress. […]” Henriette and her family were in the front lines of French society at the time and well connected to the court of Louis XVI and Marie Antoinette, so her remarks on her grandmother’s clothing choices for her can, I think, be relied upon to accurately reflect the best fashions of the time.

On the following page is another ‘fourreau’, which is deemed ‘élégant’, from 1786 (Galerie des Modes, 63rd vol, 3rd fig.). The evolution toward the ‘chemise de la reine’ can again be clearly seen. In this 1786 model there seems to be a design attempt to make an “undress” garment appear somewhat like a traditional “gown” (gown plus petticoat), with the different colour on the bodice and sleeves and – a clever trompe l’oeil ruse – the horizontal striped trim on the sleeves (the older gowns had always had sleeves cut with the pattern running crosswise). The caption reads (my translation):

“The good little [not referring to age] sister walks her little brother [referring to age]. She is wearing a hat à la Sicilienne [“Sicilian-style”] and dressed in an elegant fourreau.” Although the caption doesn’t explicitly say so, I deduce that this particular style of ‘fourreau’ was seen as “elegant” in comparison to other undress ‘fourreaux’ for the reasons I mentioned above. The fashion eye sees what it has been trained to see and what it is accustomed to recognizing, and an 18th century observer might be fooled at a casual glance into seeing a more elegant “gown” than an undress ‘fourreau’. 43

The text accompanying this fashion plate (see below) discusses the subject of young mothers’ attempts to remain stylish, and is not relevant to the topic at hand, so I haven’t translated it. But, as can be seen, the fashion plate is entitled a ‘Fourreau Élégant’.

Another example of one of the variations on the theme is this ‘fourreau à la Lévite’ (from Cabinet des Modes, 1785, 1st vol., 1st fig.):

My translation of the text (relevant parts of the text only, marked in red on the image following):

“First Plate – represents a woman in a green ‘fourreau à la Lévite’, a high straw hat trimmed with a violet ribbon, with a bow or cockade […]. Gowns and ‘fourreaux’ à l’Anglaise, à la Turque, à la Janséniste, à la Circassienne, remain in fashion.” This statement about the various types or variations of both gowns and ‘fourreaux’ is the same sort of comment which appears elsewhere. The author then superciliously reminds the reader of the gravitas of this publication’s fashion pronouncements in the note marked (1) at bottom, guaranteed to generate a smile when read over 230 years later:

“[1] We point out to Mesdames our subscribers that in all the descriptions, the words in italics will always represent technical terms.” 45

What particularly distinguishes this as a “Levite-style” fourreau is hard to say – it may have been something as simple as the angle of the cut of the bodice where it joined the skirt. It’s impossible to see details under the black mantelet worn by the model in this illustration. It’s more likely this may be a ‘fourreau’ cut with the skirt in a different coloured section front and back, to appear like a true Levite gown – the ‘trompe l’oeil’ types (see my comments further on in this regard). Unfortunately, without specific contemporary information, we cannot know for certain. As an aside, the text mentions that the “very newest” ribbons (‘rubans les plus frais’), that is, the most fashionable, are: Canary-tail (soft sulfur-yellow); Ribbons striped in yellow, deep green and church violet; Ribbons striped in deep green, and church violet. (‘Violet d’Évêque is the rich violet-purple colour worn by bishops). 46

Also of interest is the statement under the heading ‘Gazes’ (Gauze fabrics), listing several types of fashionable gauze, and adding: “Despite the winter, many women still dress in white, that is to say, in a dress of muslin.” (“Mousseline” here is not the coarse, unfinished cotton muslin we may think of today for use in draping dress designs, but the very fine, almost sheer type).

Next is a fashion plate (from Cabinet des Modes, 3rd vol., 3rd fig.), described as a ‘fourreau à l’anglaise’ (a “fourreau in the English style”). This garment name doubtless referred to some aspect of design or construction that made this particular ‘fourreau’ seem to be “English style” to 18th century French eyes, a rationale that is now murky nearly 250 years later. One reasonable deduction might be that, unlike the other ‘fourreaux’ shown here, it has a floor-length hem all around, like the earlier English gowns, rather than the typical train of the ‘fourreaux’. This possibility is supported by the earlier 18th century texts mentioning ‘fourreaux’ in general as being trained, and also the 18th century excerpt quoted further on describing what the French regarded as “true” English gowns, i.e. gowns with floor-length hems all around. The dress in the illustration below also has three-quarter length sleeves similar to English gowns. In fact, aside from the closed skirt, its general aspect is that of a typical English gown of the era. Whatever peculiarity it was that distinguished this style from the other types of ‘fourreaux’ to the fashionable French eye of the 1780’s is unclear, but it is not the same garment as a ‘robe à l’anglaise en fourreau’ (which I’ll deal with further on).

An ancillary, but very important point to appreciate, is that orthography was not standardized in the 18th century as it is now. Spelling (in both English and French) could be variable, and words were often capitalized which would not be capitalized today. Examples of the latter in 18th century French texts are gowns described as ‘à l’Anglaise’, ‘à la Turque’, etc.

This can cause digital translators like Google to read these expressions in the modern context or usage and assume they should be translated as “with/to/like the Englishwoman” or “with/to/in the style of the Turkish woman”. This is obviously incorrect. The proper translation is “English-style” or “Turkish-style”, etc. In modern French these would be ‘à l’anglaise’ and ‘à la turque’ (no capitalization).

Here I should also mention that in French, the “à la….” sort of expression presumes the word “mode” (meaning “fashion” or “style”). It is understood as part of the phrase, although not included. This is why the adjective in these expressions is always in the feminine gender, i.e. ‘robe à la française’, not ‘robe à la français’, (which would be grammatically all wrong in French anyway). In modern usage, the capitalization is more than a mere spelling detail – it changes the meaning. Capitalization would denote a person of that country in modern French, as in “une Anglaise”, “une Française”, “une Turque”. So, to use the phrase in modern written French, ‘robe à l’Anglaise’ (with a capitalized “A”) is incorrect, verging on nonsensical, meaning “gown like (or perhaps “to”) the Englishwoman”; whereas ‘robe à l’anglaise’ (lower case “a”) means “gown in the English style (or in the English fashion). This is precisely why Google Translate, assuming it is reading modern French, will have a problem getting the English translation right in such cases. Such an error can obviously change or confuse the meaning of the description of a garment shown in an 18th century fashion plate. I’ve translated the relevant portions of the text which accompanied the above fashion plate (these are marked in red on the image following):

“PLATE III – Shows a woman wearing a bonnet ‘à la Laitière*’ decorated with a deep green ribbon. Accommodage** with two buckles, with the chignon underneath. Flat, pendant earrings. Solid-coloured fichu of Italian gauze. A fourreau à l’anglaise with a collar, in “king’s-eye” blue colour, edged with a white Jannette-style*** ribbon. The fourreau is tied in front [bodice front] with a deep green ribbon.” *’à la Laitière’ – “Milk-maid style”: It was Marie-Antoinette who made the milk-maid image fashionable, drawn from the concept of her little faux peasant village at the Petit Trianon. **Accommodage –A sort of hair accessory. ***Jannette style – Another of the multitude of 18th C. French descriptions with metaphoric significance whose precise meaning is now rather murky. 48

There have been mistranslations of this text arising out of misunderstandings of the French grammar. First, the capitalized à l’Anglaise is sometimes incorrectly translated as “like an Englishwoman”, rather than “English-style” (see my comments on this above). Further, the phrase: “Fourreau à collet, à l’Anglaise, […]” does not mean “Collared fourreau, like an Englishwoman […]”, as translated elsewhere. The noun ‘fourreau’ and adverbial phrase ‘à l’Anglaise’ are in apposition, separated by the comma after “à collet” (i.e. ‘à l’anglaise’ applies to and modifies the noun ‘fourreau’).

Had the comma not been where it is, the meaning would have been unclear – “Fourreau à collet à l’Anglaise” would have been understood by a French reader as “Fourreau with an English-style collar”. The meaning in French is created by the commas being where they are in this 18th century text. It is a ‘fourreau à l’anglaise’ with a collar. In any event, the italicized words ‘à l’Anglaise’ themselves would signal this designation as a recognized or “technical” term for this style of dress (as pointed out by the 18th century French authors of these texts – see my earlier note in this regard). Additionally, I should mention that the French ‘gros-vert’ is not “grosgrain” as often mistranslated, but “deep green” in English (or perhaps more literally, “full green”). Similarly, ‘gros-bleu’ is “deep blue”, and so on. (To be clear, the English word “grosgrain” is ‘gros-grain’ in French.) Referring to fourreaux as “very long” (as we’ve seen in some of the 18th century French texts) was likely in comparison to the fashions of a few years prior, such as the costume below. Most of the ‘fourreaux’ of ca. 1778-86 shown in the French plates did in fact have a demi-train (‘queue simple’), or in some cases a longer train (‘queue traînante’). The following plate is earlier, from 1778, and by contrast the lady’s gown 49

is barely above ankle length. Note that this is a true gown with matching petticoat; not a fourreau dress (from Galerie des Modes, 1778, 8th vol., 3rd fig.):

The little girl is however stated to be dressed in a ‘fourreau’. This again suggests that Boucher and others, who trace the origin of the woman’s ‘fourreau’ dress from the girl’s style from after 1780 are likely correct. The text reads:

My translation (relevant portions):

“Third Figure – Bourgeois lady strolling with her daughter; she is dressed in a little robe [gown] of matching pieces [‘unie’ refers to the fact that the gown and petticoat are of the same fabric], pulled up at the sides into the 50

ties. Two rows of pouf trim [on the robe]. Very high, straight-pleated bottom flounce [on the petticoat], scalloped at the top [i.e. scallops stamped with a tool] by a double-pouf band, as on the gown.

Mantelet [little top-coat] of black taffeta, trimmed with black gauze, cut away at the two sides to reveal the triple rows of lace at the [gown] sleeve ends, embellished with their bows.”

[The text describes the hairstyle, then continues]:

“The little girl is dressed in a ‘fourreau’ of burat [I’m unclear precisely what textile this is], trimmed with ribbons, with a demi-apron of striped gauze, and embellished all around [the skirt bottom] with ribbons, as well as on the pockets and apron bib.” [… The text then describes the hat, etc.] Below is one final example (from Galerie des Modes, 1787, 63rd vol., 5th fig.). This is a rare back view of a young girl’s ‘fourreau’. I’ve cropped the image to focus on the bodice back. Even though the lacings (or other fasteners) aren’t clear in this illustration, I take Boucher and other historians’ word that both the earlier girls’ dresses and the adult ‘fourreaux’ which evolved from them, were usually back-lacing. There indeed appears to be a centre back line visible in this image, suggestive of a closure. We also of course have Henriette Dillon’s confirmation about back-lacing, as well as the evidence from L’Art du Tailleur that children’s bodices (‘corps’) were back-laced, and the 18th century fashion text admonishment (quoted earlier) against front-lacing of girls’ ‘fourreaux’, all invaluable contemporary historical sources. The relevant part of the caption to this image reads:

“The young child (girl) is dressed in a gauze ‘fourreau’ with a scarf (sash) whose ends hang down at the back of the dress.” This appears to be a similar sort of sash arrangement worn by the young girl in the 1789 full-colour image of the painting by Mauzaise I included earlier, i.e. entwined or criss-crossed around the torso rather than straight around the waistline.

There are some intriguing details in the text which accompanies this plate. I’ve translated the relevant portion of the text here (the original French text follows):

“Gauze Fourreau -- The little girl is dressed in a robe of white lawn, the bodice and sleeves of which are of taffeta. This dress is tied with a long, wide sash; she wears a solid-white ‘jupon’ [petticoat] under the dress.” Since the title does indicate this is a fourreau, I think we can safely assume that the “robe” in the text is in fact a ‘fourreau’. Keep this in mind (i.e. that the word ‘robe’, used alone, and without a particular designation such as ‘à l’anglaise’, may simply be understood as a ‘fourreau’). This will become significant later when we look at women’s “trompe l’oeil” dresses.

The ‘jupon’ referred to in the above description is a petticoat worn underneath the ‘fourreau’ dress (…elle porte sous cette robe un jupon..]. This detail, as I’ve shown, comes up in fashion plates describing women’s ‘fourreau’ dresses as well.

In summary the, the key features that made the ‘fourreau’ dress of the late 18th century different from full dress (gown plus petticoat), were the closed skirt, the informal, “undress” connection of the garment to children’s dress, and significantly, as Henriette Dillon describes in the extract quoted earlier, the figure- revealing aspect. This latter point needs to be understood by comparison to the outward appearance of the formal 18th century gown-plus-petticoat (and often stomacher) that had been the proper, stiffly- layered type of full dress for nearly three-quarters of a century. In this respect, the ‘fourreau’ was only one step up from a dressing gown. As such, these ‘fourreau’ frocks were (at least initially) considered unfit as full dress, appropriate for mornings or at-home wear. Despite the fact that most, if not all, of these ‘fourreaux’ were back-closing, we should appreciate that the image brought to mind by the word ‘fourreau’ in 18th century French would not primarily nor immediately relate to a garment which fastens or laces at back. In other words, the back closure was incidental. The term ‘fourreau’ could just as easily have been used to designate a front-closing sheath dress of the “undress” type. Accordingly, although back closure was certainly a key feature of these dresses, in my opinion it is incorrect to primarily relate the 18th century fashion term ‘fourreau’ to a garment that closes at back. In that era, the word would have evoked, first and foremost, an association with the simple construction and lack of formality of the infantile garment, as well as the many “sheath-like” antecedents of the term ‘fourreau’. 52

The Lack of Surviving True Fourreaux: Unlike the ‘robe à l’anglaise’, numerous surviving examples of which exist in museums and collections, I cannot recall seeing an extant dress of the type described by Boucher and other fashion historians (as well as by Henriette Dillon) as a true ‘fourreau’. Being “négligées” dresses, rather than grand or elaborate gowns (or romantic novelties, like the “robe à la Turque”), it makes sense that they would appear in few paintings of the era, and may not have been preserved with care once their fashionable time expired. It would be of significance to fashion historians to see a surviving example turn up somewhere in the world’s collections. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~ I would like to add here that although consulting 18th century French/English dictionaries to search for explanations of meaning may be of some interest, such works were far less consistently or thoroughly edited than they are today. Often they were compiled by a single individual, and misinterpretations or errors were inevitable. In addition, and perhaps more importantly, entries can lack the sort of explanatory context which is usual in modern dictionaries. So while the following translations (from The New Pocket Dictionary of 1784) are of historical interest, overall it is much better to rely upon direct evidence in the French fashion illustrations and texts, rather than attempting to define French terms through the English, in what could be incomplete or erroneous translations. In other words, what the 18th century English understood by certain terms might not in fact be what the French themselves understood. Below, for interest, is the page from the aforementioned 1784 dictionary in which various usages of the French word ‘fourreau’ and its related derivatives are translated into English. These are: [my notes in square brackets]:

 Fourreau de robe – a frock  Fourreau de pistolet – bolster  -- de chaise – cover of a chair  Faux fourreau de pistolet – pistol bag  L’orge est en fourreau* – the barley is not yet eared  Fourrelier – scabbard-maker  Fourrer – va. [active verb, what linguists now would call a transitive verb] – to thrust in; to stuff with; fur [as a verb, meaning to add fur to a garment]  Se fourrer – vr. [reflexive verb] – to intrude one’s self;  Se bien fourrer – to clothe one’s self well [*Literally means “the barley is [still] in its sheath”, i.e. not fully matured.]

Many of these meanings have since gone out of use in French. However, I would point out that the author does not list ‘fourreau’ on its own as meaning a frock or dress, but refers to a ‘fourreau de robe’. This is significant, as this phrase in French actually means a ‘fourreau of a gown or robe’ (i.e. part of a costume). So whether the author was mistaken in the word’s use in French, mistranslated what a ‘fourreau’ actually was, was referring to the ‘fourreaux’ used as under-dresses (as shown earlier in this 53

paper), or else simply got the wrong French fashion idea, is unclear. In any case, relying on 18th century English translations to clarify what the French understood by these terms can be misleading. For what it may be worth, the page from the 1784 dictionary mentioned is included below:

~~~~~~~~~~~~

To sum up what we’ve been able to glean about the 18th century use of the term ‘fourreau’ referring to a dress or frock, either worn on its own or as a completing garment over or under another, the main attributes are:

(1) What the French referred to as a ‘fourreau’ in the mid-18th century was a simple, sheath-like child’s garment, shaped with darts or tucks to fit the body closely but not stiffly. As far as can be determined, around 1769 only the boy’s garment (in the form of a simplified frock jacket) was actually called a ‘fourreau’, although a simple, one-piece frock for girls (with skirt and bodice joined) was also known at this time. Back-closing was a common feature of these children’s garments. (2) Somewhat later – toward the late 1770’s -- a dressier version of the girl’s simple frock developed (often worn with pretty aprons and embellished with furbelows, etc.), which, for a reason that is unclear but possibly through association with the earlier boy’s frock as a child’s garment, was referred to as a ‘fourreau’. Back-closing was usual, but not universal in these little girls’ dresses. This became the “prototype” for the women’s dresses of the same name. (3) Around 1780/81, the concept of the little girl’s ‘fourreau’ was adopted for adult women in the form of a one-piece dress with a fully closed skirt seamed to the bodice (i.e. not a gown plus petticoat), at first of lightweight silks (later in white, translucent cottons only), in sheath-like form, perceived as being more revealing than typical “gowns”, and typically back-closing. Worn with a wide, long, coloured sash. (4) Initially worn by women only as “undress”, for mornings or for informal, at-home wear, without panniers; (5) Sometimes – prior to about 1787 – the ‘fourreau’, both for girls and women, could be worn as a sheer overdress of the same type (even over a proper separate bodice and petticoat/skirt), OR worn as an under-dress with a jacket (caraco); (6) A dress made of a lighter, more flowing material than would be used in a gown, sometimes with a taffeta underskirt (presumably to give it loft and shape). After the early 1780’s made mainly in cotton muslin, lawn, etc., preferably all white diaphanous cottons toward 1786/87; (7) Generally back-lacing, with a bodice closely following the body’s natural form; often with the bodice cut to create a V-shaped seam with the skirt at lower front (mimicking the appearance of the bottom of a stomacher); (8) A dress that could be styled in various ways – ‘à l’Anglaise, à la Turque, à la Circasienne, à la Polonaise’, etc., even if these variants might be hard to distinguish with our modern perception; (9) In cut and concept, an immediate predecessor to the ‘chemise de la reine’.

Now that we have an idea of what a ‘fourreau’ dress was in the late 18th century, it may be easier to understand why French fashion commentators of the time considered some gowns that were not a ‘fourreau’ as being made “in the form of a fourreau”, or “fourreau-like”. This is what the phrase ‘en fourreau’ means in French. 55

(ii) “En Fourreau”:

We’ve arrived at the vital (and controversial) part of this discussion – the term ‘en fourreau’. Some writers have claimed that this term did not actually exist in the 18th century to specifically describe a dress with a certain type of back bodice construction. This may not be entirely settled. The phrase ‘en fourreau’ was certainly used in the 18th century, as will be demonstrated further on. The problem is whether it’s possible to determine what the 18th century French meant in each instance when they looked at a gown and called it “fourreau-like” or “in fourreau form”. Some modern fashion historians have referred to a gown as being ‘en fourreau’, or “cut en fourreau” based on a very particular type of back construction, i.e. a robe à l’anglaise with a long, narrow centre back panel cut-in-one with the skirt. Indeed, some of these are even polonaise-style gowns as well, such as the pink taffeta English gown, said to be ca. 1770-85, featured in Costume Close-up10, described in that book as follows:

“The bodice back pleats were cut in one with the skirt, laid in place over the lining, and sewn down with running stitches. The pleats are released into the skirt at the center back, below the natural waist. This style is called en fourreau, or the English back.”

This is an accurate description of the distinct style that has been termed ‘robe à l’anglaise en fourreau’ in some recent costume history literature. Following is the extant example referred to in this way in Costume Close-up:

The book Costume Close-up (in which the photo above appears) is a fairly recent publication (1999), and describes the gown shown as being “cut en fourreau”. Interestingly, I’ve found no references to gowns of the English style being called ‘en fourreau’ in two older American volumes I consulted, one from 1903 and one published in the 1960’s, nor in the comprehensive fashion history by the French 56

expert, François Boucher, mentioned previously. One would presume that had any of these authors known that the term was used in a specific way in 18th century French (especially Boucher), it would have been mentioned and explained. On page 70 of The Cut of Women’s Clothes (cited earlier), Norah Waugh (avoiding the fraught designation of ‘en fourreau’ altogether), refers to the ‘robe à l’anglaise’ as being interchangeable with the“mantua”, also known in English as a “night gown” (meaning a gown for evening wear, as opposed to a day gown). I’m not sure I entirely agree with the association of the word “mantua” with English gowns of the mid-to late 18th century, since the name also applied to earlier gowns (ca. 1690-1710) constructed quite differently. But this is straying off the topic. Waugh describes the ‘robe à l’anglaise’ in its essential features: a full, open gown worn over a petticoat, a round (floor-length) or later trained or trailing skirt arranged in close pleats, tightly fitted at the bodice back (rather than the earlier loose pleats of the ‘robe à la française’) and fastening at centre front by the 1770’s. This description seems to encompass both types of robes à l’anglaise. Waugh gives two cutting diagrams for such a gown, at XVI and XXII. It can be seen plainly from these diagrams that there are two different back constructions, one in which the centre back of the bodice continues into, and is cut in one with the skirt (XVI, the style some costume historians have called ‘robe à l’anglaise en fourreau’), and another in which the bodice back ends in a seamed point where it is attached to the skirt back (XXII, this type generally referred to as simply a ‘robe à l’anglaise’). For reference, for those who don’t own the Waugh book, I’ll reproduce the two here:

As can be seen, Waugh entitles the first diagram (XVI) a ‘mantua’ of 1740-50, and the second diagram (XXII) a ‘robe à l’anglaise’ of 1775-80, this latter being a style that some have called an “Italian gown”. Nowhere does Waugh use the term ‘en fourreau’ with respect to the 18th century, nor is it included in her Index (she does employ the term ‘fourreau’ on its own to refer to ca. 1880’s sheath gowns). Nor does she use the term “Italian gown” anywhere in her work. It’s plain at a glance that the two types of gowns are cut very differently, Diagram XXII displaying a cut not unlike the earlier mantuas or indeed a ‘robe à la française’, while Diagram XVI shows the typical “English” cut, with a separate bodice and skirt. Perhaps Norah Waugh was so reluctant to wade into the ‘en fourreau’ issue that she felt compelled to use a rather studied, albeit accurate, workaround (the “mantua”) instead. This allowed her to avoid pinning a label on the discrepancy that was clearly in front of her and was illustrated in her book (or for that matter avoid even venturing into discussing the uncertainty around the name), while at the same time recognizing that the two designs were differently cut. I find it hard to believe Norah Waugh would not have been aware of the 18th century French term ‘fourreau’, in any of its meanings. She may indeed have felt there was inconclusive evidence to assign the name ‘robe à l’anglaise en fourreau’ to the dress she diagrammed in her book, which was a completely justifiable position.

The eminent C.W. Cunnington, in his work on the 18th century, used the term ‘en fourreau’ but did not specifically discuss its provenance. Perhaps he was familiar with some of the same French fashion plates I’ve reviewed, was aware of the term ‘en fourreau’, but was reluctant to delve into its messy history.

In her book Costume in Detail11, Nancy Bradfield shows detailed drawings of four gowns, from ca. 1766 to 1780, which are clearly the type that has been designated by some modern historians as ‘robe à l’anglaise en fourreau’, i.e. with the integral long centre back panel running from neck to hem. These are all in the Snowshill (English) collection. Yet Bradfield mentions the name ‘fourreau’ nowhere in her book, nor in her index. Perhaps significantly, Bradfield’s book was originally published in Great Britain in 1968.

Janet Arnold, in Patterns of Fashion 112, at pages 36-37, includes a cutting diagram and sketch of a robe à l’anglaise which she refers to as a “polonaise”, but which she describes as follows:

“The back is cut ‘en fourreau’ with a curved waist seam to accommodate a false rump, which was a bustle pad stuffed with cork.” (As an aside, this description implies that the reason for this particular construction (narrow centre back bodice panel cut-in-one with the skirt) was to provide a basis for wearing the false rump. However, it seems to me it would be the other way around, i.e. the false rump being developed to enhance this type of dress construction.) 58

In any case, Arnold also includes an earlier (ca. 1720-50) “wrapping gown” (at page 22) which, aside from having a long centre front closure, has very similar back construction as the later (ca. 1780) dresses being referred to as cut ‘en fourreau’. Clearly this type of construction existed much earlier than the 1780’s, and there is a discrepancy here which Arnold doesn’t address. She uses, but does not explain, the designation of this particular ca. 1780 construction as a gown ‘en fourreau’. Where she and other costume historians borrowed this term from is not clear. To my knowledge, no costume historian has ever explained the derivation of, or rationale for, the use of ‘en fourreau’ in this specific context, nor has anyone ever stated who came up with the idea (if in modern times). Some may have been following in Cunnington’s footsteps without really questioning the derivation. Doing so might not have been entirely misguided, but it was also not entirely accurate, as I will show. Here are typical examples of these two variations of ‘robes à l’anglaise’, shown side-by-side from the back. A left, what has often been called the ‘robe à l’anglaise en fourreau’, with its integral long bodice/skirt centre back panel. On the right, the ‘robe à l’anglaise’ with bodice and skirt joined from separate sections,:

Example A : So-called ‘Robe à l’anglaise en fourreau’ Example B : ‘Robe à l’anglaise’

There was some overlap in the appearance of the two types shown above, “Example A” having been fashionable, with variations, since prior to the middle of the 18th century (the “mantua” of Norah 59

Waugh’s nomenclature) up until the 1780’s; and “Example B” above, with its sharply dipped and pointed back waist seam, appearing in the mid-1770’s. Toward the mid-1780’s, these two back construction styles seemed to almost “merge” in some garments, making it difficult to tell at a glance whether one is looking at one design or the other. The separate bodice/skirt style sometimes had such a deep back “V”-shaped seam that it was difficult to tell at a casual glance whether it was cut “en fourreau” or not. On the next page is a slightly later and more exaggerated example of the so-called ‘robe à l’anglaise en fourreau’, where the side back bodice/skirt joining seams are so deeply curved and slanted that there is barely room for the centre back pleats to be released into the skirt. Here we have the opposite problem: it takes a rather careful inspection of the photo to see that there is in fact a narrow centre back panel which continues into the skirt, i.e. that this gown is not cut with a completely separate bodice and skirt:

Example C: So-called ‘robe à l’anglaise en fourreau’, ca. 1780-85 60

There have been suggestions that gowns of the type shown in “Example B” above – that is, a gown with separately cut bodice and skirt which the French referred to as a ‘robe à l’anglaise’ -- were called “Italian Gowns” in England in or around the 1780’s. Although this name does appear in a few late 18th century sources, I’m not convinced that such evidence proves it was universally applied, or (failing clear contemporary fashion illustrations or cutting diagrams to the contrary) that the name “Italian” was the generally accepted name referring to this specific type of gown construction. The epithet “Italian” may have been a label applied as a generic term for the new-looking (at the time) arrangement of the back skirts with their protuberant false rumps, in reference to the excessive and foppish “Macaroni” (Italian) styles in vogue in this era. Failing contemporary 18th century cutting diagrams or sketches depicting exactly what was meant by an “Italian” gown construction, it’s conceivable that this name was applied to both types of ‘robe à l’anglaise’ for a brief period of time. As noted above, by the mid-1780’s the two types did in fact merge into very similar outlines of the “split rump” style. There was little effective difference in overall appearance and silhouette between them by the time both were supplanted by the diaphanous white muslin gowns and round gowns of the end of the century. The mention of the name “Italian gown” in English references of the 1780’s (as in the excerpt from an English theatrical inventory shown below) is insufficient to preclude the possibility that both types of “English” gowns may have been referred to by the same name of “Italian” for a period of time.

These were the only occurrences of the name “Italian gown” in a search of “The Committee Books of the Theatre Royal Norwich, 1768-1825” (available online). Since these are a bit difficult to read, 61

I’ll transcribe them: there is “a black lutestring Italian night gown (evening gown); a purple lutestring Italian night gown; and a white silk Italian Nightgown with Laylock Stripes”. The two photos below perhaps make the point clear. Without being able to actually examine the extant gowns in person, it can take careful, close observation to determine which gown has the integral centre back panel running from neck to hem, and which simply has a deeply-cut “V” seam between bodice and skirt at back. On a person with the proper underpinnings, it would be difficult to tell them apart at any distance:

Robe à l’anglaise, 1775-80 Robe à l’anglaise 1775-80

I think we can imagine that a normal observer of the time would see very similar dresses in these two, especially when observed from a respectable distance (ignoring the similar textiles in these photos, which was just a coincidence). Not to keep you in suspense, the gown at left has a separate bodice and skirt; the gown at right is cut with a very narrow centre back panel running from neck to hem (the so-called ‘en fourreau’ cut). Close-ups help to make this a little easier to discern (next page):

Of the dozen or more costume experts’ works I’ve consulted (some, such as Waugh, being English), none mention the term “Italian gown”, but invariably use ‘robe à l’anglaise’ to refer to gowns of the style shown at left (separate skirt and bodice construction). Certainly ‘robe à l’anglaise’ was the only name for such gowns in French at the time, as will be discussed further on. Often gowns such as the one at right above are referred to as “polonaise gowns” if the skirts show signs of having had ties to pull them up. This terminology has its own issues. Which means we are still left with an unsatisfactory means of clearly distinguishing the two types. To my mind, the term “Italian” adds another layer of complication where there was none previously. The type of gown shown at left above was an evolution and continuation of the earlier ‘robes à l’anglaise’, and has generally been recognized as such in both French and English. As mentioned, there is also the question of whether the ‘robe à l’anglaise’ shown at right above was also considered an “Italian” type in its time. In any event the name “Italian” for the two-part ‘robe à l’anglaise’ does not resolve the issues around the name ‘robe à l’anglaise en fourreau’. One thing does seem reasonably clear from my research: neither English nor French used the name ‘robe à l’anglaise en fourreau’ during the 18th century. 63

Still, it is arguable that both the French and the English saw these two gown types during the 1780’s as effectively equivalent. To the English, the term “Italian” may have applied to both, given their similar silhouettes, especially if either gown were worn with the proper “split rump” underpinnings. To the French, the two gown types may have been considered as simply minor variations on the same ‘robe à l’anglaise’ theme, unworthy of separate designations. This would logically account for the French not giving the type with the long, integral centre back panel any particular name at all. Failing further specific evidence coming to light, the absence of confirmation leaves this question open. What I would say however is that even though the term ‘robe à l’anglaise en fourreau’ may be dubiously justifiable from a historical point of view (which will be discussed further on), it at least has the merit of clearly designating one type of ‘robe à l’anglaise’ from the other, and leaving no doubt as to which one is being discussed. The question is whether a more historically accurate (or at a minimum, more technically accurate) replacement term can be found.

Was the gown which some have called ‘robe à l’anglaise en fourreau’ actually an evolved mantua, influenced by the robe à la française? At this juncture I’d like to propose a possibility that might be considered unconventional. That is, from the point of view of style development, that the particular type of back construction as shown in the photos of the gowns in Examples A and C above (the so-called ‘robe à l’anglaise en fourreau’) was simply an evolution of the cut of the earlier mantuas of ca. 1720-50, perhaps also influenced by the ‘robe à la française’. Further, I would suggest that the ‘robe à l’anglaise’ type which had a completely separate bodice and skirt construction (such as in the cream brocade silk gown in Example B above) was the only one of the two types specifically recognized by the French after about 1769 as the “English” gown (‘robe à l’anglaise’). I’ll have more to present on this point later. There is certainly a common structural theme between the mantuas of the 1730s to 1750’s, the ‘robes à la française’ of the 1740’s to 1770’s, and the later so-called ‘robes à l’anglaise en fourreau’; i.e., a centre back pleated panel incorporated as part of the back bodice, and running from neck to hem. This is in contrast to the construction of English gowns where the bodice and skirt are cut and seamed as two separate parts. The back pleats of the robe à la française became significantly narrower in width toward the end of its fashionable life. Recall that the gown which some have called the ‘robe à l’anglaise en fourreau’ appeared in the very late 1770’s to early 1780’s, that is, at about the time of the demise of the ‘robe à la française’. The former, which became the trained and beautifully shaped styles such as the ones in Examples A and C above (and which often had their skirts pulled up polonaise-style), replaced the ‘robe à la française’ as the gown of elegant fashion. It is not inconceivable that some of the elements of construction of the ‘robe à la française’ may have influenced this gown of the 1780’s, allowing the “mantua” concept to continue as a fashionable idea, albeit in a slightly different form, and with rump padding rather than the earlier 64

enormous bell-shaped hoops below. It seems to me it was a small step from leaving the pleats loose below the upper back, as in the ‘robe à la française’, to the idea of minimizing them enough to be able to stitch or tack them in place along the back of the bodice as far as the waistline and create a sort of divided bustle effect at the back. To put it another way, the ‘robe à la française’ was about to get a fashionable makeover. The excess fabric in this new type could be opened into the skirt instead of the bodice back, thus retaining the idea of a graceful release of fullness of the cloth to float away from the body, as it had in the ‘robe à la française’. Looking at cutting diagrams of extant gowns of the two types it’s not difficult to see the common structure. As a point of comparison, below is an extant gown (which had been offered for sale by a professional dealer) said to be ca. 1774-80. The seller stated this was a “remade” ‘robe à la française’. The makeover is evident from the stitching down of the bodice pleats, but the end result differs little in overall aspect from the gowns of this period that have been termed ‘robe à l’anglaise en fourreau’.

The following photos (just four taken at random amongst many surviving extant gowns) give good examples of the structural connections and style progression of these gowns. There is also a point (toward 1780) at which the later ‘robe à l’anglaise’ becomes outwardly virtually indistinguishable from what has been called the ‘robe à l’anglaise en fourreau’, as discussed earlier.

A Mantua’) ca. 1730-40 A typical robe à la française, ca. 1770-75.

A later mantua (also called robe à Ca. 1780-85, robe à l’anglaise, so-called ‘en fourreau’ l’anglaise ‘en fourreau’), ca. 1770-75 pulled up in polonaise style. 66

I bring up this point because all of the 18th century French plates I have reviewed (all dated after 1768), depict a ‘robe à l’anglaise’ with the separate bodice and skirt construction. This particular construction was well recognized by them (see my notes on this further on). One would think that, since gowns in the style with the integral long centre back panel were clearly being made and presumably worn in France after the 1770’s, that the gown would have been mentioned with a particular name in one of the French fashion catalogues of the 1770’s and 1780’s. Not only did I not find any fashion plates which show the so-called ‘robe à l’anglaise en fourreau’ back construction, but there was not one textual reference to these dresses as such. This does seem very odd, since I know of at least one extant gown precisely of this kind that was on display in the Bayeux Tapestry Museum (Musée de la Tapisserie de Bayeux) in France. Unfortunately I don’t know what name the curators used to describe it. I’m sure there must be other extant gowns of this style in France. I’d be delighted if someone discovered or could point to clear contemporary 18th century evidence of the French designating a ‘robe à l’anglaise en fourreau’ in a fashion drawing, or even a text describing its construction by this name. In the interim, the issue of lack of evidence in French historical texts about the garment that has been called, likely incorrectly, ‘robe à l’anglaise en fourreau’, considered together with the 18th century French fashion plates and texts I’ll discuss further on, does beg the question of how the two gowns both came to be called “English” in the first place. Or – to be more exact – how they both came to be called by historians using the French name ‘robe à l’anglaise’. Perhaps this gown design, with the long centre back section released into the skirt, was called a ‘robe à l’anglaise’ (regardless of confusion with the other sort of English gown), in order to cash in on the anglomania in France during this era. The problem is, the French apparently either didn’t notice the difference between the two types of “English” gowns, or saw no purpose in assigning one type a special name. This seems unusual too, unless it was for the reasons I surmised earlier. In the French aesthetic, both gowns would have seemed distinct from the ‘robe à la française’, although perhaps not very distinct from each other, both having the snug-fitting back bodice and both being, by 1780, worn over similar false rumps. It’s also possible that the two types of “English” gowns merged stylistically so quickly during the 1780’s that there was little time for the ‘en fourreau’ type to acquire a proper name of its own in France before both fashions dropped from the scene in favour of the diaphanous, flowing Directoire gowns of white lawn and muslin. But this is of course speculation. To put it another way, should we even be calling dresses with the bodice centre back panel cut-in- one with the skirt a ‘robe à l’anglaise’ at all? Were these not, in effect, a continued development from the earlier mantua that was cut in a similar way at back, as Norah Waugh suggests and seems to intimate in the names given on her cutting diagrams? Isn’t this style cut quite differently from the English gown which the French identified as ‘robe à l’anglaise’? Does this mean that both parts of the name ‘robe à l’anglaise en fourreau’ may be wrong? Heavens! As unorthodox as these ideas may be, I think they are questions to consider when reviewing the plates and texts which follow. 67

A little further on I will be looking at whether the ‘en fourreau’ part of the name ‘robe à l’anglaise en fourreau’ is correct (or at least justified) on a historical basis. Since this term was borrowed from the French, I feel the real question is: did the 18th century French themselves make a distinction between an ‘anglaise’ that was ‘en fourreau’ and one that was not? I maintain that the 18th century French use of the phrase ‘en fourreau, was in any event broader, less specific, and rather more fluid than modern English users assume, which I’ll explain in the following pages.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I think it would be useful to first review what the French understood in the late 18th century by the term ‘robe à l’anglaise’. This may help to illuminate the problem I raised earlier as to what exactly was understood as an “English-style” gown during the era. As shown so far in my translations of fashion texts of the era, the ‘robe à anglaise’, as well as the ‘fourreau’, could be made in a number of variants by the 1780’s (i.e. the numerous ‘à la’ this-or-that descriptions). These had more or less subtle differences between them, but followed the basic form of the ‘anglaise’ or ‘fourreau’ (as the case might be), quite distinct from the ‘robe à la française’, the 18th century archetype with its flowing back pleats. It should be remembered that although Anglomania took over French fashion during the 1770s to 1780’s, and styles were adopted from English dress, they were also remodelled and reimagined by the French in various ways, as attested to by the following text.

Here is a rare, concise description (from Galerie des Modes of 1778) of what the French considered a ‘robe à l’anglaise’, and its development from the English style. The relevant portions of the text, and the fashion plate of the gown referred to, are shown further on [my own emphasis in bold]:

“Fourth Figure. Robe à l’Anglaise [English gown]: The true robes à l’Anglaise have at back very small, flat pleats that end at the waist; and [the gowns] go barely down to the floor: this is how English women wear them. But in France, we have omitted the narrow pleats of these gowns and have given them a wider train; the front of these robes has taken on a more graceful form, and would be better termed ‘robes à juste taille’* rather than ‘robe à l’anglaise’. *This phrase is best translated in English as a “form-fitting gown”.

Nothing is said about gowns with long centre back sections cut-in-one with the skirt. We can only wish, 240 years later, that the author had added just one more sentence on this topic!

The author is clear that what the French understood as an English gown (‘robe à l’anglaise’) had narrow sewn-down pleats which ended at the waist, i.e. a separate bodice joined to the skirt (which of course would have been quite distinct from the ‘robe à la française’). This statement seems to completely rule out the sort of construction that some modern historians have called ‘robe à l’anglaise en fourreau’. As noted earlier, it seems strange that the French would not have given this latter form of gown a particular name, since this design of garment appeared during the currency of fashion publications such as the ‘Galerie des Modes’, ‘Cabinet des Modes’, etc. 68

The comment that the French “have omitted the narrow pleats of these gowns” is unclear. Does this mean the sewn-down pleats have been replaced by seams? That would be the most likely conclusion.

Continuing my translation:

“DESCRIPTION: This illustration shows one of these “redesigned” (‘réformées’) gowns: embellishment in the form of a band of fancy box-pleated gauze serves as the‘tête’* for a garland of flowers, complete with their stamens and stems: the pocket openings and the sabots** have a similar trimming. Skirt (petticoat) with a deep flounce, topped with a band matching the robe trimming; a second band, similar to the first, is placed above the flounce.” *‘tête’ in French fashion parlance is a small heading or edging of gathered or pleated material **’sabots’were a style of flat, ornamented cuff

On the following page is the 1778 fashion plate referred to in the French text cited above. The caption on this plate reads:

“Robe à l’anglaise of apple-green striped material, the gauze trimming united with garlands of roses; a pouf of Italian gauze edged in flowers […]”. 69

In other words, this fashion plate is an example of the altered, French form (i.e. redesigned form) of the ‘robe à l’anglaise’. As described, the English type has been given an elegant train by French designers. It is significant that the 18th century author of the above text distinguishes a true English gown as one worn barely floor length – this might help to explain the reason for the name ‘fourreau à l’anglaise’ (as I noted earlier). On the next page is another example, from Galerie des Modes, 1779, referred to as a ‘robe à l’anglaise’ in the 18th century French. The caption reads:

“English gown (robe à l’anglaise), [with] trailing train [i.e. a train long enough to trail behind], made of taffeta trimmed with gauze in pouf form. Hat of Italian gauze.[etc…]” 70

Note that this gown (as described in the earlier 18th century text) has a back bodice construction which ends at (actually just below) the waist. This is typical of the other plates of this era depicting “English gowns”.

On the following page is another French fashion plate of a ‘robe à l’anglaise’, from the early 1780’s. Here the evolution of the style from those of the late 1770’s shown above can easily be seen, with the lengthening of the torso shape, deepening of the back “V” bodice-skirt seam, and the changing back silhouette supported by divided false rumps or pads. In the space of a few years the gown has developed into the elegant garment epitomizing the French version of the ‘robe à l’anglaise’. The caption reads:

“Robe à l’anglaise: The constant Solitaire*, in a robe à l’anglaise, [worn with] a triple collet**; chapeau “à la Basile”***, and apron of decorated muslin […]”. *The image of “Solitaire” is of a woman who chooses and prefers to be alone; this particular reference may be to a character in a contemporary play or novel. 71

**A collet is a small cape-like over-garment, usually ruffled or ornamented in some way, i.e. not always a collar. A ‘collerette’ by contrast, refers to a smaller, narrower, added frilled or ruffled adornment, often separate. ***“à la Basile” – Another in the seemingly endless and mysterious names for 18th century hats. This dress (in the plate below) does not appear to have a long, narrow centre back panel cut-in-one with the skirt, but it is admittedly difficult to see exactly what is going on below the bottom point of the bodice back. In any case, it is not described as being a ‘robe à l’anglaise en fourreau’ anywhere in the French text. Had it been so described, we might have had at least one 18th century example of the term being used for a gown with the particular sort of back construction that has come to be called ‘en fourreau’ in some modern texts. But that is not the case. It’s also unfortunate that the front of this gown remains forever invisible; however, if the French understood it as a ‘robe à l’anglaise’, it must have been an open gown, with a petticoat worn below, as well the visible apron on the outside. Failing clearer evidence to the contrary, I think we have to take the word of the 18th century French writer quoted earlier who explains that the French understood a ‘robe à l’anglaise’ as having a bodice constructed with narrow flat pleats (at back) that ended at the waist).

The gown above looks very much like the extant garment shown here (a ‘robe à l’anglaise’), in which the bodice centre back ends in a sharp, deep point where it is attached to the skirt [Source: Museum of Fine Arts, Boston, online collection]. It has the same elegantly curved back silhouette and deep back “V” in the bodice as the gown in the fashion plate above. Here the centre back section is clearly not cut-in-one with the skirt. By this time (1780’s), the back bodice pleats have narrowed to such an extent that they actually appear to be seams. This may be what the French text cited earlier meant in stating that “we have omitted the narrow pleats of these gowns”.

So What Exactly Does “En Fourreau” Mean? It does not appear from the 18th century sources I’ve studied that there are any plates featuring a ‘robe à l’anglaise’ from the back which clearly show the cut-in-one narrow centre back bodice/skirt panel and which also refer to this sort of garment as a ‘robe à l’anglaise en fourreau’. We absolutely know that dresses with this long centre back panel existed, as there are a number of extant garments of the type – it must have been a popular fashion. Yet the French of the era didn’t seem to differentiate between the two back constructions of a ‘robe à l’anglaise’ as certain fashion historians do now. It might be worthwhile for some future costume historian to survey the extant so-called ‘robes à l’anglaise en fourreau’ to determine whether there are any that were actually made in France, since this particular style of construction does not seem to have entered into the contemporary French fashion idiom – at least in the texts I’ve been able to locate. This would be a useful – if lengthy – research project that could either finally settle the matter, or result in even more questions. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ But here I need to beg your indulgence again for a short grammatical detour into the French language. There is a misunderstanding in some English sources that the preposition “en” is somehow equivalent to the pronoun “un” (meaning “a” or “one”). This is both linguistically and historically incorrect; “en fourreau” and “un fourreau” are not grammatically equivalent, and refer to garments in completely different ways, as I’ll explain. In other instances, ‘en fourreau’ is misinterpreted as meaning “fourreau-like”, when in fact it means “in a fourreau” in the particular context of the sentence. For example, “Cette dame, en fourreau vert…” means: “This lady, in a green fourreau …”. But “Cette dame est vêtue d’une robe à l’anglaise en fourreau” means: “This lady is dressed in a robe à l’anglaise in the form of a fourreau”. (Whether this latter phrase was actually used in French at the time to refer to a particular construction of the back of an English gown is another question of course). The use of the preposition “en” in French as in “robe à la lévite en fourreau” may be a bit difficult for an English speaker to grasp, but it is a common French form. For example, the phrase “I’m speaking to you as a friend” could equally be translated as “Je te parle en amie”, or “Je te parle comme une amie”. So a “robe en fourreau” could equally be understood as “a gown in the form of a fourreau”, or “a fourreau-like gown”.

As I’ve shown, in the 18th century word ‘fourreau’ (the noun) could denote a number of things, in the sense of a “sheath” of any kind (including a scabbard), i.e. not necessarily a garment. In the fashions of the late 18th century, the word ‘fourreau’ was applied to different types of garments: a simple frock- jacket for boys, later on a frock for girls, an “undress” frock for women, and a similarly simple under-dress or over-dress (as a completer of a costume). The descriptive phrase ‘en fourreau’, by contrast (meaning ‘fourreau-like’ or ‘in fourreau form’), could potentially be applied to any garment as a comparative description – it was not the name of a garment in itself. In this particular usage, the “en” denotes “as”, or “like”, or “in the form of”. Again, it is not equivalent to “un”, meaning “one” or “a” (as in “un fourreau). 74

Although the term “en fourreau” certainly appeared in 18th century fashion descriptions, I’ve been unable to locate a single 18th century text explaining in detail why certain dresses were termed ‘en fourreau’ and what it was they had in common. As mentioned earlier, I have not found any texts using the phrase ‘robe à l’anglaise en fourreau’. This does not mean it did not exist in 18th century French fashion nomenclature, simply that there is no direct evidence of its use.

But there are clues. For instance, the following fashion plate (from Galerie des Modes, 1779, 17th issue, 1st figure), comes tantalizing close to giving us a glimpse into the mystery. It describes a ‘robe à la Levantine’, and makes a point of mentioning why ‘en fourreau’ is used in the name, but doesn’t go further to relate this to other garments that might the same description (such as ‘robes à l’anglaise’). The caption reads:

“Robe à la Levantine, trimmed in ermine. Coiffure [etc.]…” [The rest of the caption is irrelevant to this topic, but the text at the next page adds detail. I’ve cropped the image in order to see the important area].

The text that refers to this plate reads as follows (it also gives a remarkable glimpse into how the French of the late 1770’s regarded the transition from earlier fashions, so I’ll translate most of this): 75

My translation [my own bold emphasis]:

“The desire to emancipate women from those garments whose form seems to have been introduced solely to load women down with brilliant chains, has led to the creation, for some years now, of various garments that are no less comfortable than graceful. We realized how ridiculous it was, on the pretext of adorning nature, to suffocate the truth, so to speak, under pompous arrangements of the toilette, oppressive by their weight, their form, and their bindings. All discomfort has [now] been proscribed, and French women, now free in their clothing, have finally recovered that ease which is no less necessary to health as to the development of beauty. The ‘Levantine’ is amongst the number of these new garments. It is so convenient, and requires so few preparatory steps, either to put it on, or to remove, that it has merited the nickname ‘Negligée de la volupté’ [‘Undress of Sensual Pleasure’]. It is a gown with short sleeves, constructed en fourreau at back*: that is, of which only the bottom forms pleats at the back and sides**; it can be fastened on the chest [i.e. at the front] if desired, and should appear rather more laid on the body than attached to it. 76

This gown partly covers a ‘soubreveste’***, open at front and cut as far as the waist. The amadis [long, trimmed sleeves] go through the short sleeves of the Levantine, and are terminated by a cuff sewn on as if forming a barrier. Skirt (petticoat) the same as the soubreveste, also opening at front [a rarity in the 18thC.!], and trimmed with an embroidered border. For this embroidered border, one could substitute lace or gauze, depending on the season and personal taste, as well as for the Levantine itself, which is trimmed here with a cord of ermine.” *Here “back” (“par derrière”) refers to the upper back (torso). **These shaping side tucks or pleats can be seen in the fashion plate. ***A ‘soubreveste’ is defined in Robert as deriving from the 15th century Italian “sopravesta”, meaning a vest worn over something (“veste de dessus”). The Robert notes that the archaic meaning was the long sleeveless vest worn by the Mousquetaires or knights of Malta. In this 18th century context, the meaning has changed to designate a short vest worn under a grander garment, although the reference may be to the vest being worn over the shift. Looking at the close-up image and marrying it with the 18th century description, it appears the shaping pleats (tucks) referred to are indeed placed quite low on the torso at the side and back. But what does this have to do with calling it a Levite gown in the form of a ‘fourreau’? Does this have any connection to the cut-in-one centre back panel of the ‘robe à l’anglaise’ called in recent times ‘en fourreau’? I don’t see any reasonable means to relate this 1779 French ‘fourrreau’ as a forerunner of the English gown, since the latter was already a well-established style by this time. In any event, the description of the “released” pleats, that is, sewn down above the waist/hip area but left loose to form folds or pleats below that point, closely echoes the construction of the boy’s ‘fourreau’ given in Garsault’s L’Art du Tailleur discussed earlier. Indeed, it could be said that this 1779 woman’s ‘fourreau’ was a direct conceptual development from the earlier boy’s frock-garment.

I’d like to look at a few more examples of the use of ‘en fourreau’, from a little further on in the 18th century, to see if there is any common theme of construction. Next is a gown called a “robe à la Lévite en fourreau” [Levite gown in fourreau form], from 1784 (MFA online collection). This gown, although still rather loose and flowing compared to earlier ‘robes à l’anglaise’ or ‘robes à la française’, is certainly formed more closely to the body than the green Levantine gown of 1779 shown above. The style has evolved. It now has a collared, closely-fitting but long-waisted bodice, tightly-fitted long sleeves, and has a bodice-skirt joining seam. So what exactly merited the description of ‘en fourreau’ (in fourreau form) in this instance? I’ll translate the relevant part of the caption:

“Levite gown (robe à la Lévite), with bodice in fourreau form (à corsage en fourreau), petticoat (juppon) cut with a deep band trimming in the colour of the gown. Coiffure semi-undress (demi-négligée) [etc…].

Here is a valuable but fleeting clue, i.e. the phrase ‘à corsage en fourreau’. This means “with a bodice [top section] in fourreau form [or like a fourreau]. This is striking because we learn one thing at least from this little fashion plate: a bodice could be in fourreau form. What exactly did this mean? Again, the body-skimming or revealing nature of these garments, to 18th century eyes, may have generated the comparison of some of them to ‘fourreaux’ or “sheath dresses”. The bodice of this dress does not appear at all to be constructed with released tucks or darts as shown the green Levite gown. It’s 78

also possible the long, tightly-fitting sleeves may have been associated with the image of a ‘fourreau’ (sheath). Unfortunately, even when enlarged, this drawing shows no real details of the bodice construction. We should be careful not to jump to the conclusion that the ‘à corsage en fourreau’ description on this fashion plate necessarily means a long, narrow, centre-back bodice panel cut-in-one with the skirt. Yet I suspect this little illustration and its caption might very well have been the source of such an assumption by later costume historians. What is clear is that this is a Levite gown, not an English gown, meaning it can’t reasonably be called a ‘robe à l’anglaise en fourreau’ in any case. So it lends nothing to that particular question. We should also consider, failing specifics in the 18th century text, that the ‘en fourreau’ distinction may not have necessarily related to the bodice construction details, but to the general appearance to 18th century sensibilities, compared to the stiffer, more restrictive bodices of earlier gowns. As I’ve said, the fashion eye is trained to compare new ideas to those it is familiar with. The mention of the coiffure (head-dress) she wears as being “semi-undress” (‘demi-négligée) is an interesting and relevant point. Presumably this means that the costume as a whole must have been considered “semi-undress” (i.e. almost respectable full dress) by this date as well. This is a step further from the earlier Levantine gown, described as ‘Negligée de la volupté’, i.e. self-indulgent “undress”. In other words, Levite gowns of this new type were no longer considered fully undress by 1784, another signal of the loosening of what we would call these days the “dress code”. This view is also supported by the earlier quote from the Cabinet des Modes of 1786 which describes a fashion transition so complete that the new styles are worn by everybody except to truly formal occasions.

The next fashion plate adds to what we’ve already discovered. This is a gown from 1784. Even though it isn’t referred to specifically as such, it appears to be an English gown (with a separate petticoat and gown, and apparently a bodice/waist join). The caption does not explicitly describe why this garment was considered a ‘robe en fourreau’. What then was it that made this dress appear to be in ‘fourreau’ form to 18th century eyes? Is it the shape of the skirt, with a demi-train rather than the round hem of the “true” English gowns? Is it the cut of the bodice back (which is in any case almost impossible to discern from this plate)? Or perhaps the fabric of the gown itself? (This seems unlikely, as the gown is illustrated as if made in silk as any fairly formal gown would be). Or that it has a rather loose, easy, overall look, like the fourreau dresses pictured earlier? My own explanation is quite different. I believe that this gown may have been constructed to look like an English gown, i.e. a ‘fausse robe à l’anglaise’, with a different-coloured front that was not a separate petticoat at all, but attached to the edges of the robe at front and sewn into the waist along with the skirt, to fool the onlooker. This would explain why it would be described as “undress”, i.e. in ‘fourreau’ form in the caption. It would also explain why it is simply called a ’robe’, and not specifically a ‘robe à l’anglaise’ (or other type) in the caption. This makes sense both linguistically and in the historical context of late 18th century fashion – keep in mind the trompe l’oeil coloured bands around the sleeve of the 79

‘fourreau’ shown earlier. Recall also the fashion plate of the young girl wearing a ‘robe en linon’, where the ‘robe’ was actually named in the text’s title as a ‘fourreau’. The caption reads:

“Robe en fourreau [Frock or dress in fourreau form], turned-up sleeves, the edge of the gown turned back [retourné] at front, with braided motifs decorated with a button and tassle.”

Here I’d like to refer back to Boucher’s description of the fourreau (reproduced again below), in which he states that [my notes in square brackets]: “It’s novelty was that it was a closed gown, and it was called a “false gown” [‘fausse robe’], the term ‘gown’ [‘robe’] meaning a dress that opened over an underskirt.”

I submit that there may well have been gowns “in between” the two types, ingeniously designed to appear to be open gowns, but actually constructed en fourreau. I think that may be precisely what we are looking at in this fashion plate. It may also reflect the influence of the ‘robe à l’insurgente’ which was described by the French as having turned-back front edges To go a step farther, the turned-back front edge with the fancy trimming may have been a deliberate ruse to trick the 18th century eye into seeing a robe over a separate yellow petticoat. So you could go out in your comfortable and less encumbered ‘robe en fourreau’, i.e. in ‘en négligé’, yet look perfectly proper. This sort of trompe l’oeil design concept has been a favourite trick of French fashion for a very long time, and is still used by designers in the present day!

Last, but certainly not least, is the plate shown on the following page, from Galerie des Modes, 1784. The relevant part of the caption reads:

“Robe en fourreau with semi-train (queue simple*), the sleeves turned back, the gown without embellishment. [Worn with a] fichu-mantelet**. This lady is wearing a hat [etc….] *As mentioned earlier, a ‘queue traînante’ was longer and trailed behind in a more generous manner than a ‘queue simple’ (simple, or semi-train). **One of the many French fashion names for these little, dressy over-garments somewhere between a collar and a cape in form.

When I initially looked at this plate, I saw a ‘robe à l’anglaise retroussée dans les poches’. However, I propose that such “fooling of the eye” may have been exactly the 18th century point! Given the previous fashion plate, the fact that this one is described as being in ‘fourreau’ form (‘en fourreau’), and especially the absence of designation as an ‘English gown’ in the caption, I think this could well be another ‘trompe l’oeil’ gown, i.e. with the back and front sections of the skirt attached somewhere at the side back, and the loose front edges pulled up into the pocket openings, giving the appearance of a gown-plus-petticoat. This would be, in my view, the most probable reason for the gown being called ‘en fourreau’, i.e. a one piece gown with a waist attachment seam and a closed skirt, constructed like a fourreau, but with two layers mimicking the look of a gown. 82

As to the alternative explanation for the ‘en fourreau’ description, I’ve peered closely at the back construction of the bodices in these fashion plates, and I fail to clearly see a long, integral centre back panel that merges with the skirt. The best that can be said is that it’s possible, but inconclusive. I think perhaps some fashion historians were seeing what they wanted to see, having already made their minds up that the English gown with the integral centre back bodice/skirt panel, must have been given a specific name by the French. I see no evidence that that was so. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ To review the ‘en fourreau’ issue, we’ve seen four examples of women’s dresses (from 1779 through 1784) that were said to be in ‘en fourreau’, meaning “in fourreau form” or “fourreau-like”. I’ve been unable to find additional fashion plates of the era using this term (and in particular none that specifically refer to a ‘robe à l’anglaise en fourreau’), but an extensive review of all available 18th century material might turn up something that will shed further light on the question. Using what we have, and putting them side-by-side (keeping in mind my earlier comments on each), it’s difficult to see what particular feature of construction they share that would make them all “in fourreau form’ or ‘fourreau-like’. What I propose is that the French saw different aspects of gowns as being in ‘fourreau form’, for different reasons, some connected with bodice construction, others with the overall construction (‘trompe l’oeil’ gowns). One of the references involved the darted or tucked bodice construction of the Levite gown in the first plate below, and referred in some unclear way to the bodice construction of the Levite gown in the second plate below. However, since we can’t see the construction of the latter example, we have nothing to conclusively say what they had in common, other than being “undress”, and other than their general “undress” appearance. Further – and this is the most convincing point in my view – it was apparently not only ‘robes à l’anglaise’ that were described as being “‘fourreau’-like”. This means that although the descriptor of ‘en fourreau’ with a particular back construction of an English gown may be linked to some 18th century bodices, not only is the exact connection unclear, but it seems from all the evidence that the term was not used in such a particular and exclusive way in the 1780’s.

As described earlier, in the 1780’s the ‘fourreau’ dress was a new type of garment for women, which evidently got its name from the simple frocks that little girls wore (which apparently adopted the ‘fourreau’ name from the earlier, simple frock-jackets for boys). We can imagine someone of the era seeing a woman dressed in such a garment, and exclaiming: “Mais, c’est exactement comme un fourreau d’enfant!” -- and the name stuck. What links all of the four dresses illustrated above is that something about their construction related, in the 18th century viewer’s mind, to the women’s ‘fourreau’ dresses. That “something” wasn’t necessarily just one aspect of the ‘fourreau’ garment. The word ‘fourreau’ itself had had a long history of “linguistic elasticity”, and could evoke, in the fashionable mind, a number of different but related images. Indeed, the ‘fourreau’ dress itself underwent a significant metamorphosis in just a few years, as I’ve shown. Ultimately it was practically indistinguishable from the ‘chemise de la reine’ type. In short, ‘fourreau’ was a very old word with a “changeable” character admirably suited for use in a changeable milieu like fashion. Essentially, what seems most likely is that the term ‘en fourreau’ had a wide, rather loose application to aspects of any dress that seemed “fourreau-like”. I think the modern attempt to assign this term to a particular garment with a particular back construction has misunderstood the 18th century French usage. The “en” in “en fourreau” drew a comparison to something already familiar at the time, i.e. the fourreau (sheath) dress. But that comparison may not have been limited to just one feature or attribute (or indeed just one iteration) of the ‘fourreau’ dress. The fact that this word ‘fourreau’ is not the sole 18th century French fashion term to have been borrowed by the English language (and misunderstood in the process), only to be forced into service as a permanent label where it may not actually belong, makes the point clear. Other terms that come to mind, such as ‘polonaise’, ‘caraco’ and ‘casquin’ (or ‘casaquin’) suffered similar fates. So it is difficult to see how the description used by some in modern fashion historians, the “robe à l’anglaise en fourreau” (“English gown in fourreau form”), with its long, narrow, tightly-fitted, cut-in-one centre back bodice extending into the skirt, can be fully justified in historical terms. In the examples we have from the 18th century, the manner in which the back of the gown was constructed may not have been the point at all – and was definitively not the point in some dresses. There is no conclusive evidence that a ‘robe en fourreau’ referred exclusively and necessarily to a gown with a particular sort of bodice structure. In other words, the description ‘robe à l’anglaise en fourreau’, could perhaps be accurate historically if more evidence were uncovered, but based solely on currently available 18th century evidence, was more likely an incorrect assumption by a later historian or historians. The modern English “sheath dress” is perhaps not a bad comparison to try to clarify this notion of linguistic fluidity for modern English speakers. A “sheath dress” today, despite all sorts of design variations, short or long hemline, sleeveless or with sleeves, plain or embellished, is thought of in a metaphoric manner as something body-skimming, not unlike an umbrella cover. It would be virtually impossible to pick out one aspect of construction that would always define a sheath dress. Do a search on the word “sheath dress” on the internet and see how many different styles appear. This notion of describing one thing broadly in terms of another is exactly the concept of a ‘robe en fourreau’. 84

To reiterate, I believe that continuing to use the term ‘robe à l’anglaise en fourreau’ specifically to refer to an English-style gown with a back bodice panel cut-in-one with the skirt, is at best not well supported by historical sources, and at worst historically inaccurate and confusing. I think the term should be retired from discussion and replaced, especially by historians, with a more justifiable name or a completely new name. In the final analysis, what the 18th French meant by any sort of ‘robe en fourreau’ (in “fourreau form”) remains somewhat nebulous and indefinable, a state of affairs that is uncomfortably dissatisfying to our modern sensibilities but consistent with 18th century social history and language. The most plausible explanation, given the fashion plates and descriptions we have, is that ‘en fourreau’ was a multivalent descriptor, used rather freely whenever the look of a woman’s garment – or some part of it – was suggestive of the look or structure of one or another aspect of a ‘fourreau’ dress, at one or another point in time.

The Problem of Looking Back in Time My final point with respect to understanding the meaning and application of the various ‘fourreau’ terms in the 18th century has to do with how we observe fashion history from a distance of well over 200 years. For one thing, it is a fraught task to try to place ourselves in the particular, overexcitable 18th century French social environment in which fashion was a daily obsession by people (largely aristocratic captives of the court) who had little else to concern themselves with. These fashions were not the pastimes of the working class. We read in 18th century journals and anecdotes of fortunes being spent on lavish dress and whole estates going bankrupt from overspending on costume (this profligate outlay on clothing was not only confined to France of course). The images and texts contained in such works as the ‘Galerie des Modes’ and ‘Cabinet des Modes’ were drawn from, and meant for, the courtiers of Versailles and the aristocratic and wealthy beau monde of Paris and environs. This was a milieu in which style was set from the top, and being ‘démodé’ (out of fashion) was a social crime, punishable by ridicule. It was a world in which the smallest variation or the tiniest novelty was recognized at once and assigned a metaphoric tag by the person who could invent the most amusing, satirical or à propos phrase or word. That the bourgeoisie also attempted to mimic the fashions of the upper echelons of society, in a more limited manner, was no surprise – fashion was the purview of the wealthy but the envy of the classes beneath them. It is hard for us to place ourselves in this world and see costume with the highly sensitized eyes of an 18th century viewer. Secondly, the compulsion to categorize and definitively label things for all time is very much a modern development, grown out of more than two centuries of scientific thought, analysis and logical cataloguing of practically everything in existence. Because we are looking back from the plateau after that long climb, and are taught these concepts from a very young age, it’s hard to envisage a world in which they would not be common currency. We can end up applying them (or trying to apply them) to eras and subjects where they may not belong. This is a potential trap that is especially difficult to avoid in the study of history or related fields like historical 85

costume. Understanding how things were seen in previous eras means leaving much of 20th to 21st century thought, learning, prejudices and expectations behind – a difficult thing to do. From the standpoint of linguistics, the problem involves recognizing the elasticity in the development and use of words over time. It also means appreciating how the English and French languages expressed ideas. French is (and historically has been) fond of linking things by creative and sometimes whimsical associations, whereas English (not unlike German) tends to like more narrowly-defined, immutable names. Add to this the modern-day desire to maintain order and meaning via specific labels, and we’re pretty far away from 18th century French reality. In fact, the ‘Galerie des Modes’ was one of the first attempts in France to actually record and give some order to the dizzying array of fashions appearing at the time. Beyond the linguistic considerations, we can try to step for a moment into French perception of the time and remember that the French ‘fashion eye’ had been accustomed for several decades to beholding and analyzing gowns. That is, people were used to seeing the various permutations of restrictive and stiff, two-piece (petticoat with an over-gown or with a jacket) female attire of the era, often with a rigidly formed stomacher as well. To a viewer accustomed only to these sorts of garments, a dress which closely modelled the female form, looked like an infantile garment, and had no ‘covering’ in the sense of an over- gown (or perhaps stomacher) would look odd and surprising, like a woman wearing nothing but a sheath between her body and the space around her. Add to this the fact that 18th century French sources indicate that these ‘fourreaux’ or sheath-dresses were fashionable in lawn, muslin, or other light, diaphanous material, and you have a “fashion shock” that was – at least for the first few years – considered completely inappropriate for the salon, dining room or ball room. Recall the passage quoted earlier from the ‘Galerie des Modes’ reporting the fact that proper gowns were no longer worn except on very formal occasions.

In Conclusion: I’ve attempted in this essay to trace the lines of the use of the word ‘fourreau’ in 18th century French fashion, relating it to contemporary historical sources and to two broad paths of linguistic derivation. I’ve outlined various ways in which this word ‘fourreau’ was used in the 18th century to designate garments (in addition to the ‘en fourreau’ description used by extension). As I’ve pointed out, fashion of the age (and the French language) had a penchant, whether fanciful, sarcastic or visual, for comparing or relating new things to known things, whether loosely or otherwise. In this regard the women’s ‘fourreau’ had as much to do conceptually with the idea of “undress” (being an evolution from the “not quite appropriate for adult” dresses little girls wore) as it did with the idea of a sheath. The ‘fourreau’ name was also applied to a similar garment that was used to complete an ensemble – either an under-dress or over-dress -- by extension from the original ancient meaning of the root of this word as a filler or completer. There are, as I’ve shown, a number of 18th century texts and images of the ‘fourreau’, although it seems there are no extant examples of the dress itself that have survived. It would be illuminating to have one or more of these appear in some collection one day, 86

especially what I believe are the ‘trompe l’oeil’ dresses – a surviving dress of this type would confirm whether or not this theory of construction is correct. As if the situation weren’t complicated enough, we also see the ‘fourreau à l’anglaise’ (English-style fourreau dress), a variation on the ‘fourreau’, not to be confused with the ‘robes en fourreau’. In addition to the ‘fourreau’ garments referred to as such, there were indisputably dresses that 18th century French fashion described as being in “fourreau form” (en fourreau). This term referred to a variety of styles of gowns which were reminiscent of the ‘fourreau’ dress, probably in more than one way -- body-skimming bodice, closed skirt, and possibly a closely-fitted back. There is also evidence to suggest that “false” gowns existed that were called ‘robes en fourreau’, that is, dresses constructed in the form of a ‘fourreau’ but made to look like a formal gown-plus-petticoat ensemble (what I’ve called in this paper ‘trompe l’oeil’ dresses). There is evidence that particular gowns were referred to as ‘en fourreau’ because of some not very clearly defined aspects of their bodice construction. I’ve given examples of all of these garments. On the other hand, there is no convincing 18th century evidence – at least thus far -- to indicate that the description ‘en fourreau’ was, during that era, exclusively or specifically connected with the type of ‘robe à l’anglaise’ which had the centre back bodice panel cut-in-one with the skirt. These dresses certainly existed, as quite a number have survived, but there is nothing indicating that the French called them ‘robes à l’anglaise en fourreau’ at all, let alone for the reason that some modern historians seem to have believed. I was unable to find even one 18th century fashion plate amongst all those I surveyed which was specifically described as a ‘robe à l’anglaise en fourreau’. I conclude that through a misunderstanding of the French use of the description ‘en fourreau’ in a few other instances, a fashion historian at some point extrapolated -- from the few references that existed about bodice construction – that this term applied to that particular type of English gown that we now associate with the phrase. The designation has become widely accepted as a convention of fashion history, without anyone really knowing for certain why. Nowhere in my research did I see any distinction drawn by the 18th century French texts between the two types of back bodice construction of the English gowns in the late 18th century. To the French, according to the text I’ve quoted earlier, a “true” English gown was one with narrow, flat, back bodice pleats ending at the waist (i.e. separate bodice and skirt construction), and a floor-length hemline. Beyond that, there is little else. In sum, where the ‘en fourreau’ question is concerned, we do know that certain gowns (specifically the Levite) were designated as ‘en fourreau’, but not precisely why. We know that other types of dresses of the 1780’s besides the Levite were described as being ‘en fourreau’ (as shown in fashion plates here), yet we have only minimal evidence for why that was (aside from some reasonable deductions concerning “false” or ‘trompe l’oeil’ gowns). There does not appear to be any specific description of a ‘robe à l’anglaise’ being ‘en fourreau’. From the point of view of rational and scholarly historic research, however, it must be admitted that lack of evidence to date does not necessarily equal non-existence. Historians have learned that lesson many times over! The conclusions set out above may be all we can say unless further contemporary 18th century sources are found that clarify the matter. 87

Nonetheless, recognizing that linguistic elasticity and the haphazard manner in which fashions were named were completely in character for the French language of the 18th century helps to explain much of the diverse and apparently puzzling uses of ‘fourreau’ or ‘en fourreau’ in various fashion plates and references of the era. We can understand, by peering through the social and linguistic windows of the era, that naming things in fashion was more or less a “free for all” in 18th century France. It was in a very real sense a national amusement with few rules, as long as others had some idea what was being referred to. Some names of garments were, in effect, a shared satire or joke. The concept of logical, strict, categorized nomenclature was a new one to the 18th century. Science and the scientific method was in its infancy. To the French mind of the 1700’s, the idea of constraining the creative naming of things by everybody and anybody – especially fashions -- would have seemed ridiculous and pointless. Cataloguing and recording the elusive fashions of the day by nomenclature and sketched examples was what the authors of ‘Galerie des Modes’ and other similar publications were attempting to do for the first time. I’d like to quote Boucher once more, as he describes this 18th century combination of linguistic creativity and frivolity well (here he is speaking about hats and head-gear, but the notion is the same): “Little by little the most extravagant caprices began to dominate the vogue for caps. Anything could be taken as a pretext for changing their shapes and trimmings; current affairs and events, notorious lawsuits or successful plays, were transformed into pleats, ruchings and puffs […]”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ So – what should we call these elegant English gowns with their beautifully arranged centre back bodices which continue into the skirts? What do we do with terminology that may be neither entirely accurate nor entirely justified but which has become accepted and understood modern convention? Certainly point out the potential issues in using it, and encourage further research to find clarification. The interim answer may be to give this uniquely constructed dress a specific new name from this point onward, perhaps even something that was not in use in the 18th century. We do love the evocative and curious 18th century French names, but I think a clearer and more accurate name is in order to distinguish the type of English style gown with a cut-in-one, long back construction from the English gown with an ordinary back (separately cut bodice and skirt). Possibilities might be “Long-back robe à l’anglaise’”, “Long-back English gown”, “Robe à l’anglaise with long back”, or even “Robe à l’anglaise Type 1 or Type 2” (but then we’d need to remember which was which!). These are not as romantic as the old name, but the new name doesn’t need to be 18th century French, or indeed French at all, to be accurate and well understood. Even continuing to use the word “mantua” for these long back panel dresses and “English gown” (or ‘robe à l’anglaise’) for gowns with separate bodice and skirt construction, would at least give distinctive names to the two styles into the future. The designation “mantua” is certainly not wrong in this use, as it alludes to the earlier gowns in which the back central panel was fitted to the wearer with stitched-down pleats through the bodice, but released into the skirt. The only problem is that “mantua” is a broad label, which is also associated with the very early, ca. 1690-1710 gowns of quite different overall conception and 88

silhouette from the later, so-called ‘robes à l’anglaise en fourrreau’. Perhaps simply referring to the 1770s to 1780s versions as “late mantuas” would resolve the problem. I personally believe the name ‘robe à l’anglaise’ for the separate bodice-plus-skirt type (that is, the gown without the long back panel) has been well established for such long time and is so well recognized by costume historians and writers (including those of 18th century France) that it should remain. Calling the 1780’s versions of these sorts of gowns “Italian gowns” may confuse the situation by adding a new, third element without actually helping to distinguish the two types of “English” gowns. Since English gowns appeared in both types of construction throughout several decades of the 18th century, the problem would still remain of differentiating the two earlier types by a specific descriptive name. In that case, an “English gown” would seem the reasonable name for the gown cut with separate bodice and skirt, and “Mantua” (which is certainly not incorrect) for the type with a long centre back panel. Nor does referring to the late 1770’s to 1780’s version of the ‘robe à l’anglaise’ as an ‘Italian’ gown resolve the issue of dubious historical provenance of the name ‘robe à l’anglaise en fourreau’. There is also the question of whether the word “Italian” as used in English in the 18th century, actually referred to both types of gowns as they became more and more similar looking toward 1780, along the “Macaroni” theme. In light of all these problematic points, I do think it’s time to give the ‘robe à l’anglaise en fourreau’ a distinctive, descriptive, historically valid, new name of its own. Although it’s something I have not researched, so cannot comment on, I’m not especially keen on the term “English back” (mentioned in the book ‘Costume Close-up’) for this purpose, as I find it less than satisfactory in clearly differentiating the two methods of back construction. It would be easy to forget which of the two garment types is in fact supposed to be the “English back” gown. A better (new) name might be “Long-back English gown” or “Long-back robe à l’anglaise”. Since I am not convinced that the name “Italian” didn’t refer to both types of robe à l’anglaise in 18th century English, one possibility might be to call the robe à l’anglaise with a separate bodice and skirt an “Italian ‘robe à l’anglaise”, and to call what is now referred to as a ‘robe à l’anglaise en fourreau’ an “Italian mantua” (which denotes both the Macaroni, false-rump-supported style, as well as the long centre back panel design). These names would at least distinguish the two types clearly, even if “Italian ‘robe à l’anglaise” is a bit of a linguistic absurdity (“Italian English gown”)! I am sure others will be able to invent even better substitutes for the “robe à l’anglaise en fourreau”. For my part, until someone comes up with such a name, I’m going to begin to refer to this sort of gown as a ‘Late mantua’ to distinguish it unmistakably from the bodice-plus-skirt construction of the English gown, which I will refer to simply as ‘robe à l’anglaise’, as the French understood it. A new designation such as this would avoid proliferation of a label which may not be well supported by historical evidence, while still clearly differentiating the two types of garments. This can only make future costume historians’ work both easier and more understandable.

I hope my dive into this deep and obscure pool, and my long-winded exegesis of what I’ve discovered, will have helped to elucidate, if not definitively resolve, confusion over some of these areas of 18th century 89

fashion. In the process, I’ve tried to correct or explain misunderstandings of the French text. At the least, I believe the explanations offered here will account for most, if not all, of the uses of that problematic word ‘fourreau’ in 18th century fashion plates and texts. Mostly my hope is that this discussion has been of some value to those who are keenly interested in 18th century costume history.

Précis: The following briefly sets out the main points of the findings, conclusions or observations outlined in this paper, for easy reference: (1) The word ‘fourreau’ in French has a long, multi-faceted linguistic history which goes back to the Germanic tongues, likely pre-dating Roman occupation. The original meaning diverges at points in the past into two broadly distinct, but still related, streams of meaning. The first stream, going back to the original germanic word fôdr, linked to the concept of a filler (and a fur lining) exists as ‘fourreau’ in use in both the 18th and the early 20th centuries to mean a type of dressy lining or under-dress, to complete a costume. The second stream of meaning, denoting something sheath- like, appears in both 18th and 19th centuries to refer to girls’ frocks, and women’s dresses of a similar type, whether worn alone or as sheer over-dresses.

(2) In French, “un fourreau” and “en fourreau” are different grammatical forms and different meanings. The first is a noun, referring to a particular type of garment (one of the three mentioned above); the second is an adverbial phrase meaning “like” or “in the form of” a fourreau.

(3) There is also a grammatical difference between “une dame vêtue en fourreau”, and a gown referred to as “en fourreau”. In the first, the meaning of “en” would be translated as “in” (i.e. “dressed in a fourreau”); in the second the translation of “en” is “like” or “as” (see point (2) above). (4) A reference to ‘fourreau’ appears around the late 1760’s, describing a type of frock-like jacket for boys which was shaped to the body with tucks or pleats. By the late 1770’s, we see fashion plates of what are identified as ‘fourreau’ dresses for little girls, consisting of a completely closed gown with separate bodice and skirt construction, often (but not always) fastening at back, and cut to follow the upper body’s shape closely. Toward 1780, a woman’s version of the same sort of garment appears.

(5) Both the women’s and the girls’ ‘fourreau’ dress in the late 18th century existed in a number of variations, as shown in the French plates and texts I’ve surveyed, with specific style differences that are not always clear over 200 years later. In addition, a ‘fourreau’ dress could be a transparent “over-dress” or an “under-dress” to fill out or complete an ensemble. Finally, there seem to have been women’s ‘fourreaux’ that were designed intentionally to fool the eye, to appear as if they were true gowns (i.e. open gowns over separate petticoats), although the evidence for this is deductive and not conclusive. (6) In the large number of 18th century French fashion plates I have surveyed, I did not find one specifically named or entitled a “robe à l’anglaise en fourreau”. This does not mean such a name did not exist (although we know garments of this type did exist) but there is – at least so far -- no evidence to point to such a name in 18th century French. 90

(7) There is evidence of bodice construction (or perhaps sheath-like bodice fit) being associated in some way with two ‘robes à la Lévite en fourreau’ (as described in this paper), but the exact connection is unclear. Whether this included specifically and exclusively the dress that has been called by some a ‘robe à l’anglaise en fourreau’ is not at all certain. There are extant dresses with a narrow bodice centre back panel cut in one with the skirt, but, these are not identified specifically in any of the 18th century plates or texts I have surveyed. That some modern costume historian(s) seized upon this term to describe an English gown with the narrow centre back bodice panel cut-in- one with the skirt is likely misguided at best, and historically inaccurate and confusing at worst. (8) From a linguistic point of view, in 18th century French, a “robe à l’anglaise en fourreau” (if drawings or descriptions of such a garment were actually found amongst the contemporary records), would be a different garment in any event from a “fourreau à l’anglaise”. The former meaning would be an English gown (i.e. a gown plus visible petticoat) in fourreau form. The latter would be a fourreau (frock, or simple closed skirted gown) in English style, in some way that isn’t clearly explainable at our distance in time, but may relate to either the bodice or the skirt length. (9) Unless a hitherto unknown 18th century source describing or depicting the back of these gowns appears, we are left with only limited deductive evidence to associate this specific type of “cut-in- one” construction of an English gown with the 18th century description ‘en fourreau’. My research shows no evidence that this term was ever used in the context of a ‘robe à l’anglaise’ in 18th century French fashion parlance.

(10) The term ‘fourreau’ has also appeared in fashion nomenclature in the 19th, 20th and 21st centuries, albeit in rather different modes. These usages give us some retrospective insight into the word’s 18th century fashion origins. (11) The term ‘en fourreau’ was a descriptive addition to a garment name. It might very well have been used to refer to something other than, or in addition to, the garments shown in the 18th century fashion plates that have been included in this paper. For that reason we need to keep an open mind and a sharp eye when doing further research. (12) Language can be messy, murky, changeable and fluid over time, all the more a quagmire when looking back from a modern perspective. Machine (digital) translations can add to the confusion. In addition, our assumptions today can sometimes be wrong when applied to a milieu of more than 200 years ago. And a misinterpretation of any kind can become perpetuated as ‘received’ understanding. There are many examples of errors that became convention in history, science, art, and other fields. Once that happens, it’s hard to reverse the process, or to rewrite or correct all the publications in which an error has appeared.

(13) The case in point: some fashion historians of the last few decades have used the term ‘robe à l’anglaise en fourreau’ to mean English gowns that have the long, centre-back cut-in-one design, without providing convincing justification or explanation from 18th century sources. No modern fashion historian that I’m aware of has adequately explained the source of this appellation, although there are indications of how it might have come about. Nonetheless, the description has been repeated and become accepted as a convention of fashion history, presumably out of a need to distinguish two similar gowns which have different back construction. Part of this may be 91

inherent in our modern training in the scientific method and resultant compulsion to catalogue and label things in a definitive way, something quite out of step with 18th century language and habit. As I’ve shown, the French may not have been compelled to make any distinction at all between the two types of ‘robe à l’anglaise’. The term ‘en fourreau’, was taken up for this purpose at some point fairly recently, probably in the mid-20th century. If I had to choose a likely candidate for this historical faux-pas, it would probably be C.W. Cunnington. Other historians have followed his lead, no doubt based on his preeminent reputation in the field of costume history. That this type of gown existed is not debatable; it did, and we have surviving examples. However, there is no conclusive evidence that the 18th century French referred to this specifically-constructed English gown as a ‘robe à l’anglaise en fourreau’. (14) Conventions are easy to adopt and difficult to erase, and they are often the source of subsequent ongoing errors or assumptions. This might be called “accidental revisionist history”. I believe it is up to those of us who notice such errors or misunderstandings to try to correct them – or at the very least to bring them to light. (15) Although it is conjecture at this point, the 18th French may not have seen enough difference between the two types of English gowns (particularly by the 1780’s when they began to resemble each other in aspect) to give the gown with an integral, long centre back panel a specific name. In other words, to the French, both might have simply been a ‘robe à l’anglaise’. By the same token, it is possible the English may have used the term “Italian gown” to refer to both types of English gown by the 1780’s. I believe there is minimal evidence to substantiate the use of this name exclusively for the type of English gown with a separate bodice and skirt construction. Further research could shed light on these points. In any case, the term “Italian gown” does not resolve the issues around the accuracy of the name ‘robe à l’anglaise en fourreau’, nor does it help to distinguish between the two types of “English” gowns. Despite the description ‘robe à l’anglaise en fourreau’ being dubiously justifiable from a historical point of view, it at least has the merit of clearly designating one type of ‘robe à l’anglaise’ from the other, and leaving no doubt as to which one is being discussed. The question is whether a more historically accurate (or at a minimum, more technically accurate) replacement term can be found.

(16) Lastly, I believe a new term is warranted for what has come to be called by some recent costume historians as the ‘robe à l’anglaise en fourreau’. The term “mantua” is historically valid but rather too broad, and perhaps even archaic, covering practically the entire century of diverse gowns of this type. What exactly the term should be may have to be decided by consensus of people who frequently speak and write about costume history. My own preferences would be to call this type of gown either a “Late mantua” or a “Long-back robe à l’anglaise”, or, perhaps even better: “Long- back English gown”. Whatever the new name, it should be both historically valid as well as being capable of distinguishing this sort of garment once and for all from the separate bodice-plus-skirt construction of the “other” type of English gown. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

End Notes: Many 18th century French fashion plates and texts can now been accessed online. Below are those included in this article:

Galerie des Modes – A collection of fashion illustrations and texts published over a number of years in the 1780’s. Available online at: gallica.bnf.fr Cabinet des Modes –Similar to the above, but a different, later publication. Available at: gallica.bnf.fr Some coloured fashion plates from the Galerie des Modes are also accessible at the Museum of Fine Arts, Boston, via their online collection, although many do not yet have photographic images: https://www.mfa.org/search?search_api_views_fulltext=Gallerie+des+Modes

Incidentally, if you are searching the site, the MFA spells the name throughout as “Gallerie” [with 2 “l’s”], even though the modern spelling (and the spelling in most of the 18th century issues) is “Galerie”, so you will need to search by the variant spelling used by MFA. Spelling was variable in the 18th century.

History of the “Galerie des Modes” Fashion Publications

The French fashion journal, “Galerie des Modes”, existed from 1778 through 1787, and published many colour fashion plates during that time, initially dealing with hairstyles, head-dress, etc. For an extensive and detailed account (in French) of the history of this publication, see the link below: http://dictionnaire-journaux.gazettes18e.fr/journal/0483-galerie-des-modes

A Brief History of the “Cabinet des Modes” Fashion Publications (The French summary that follows is also taken from Dictionnaire des Journaux online at: http://dictionnaire- journaux.gazettes18e.fr )

I have not translated the summary that is reproduced below, but include it here for the interest of French-speaking readers. Essentially it states that the Cabinet des Modes changed title twice: the first time one year after its founding in 1785, when it was entitled “Magasin des Modes nouvelles”, and again in February, 1790 when it changed name to “Journal de la Mode et du Goût”. The author of this summary points out that the three publications should really be considered a continuation of the one fashion journal.

Historique Après des débuts difficiles (une importante baisse du nombre de souscripteurs, voir Rimbault, p. 93), le Cabinet des Modes a connu un succès certain, attesté par l'existence des contrefaçons et des émules anglais, hollandais et italien, et par le fait qu'après un an le besoin s'est ressenti d'augmenter la fréquence de parution : 3 fois par mois au lieu de 2. Ce changement implique un changement de prix (30 £) et de titre. Mais ce Magasin des Modes nouvelles est présenté expressément comme la continuation (tout de suite la 2e année) du Cabinet des Modes : «La 1ère année de ce Journal a paru sous le titre de Cabinet des Modes. Quand le Magasin des Modes nouvelles deviendra le Journal de la Mode et du Goût (15 févr. 1790), cette continuité n'est pas explicitée dans le texte, mais devient claire par le fait que le prix, l'éditeur et la présentation sont identiques. On peut donc considérer que ces 3 journaux n'en forment qu'un, qui aurait paru de 1785 à 1793 (voir la notice du Magasin des Modes nouvelles

C'est cela qui permet d'identifier le rédacteur du Cabinet des Modes et de son successeur immédiat, car alors que ces deux premiers paraissent sans nom d'auteur sur la page de titre, le Journal de la Mode et du Goût se présente comme rédigé «Par M. le Brun». C'est lui qui (ne participant à la rédaction d'aucun autre journal) créa le nouveau genre journalistique du «journal de mode» (Kleinert, p. 105).

References: (The following references are shown with the accompanying number where they first appear in the text of this paper).

1 Dictionnaire Alphabétique et Analogique de la Langue Française, Paul Robert et al. (11th Edn., Paris, Société du Nouveau Littré, 1972)

2 Encarta Concise English Dictionary, Dr. Kathy Rooney et al. (London, Bloomsbury Publishing Plc, 2001)

3 Petit Larousse Illustré, Paul Larousse et al (Paris, Librairie Larousse, 1974)

4 C. Willett Cunnington, English Women’s Clothing in the Nineteenth Century (New York, Dover Publications Inc., 1990); originally pub. Faber and Faber, London, 1937.

5 Norah Waugh, The Cut of Women’s Clothes 1600-1930, ed. Margaret Woodward (New York, Routledge Theatre Arts Books, 1968)

6 François-Alexandre-Pierre de Garsault, Art du Tailleur (or L’Art du Tailleur), (Paris, 1769); available online at gallica.bnf.fr 7 Carl Köhler, A History of Costume, trans., (New York, Dover Publications, Inc., 1963 [reprinted])

8 François Boucher, 20,000 Years of Fashion – The History of Costume and Personal Adornment, trans. Harry N. Abrams, Inc. and Thames and Hudson Ltd., (New York, Harry N. Abrams, Incorporated, 1987)

9 Marquise de la Tour du Pin, Recollections of the Revolution and the Empire, ed. & trans. Walter Geer (London, Jonathan Cape pub., 1933)

10 Linda Baumgarten & John Watson with Florine Carr, Costume Close-up – Clothing Construction and Pattern 1750-1790 (Williamsburg VA and Hollywood, CA, Colonial Williamsburg Foundation and Quite Specific Media Group Ltd., 1999)

11 Nancy Bradfield, Costume in Detail 1730-1930 (New York – Hollywood, Costume & Fashion Press, an imprint of Quite Specific Media Group Ltd., 1999 [reprinted])

12 Janet Arnold, Patterns of Fashion 1 Englishwomen’s dresses & their construction c. 1660-1860 (London, MacMillian Publishers Limited, 1977) ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~