Fairy Tale Queens: Representations of Early Modern Queenship (24 page)

Each queen wanted to assert her own identity by setting herself apart from her subjects through dress, but among Henry’s wives, his last queen was perhaps the most attentive to fashion trends.

Catherine Parr’s extensive interest in clothing may contradict notions that Henry’s last wife was understated and subdued—a reputation undoubtedly due to her ability to survive her husband. Susan James claims that Catherine was cautious at the beginning of her reign, but in terms of fashion, she was a quick study: “By 1544, the new queen had acquired more confidence. Her chamber accounts show orders for ‘sumptuous clothes.’” James continues that not since Anne Boleyn’s reign “had the court a queen more conscious of fashion trends and continental styles and more determined to set her mark on the dress at court than was the case with Queen Kateryn Parr.”
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Crimson was her signature color and was used for her clothing as well as furnishings for her apartments, including the water closet: “Kateryn was very conscious of fashion and the contemporary continental influences on dress. She patronized Italian drapers and hat makers. Her embroiderer, Guillaume Brellant, was French.

Her jeweler, Peter Richardson, was Dutch.” Catherine’s employment of an array of international craftsmen demonstrated a painstaking investment in keeping abreast of the latest in early modern fashion both at home and abroad. One of the most detailed descriptions of Catherine Parr as queen comes from a visit by the Duke of Najera, whose comment on Catherine’s pleasant appearance we noted earlier. The duke’s report mirrors an extant full-length portrait of Catherine:
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“She was dressed in a robe of cloth of gold, and a petticoat of brocade with sleeves lined with crimson satin, and trimmed with three-piled crimson velvet; her train was more than two yards long. Suspended from her neck were two crosses, and a jewel of very rich diamonds, and in her head-dress were many and beautiful ones. Her girdle was of gold, with very large pendants.”
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The contributions that individual queens made to the history of early modern fashion warrant a separate study, but the irony remains that queens were expected both to set themselves apart from other women and yet to establish patterns to be emulated.

Fashion trends were also associated with national identity, which could engender a healthy competition or chauvinism. In d’Aulnoy’s “Gracieuse and Percinet,” the unfortunate duchess Grognon, “that ugly creature,” had attempted to remedy her physical flaws through cosmetics, and she was also “much taken up with her attire.” Grognon tried to improve herself on the fashion front: “Then she put on a dress of amaranth satin lined with blue, a yellow petticoat, and violet ribbons. She meant to make her entrance on horseback, for she had heard that the queens of Spain always did so.”
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Not only was it the Spanish style that provided her model, but it was “the queens of Spain” whom Grognon wanted to emulate.

National fashion could make for tricky international exchanges. In the first years of her reign Elizabeth entertained a large contingent from France. The queen was majestically dressed, and a lavish feast and entertainment were prepared, but the fête was not without wardrobe malfunctions. The culprit was the farthingale, the hooped structure worn under the skirt to lend it volume and shape: “At the large table all the rest of the French lords and gentlemen sat on one side, and on the other all the ladies, of whom there was no small number, and who required so much space on account of the farthingales they wore that there was not room for all; so part of the Privy Chamber ate on the ground on the rushes, being excellently served by lords and cavaliers, who gave them courage and company at their repast.”
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The English were gracious enough hosts to dine on the ground in order to accommodate extreme fashion, and in fact Elizabeth later adopted the Spanish and French farthingale as a staple of her own wardrobe.

When a queen consort arrived in a new country, her national dress was occasionally welcomed by her new subjects. Joanna of Castile’s coronation entry in the Netherlands was notable for her inclusion of Spanish styles: “This very illustrious and virtuous lady...of handsome bearing and gracious manner, the most richly adorned ever seen before in the lands of monsignor the archduke, rode a mule in the Spanish fashion with her head uncovered, accompanied by sixteen young noble ladies and one matron who followed her, dressed in golden cloth and mounted in the same manner, having pages with rich adornments”
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But adherence to national dress could also backfire and elicit xenophobic responses. Anne of Cleves, unfairly maligned for her appearance, was also criticized for her wardrobe; after commenting on Anne’s “medium beauty,” the French ambassador Marillac wrote to François: “She brought 12 or 15 ladies of honour clothed like herself—a thing which looks strange to many.”
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On the same day, Marillac wrote to Montmorency, “She brings from her brother’s country damsels inferior in beauty even to their mistress and dressed so heavily and unbecomingly that they would almost be thought ugly even if they were beautiful.”
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Anne’s wedding gown of rich cloth of gold “made after the Dutch fashion” was not well received, but she quickly learned to adapt, for on the Sunday following the wedding ceremony “she was appareled after the English fashion, with a French hood, which so set her beauty and good visage, that every creature rejoiced to behold her.”
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The correct wardrobe choices apparently made an enormous difference in Anne’s appearance and her public reception, even if her adoption of English fashion was not sufficient for Henry.

National fashion biases continued in seventeenth-century England. When Henrietta Maria arrived from France in 1625 to marry Charles I she “brought with her a vast trousseau of clothes, jewelry and furnishings...[and] a dozen satin and velvet gowns, plus cloaks and skirts all richly embroidered” were listed in the young queen’s inventory.
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As Michelle White explains, Henrietta Maria’s allegiance to French fashion, manners, customs, and language did not endear her to her English subjects.
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In 1662, when Catherine of Braganza arrived in England to marry Charles II, her Portuguese fashions were also criticized. Samuel Pepys pointed out that Catherine and her ladies “are not handsome, and their farthingales a strange dress.”
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If one country looked askance at the imported fashions of its foreign-born princesses and queens, foreign ambassadors could also comment negatively on native fashions. Ruy Gomez, a member of Philip II’s Spanish entourage and the one who commented so extensively on Mary Tudor’s pregnancy, also had an opinion on her wardrobe: “I believe that if she dressed in our fashions she would not look so old and flabby.”
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Thus, high expectations were imposed on a queen whose dress was to demonstrate the magnificence of the monarchy both beyond and within national borders. Aristocratic women in the early modern period dressed in impressive splendor but “dressing like a queen” was necessarily its own category. Henry’s marriage to Anne Boleyn had not been announced publicly when they attended a church service and she appeared “as Queen, and with all the pomp of a Queen, clad in cloth of gold, and loaded with the richest jewels.”
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It was Anne’s extravagant array, according to Warnicke, that “ended speculation about the king’s new marriage,” because it signaled royal status.
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Yet, the uniqueness of a queen’s unique position was sometimes difficult to preserve. One of Sir John Harington’s epigrams about excess and imitation in women’s fashion highlighted the problem:

“Our zealous preachers that would pride repress,

Complain against Apparells great excess,

For though the laws against it are express,

Each lady like a Queen herself doth dress.”
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For a queen, remaining at the pinnacle of the fashion pyramid entailed controlling what others could wear, which Harington well understood, for he also described an incident at the end of Elizabeth’s reign that highlighted the dangers of encroaching on the queen’s sartorial space: Elizabeth “did love rich clothing, but often chide those that bought more finery than became their state. It happened that Lady M. [Mary] Howard was possessed of a rich border, powered with gold and pearl, and a velvet suit belonging thereto, which moved many to envy; nor did it please the Queen, who thought it exceeded her own. One day, the Queen did send privately, and got the ladies rich vesture, which she put on herself and came forth the chamber among the ladies; the kirtle and border was far too short for her Majestie’s height. And she asked everyone, ‘How they liked her new-fancied suit?’ At length, she asked the owner herself, ‘If it was not made too short and ill-becoming?’ which the poor lady did presently consent to. ‘Why then, if it become not me, as being too short, I am minded it shall never become thee, as being too fine; so it fitteth neither well.’ This sharp rebuke abashed the lady, and she never adorned her herewith anymore. I believe the Vestment was laid up until after the Queen’s death.”
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Janet Arnold suggests that Elizabeth’s scolding was probably more a result of Lady Mary’s flirtation with the Earl of Essex than of the clothing itself, since Elizabeth’s ladies often wore sumptuous dresses, some of which she had given them.
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Harington’s account, however, refers to status several times: “more finery than became their state,” “it exceeded her owne,” and “it shall never become thee, as being too fine.” Regardless of the complex causes of Elizabeth’s anger, the queen drew a clear distinction between monarch and subject by invoking a hierarchy of clothing.

Elizabeth’s refusal to be upstaged could surface in more unexpected places. Carole Levin’s analysis of Elizabeth’s self-presentation as a sacred monarch refers to the queen’s participation in the Maundy ceremony: “In Maundy ceremonies of earlier reigns the monarch had usually given his robes to one of the recipients at the close of the ceremony, as Mary did with the 1556 Maundy. Elizabeth instead, so that she might keep her gown, ransomed it from the women by giving each recipient twenty shillings in addition to what they had already received.”
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Levin suggests that Elizabeth’s alteration to the ceremony’s ritual may have signaled her reluctance to choose only one recipient, but it also indicated her unwillingness to part with one of her dresses. Even further, Elizabeth may not have wanted to see a poor woman wearing clothing that was so unfitting to her social status, though presumably a recipient of a Maundy robe might sell such an elaborate dress or rework the fabric.

The royal sartorial role had to be delicately handled both by the queen and the women surrounding her; as the epitome of fashion she could be imitated but not matched. The intricate practice of gift-giving also pointed to the sanctity of the queen’s position vis-à-vis her subjects. The circulation of gifts in the early modern period, especially among the aristocracy and royalty, was an intensely complicated and politically charged system of exchange. Recent scholarship has focused on gift-giving among women as a means of establishing community and friendship, particularly between queens and their attendants. On the gift rolls for New Year’s Day, the traditional time for gift exchange, clothing, accessories, and jewels are listed alongside money, plate, and books. During Elizabeth’s reign, clothing items are particularly prominent, and the queen was both giver and receiver.

Catherine Howey argues that presenting clothing created a reciprocal relationship between Elizabeth and her women and that “this circulation of ‘majestic capital’ mutually bound givers and receivers, creating a sense that both were invested in the well-being of the other.”
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Howey carefully examines the “manuscript trail” of Elizabeth’s gift exchange and concludes that through these carefully chosen offerings the queen’s women demonstrated their participation in “building and maintaining the network of support Queen Elizabeth needed to survive on the throne.”
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Elizabeth’s own gifts of clothing to her attendants, companions, and servants demonstrated both personal and politic appreciation; she often gave lengths of costly fabric as well as new and previously worn articles of clothing. Arnold points out that recycling gifts was common practice since “materials like velvet, cloth of gold and satin were extremely expensive and the clothes worn by the Queen were superbly embroidered.”
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These gestures, generous as they may have been, still did not suggest an intimacy approaching equality. In her analysis of gift-giving at Elizabeth’s court, Lisa Klein argues that the ritual exchange of gifts affirmed and reinforced the status quo: the practice “is essentially conservative in that it affirms hierarchy and maintains the positions of parties within it.”
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The gowns Elizabeth gave were her discarded garments, so passing them on to be worn or reworked did not threaten her fashion superiority. The other gifts of clothing Elizabeth bestowed upon her female attendants and her servants were usually in the form of livery; many of Elizabeth’s clothing gifts to her ladies-in-waiting were for uniform—and thus equalizing—dresses.

An elegantly and identically dressed group of women surrounding the queen would provide a splendid spectacle while not detracting from the queen’s own superior and distinct appearance. As Camden pointed out, the creation and maintenance of dazzling apparel represented a significant investment. Even in the fairy tale world, generally so cavalier about matters as mundane as budgets, an awareness of clothing’s financial value often surfaces. In Basile’s “The Sun, the Moon, and Talia,” the elder queen prepares to kill her younger rival but “Talia knelt down before the queen and begged her to give her time at least to take off the clothes she was wearing. The queen consented, not out of pity for Talia but because she wanted to salvage the clothes, which were embroidered with gold and pearls.”
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The murderous queen’s thrifty appreciation of costly apparel enables Talia’s survival, for as “she began to undress, she uttered a cry with each article of clothing she took off,” and her desperate and noisy disrobing summons the king who arrives just in time to punish one queen and marry her successor.