The beginning of moral decay: the sofa

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I'm learning so much from Joan Dejean's The Age of Comfort I'm losing sleep. Take, for example, the sofa.

Marquise de Montespan: revolutionary

Much of it began with the woman we all love to hate: Athénaïs, Marquise de Montespan, the Sun King's mistress. She was one of the first to consider comfort  a necessity. She designed a flowing (maternity) gown — ironically called "The Innocent."

Clagny, her chateau near Versailles, was one of the first designed with personal comfort in mind. In this painting ("Portrait of Madame de Montespan Reclining in Front of Gallery of the Chateau de Clagny" by Henri Gascard), one sees the requisite grand hall -- the show of status -- but note how a cozy area has been sectioned off, and note, especially, how La Madame reclines comfortably, if seductively, on a cushioned daybed, supported by pillows.

This was the beginning of a revolution.


The comfortable upholstered armchair came into being in France around 1680. Before then, everything was hard wood, softened — perhaps, by the morally weak — with a pillow. Before you knew it, men – and women — were lounging, feet up, arms thrown casually over armrests.

It was a short leap from the armchair to an elongated version that could sit two, side-by-side. Voilá! 

The beginning of the end

Clearly, it was the beginning of the end. The English knew the sofa was dangerous. In 1745 (over 60 years after its introduction in France) Hoarace Walpole joked about the dangers of people lolling about on a sofa in péché-mortel — mortal sin. There was very little cushioned seating and a host of other life comforts in England before the 19th century!

Have a tasty cushion?

By the way, as you pass the holiday canapés, consider the word's origin. A canapé was one of the earliest sofa designs (see the etching above). When someone first put a tasty something on a bit of bread, it was thought to look like a sofa cushion.


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A "Divine" Award

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Melanie of Kill them all, God will know his own has just given this blog an award. Thank you, Melanie! 

I'm to pass the award on to five blogs that I really like. The hard part is making a short list. Focussing on Early Modern historical sites, I nominate:

1. Wonders and Marvels; A Community for Curious Minds who love History, its Odd Stories, and Good Reads. A treasure for students of the 17th century.

2. Weave a Garland of My Vows. Jackie often writes of daily life in the 17th century.

3. On Familiar Things; Rediscover Classical Painting.

4. Mercurius Politicus, a blog about early modern books, history and culture.

5. Hoydens and Firebrands; Roaring Ladies Who Write about the Seventeenth Cenury. I know, I'm a member of this blog, but only a part.

Unfortunately, a newly-discovered blog I like very much is not connecting right now, so I can't add it to this list. Keep an eye out for Daily Life in 17th Century England.

I now have to answer some questions to prove that I am a worthy winner:

1. Where is your phone? On my desk

2. Your hair? Blonde (enhanced)

3. Your Mother? Sadly departed

4. Your Father? 92, hale & hearty

5. Your favourite food? Whatever my husband cooks

6. Your dream last night? Something about planting seeds

7. Your favourite drink? A dry white wine

8. Your dream/goal? To finish the current novel to my satisfaction

9. What room are you in? My office

10. Your hobby? I collect bookmarks

11. Your fear? That anything bad should happen to those I love

12. Where do you want to be in six years? At a computer, writing

13. Where were you last night? Early to bed with a good novel

14. Something that you’re not? Competative ... unless it's a noisy, kid game

15. Muffins? Low fat

16. Wishlist item? Books

17. Where did you grow up? Berkeley, California

18. Last thing you did? Checked my email

19. What are you wearing? Jeans

20. Your TV? How do I turn it on?

21. Your pets? An aging horse

22. Friends? Wonderful

23. Your life? Hectic

24. Your mood? A little sad

25. Missing someone? Yes

26. Vehicle? A car

27. Something you’re not wearing? A hat

28. Your favourite store? AbeBooks.com

29. Your Favourite colour? Taupe

30. When was the last time you laughed? This morning

31. The last time you cried? This morning

32. Your best friend? My husband

33. One place that I go to over and over? My computer

34. Facebook? I actually like it

35. Favorite place to eat? Many of the great restaurants in San Miguel de Allende, Mexico

Again, thank you! And now ... back to the 17th century.

Let's go to London to see ...

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The League of Hypocrites, Mikhail Bulgakov's play about Molière's battle with the repressive religious forces during the reign of Louis XIV, is being played in London, England, and — based on this excellent review (and historical overview) in History Today magazine — I'm dying to see it.

Given the improbability of traveling to London before December 19, I'm hoping that there will be, at the least, a video available.

Discovering the Age of Discomfort

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I'm reading Joan Dejean's newest work, The Age of Comfort; When Paris Discovered Casual — and the Modern Home Began.

Dejean is the meticulous author-historian of the wonderful book, The Essence of Style: How the French Invented High Fashion, Fine Food, Chic Cafés, Style, Sophistication, and Glamour.

Oh la la! Now, it appears, the French also invented comfort.

I'm learning a great deal from this wonderful book: not only about how the concept of comfort came into being, but also, at the same time, I'm gaining a deeper understanding of how uncomfortable everything had been before.

Before, into the 1670s, all that mattered in a home was magnificence: fancy façades, enormous rooms, jaw-dropping furnishings. The primary task of architecture was to show status. Casual could not even be considered because one was always on display, rigidly encased in stiff clothes, sitting on hard wooden stools. 

Before the "Age of Comfort" dawned — and it dawned rather suddenly at the tail-end of the 17th century — one was always in company. Like pack-animals, people slept, bathed, and relieved themselves in company. Homes were composed of a few, large undivided rooms. A dining table would be set up anywhere. A bathtub would be set up in the warmest room — usually the kitchen.

Hand-in-hand with the concept of comfort came the concept of privacy, and everything changed: the furniture, the lay-out of the rooms, the size and number of rooms, how one dressed, sat, entertained. How one slept, bathed, relieved oneself — privately. (I won't be surprised if this new concept of a private space, where one could be at ease, engendered a more introspective psychology, and with it the value put on individuality.)

This remarkable revolution began with ... gowns. In January of 1678, a French newspaper with a large European readership published the big news: "In France today, people only want to live comfortably." The very word — commodité — had never been used. It all had to do with a fashion at Court: women were rebelling against the rigid grand habit in favor of a less confining dress. 

From the gown came an avalanche of innovations: the chest of drawers (instead of the trunk); the padded armchair (instead of the wood stool). A double-sized armchair — known as a canapé — led to the invention of the sofa.

And, with that, of course, came the complete unraveling of all moral standards. Listen to this account from Princess Palantine, that Germanic upholder of traditional values:

"At Trianon ... all the men now sit down in the presence of M. the Dauphin and Madame the Duchesse de Bourgogne; some of them are even stretched out full-length on sofas .... You can't imagine what it's like here because it no longer looks at all like a court."

On-line articles on Dejean's book:
"How the sofa changed the world" by Heather A. Davis, Penn Current
"The Couch Potato Was Born in Paris" by Julie Scelfo, New York Times


*****
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In praise of Moe's Books in Berkeley

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I've just returned from a quick Thanksgiving jaunt to Berkeley, loaded, as usual with books. Berkeley has seen the sad demise of two independent bookstores, but Moe's Books on Telegraph keeps on thriving: thank goodness! I always comb the stacks in the European history section. Here's what I came away with this time:

Life in the French Country House, by Mark Girouard. This is a delicious art book filled with beautiful old illustrations. A delight.

The Dirt on Clean; An Unsanitized History, by Katherine Ashenburg.

The Devils of Loudun by Aldous Huxley. I own this book in my Ontario library, but I thought it would be worthwhile to have it in my Mexico library, as well. 


The Remarkable Life of Don Diego; being the autobiography of Diego de Torres Villarroel, translated from the Spanish by William C. Atkinson. This is a treasure of a book, a Folio Society edition published in 1958, with etchings and a swirly ink cover. It's an early 18th autobiography, and not French, yet there is a great deal to be learned from accounts of the period. Every page is rich in expression. 

Vermeer's Hat; The Seventeenth Century and the Dawn of the Global World, by Timothy Brook.

Malleus Malefícarum; The Hammer of Witchcraft, translated by Montague Summers. Another Folio Society treasure! This "how-to" text was first published in 1486, and is considered the most important work on demonology ever written.

As well, in the San Francisco MOMA, I picked up a gorgeous little Taschen on sale: Alchemy & Mysticism by Alexander Roob. Like all Taschen books, it has gorgeous illustrations. I'm amused by the blurb from the NYTBR on the back: "...a fast-food, high-energy fix on the topic at hand." 




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Internet enchantment

I'd stumbled onto the British Library's "Treasures in Full" site yesterday, seeking information on 17th century staging. (Links to the articles I found are on the left, under Baroque theater.) Coincidently, Sandra Taylor on the Louis XIV Yahoo list mentioned the same site today, but called my attention to specific festival books published for the court of the Sun King.  I went back and did a search, typing XIV into the searchbox, which revealed links to a number of Louis XIV festival books. Wonderful!

This one, of the L'Isle enchantée festival at Versailles the week of May 7, 1664 is my favorite. You can turn the pages to see one beautiful illustration after another.

Saint Fiacre: the patron saint of taxi drivers and gardeners

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Karen Newman's recent post, "Coach: Status Symbol" on the wonderful Wonders & Marvels site reminded me of something I'd read in A JOURNEY TO PARIS IN THE YEAR 1698 by Martin Lister.

Here is the passage (with changes made for readability):

To begin with the coaches, which are very numerous here, and very fine in gilding: there are but few, and those only of the great nobility, which are large, and have two seats or funds. But what they want in the size, beauty, and neatness of ours in London, they have infinitely in the easiness of carriage, and ready turning in the narrowest streets.


For this purpose, they are all crane-necked, and the front wheels are very low — not more than two feet and a half in diameter — which makes them easy to get into, and brings the coach-box down low, so that you have a much better view out the foremost glass (our high-seated coachmen being ever in the point of view).


Also, most coaches — even fiacres or hackneys — are hung with double springs at the four corners, which breaks all jolts. After having used the Paris coaches for four months, I  rode in the chariot of my Lord, which came from England. Every jolt could be felt, so one was more tired in one hour in that coach, than in six in the others.

Interesting! (There is so much in this book, I'm tempted to transcribe—and translate into modern English—the entire thing.)

Note: A fiacre is a small hackney coach (see illustration above). In 1640, Nicholas Sauvage, who hired out hackney coaches, lived at the Hotel St. Fiacre in the Rue St Martin, in Paris. (Now 223 rue St Martin in the Marais, according to this post.)

As well as being the patron saint of gardeners, Saint Fiacre is now the saint of taxi drivers.

In the 17th century, there was a revival of his fame, and pilgrims came to the chapel where he was buried, traveling by hired coaches known as fiacres. The first taxi stand in Paris was said to be near the Hotel St. Fiacre, and today Paris taxis are still known as fiacres.

*****

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