The Language of Hair in the Nineteenth-Century Novel

Abstract

Combien de choses une femme ne pourrait-elle pas dire avec sa coiffure? says Balzac's eponomyous heroine in Honorine (568). If women said things with hair, so did nineteenth-century novelists like Balzac himself, who made good use of this silent but expressive language. In order to decipher it, I will look at elements of women's hairstyles that were in vogue during the century and the terms that refer to them. When authors give these styles to their characters, what impressions do they create? And then, what happens when hairdos are undone, when hair comes loose or is worn uncovered? Throughout, I will examine not only the language used to refer to hair but also the ways in which hair can make, as they say in fashion-speak, statement. THE LANGUAGE OF HAIRSTYLES The century began with radical change in hairstyles: the elaborate, high and full constructions of the late eighteenth century gave way to shorter hairstyles like the famous Titus, short, layered cut. (1) It provoked outrage in some quarters; and satirical caricatures and pamphlets like Anti-Titus, ou Remarques critiques sur la des femmes au XIXe siecle (1809) appeared. Women wore hairpieces, called cache-folies when they wanted to hide their short hairstyles (see Fig. 1). Under the Empire, longer hair returned, including hairstyles a la grecque, with hair bound in chignon at the back. Turbans were also popular, and they continued during the Restoration, which saw return to even longer styles, influenced by romanticism and anglomania. There were coiffures a la Sevigne, with curls around the temples and chignon at the back, styles a la Pamela, and English straw hats. These styles usually had light curls about the face (see Fig. 2). [FIGURES 1-2 OMITTED] As Figure 1 shows, curls are associated with jolies femmes, and that is true in novels as well, where they often appear in conjunction with form of the adjective charmant. They have tendency to s'echapper, which is sometimes sign of independence. In Sand's Indiana, they come out from under little cap; in Stendhal's Armance, from straw hat; in Balzac's Le Colonel Chabert, from bonnet the countess wears with her peignoir, in Illusions Perdues, from Mme de Bargeton's beret. Zola combines the ideas of beauty and independence in Le Reve, where it is comb that retenait mal les boucles de ses cheveux en revolte, d'un blond de soleil. Elle etait ingenue et fiere, d'une simplicite candide, belle comme un astre (116). Young, attractive men like Balzac's Lucien or Flaubert's Leon also have curls escaping from their caps or hats. Curls sometimes make good their escape, falling over the woman's shoulders. As we will see below, this may signal dramatic or painful moments, but on other occasions, ringlets can signify child-like beauty and innocent sexuality, as it does for Pauline in La Peau de chagrin: Un eclat de rire bien franc, bien joyeux, lui fit tourner la tete vers son lit, il vit travers les rideaux diaphanes la figure de Pauline souriant comme un enfant heureux d'une malice qui reussit, ses beaux cheveux formaient des milliers de boucles sur ses epaules, elle etait la semblable une rose du Bengale sur un monceau de roses blanches. (253) Normally, however, hair was caught up in bun, and the movement of chignons up and down the head was major element in hair fashions. During the Restoration and into the 1830s, chignons were high on the head. In 1827, when giraffes arrived at the Jardin des Plantes, chignons were supported by wire frames to form the coiffure la girafe. It is an example of the more elaborate styles, especially for balls, with high topknot (coque), often decorated with ribbons, flowers, or jewels. Sometimes the hair itself formed bow (see Fig. 3). Chignons then began to move back down, and curls moved to the sides. There were hairstyles based on historical figures, like Coiffure la Marguerite d'Anjou and braided hair a la Berthe. …