Friday Video: Astaire & Rogers 1933 dancing debut

Loretta reports:

My thanks to the FIDM Museum for this wonderful post about Fred Astaire's shoes.  It included not only a link to a fascinating interview with the great dancer, wherein he discusses his clothing choices in detail, but this clip from Flying Down to Rio—the first film in which Ginger Rogers & Fred Astaire danced together.  They appear only for a short time, but the production is a great example of what musicals accomplished—with talented human beings and no computer special effects—in the 1930s.

Illustration:  Detail from City of New York Municipal Airports poster,  courtesy Library of Congress Prints and Photographs Division Washington, D.C. 20540 USA.      


Readers who receive our blog via email might see only a black rectangle or square or X where the video ought to be.  To watch the video, please click on the title of this post.

An Enterprising Mantua-Maker Saves her Apprentice, 1711

Isabella/Susan* reporting:

The following tale of an ingenious, avenging London mantua-maker (dressmaker) saving her young apprentice from a false seducer is from The Spectator (1711), an influential daily publication founded by Joseph Addison and Richard Steele. Most likely these events are pure fiction, not fact, and the "author", the felicitously named Alice Threadneedle, is also likely male. But it could have happened....

   It is the ordinary Practice and Business of Life with a Set of idle Fellows about this Town, to write Letters, send Messages, and form Appointments with little raw unthinking Girls, and leave them after Possession of them, without any Mercy, to Shame, Infamy, Poverty, and Disease. Were you to read the nauseous Impertinences which are written on these Occasions, and to see the silly Creatures sighing over them, it could not but be Matter of Mirth as well as Pity. 

   A little Prentice Girl of mine has been for some time applied to by an Irish Fellow, who dresses very fine, and struts in a laced Coat, and is the Admiration of Seamstresses who are under Age in Town. Ever sine I have had some Knowledge of the Matter, I have debarred my Prentice from Pen, Ink and Paper. But the other Day he bespoke some Cravats of me: I went out of the Shop and left his Mistress to put them into a Band-box in order to be sent to him when his Man called. When I came into the Shop again, I took occasion to send her away, and found in the Bottom of the Box written these Words, "Why would you ruin a harmless Creature that loves you?" then in the Lid, "There is no resisting." I searched a little farther, and found in the rim of the Box, "At Eleven of clock at Night come in an Hackney-Coach at the End of our Street." 

   This was enough to alarm me; I sent away the things, and took my Measures accordingly. An Hour or two before the appointed Time I examined my young Lady, and found her Trunk stuffed with impertinent Letters, and an old Scroll of Parchment in Latin, which her Lover had sent her as a Settlement of Fifty Pounds a Year. Among other things, there was also the best Lace I had in my Shop to make him a Present for Cravats. I was very glad of this last Circumstance, because I could very conscientiously swear against him that he had enticed my Servant away, and was her Accomplice in robbing me: I procured a Warrant against him accordingly. 

   Every thing was now prepared, and the tender Hour of Love approaching, I, who had acted for myself in my Youth the same senseless Part, knew how to manage accordingly. Therefore after having locked up my Maid, and not being so much unlike her in Height and Shape, as not to pass for her, I delivered the Bundle designed to be carried off to her Lover's Man, who came with the Signal to receive them. Thus I followed after to the Coach, where when I saw his Master take them in, I cryed out, "Thieves! Thieves!" and the Constable with his Attendants seized my expecting Lover. I kept myself unobserved till I saw the Crowd sufficiently encreased, and then appeared to declare the Goods to be mine; and had the Satisfaction to see my Man of Mode put into the Round-House, with the stolen Wares by him, to be produced in Evidence against him the next Morning. 

   I have been contented to save my Prentice, and take a Year's Rent of this mortified Lover, not to appear further in the Matter. This was some Penance; but, Sir, is this enough for a Villany of much more pernicious Consequence than the Trifles for which he was to have been indicted? Should not all Men of any Parts or Honour, put things upon so right a Foot, as that such a Rascal should not laugh at the Imputation of what he was really guilty, and dread being accused of that for which he was arrested?....

Above: The pretty mantua maker, published by M. Darly, London, 1772. Lewis Walpole Library, Yale University.

* Why two names? Here's the answer.

A London House 1810-11

Loretta reports:

The same French visitor who deplored British dining habits admired London’s houses.

~~~

Each family occupy a whole house, unless very poor . . . These narrow houses, three or four stories high,— one for eating, one for sleeping, a third for company, a fourth under ground for the kitchen, a fifth perhaps at top for the servants . . .

The plan of these houses is very simple, two rooms on each story; one in the front, with two or three windows looking on the street, the other on a yard behind, often very small; the stairs generally taken out of the breadth of the back-room. The ground-floor is usually elevated a few feet above the level of the street, and separated from it by an area, a sort of ditch, a few feet wide, generally from three to eight, and six or eight feet deep, inclosed by an iron railing; the windows of the kitchen are in this area . . . you cannot pass the threshold without being struck with the look of order and neatness of the interior. Instead of the abominable filth of the common entrance and common stairs of a French house, here you step from the very street on a neat floor-cloth or carpet, the wall painted or papered, a lamp in its glass bell hanging from the ceiling, and every apartment in the same style:—all is neat, compact, and independent, or, as it is best expressed here, snug and comfortable . . .

On the foot pavement before each house is a round hole, fifteen or eighteen inches in diameter, covered with an iron grate; through that hole the coal-cellar is filled without endangering the neatness of the house. The streets have all common sewers, which drain the filth of every house. The drains preclude that awkward process by which necessaries are emptied at Paris, poisoning the air of whole streets, during the night, with effluvia, hurtful and sometimes fatal to the inhabitants. Rich houses have what are called water-closets; a cistern in the upper story, filled with water, communicates by a pipe and cock to a vessel of earthen ware, which it washes.
—Louis Simond, Journal of a tour and residence in Great Britain, during the years 1810 and 1811, Volume 1(1817 edition).

Illustration from Thomas H. Shepherd's London in the Nineteenth Century.

Who's Wearing the Ducal Breeches in 1775?

Isabella/Susan* reporting:

Satirical cartoons of the late 18th-early 19th c are seldom subtle (like these examples here and here), which makes this pair all the more interesting. Published in 1775 by Matthew Darly, the prints are not labeled with the subject's names, and modern historians are reluctant to give them a definite identity. Still, 18th c viewers would have instantly known who they represent, and it's an easy guess for us, too: Jane Gordon, Duchess of Gordon, and her husband, Alexander Gordon, 4th Duke of Gordon.

Jane Gordon (1748-1812) was one of the most discussed ladies of her generation. Georgian ladies were supposed to be decorative; Jane was a celebrated beauty, but she was also clever, savvy, out-spoken, and witty. Not only did she handle her husband's business affairs, but as a confidant of William Pitt the Younger, she was actively involved in politics as a noted Tory hostess. Many accused her of having far more influence than was suitable for a woman. Her personality and pro-Bonaparte sympathies eventually led to the end of her marriage and her social position with it.

In the drawing, above, called The Breeches in the Fiera Maschereta (Italian for "fine masquerade"), a woman with a duchess's plumes has hidden herself entirely in an enormous pair of men's breeches.  (If you're having trouble visualizing the front of the breeches, see this photo of an 18th c style pair.) Twentieth century wives with strong personalities were often described as "wearing the pants in the family," which could also sum up this drawing. But in a time when no woman wore breeches (or pants), there's a sharper edge to the humor. By meddling in men's affairs, the duchess is an unnatural woman - and one who strives to assume a male identity by assuming the ultimate male garment as a masquerade.

The companion drawing, right. is no more flattering to His Grace. Alexander Gordon (1743-1827) was an  energetic Scottish nobleman, popular with his tenants, but his marriage to Jane was widely regarded as a bitter, tumultuous disaster. Despite having a sizable family, the two eventually lived separate lives. Those who disliked his duchess and disapproved of the influence she maintained faulted the duke for not making her act in a more traditional wifely manner (though it was doubtful any man could have made Jane obey.)

In The Petticoat, at the Fieri Maschareta, a man is shown "masquerading" in a voluminous woman's petticoat, his gloved hand protruding from the pocket slits and the waist strings tied around his neck.  On his head is a ducal coronet, and the face that peeks out has an exaggerated version of the duke's profile. Garbed like this, he is not simply hiding behind his wife's skirts, but overwhelmed and emasculated as well - which is likely the way his overbearing wife's behavior was viewed.  Despite this caricature, however, the duke was behaving in an entirely male, ducal way. While his duchess ruled London society, he remained at Gordon Castle with his mistress nearby, siring four illegitimate children with her.

Above: The Breeches in the Fiera Maschereta & The Petticoat, at the Fieri Maschareta, published by Matthew Darly, London, 1775. The British Museum.  Many thanks to our blogly friend Heather Carroll for reminding us of this print!


*Why two names? The explanation is here.

Fashionable furniture for April 1814

Loretta reports:

From the April 1814 issue of Ackermann’s Repository, remarks on the value of the arts accompany the illustration of a table and chair inspired by the man who gave the Regency its name.

~~~

Plate 23. —FASHIONABLE FURNITURE.

We know that a people become enlightened by the cultivation of the arts, and that they become great in the progress of that cultivation. That a just knowledge of the useful and a correct taste for the ornamental go hand in hand with this general improvement, the dullest observer may be satisfied by looking around him. We now acknowledge, that it is alone the pencil of the artist which can trace the universal hieroglyphic; understood alike by all, his enthusiasm communicates itself to all alike, and prepares the mind for cultivation. A national improvement is thus produced by the arts, and the arts are supported in their respectability by the calls which the improving public taste makes for their assistance ; they are inseparable in their progress, and mutually depend on each other for support. In the construction of the domestic furniture of our dwellings we see and feel the benefit of all this. To the credit of our higher classes who encourage, and of our manufacturing artists who produce, we now universally quit the overcharged magnificence of former ages, and seek the purer models of simplicity and tasteful ornament in every article of daily call.

The table and chair which are the subject of the present engraving, are peculiarly of the description of improvement of which we are speaking. They exhibit a judicious combination of elegance and usefulness, do great credit to the artists who designed and executed them, and highly merit the patronage afforded them. They are from the ware-rooms of Messrs. Morgan and Sanders, of Catherine-street, Strand. They take the name of Carlton-House Table and Chair, as we presume, from having been first made for the august personage whose correct taste has so classically embellished that beautiful palace.
—The Repository of arts, literature, commerce, manufactures, fashions and politics,1814

Breakfast Links: Week of April 9, 2012

Served up fresh for weekend delight: our favorite links of the week to other blogs, web sites, video clips, and articles, collected from around the Twitterverse - and while I could have done an entire listing of only Titanic-related links, I promise I didn't.
• The first Sartorialist: the 1906 street style photography of Edward Linley Sambourne.
• Poor Chole! How to reject a girl, 1788.
• A glimpse of author Harper Lee's reclusive life from her sister.
• Unprincipled octogenarian Scottish noble Simon Fraser, Lord Lovat, executed this week in 1747 for his role in Jacobite rebellions.
• So many New York connections to the Titanic, and more here, too.
• "'The Irish glover!' cried Mr. Hill, with a Look of Terror" - the truth about 18th c chicken skin gloves.
• Why some American Civil War soldiers glowed in the dark.
• Did a concoction made from fiddlehead ferns kill 19th c botanist Constantine Rafinesque?
• What happens when a big lorry drives through a small 16th c archway.
• Fantastic food for jubilees and other royal occasions.
• Unknown no more: identifying a Civil War soldier.
• The beautiful carved swags on early 19th c houses in Salem, MA.
• Vintage LOL cats.
• When things were still made in the US: business stationary featuring architectural vignettes.
• "Footprints in the cheese": a strange tale of theft, 1770.
• The squirrel: a symbol of saving, spite, and. . .Satan.
• The young Shakespeare among the inns & playhouses of Elizabethan London.
• Death-defying feats: a day at 19th c Cremorne.
• Items from Emily Dickinson Museum at Amherst College, including Emily's poems & lock of her hair.
• The splendid fashions of 1912, or what you might have worn on board the Titanic. More here.
• In the days before CNN, important news - like the assassination of President Lincoln - came in newspaper extra.
• Important invention: the refrigerator, patented in 1803 by Thomas Moore. Early customer: Thomas Jefferson.
• A memorable tale of true love: one of the most poignant stories from the Titanic, and the monument to it.

Friday Video: After Hours at the Bookstore

Isabella/Susan* reporting:

This delightful video is a true labor of love by the owners and staff of Type Books, a small indie bookstore in Toronto, ON. As the YouTube description says, they "spent many sleepless nights moving, stacking, and animating books," and the results are delightful. Try doing this with an e-book!

At least they say they moved the books.  Who really knows what happens when books are left alone at night?

For more about the making of this video as well as Type Books and a list of all the volunteers who helped create it, here's the link to the YouTube page.


* Wondering why I now have two names? All is explained here.