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. 

Worth's Magnificent Gilded Age Fashion Now Online

Isabella/Susan* reporting:

The Museum of the City of New York has just given us Nerdy History Girls (as well as all other lovers of history, fashion, impeccable stitching, Gilded Age New York City, Edwardian London, and fin-de-siecle Paris and all-around gorgeous clothes) a most splendid gift: they're presenting their incredible collection of couture clothes by master designers Charles Frederick Worth (1826-1925) and Mainboucher (1891-1976) in an online exhibition. No matter where in the world you live, if you have internet access, you can visit Worth/Mainboucher: Demystifying the Haute Couture – and wow, do I hope you do!

Hands down, this is the very best presentation of historical fashion that I've yet seen online. The clothes are beautifully photographed, most with multiple views. Click on the close-up feature (that little magnifying glass), and you can view each piece in astonishing detail, with every exquisite stitch and seam distinct. Ever garment has an accompanying short history, plus actual garment measurements and technical details outlining fabric content.

While those of you who enjoy sleek 20th c. elegance will relish the Mainboucher section of the site - he dressed such style-setters as the Duchess of Windsor, Babe Paley, and C.Z. Guest - my own taste runs more to the lavish, often fanciful, 19th c creations of Worth. For nearly seventy-five years, Worth's Parisian atelier was a mecca for wealthy fashion-conscious ladies from Europe and America, and his one-of-a-kind gowns exemplify the luxuriant excess of Gilded Age New York in the time of the Astors and Vanderbilts.

The ice-blue ball gown c 1886, left, includes many of the features that make Worth gowns so special. Masterful draping, an eye-catching combination of fabrics (including uncut velvet, satin, chiffon, glass beads, lace, & silk plush!) that create an interplay of textures, and dramatic asymmetry all help create a gown that would make the wearer stand out even in the most crowded ball. (Here's the link to the page for the complete description and more photos - and don't forget that magnifying glass feature!)

But modern 19th c ladies required fashion beyond the opera house and ballroom. Once owned by a princess, the c 1890 coat, right, was designed for ice skating. Rich brown wool duvetyn is trimmed with mink, and lined with blood-red silk that would have showed through the back vent as the skater glided by. Wouldn't you love to add this to your own wardrobe for blustery days? (Here's the link to the coat's page.)

Photographs courtesy The Museum of the City of New York.
*Wondering why I now have two names? Here's the scoop.

Strange English Dining Customs & Furniture

Loretta reports:

~~~

There are some customs here not quite consistent with that scrupulous delicacy on which the English pique themselves.  . . . Drinking much and long leads to unavoidable consequences. Will it be credited, that, in a corner of the very dining room, there is a certain convenient piece of furniture, to be used by any body who wants it. The operation is performed very deliberately and undisguisedly, as a matter of course, and occasions no interruption of the conversation. I once took the liberty to ask why this convenient article was not placed out of the room, in some adjoining closet; and was answered, that, in former times, when good fellowship was more strictly enforced than in these degenerate days, it had been found that men of weak heads or stomachs took advantage of the opportunity to make their escape shamefully, before they were quite drunk; and that it was to guard against such an enormity that this nice expedient had been invented. I have seen the article in question regularly provided in houses where there were no men, that is, no master of the house ; the mistress, therefore, must be understood to have given the necessary orders to her servants,—a supposition rather alarming for the delicacy of an English lady.

—Louis Simond, Journal of a Tour and Residence in Great Britain, During the Years 1810 and 1811, Volume 1 (1817 edition).

Seventeen years later, Prince Pückler-Muskau writes to his beloved Lucie about “one strange custom . . . a relic of barbarism which is extremely repugnant to our notions of propriety.
“This struck me especially today when an old admiral who, clad in his dress uniform, probably on account of Lord Melville’s presence, made use of this facility for a good ten minutes, during which period we felt as if we were listening to the last drops from a roof gutter after a long past thunderstorm.”

Illustration:  James Gillray, A Voluptuary under the horrors of digestion, 1792. Library of Congress Prints and Photographs Division Washington, D.C. 20540 USA

Pseudonyms; or How Susan is Becoming Isabella

Susan/Isabella reporting:

Pseudonyms, or pen names, have a long history in publishing, especially for women. In the past, women writers often assumed a male name to give their books credibility with editors and readers skeptical of a female pen: Currer Bell (Charlotte Bronte), George Eliot (Mary Ann Evans), Isak Dinesen (Karen Blixen). I can think of only one case when a woman writer with a male-sounding first name switched to one that was more feminine: Howard Allen O'Brien publishes as Anne Rice.

Sometimes women writers choose a pen name to separate themselves from their husbands and families, and sometimes, too,  a pen name works because it's shorter and easier to remember than the real name: the single-named Colette (Sidonie-Gabrielle Colette.) Modern writers often choose a second name to signal readers that they're writing a different kind of book Nora Roberts writes traditional romance/women's fiction; as J.D. Robb, she writes futuristic suspense. I'm sure you can think of more examples - once you start, it's hard to stop.

All of which is a roundabout way of explaining that this summer I'll be launching an exciting new series of historical romances under a new name: Isabella Bradford. Scheduled for release at the end of July, When You Wish Upon a Duke is the first of three books (published by Ballantine/Random House) following the romantic escapades of the irrepressible Wylder sisters – escapades that make them the talk of Georgian London, and a passionate challenge to the trio of dukes who fall in love with them. You won't have long to wait for the next book in the series, either.  When the Duchess Says Yes will be released in late September, and When the Duke Found Love in late November.

I'll be writing more here on the blog about the historical background to the books over the coming months (as well as launching an Isabella Bradford website), but in the meantime, I'll be adding Isabella's name to my posts here as well. A bit awkward, I know, but then we Geminis are accustomed to having multiple identities.

What about my historical novels written as Susan Holloway Scott? For now, I'm taking a short break from historical fiction to focus on Isabella Bradford. But don't be surprised if some historical story suddenly bubbles up from my imagination and research to become a new book.

Breakfast Links: Week of April 2, 2012

Happy Easter, happy Passover, happy spring! Served up fresh for your holiday weekend: our favorite links of the week to other blogs, web sites, video clips, pictures, and articles, collected from around the Twitterverse.
• The lost Hippodrome – a mammouth 1906 NYC theater – reportedly the largest in the world.
• "Minions": the complicated privy chamber of Henry VIII.
• Account of the Wonderful Centaur, 1751.
• "Rogues, a Study of Character"- collection c1860 of glass print photos of criminals & their crimes.
• A ballroom shepherdess? Charming fancy dress costume, c1883-87.
• Inspired by a royal bride (or not): The truth about 19th c Battenburg Cake.
• The Victorians and the Blow-Up Doll Femme de Voyage.
• Shakespeare and the Lost Years.
• What a library! Uses of tiered tables in the book rooms at Wimpole Hall.
• Avert your eyes, sensitive followers: A naughty Georgian print, featuring a little light spanking.
• Oh, why not? Architectural LOLcats.
• Enjoy three lovely straw hats (1890s, 1940s, & 1950s) that are perfect for Easter Sunday.
• When books mattered: Scribner's NYC bookstore was the Apple flagship of its day, a century ago.
• 17th c advice on how to train a horse to pick up a glove, count, and piss on demand.
• First-ever appearance of Peter Rabbit, in an illustrated letter from Beatrix Potter to a young boy.
• UK's first female doctor? Strange tale of a woman called "James" Barry, who lived life as a man.
• Mark Twain's obsession with Joan of Arc.
• Louis XIV: Patron, but no saint.
• Hear Mick Jagger sing about cereal, as mentioned by Don Draper on Mad Men. (video)
• Titanic: Twenty telling images.
• Ganseys for Dummies: exploding myths surrounding historic cable knits of the British Isles.
• Victorine Meurent, Manet's famous model - and an ambitious artist herself.
• Stupendous photos of the 1960s pre-Apollo astronauts. Did Geminis have the right stuff? Hell yeah!
• Women known as "fluffies" clean the London Underground at night in 1944. (video)
• Queen Victoria's wedding dress.
• Arbors for lovers and large gatherings in early American gardens.
• Victorian women & drugs.
• Grisly "hand of glory" discovered in the wall of a thatched cottage.

Friday Videos: Queen Elizabeth II & the Royal Maundy Service

Susan reporting:

We're offering two videos this week, featuring the same royal ceremony fifty years apart. Maundy Thursday marks the beginning of the three days celebrating Easter, and commemorates the events of the Last Supper. In an ancient tradition that dates back at least to the time of King Edward I, the reigning English monarch offers alms, called the Royal Maundy, to a symbolic number of elderly, deserving citizens (one man and one woman for each year of the sovereign's age); the sum of the alms is also the same amount in pence. The sovereign gives each recipient two small leather purses, one red, one white, which are carried in the ceremony by Yeomen of the Guards. In the red purses are modern currency for the purchase of food and clothing. In the white purses are the silver Maundy coins. (For more about Maundy Money, see this post by the Royal Mint.)

The Royal Maundy Service in 1952, shown in the video above, was the first official appearance by Elizabeth as the new queen, only a few weeks after her father's death in February. Because of her youth - she was only twenty-six at the time - the Royal Maundy that she distributed consisted of silver coins totaling twenty-six pence, given to the twenty-six deserving men and women. She was the first English queen to participate in the ceremony since her namesake Elizabeth I, four hundred years earlier.

Sixty years later, the Queen is celebrating her Diamond Jubilee, and when she attended the Royal Maundy Service at York Minster this week, the number of the recipients and the coins were substantially more: eighty-six male and eighty-six female recipients received coins valued at eighty-six pence. Below is video from the service, which took place yesterday, April 5, 2012.


If you receive this post by email and are seeing only a blank or black box above, please go directly to this link to view the videos.

An Easter Custom: Lifting

Loretta reports:

An interesting Easter custom, courtesy William Hone, The Every-Day Book, or, The Guide to the Year, Vol. 1., (originally published in 1825)
~~~
Mr. Ellis inserts, in his edition of Mr. Brand's "Popular Antiquities," a letter from Mr. Thomas Loggan of Basinghall-street, from whence the following extract is made : Mr. Loggan says, " I was sitting alone last Easter Tuesday, at breakfast, at the Talbot in Shrewsbury, when I was surprised by the entrance of all the female servants of the house handing in an arm-chair, lined with white, and decorated with ribbons and favours of different colours.  I asked them what they wanted, their answer was, they came to heave me; it was the custom of the place on that morning, and they hoped I would take a seat in their chair.  It was impossible not to comply with a request very modestly made, and to a set of nymphs in their best apparel, and several of them under twenty.  I wished to see all the ceremony, and seated myself accordingly.  The group then lifted me from the ground, turned the chair about, and I had the felicity of a salute from each.  I told them, I supposed their was a fee due upon the occasion, and was answered in the affirmative; and, having satisfied the damsels in this respect, they withdrew to heave others.  At this time, I had never heard of such a custom; but on inquiry, I found that on Easter Monday, between nine and twelve, the men heave the women in the same manner as on the Tuesday, between the same hours, the women heave the men.”
...
The late Mr. Lyson read to the Society of Antiquaries an extract from a roll in his custody, as keeper of the records in the tower of London, which contains a payment to certain ladies and maids of honour for taking king Edward I. in his bed at Easter; from whence it has been presumed that he was lifted on the authority of that custom, which is said to have prevailed among all ranks throughout the kingdom. The usage is a vulgar commemoration of the resurrection which the festival of Easter celebrates.

The Liberated Lives of Hortense & Marie Mancini

Susan reporting:

Hortense Mancini, Duchess Mazarin (1646-1699) is one of my favorite historical women. I've written about her here and here for this blog, and she's also cut a bold figure in several of my historical novels, including The French Mistress and The King's Favorite.

Born a niece of the powerful Cardinal Mazarin, Hortense was a beautiful, flamboyant woman unhappily married off to a fanatical madman. Granted, she would have challenged most husbands: she rode, shot, gambled, swam, read and wrote, fought with swords, dressed in men's clothes, kept a menagerie of pets, and took lovers with abandon, including the English King Charles II.

But in 17th c society, women were considered their husband's property, with few rights of their own, and Hortense rebelled. She fled her husband, as did her equally unhappily married sister Marie Mancini, Princess Colonna (1639-1715) - who had herself been an early love of the French King Louis XIV- and together the two women embarked on a wild journey across Europe. Keeping one step ahead of their husbands, they travelled scandalously on their own from one royal court to another. Best of all, Hortense wrote her memoirs, whose frankness and feminist philosophy made them an instant sensation. How can you not like a woman like that?

My only regret regarding Hortense and Marie was that, stunningly, neither lady had a first-rate biography. Now they do: The Kings' Mistresses by noted scholar Elizabeth C. Goldsmith. Bringing together the remarkable lives of Hortense and Marie Mancini against the tumultuous world of Baroque Europe, this dual biography is rich with period detail and thoughtful research. It's historical biography at its best - the intertwined story of two women who refused to be ruled by either husbands or kings, and dared instead to create their own destiny.

Above: Hortense Mancini, by Benedetto Gennari the Younger, Musee des Beaux-Arts, Valenciennes.


In accordance with the FTC, I received this book from the publisher for review - though I would definitely have bought it on my own, too!

Fashions for April 1821

Loretta reports:

I especially love the little puffs on the shoulders of the carriage dress.

From the Lady’s Monthly Museum for April 1821.

~~~

THE

MIRROR OF FASHION

FOR APRIL, 1821.

CARRIAGE DRESS.

Pelisse of levantine of a bright mashmallow-blossom color, finished round the border with points folded back, from the material being placed over the lining; each point is terminated by a rich tassel à la ballon. The mancherons at the shoulders are formed of distinct puffs. A cravat scarf shawl, of pink raw silk, is generally worn with this pelisse, and a black bonnet, with oval puffings à I'Espagne on the brim, and points at the edge to correspond with the trimming on the pelisse: a rich plume of curled feathers is placed in front, with one feather depending over the right shoulder. Single Spanish ruff of lace, of a Vandycke pattern. Half-boots, of mashmallow-blossom, kid.

EVENING DRESS.

Round dress, of pearl-colored gossamer satin, trimmed with a broad ornamental border of embossed crape, or satin à l’antique. The stomacher is composed of fine lace of a novel form, and is pointed at the bottom of the waist in front. High tucker of fine broad lace. The hair arranged partly in the Greek and partly in the Parisian style, confined by a velvet bandeau across the forehead, where it is slightly separated, and crowned by a superb-diadem of apple-blossoms. Necklace and ear-rings of large oriental pearls. White satin slippers, white kid gloves, and white fan of figured tulle.

We have . . . been favored with the above elegant dresses by Miss Pierpoint, inventress of the Corset à la Grecque, 9, Henrietta-street, Covent-Garden.

Fashion that Made an Abolitionist Statement, c 1790

Susan reporting:

The fashion-conscious gentleman of 1800 that we recently saw here (and in detail below) was wearing one of the more popular and useful male accessories of his era: dangling seals, also called fobs or toys. Suspended by ribbons or a chain, the seals were a decorative evolution of a practical item. Before envelopes, letters were folded sheets sealed with wax. The letter-writer would personalize his missive by pressing an intaglio seal into the hot wax, marking it with a symbol or design meaningful to him: a monogram, family crest, cipher, or classical motif.

While a seal could be cast metal, more elaborate ones became a kind of jewelry, with carved stones set into precious or plated metals. Look closely at many portraits and drawings of gentlemen from the late 18th-early 19th c, and you'll see them, usually worn at the waist in a small cluster. But the fashion wasn't restricted to gentlemen. Ladies, too, wore seals, hanging from their waist as part of a chatelaine. (Here's a splendid one c 1740, complete with a watch as well as seals.)

But the seal, above left, is more than mere ornament. (This photo shows the seal about twice actual size, and mounted on a display post.)  To quote from the accompanying placard: "The engraved carnelian stone of this example depicts a half-kneeling African male, bound at the wrists and ankles by iron chains, beneath the motto "AM I NOT A MAN AND A BROTHER." The design was first adopted in England in 1787 by the Quaker-led Society for Effecting the Abolition of the Slave Trade. Within a few years, the "slave medallion" design achieved wide circulation in print, metal, and ceramics and was adopted by anti-slavery movements in France and the United States. With each use, the owner of this seal expressed his or her abolitionist sympathies."

Abolition was a complicated and volatile issue for Americans and Englishmen alike, involving questions of politics, morality, religion, racism, regionalism, and economics. Wearing a seal with this symbol – instantly recognizable at the time – would have made a subtle yet undeniable statement that had nothing to do with the whims of fashion.

Top: Seal, probably made in London; 1790-1810. Carnelian, gilt brass. Collection of Winterthur Museum.
Below: Detail, A man of fashion in 1700: A fashionable man in 1800, drawn etched & published by Dighton, Charg. Cross, London, 1800. Copyright Lewis Walpole Library, Yale University.

Breakfast Links Week of March 26, 2012

Served up fresh for your browsing delight: our favorite links of the week to other blogs, web sites, pictures, and articles, collected from around the Twitterverse.
• Brief history of royal barges, including Eleanor of Provence's being pelted with stones from London Bridge in 1263.
• The onager, a fabulous beast, and symbol of the devil, who brays 12 times on the spring equinox.
• Artist at the window: 18th c French painter Marie Victoire Lemoine.
• Who was Casanova - history's greatest lover, a cad, or a misunderstood intellectual?
• Breathtaking pink silk satin evening gown by Liberty c 1910 - esp. like the open sleeves & tassels.
• An "angel in a top hat" or "a great meddler"? Henry Bergh (1813-1888) inspiring founder of ASCPA.
• Few artists are as sharply cruel as caricaturist James Gillray: his 1807 take on Lady Hamilton, "greatly enlarged."
• The original "Mad Men" office building 1957.
• Rare archival photographs of everyday life on board the Titanic by fortunate passenger who disembarked early.
• Who killed Alexander the Great? New theories about his death.
• Grim way of punishing outspoken women in the 16th-17th c: the scold's bridle.
• The education of an 18th c squire: John Wilkes (1725-1797.)
• The donkey born in a First World War trench that became a mascot for British troops.
• Caroline, Byron, and Annabella, in the same house on the same "fatal day."
• So cool! Virtual tour of Victorian chemist shop at Hitchin Museum.
• Garden history: 19th c White House gardens and grounds.
• A view of London: Tottenham Court Road, 1812.
• Self-Murder: The Sad Case of Mary Hunt (1767-1792.)
• An unusual Italian Renaissance mansion on NYC's Upper East Side survives relatively unchanged.
• Fannie Farmer & Cooking: fantastic list/links of historical cooking & recipe sources.
• Automaton: The Turk-The Grandmaster Hoax.
• "The wisdom of Solomon"and a stone pyramid, in the yard of a Hawksmoor church in London.
• Elegant black lace mitts from 1830s, not 1980s.

Friday Video: Buster Keaton in the ring

Loretta reports:

I've incorporated early 19th C gentlemen's fondness for fisticuffs in several of my books.  For an idea of what boxing was really like back then, take a look at Georgian Boxing at Horrible Histories.


Fortunately for the squeamish, we don't have actual Regency era fisticuffs recorded on film—but here's Buster Keaton, my favorite silent film actor and comic genius, demonstrating his brilliance in the ring.

Cruikshank illustration from Pierce Egan's Life in London, 1821

Are These Marie-Antoinette's Shoes?

Susan reporting:

Some things from the past are valued for their intrinsic worth (a diamond ring, set in gold) while others become valued for what they represent (the original Declaration of Independence) or who created them (any painting by Rembrandt.)

These 18th c mules, left, don't fall into any of those categories. They're faded and worn, they're not remarkable in design from many other surviving 18th c women's shoes, and their maker is long since forgotten. But because they were said to have been worn by the French Queen Marie-Antoinette, they recently were sold at auction in Toulon, France for a staggering 43,225 euros, or $54,800 - far exceeding the pre-sale estimates of 3000-5000 euros.

The provenance (history) of the shoes is unsubstantiated, and even the auction organizers admit that the pair only "may" have been worn by the queen. The main evidence seems to be that they're the same size (about a modern 36.5) that Marie-Antoinette is known to have worn. They're also reputed to have been worn to the Fete de la Federation on July 14, 1790, marking the first anniversary of the storming of the Bastille. While the first Fete was supposed to be celebrating the establishment of a constitutional monarchy in France, in time it came to be called Bastille Day, a holiday with very different connotations that supporting any sort of monarchy.

Even if none of this is true, there's an undeniable poignancy to the idea of these white silk shoes with their much-faded tricolor pleated ribbons being worn by Marie-Antoinette. None who attended that long-ago celebration could have imagined the horror of the coming years in France, or the significance that the tricolor ribbon would acquire. As symbols go, these shoes have it all: white silk mules with high heels perfectly exemplify the "let-them-eat-cake" decadent luxury of the ancien-regime, while the tricolor ribbon adds that innocent yet tragic foreshadowing. Just like the questionable legend that these shoes belonged to Anne Boleyn, another doomed queen, it's the story that gave this pair their value - all $54,800 worth.

A Sunday Visit to Hyde Park in 1835

Loretta reports:

Following is an excerpt from Sketches from Real Life, published in The Court Magazine in January 1835.  The entire piece is interesting reading, & you might have fun guessing which people the initials & dashes & asterisks refer to.
~~~
We will enter Hyde Park by the gateway of the beautiful screen we have just glanced at . . .It is Sunday ; and we are accompanied on our entrance by streams of well dressed pedestrians, throngs of well mounted cavaliers, and strings of well appointed equipages, all tending to the same point of popular attraction, — the northern portion of that irregular shaped Ring which it is now our business to describe, with all its extraneous chasing, and all those temporary adjuncts which it wears so profusely on this its weekly jour-de-fête.

On first passing through the Screen which separates Hyde Park from the point of junction between the western extreme of Piccadilly on the one hand, and the great western road on the other, we find ourselves in an angular area, of irregular shape, and branching off, on the left, into two long and spacious carriage roads, running parallel with each other to an extent that (in our misty metropolitan atmosphere) the eye can scarcely take in. To-day these two roads are enlivened at intervals, "few and far between," the one on the left by various unpretending equipages, rolling steadily along in both directions, as if willing to avoid the vulgar noise, bustle, and dust of the public road on the one hand, and the aristocratic gaiety and splendour of the crowded Ring on the other. . .
 
The other still broader and more stately road,* running parallel with that just referred to, finds its spacious solitude enlivened by a few quietly disposed equestrians alone: for carriages are interdicted there, save those of royalty itself, and of one favoured exception, His Grace the High Falconer of England . . . Certain it is, his Duchess does not fail frequently to avail herself of this imaginary approximation to royalty. Nor can we blame her for so doing. To pay a hundred thousand a year for a turnpike ticket entitling one to travel the eight furlongs of "royal road," between Kensington and London, and then not to use the privilege, were a superfluous piece of magnificence. —The Court Magazine and Belle Assemblée, 1835

*Rotten Row

Illustrations:  
1833-Smollinger-Hyde Park section of "Improved map of London for 1833, from Actual Survey. Engraved by W. Schmollinger, 27 Goswell Terrace." (with my notes)

Rotten Row and Hyde Park Corner, London, England, between ca. 1890 and ca. 1900, courtesy Library of Congress Prints and Photographs Division Washington, D.C. 20540 USA

More Fashions for the Gentleman: 1700 vs. 1800

Susan reporting:

Loretta's post yesterday about poufy pants set me to thinking of other masculine fashion foolishness. Modern men are often let off the hook regarding fashions, as if they're somehow above that particular frivolity - or, others would argue, far beneath it. But in the past men had no qualms about playing the peacock and following fashion, even to its most extreme.

This print, left, is one of my favorites. (Click on the image to enlarge.) A century separates these two stylish English gentleman, a hundred years of evolving styles. Yet unlike most caricatures of male fashion (like our old friends Son Tom and the Young Macaroni), the attire of these two gentlemen isn't really exaggerated for their times. Judging by portraits of their respective contemporaries, both of these men could have walked down a London street without anyone turning to gawk – except perhaps at their handsomeness.

In addition to their clothes, I also like the men's different affectations. The difference between clothes and fashion often lies in the accessories, and what the wearer chooses to reveal of himself along with his taste. The earlier gentleman displays his studied nonchalance by tucking one hand in his open waistcoat and the other in his pocket. His wig is a virile mane, his stockings are purposefully slouchy, and he wears his sword – always ready to defend his honor  – hung impractically low (reminding me of how low certain rock stars will likewise sling their guitars.)

The later gentleman has traded a sword for a romantically rustic walking stick. Instead of the earlier nonchalance, this fellow is scrupulously tailored, his stockings and breeches snug-fitting and his neck cloth tied just so. At his waist are dangling seals with antique cameos, demonstrating his (possible) knowledge of antiquity. He wears his own hair instead of a wig, though the over sized cocked hat cancels that out. With his quizzing glass at the ready, he's prepared to examine the world instead of challenging it with a sword.

One more thing to note: in light of last week's post about wearing the proper socks, both gentlemen are wearing stockings with clocks – the decorative designs running vertically over their ankles.

Left: A man of fashion in 1700: A fashionable man in 1800, drawn, etched & published by Dighton, Charg. Cross, London, 1800. Copyright Lewis Walpole Library, Yale University.

Men in poufy trousers

Metropolitan Museum of Art

Loretta reports:

Susan recently shared with me this image, whose description at the Met Museum site had me scratching my head.  I knew I’d seen this wasp-waist-&-full trousers-look earlier than the 1830s.  In fact, I had in mind an 1816 caricature—by Cruikshank, I think—of a dandy dressing.  His valet is helping him tighten his stays, and he’s wearing the full trousers.  Unable to put my hands on that caricature, I offer a group of 1818 fashion victims, with directions to the full-trouser wearers.

The Cruikshanks love making fun of this style, as in this excerpt from a poem in The Universal Songster, 1825:
 
Some folks, in the street, by the Lord, make me stare,
So comical droll is the dress that they wear;
For the gentlemen's waist is a top of their back,
And their large cossack trousers that fit like a sack.


Later, comparing to women's shortened skirts and huge hats, the poem continues:
 

Cruikshank

But, on the contrary, our very smart beaux,
Wear large cossack trousers quite down to their toes;
And a little brimmed hat, that wo’n’t cover their face,
Oh! Lunnun, this Lunnun’s a wonderful place!
Clearly it wasn’t the fashion, but a style that persisted alongside sleeker looks, according to the author of The whole art of dress,1830

But still the fashions, as may be remarked, are various, tight-kneed and full being worn almost indiscriminately. . .Nothing can more improve the look and fit of trousers than double straps; these, with very full cossack trowsers, are more indispensably requisite when the legs are particularly crooked or ill-formed.
The look never seems to die.  Decades ago I wore men’s vintage pleated wool trousers (with cuffs).  Susan thought the look was right for DeBarge.  I thought of M.C. Hammer.

Note straps

Photo info:
Date: ca. 1833; Culture: British; Medium: silk; Dimensions: Length at CB: 38 1/2 in. (97.8 cm); Credit Line: Catharine Breyer Van Bomel Foundation Fund, 1981'; Accession Number: 1981.210.4; www.metmuseum.org.
   
Cruikshank caricature courtesy  Courtesy Library of Congress Prints and Photographs Division Washington, D.C. 20540 USA

B&W illustration comes from a German collection whose record I've lost.

Breakfast Links: Week of March 19, 2012

Served up fresh for your browsing delight: our favorite links of the week to other blogs, web sites, pictures and articles, collected from around the Twitterverse.
• Magnificent Kensington Palace reopens after renovations.
• Edwardian adolescence of 8th Lady Berwick - wonderful photos from family album.
• Slideshow of Charleston, SC doorways, of every color and description.
• Georgian shopping: Handwritten receipt for teas and spices bought at Vale's in London, 1767.
• Spectral imaging of a possible Shakespeare signature: is it his?
• A 23-year-old socialite in Georgian England contemplates vegetarianism, c 1741.
• Tudor graffiti from the Tower of London.
• Drawing the Civil War - forgotten battlefield artist Edwin Forbes (1839-1895.)
• Photo of proud woman college graduate in Belfast in the 1880s - blog of old Irish photos.
• On the road in Shakespeare's England: travelling players, mistrelsy, and spies.
• So you know: where the word "snark" originated, via Lewis Carroll.
• This week in 1812: the Morning Post publishes an article calling Prince Regent "Prortector of the Arts" & Maecenas of the Age."
• Cover of first English Vogue, September 1916.
• True status bags! Purses of office, those splendid & strange symbols of power.
• Photo may be key finally to what happened to lost aviator Amelia Earhart
• "It was worse than a crime, it was a blunder": Napoleon had duc d"Enghien shot 3/21/1804.
• A 200 year old corner grocery store in Greenwich Village, NYC.
• Early 19th c Boston camellia craze.
• More about women wearing handkerchiefs in the 18th c.
ª Titanic in the movies: from Nazi propaganda film to blockbuster.
• The Duchess of Devonshire at Chatsworth, plus dogs, 1938 & 1985.
• This week in 1812: Bess Foster advises her son, Byron scandalizes, & another war looms - and they're all connected.
• Lovers, sympathetic & otherwise, by Woodward & Rowlandson, 1797-98.
• Serious beds! The upward thrust of the baroque, as seen in the state beds at Beningbrough Hall.
• Inadvertently hilarious news clip warning against perils of 70s platform shoes.
• Hoard of 30,000 silver Roman coins discovered in Bath.
• For a special Edwardian evening: wear this 1912 tunic dress & this 1910 coat.

Friday Video: Boarding School Girls at Coney Island, 1905

Susan reporting:

Although it's still March, the temperatures in the Northeastern U.S. this week have been as balmy as early June. It's certainly been warm enough to dream of a jaunt to the beach. Why not join these young ladies of 1905 from Miss Knapp's Select School as they head out for a day at the seaside resort of Coney Island, NY? This silent clip proves that girls do just want to have fun – and manage to have a wonderful time in spite of their elaborate dresses and hats, swimsuits with long socks, and, of course, corsets.

Video posted to YouTube by The Travel Film Archive

Wearing the right shoes & stockings in 1811

Loretta reports:

~~~

Be the foot eminently handsome, or the reverse, it alike requires to be arrayed soberly...On brilliant assembly nights, or court drawing-rooms, the spangled or diamond-decorated slipper has a magnificent and appropriate effect. But for the raiment of the leg, we totally disapprove, at all times, of the much ornamented stocking.
 

The open-wove clock and instep, instead of displaying fine proportion, confuse the contour; and may produce an impression of gaiety; but exclude that of beauty, whose rays always strike singly. But if the clock be a coloured or a gold one, as I have sometimes seen, how glaring is the exhibition! how coarse the association of ideas it produces in the fancy! Instead of a woman of refined manners and polished habits, your imagination reverts to the gross and repelling females of Portsmouth-point, or Plymouth-dock; or at least to the hired opera-dancer, whose business it is to make her foot and ancle the principal object which characterizes her charms, and attracts the coup d'œil of the whole assembly.
 

If I may give my fair friends a hint on this delicate subject, it would be that the finest rounded ancles are most effectually shown by wearing a silk stocking without any clock. The eye then slides easily over the unbroken line, and takes in all its beauties. But when the ancle is rather large, or square, then a pretty unobtrusive net clock, of the same colour as the stocking, will be a useful division, and induce the beholder to believe the perfect symmetry of the parts. A very thick leg cannot be disguised or amended ; and in this case I can only recommend absolute neatness in the dressing of the limb, and petticoats so long that there is hardly a chance of its ever being seen.
 

One cause of thick ancles in young women is want of exercise, and abiding much in overheated rooms. Standing too long has often the same effect, by subjecting the limb to an unnatural load, and therefore to swelling. The only preventive or cure for this malady is a strict attention to health You might as well expect to see a rose-bush spring, bud, and bloom, in a closely-pent oven, as anticipate fine proportions and complexion from a long continuance of the exotic fashions of these days.  —The Mirror of the Graces, 1811

Illustration from An analysis of country dancing, 1811, courtesy Library of Congress American Memory, Washington, D.C. 20540 USA.

The 'Progress of a Woman of Pleasure', 1796

Susan reporting:

Just like Fanny Hill (1748) is erotica pretending to be a cautionary tale by a fallen woman, this print of the Progress of a Woman of Pleasure (1796) is less a moral warning then an excuse to display the protagonist's voluptuous attractions, and her remarkably extensive wardrobe, too. Even near death in the last image, she still hasn't exactly wasted away. (She's also one more example of the robust female ideal of beauty of the late 18th c.) There's none of the graphic illness and physical decay that appear in William Hogarth's earlier Harlot's Progress (1732), nor any of the next generation's guilt and remorse that would drive fallen women in Victorian art to hurl themselves off bridges. Instead this woman reminds me of the little cartoon "playmates" that decorated the pages of vintage Playboy magazines: a stylish, pneumatic male fantasy of a good-time party girl.

If there's an adolescent obsession with bared breasts in the Progress, it could be because the artist was only nineteen. Richard Newton (1777-1798) was the boy-prodigy of the great Georgian caricaturists, publishing his first satirical drawing at age 14 for London publisher William Holland. Just like his subject, Newton's own career was sadly meteoric; he was dead of 'prison fever' (Typhoid) at 21.

While you can (and should) click on the image above to enlarge it, the hand-written captions aren't easy to read. But because they're meant to be satirically amusing, I've transcribed them below, plus added a few explanations.

• Your first step for preferment will be to a great Lady in King's Place.*
• I see you now waiting in full dress for an introduction to a fine Gentleman with a world of money!
• You are now in high keeping and you accompany your Adonis to the Masquerade in the character of a Bacchante.
• Not being used to Champagne and not possessing the sweetest temper in the world in liquor, you give your Keeper a sample of it in flinging a glass of wine in his face!
• You are now turned off, and your only consolation is that your Hair Dresser promised to marry you.
• He loves you to distraction but he thought you'd have an annuity of 200 a year! I heard you roar out - "You dirty rascal I could get the smartest Linen Draper's Man in London with that money!"
• You now move to Marybone** and exhibit yourself in the Promenade in Oxford Street.
• Having met with a Crown customer, you tell him to go treat his Wife and Brats at Bagnigge Wells – you expected Five Guineas at least from him!
• You take a bumper of Brandy to comfort you after the disappointment and you drink 'bad luck all scaly fellows!'
• You now dance away at the Hop in Queen Ann Street East, and captivate all the men with your airs and graces!
• You wind up the evening with a Boxing match and a Warrant and Two Black Eyes salute you in the Morning.
• You are now over head and ears in debt in Marybone Parish and I see you shifting or removing your little wardrobe to Covent Garden***.
• You are glad of a Half Crown customer now, in a Prentice Boy who has just robbed his Master's Till.
• You are now the Mistress of a Player, who principally lives by Gambling; you ride out with him, cut a dash, and run him in debt; and to give him a sample of your spirit before you part you exercise a Horsewhip on his shoulders!
• You are now in a Spunging House****, heart sick at disappointment from all your Friends, and you stupify yourself with Gin.
• Having in a few years been the Mistress of Two Highwaymen, a Qui Tam Attorney*****, and two Shopmen who were Transported, I know see you at your last shift pawning your silver Thimble for a groat to purchase a Breakfast.
• Your Sun is now setting very fast, and I see you're the Servant of a woman who was formerly your Servant, you live on Board Wages, which seldom affords you more than a Bunch of Raddishes and a Pint of Porter for your Dinner.
• You take sick in the service of this female monster and she turns you out of doors fearing your Funeral expenses should fall upon her.

* King's-Place was the location of an infamous, high-class brothel run by the notorious madam Charlotte Hayes.
** Marybone (Mary-le-bone) was an area of London bordered by Oxford Street, and known for pleasure gardens, prostitutes, bear-bating, & prizefights.
***Covent Garden was the center of lower-class prostitution in 18th c London.
****A Sponging House was a place of temporary confinement for chronic debtors.
*****A Qui Tam attorney specialized in disreputable qui tam cases
******Board wages were wages paid, usually to servants, in the form of board (food) & lodging, generally of poor quality.
Above: Progress of a Woman of Pleasure by Richard Newton, 1796, hand-colored etching printed by William Holland, London.