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

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

Friday Video: A Portrait of the Regency

William Elmes, Triumph of Love and Folly, 1812

Loretta reports:

Usually on Friday, we offer short video clips.  This one, recommended to me by one of our readers, is definitely not short—and it’s only the beginning of a fine series.

But Lucy Worsley, who’s entertained us before, does a marvelous job of bringing history to life, and—perhaps more important for Nerdy History People—she goes behind the scenes, talks to experts, and even dresses up like a Regency dandy (with the aid of Ian Kelly, the author of one of my favorite biographies, Beau Brummell:  The Ultimate Man of Style).

This is Part One of a three-part BBC series: Elegance and Decadence - The Age of the Regency.

Illustration courtesy Library of Congress Prints and Photographs Division Washington, D.C. 20540 USA.  Please click on caption to view the LOC page.

 Readers who receive our blog via email might see only a black rectangle or a square where the video ought to be.  To watch the video, please click on this link to the  Two Nerdy History Girls blog.

Beau Brummell in motion

Loretta reports:

Since it's so much harder to find fashion plates for early 19th century men’s clothing than for women’s, we tend to rely more upon painted portraits.

But these have limitations, some artists being less interested in fashion detail than in, oh, art.

But the best way, I believe, to understand the sexy elegance of the era is to see real clothes on real men.

Of course, we all know that Brummell was the leader, rather than a follower.  Still, the Kinks' song works.  The clips are from the movie Beau Brummell: This Charming Man, very loosely based on Ian Kelly’s wonderful biography, Beau Brummell:  The Ultimate Man of Style.

Readers who receive our blog via email might see only a black rectangle or empty square where the video ought to be.  To watch the video, please click on this link to the  Two Nerdy History Girls blog.

A Mysterious, Romantic Eye, c. 1790-1830

Susan reporting:

I'm just returned from a glorious day at Winterthur Museum, Garden, & Library, and as is always the case, I've been inspired, awed, and amused. Established by Henry Francis du Pont, Winterthur's vast museum collection contains nearly 90,000 objects, featuring decorative and fine arts made or used in American from 1630-1860.

Obviously, not everything is on display at once, so there's always something new to discover as different pieces are cycled through the galleries or presented as part of special exhibitions.  The collection is wide-ranging and endlessly fascinating, from exquisite needlework to master cabinetry, priceless portraits to elegant chamberpots (a post on 19th c. bourdaloues  at Winterthur remains one of our all-time most popular.)  Over the next few weeks, I'll be sharing some of the most intriguing pieces I saw today.

One of my earliest blog posts was on "lovers' eyes", the small brooches and rings made popular in the late 18th c. by the Prince Regent and his lover Maria Fitzherbert. I've always liked them, and was delighted to spy this one today. Painted in watercolor on elephant ivory, this eye seemed particularly lively, which  makes me guess the rest of the lady was merry as well. That guess is as good as any, since the identity of both the lady and the recipient of this brooch have long been forgotten. The painting is framed by a gold snake swallowing its own tail – a sentimental symbol of eternity, and eternal love. It's a very small brooch,  only about an inch across, making it easy to wear secretly pinned inside a coat, or on the underside of a lapel. A most romantic little love token, isn't it?

Above: Pin/Brooch, England or America; 1790-1830, Winterthur Museum Collections, Gift of Roland E. Jester in memory of Margo Jester.

Those rebellious Victorians

Loretta reports:

One of the many wonders of the Victorians is their propensity for decorating everything to death.  I was intrigued to learn that places like Westminster Abbey and St. Paul’s Cathedral were a good deal plainer in the days of my early 19th C characters than they are now.  The differences struck me forcibly in the Victoria & Albert Museum, where I could compare furnishings almost side by side.

While the two cabinet-like objects in my photographs are made for different purposes, they demonstrate the differences clearly.  Above at left is a bookcase made for Carlton House  (home of the Prince of Wales/Prince Regent) in 1806. 

Below right is a washstand made in 1879 by William Bruges, who thought 18th C & Regency era furniture was icky.  In this he was not unlike most of his Victorian contemporaries, who held their predecessors and predecessors’ tastes in low regard.  In Bleak House, for instance, Dickens creates a devastating caricature of a Regency beau in old Mr. Turveydrop.

Yes, those Victorians, like teenagers, were rebelling against what went before.  If they could time travel to today, a great many of them would be scratching their heads over our interest in and affection for that icky Regency era.

King George IV & the paparazzi of his day

Loretta reports:

My recent blogs about King George IV and Lady Worsley got me thinking about the media’s influence on our attitude toward historical figures.  Sir Richard Worsley tried to make a life for himself after the crim. con. case, but it haunted him for the rest of his life, thanks to the caricatures.  Displayed in print shop windows and print sellers’ umbrellas, these reached a great many more people, from all walks of life, than did newspapers and printed reports of legal proceedings.

King George IV had a similar problem.  He “had the great misfortune to live through the golden age of English caricature from 1780 to 1830 when the high and mighty were not spared.”*

“No account betrays the impact of satirical iconography on memory and hence on verbal caricature more obviously than Thackeray’s”**  (Beerbohm’s essay tackles Thackeray’s version of history.)

“Even now Gillray’s and Cruikshank’s prints more deeply influence our sense of the prince than any contemporary textual description.  Modern attempts to rehabilitate George IV’s reputation as connoisseur or statesman in effect still do battle with the caricatures.”**

The years I’ve spent researching his world lead me to the same conclusion.  I keep finding myself comparing and contrasting.  That nasty divorce case, for instance.  So I wonder why Henry VIII, who went through six wives, isn’t a bigger villain.  He executed two—and their bad conduct was mild compared to Caroline’s, as England belatedly discovered.

As to libertines, I reflect on Charles II.   He had a harem of mistresses, yet frequented brothels.  He showered his favorites with riches.  (Susan can tell you how many ships it took to carry the Duchess of Portland’s stuff back to France).  He begat many bastards, and gave most of the males dukedoms or earldoms.  He got the nickname the Merry Monarch.

Edward VII was a serial adulterer, too.  But “Punch never hinted at his philandering.  It was left to the French magazines, which did not circulate in Britain, to show him frequenting brothels, fondling naked prostitutes, smoking and drinking to excess.”*

“Unlike George IV, Charles II and Edward VII left behind them no enduring monuments for which the nation could be grateful.”*

They didn’t leave behind so many caricatures, either.

*Kenneth Baker, George IV A Life in Caricature.
** Vic Gattrell, City of Laughter.

Illustrations:  George, Cruikshank, Merry making on the regents birth day, 1812.
(Published by W Benbow) The Kremlin in commotion - or - the Grand Lama sick of the horn cholic, 1820. Both prints courtesy Library of Congress Prints and Photographs Division Washington, D.C. 20540 USA.

Mysteries & rituals of marriage

Loretta reports:

King George IV might have learned something from this 1931 lighthearted look at marriage and mating rituals among various species: 

THE MYSTERY OF MARRIAGE (aka SECRETS OF MARRIAGE) - British Pathe

Or maybe not. . .

King George IV—some alternate views

Loretta reports:

The recent Friday funny video about King George IV  had me wondering, as always, Why?  Why, after he died, had so very few anything good to say about him? Why during his lifetime was he so mercilessly lampooned?  Why did so few defend him?  Why hasn’t the view of him mellowed with time?  Yes, we know all the bad stuff:  the mistresses, the marriage fiascos, the drinking, gluttony, and extravagance.  But he was hardly the first Prince of Wales or English monarch to behave badly.  Why is he judged so harshly?


Craving a little balance, I offer today some of the more sympathetic views that Kenneth Baker, in his wonderful book, George IV: A Life in Caricature,* includes in his introduction.

The Duke of Wellington:  “The most extraordinary compound of talent, wit, buffoonery, obstinacy, and good feeling—in short a medley of the most opposite qualities with a great preponderance of good—that I ever saw in any character in my life.”

The Princess Lieven:  “ . . . if remembered it was only to criticize his morals.  It is in the middle and lower classes especially that this side of his character has left a very unfavourable impression . . . which overshadows much that was striking and brilliant in his reign.  His glory is forgotten and his vices exaggerated.”

Walter Scott:  “in many respects the model of a British monarch—has little inclination to try experiments or government otherwise than through his ministers.” 

J.H. Plumb (the historian):  “Few kings have been so hated or so mocked or had their virtues so consistently ignored.”

We can thank him for some of London’s most beautiful architecture and that splendid fantasia, Brighton’s Royal Pavilion.  He made the Royal Collection one of the world’s finest.  “He was a generous patron of English literature . . . the best educated of any English monarch—his rivals being Henry VIII and Elizabeth I.”  Baker has more to say about his good qualities—and for a lengthy, and very interesting defense, here’s Max Beerbohm’s 1894 essay.

Next week, I’ll have something to say about the numerous caricatures.

*NHG Library recommendation.

Illustrations:   James Gillray, A voluptuary under the horrors of digestion, 1792 July 2d.
Courtesy Library of Congress Prints and Photographs Division Washington, D.C. 20540 USA
King George IV 1821, Courtesy Wikimedia.

George IV is Fat (a silly historical video from Horrible Histories)

Susan reporting:

What better way to ease into a long weekend than with a new video from the Horrible Histories?

If ever there were a monarch ripe for ridicule, it must be George IV (1762-1830.) The circumstances of his life would have tried a much better man, and even as kings go, George was somewhat lacking. While he did serve twice as Prince Regent for the ailing George III, the truth was that the father lived for so long that the son himself was long past his own prime by the time he became king. The younger George destroyed his promise as well as his once-handsome person by self-centered, sybaritic excess, and his reign lasted a mere ten years before he, too, died.

The satiric cartoonists of the day found a ready subject in George's womanizing, laziness, indulgences, and, of course, his ever-burgeoning girth. It does say something that one of the most famous quotations about him (spoken by his one-time friend Beau Brummell) – "Alvanley, who is your fat friend?" – is a dismissive dig at his weight. Clearly, if Prinny were alive and celebrating Labor Day weekend, he'd be the first one standing with an empty plate at the barbecue. O.K., not likely, but fun to imagine.

Enjoy your weekend!

Click here for another Horrible Histories video featuring the Prince Regent.

Richard Brinsley Sheridan, Georgian Gentleman

Loretta reports:

The playwright Richard Brinsley Sheridan is best remembered today for his plays The Rivals and The School for Scandal.  There's a good deal more, as his bio indicates:  a man who packed at least a couple of normal lifetimes into one.  Yet he’s by no means atypical of the Georgian era.  Many of his contemporaries were hard-living, hard-drinking men who could write, speak several languages, make speeches in Parliament, and party all night—even into what in that time was deemed old age. 

~~~

"To return to Sheridan at Brighton in the year 1805. His point of difference with the Prince being at an end, Sheridan entered into whatever fun was going on at the Pavilion as if he had been a boy, tho' he was then 55 years of age. Upon one occasion he came into the drawing-room disguised as a police officer to take up the Dowager Lady Sefton * for playing at some unlawful game; and at another time, when we had a phantasmagoria at the Pavilion, and were all shut up in perfect darkness, he continued to seat himself upon the lap of Madame Gerobtzoff [?], a haughty Russian dame, who made row enough for the whole town to hear her.

"The Prince, of course, was delighted with all this; but at last Sheridan made himself so ill with drinking, that he came to us soon after breakfast one day, saying he was in a perfect fever, desiring he might have some table beer, and declaring that he would spend that day with us, and send his excuses by Bloomfield for not dining at the Pavilion. I felt his pulse, and found it going tremendously, but instead of beer, we gave him some hot white wine, of which he drank a bottle, I remember, and his pulse subsided almost instantly. . . . After dinner that day he must have drunk at least a bottle and a half of wine. In the evening we were all going to the Pavilion, where there was to be a ball, and Sheridan said he would go home, i.e., to the Pavilion (where he slept) and would go quietly to bed. He desired me to tell the Prince, if he asked me after him, that he was far from well, and was gone to bed.
* Isabella, daughter of 2nd Earl of Harrington, and widow of the 9th Viscount and 1st Earl of Sefton.
—The Creevey papers, 1904

~~~

(Since there's quite a bit more to this episode, I've linked to the specific page this time.)

Illustration:  James Gillray, Uncorking old sherry, 10 March 1805.  Courtesy Library of Congress Prints and Photographs Division Washington, D.C. 20540 USA

An elegant vehicle for August 1820

Loretta reports:

In case you were wondering what sorts of gifts emperors gave kings, here’s an example—and another nice illustration of a Regency-era vehicle.

~~~
Plate: 9.—A RUSSIAN DROSCHKI.

We inserted in our number for January last (p. 43)*, a notice of a gift received by his present Majesty from the Emperor of Germany: it consisted of a four-wheeled carriage, called a droschki,** with Ackermann's patent moveable axles.

The annexed engraving is made from a drawing of a vehicle in many respects similar, and also called a droschki, received by his Majesty very recently from the Emperor of Russia. The chief point of difference between this carriage and that sent by the Emperor of Germany is, that the former only accommodates one person in the body ; but the shape, as will be seen, is peculiarly elegant, and the whole is of the most excellent workmanship. It is to be remarked, that although carriages of this convenient description are rare in Great Britain, yet in Russia they are extremely common, and are used by all classes, from the Emperor himself down to the humblest citizen.
—Ackermann’s Repository, 1820

*I searched in vain for this.  The first volume of Ackermann's for 1820 (Jan-June) isn’t yet up at Google Books. 

**Also spelled droitska, droshky.

How safe does this phaeton look to you?

Loretta reports:

After my blog about the allegedly Perfectly Safe Vehicle, I thought readers might like to see a phaeton in action.  The one Willoughby drives in this clip from Sense and Sensibility is an earlier version, called a High Perch Phaeton, and it's the type of vehicle the Prince of Wales (later King George IV) drove in his salad days.

Class in Great Britain circa 1814

Loretta reports:

Some nutty commentary during the recent royal wedding made it clear that the British class structure confuses most Yanks.  While the U.S. has socioeconomic classes and the associated prejudices, it's a different species.

Here’s the British social structure as Patrick Colquhoun analyzed it in 1814.  The figures at the end of each class indicate (1) total heads of families, and (2) total everyone else in the category.  Does anything here make you say, "Hmmmm"? 
~~~

HIGHEST ORDERS.

1ST.  The Royal Family, the Lords Spiritual and Temporal the Great Officers of State, and all above the degree of a Baronet, with their families.....  
576 — 2,880

SECOND CLASS.

2nd.  Baronets, Knights, Country Gentlemen, and others having large incomes, with their families.....48,861— 234,305

THIRD CLASS.

3rd.  Dignified Clergy, Persons holding considerable employments in the state, elevated situations in the Law, eminent Practitioners in Physic, considerable Merchants, Manufacturer upon a large scale, and Bankers of the first order, with their families.....12,200 — 61,000

FOURTH CLASS.

4th.  Persons holding inferior situations in Church and State, respectable Clergymen of different persuasions, Practitioners in Law and Physic, Teachers of Youth of the superior order, respectable Freeholders, Ship Owners, Merchants and Manufacturers of the second class, Warehousemen and respectable Shopkeepers, Artists, respectable Builders, Mechanics, and Persons living on moderate incomes, with their families.....233,650 — 1,168,250

FIFTH CLASS.

5th.  Lesser Freeholders.  Shopkeepers of the second order, Innkeepers, Publican’s, and Persons engaged in miscellaneous occupations or living on moderate incomes, with their families.....     564,799 — 2,798,475

SIXTH CLASS.

6th.  Working Mechanics, Artisans, Handicrafts, Agricultural Labourers, and others who subsist by labour in various employments, with their families.....                                                               2,126,095 — 8,792,800

SEVENTH, OR LOWEST CLASS.

7th.  Paupers and their families, Vagrants, Gipsies, Rogues, Vagabonds, and idle and disorderly persons, supported by criminal delinquency.....387,100 — 1,826,170

THE ARMY AND NAVY.

Officers of the Army, Navy, and Marines, including all Officers on half-pay and superannuated, with their families.....               10,500 — 69,000

Non-commissioned Officers in the Army, Navy, and Marines, Soldiers, Seamen, and Marines, including Pensioners of the Army, Navy, &c. and their families.....                                             120,000 — 862,000

—Patrick Colquhoun, A treatise on the wealth, power, and resources of the British empire, 1814.

Upper left:  Thomas Lawrence, The Prince Regent, 1816.
Lower right:  Thomas Rowlandson, Seaman.

Regency style dining on our 500th post

Loretta reports:

Susan has informed me that this is the Two Nerdy History Girls’ five hundredth post.

We sure are a couple of blabbermouths.

But wait.  There's more.  It seems we've also passed the quarter of a million page view mark.  We’re very impressed with ourselves.  Also astounded.  As our blog description notes, we would have been excited if three people showed up.

As you would expect, I sought nerdy history material befitting so solemn an occasion.
But all you get is a funny video.

Five hundred thanks to Kolbaskina Katya, who brought it to my attention.

More About Those 18th c. Men's Shirts: Neck Cloths & Kerchiefs, Stock Buckles & Shirt Brooches

Susan reporting:

Earlier this week, I wrote here about 18th c. men's linen shirts. But while a good shirt was the mainstay of a man's wardrobe, few men would wear it without an accessory or two to show his own personal style. Much like a modern man choosing his necktie, his 18th c. counterpart took care choosing what went around his neck.

If he were a laborer, working tradesman, sailor, or a sporting gentleman, he'd fold a neck handkerchief in half and loosely tie it under his collar, knotted in front. The neck handkerchief was a square cloth of cotton, linen, or silk, depending on the wearer's means, and it could be brightly colored, woven with checks, or printed with a political cartoon.

If he had more gentlemanly inclinations, a man wore a neck cloth or cravat, a length of (usually) white linen that wrapped around the throat and tied loosely in front. A neck cloth could be worn under or over the shirt collar and band, and trimmings of lace or fringe could make it more distinctive. In most portraits, there's a certain ease to 18th c. neck cloths, a kind of gallant nonchalance in how the ends fall; the perfectly pressed and tied cravats of Beau Brummel are a 19th c. fashion.

The most formal neckwear of all was the stock.  This was a band of white linen of an even finer quality than the shirt's, carefully pleated horizontally and stitched to fit closely over a shirt's collar and tightly around the neck. (Military officers wore black stocks, like the one on General Cornwallis, above left.) The stock had tabs in the back that buckled together with a pronged metal buckled through worked eyelets. Although it sat on the back of a gentleman's neck, the stock buckle could be an important piece of male jewelry. Stock buckles were often made of cut steel, silver, or even gold, and embellished with gemstones or paste jewels, imitation diamonds that glittered in the candlelight, above right. 

Another kind of buckle also appeared on the front of the shirt. While some men covered the opening in the front of their shirts with the ends of their neck cloths or pinned the sides together with a straight pin, others chose to make more of a statement with a shirt buckle, or brooch, such as the one worn by Judge Devotion, left. These were often luckenbooth brooches, originally lovers' tokens from Edinburg, Scotland, with heart motifs forming the frame of the buckle, right. Shirt buckles could be simple, flat designs, or elaborately styled from silver or gold and embellished with paste or gemstones.

Of course, no matter the time or place or wearer, every fashion has the potential to become extreme - such as the stunningly tall stock worn by George IV, left.

Top left: Lord Cornwallis, by Thomas Gainsborough, 1783
Above left: Judge Ebeneezer Devotion by Winthrop Chandler, detail, 1772
Top right: Stock buckle, silver, c. 1750-75, collection of Neal Hurst 
Lower right: Shirt buckle, silver, c. 1650-1750
Bottom left: George IV of the United Kingdom, by Sir Thomas Laurence, detail, 1816

The Regent of THE Regency (the silly video version of the life of George IV)

Susan reporting:

It's such a horribly hot weekend in most of America (ah, July) that it seems only fitting that we post another of our favorite Horrible Histories videos.

This one follows the career and reign of King George IV (1762-1830), a king who is more famous for being a regent than a ruler in his own right, serving as prince regent while his father George III suffered through bouts of madness. George IV was better known for his extravagant lifestyle, prodigious appetite, and many mistresses than for any genuine leadership, and even the beautiful palaces (like the Royal Pavilion at Brighton) that he commissioned were viewed at the time as only more examples of his spendthrift's excess.

Understandably George received little respect from his subjects. The Times famously noted at his death that "there never was an individual less regretted by his fellow-creatures than this deceased king. What eye has wept for him? What heart has heaved one throb of unmercenary sorrow?... If he ever had a friend, a devoted friend from any rank of life, we protest that the name of him or her never reached us."

In comparison to that, the Horrible Histories treatment of his life is downright respectful.


Right: George IV, King of Great Britain, by John Russell, 1790-92