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.

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.

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!

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

NHG Library: "In the Words of Women"

Susan reporting:

March is officially Women's History Month. This has always seemed a mixed blessing: yes, it's wonderful to shine the limelight on women of the past, but why does half the world's population only merit one month's worth of attention out of twelve? Perhaps that's more apt then I want to admit, for often it does seem that men garner eleven times the ink in history books.

I've recently discovered a new book that will help tip the balance more fairly. In the Words of Women: The Revolutionary War & the Birth of a Nation 1765-1799 by Louise V. North, Janet M. Wedge, and Landa M. Freeman is a collection of the writings – including letters, diaries, poems, and journals – of dozens of women living in the turbulent era of the American Revolution. Whether addressing matters of daily life such as tending sick children and coaxing unhappy husbands, difficult questions of loyalty versus patriotism, or the shocking violence and loss of the war around them, the voices of these women, both patriots and loyalists, sound with astonishing clarity. This is one of those books that's a treat to read straight through, or to dip into a random, and I can't recommend it enough. For more from the book and about the authors, visit their website/blog here.

This passage from a letter from In the Words of Women shows how vulnerable women were to enemy forces. Eliza Yonge Wilkinson (1757-1813) of South Carolina was a young widow of twenty-three and a firm believer in the patriot cause. When British and American forces converged on Charleston, she took refuge in her sister's nearby plantation house, but on June 3, 1780, the house was ransacked by British troops:

    I heard the horses of the inhuman Britons coming in such a furious manner, that they seemed to tear up the earth, and the riders at the same time bellowing out the most horrid curses imaginable; oaths and imprecations which chilled my whole frame....I'd no time for thought – they were up to the house – entered with drawn swords and pistols in their hands; indeed, they rushed in, in the most furious manner, crying out, "Where're these women rebels?" (pretty language to ladies from the once famed Britons!)....The moment they espied us, off went our caps (I always heard say none but women pulled caps!) And for what, think you? why, only to get a paltry stone and wax pin, which kept [the caps] on our heads; at the same time uttering the most abusive language imaginable, and making as if they'd hew us to pieces with their swords. But it's not in my power to describe the scene: it was terrible to the last degree; and what augmented it, they had several armed negroes with them, who threatened and abused us greatly They then began to plunder the house of every thing they thought valuable or worth taking; our trunks were split to pieces, and each mean wretch crammed his bosom with the contents, which were our apparel. &c. &c. &c.
    I ventured to speak to the inhuman monster who had my clothes. I represented to him the times were such we could not replace what they'd taken from us, and begged him to spare me only a suit or two; but I got nothing but a hearty curse for my pains; nay, so far was his callous heart from relenting, that, casting his eyes towards my shoes, "I want them buckles," said he, and immediately knelt at my feet to take them out, which, while he was busy about, a brother villain, whose enormous mouth extended from ear to ear, bawled out "Shares there, I say; share." So they divided my buckles between them. The other wretches were employed in the same manner....They took care to tell us, when they were going away, that they had favored us a great deal – that we might thank our stars it was no worse.

The detail of the painting, above, by John Singleton Copley, does not directly illustrate Eliza's letter (rather it shows a scene from the 1781 Battle of Jersey between British and French forces) – but it does convey the terror that faced women and children caught in the path of 18th c warfare.

Above: Detail from The Death of Major Peirson, 6 January 1781 by John Singleton Copley, 1783, Tate Collection.
In accordance with some FTC rule or another (which probably doesn't apply to Loretta and me because we're writers, not reviewers, but better safe than sorry), I received a copy of In the Words of Women as a gift from the authors.

"Strong nerves, strong legs, strong language": Women on Bicycles, 1890

Susan reporting:

In the 1890s, more and more women began to ride bicycles, both for exercise, convenience, and independence. As can be imagined, this horrified a good many people, who saw women on wheels as a dangerous threat to families, morals, health, and, of course, the fair, delicate flower of womanhood.

We expect to see women cyclists defended by Susan B. Anthony (who famously wrote that bicycling "has done more to emancipate women than anything else in the world.") But the English novelist John Galsworthy (1867-1933)? The Nobel Prize-winning author of The Forsyte Saga evidently had his own strong feelings about women on bicycles – at least if we are to believe this passage from his novel, On Forsyte 'Change, taking place in 1890:

"Such historians as record the tides of social manners and morals, have neglected the bicycle. Yet would it be difficult to deny that this 'invention of the devil'...has been responsible for more movement in manners and morals than anything since Charles the Second. At its bone-shaking inception innocent, because...[it was] only dangerous to the lives and limbs of the male sex, it began to be a dissolvent of the most powerful type when accessible to the fair in its present form. Under its influence, wholly or in part, have wilted chaperons, long and narrow skirts, tight corsets, hair that would come down, black stockings, thick ankles, large hats, prudery and fear of the dark; under its influence, wholly or in part, have bloomed week-ends, strong nerves, strong legs, strong language, knickers, knowledge of make and shape, knowledge of woods and pastures, equality of sex, good digestion and professional occupation – in four words, the emancipation of woman."

Of course, this passage exists to fly in the florid face of Swithin 'Four-in-hand' Forsyte, an aged bachelor who promptly writes his very modern niece out of his will after he sees her astride a bicycle. While young Euphemia may have looked as entirely proper as the young lady, above, it's more likely the scandalized Swithin saw her more like the contemporary out-of-control women (with monocles!) in the satirical cartoon, right.

Above: Julia Blaess Klager, Michigan Bicyclist (detail), 1890s, photograph from Studio of Susan T. Cook, Ann Arbor, MI. See here for more information.
Below: Velocipeding, drawing from the cover of The Ferret, A Weekly Literary, Satirical, & Theatrical Journal of the Age, March 1870, London.

The Sufferings of Mary Rowlandson's Narrative

Title page from University of Pennsylvania Library

Loretta reports:

Growing up in Massachusetts, I heard at an early age stories of Mary Rowlandson and others captured by “the Indians.”  We lived quite close to a stone tower commemorating the capture & escape—thanks to a woman—of a young boy.

Google Books offers several editions of Mary Rowlandson’s Narrative. Here's a little background, from the 1828 edition:   “‘In 1643,’ . . . Sholan, an Indian of mild and pacific character, was sachem of the Nashaway tribe, who lived chiefly in what are now the towns of Lancaster and Sterling. Sholan . . . recommended this valley to Thomas King as a favourable spot for a plantation. The same year King united with John Prescott, Harmon Garrett, Thomas Skidmore, Stephen Day, (the father of American typography) Mr. Symonds, and others, and purchased a tract of land ten miles in length and eight in breadth; covenanting not to molest the Indians in their hunting, fishing, or planting places.”

Relations continued peaceable for many years.  Then”Shoshanim became chief sachem of the tribe . . . For some cause he felt hostile to the English,” and in 1676,* his tribe attacked & destroyed the town, and made off with Mrs. Rowlandson.

The news today was that a New England historian, Mr. Warren Rasmussen, has produced an updated, corrected edition of the narrative.  That was interesting—but not as much as what he revealed about the conditions under which the original book was printed.

“The book was printed at the Cambridge Press, the only press in the United States at the time, he said, meaning it had a limited amount of type, which quickly got depleted.

“‘First, they ran out of periods, so they substituted them with colons. Then they ran out of those and they used semicolons. They also ran out of capital I’s so they used lower case ‘i’ and when they ran out of that, they used lower case ‘j.’”

Who knew?  Not I, certainly.  It sounds like something from a Monty Python skit.

You can read the full news article here.

*new (Georgian)calendar

Modern Women of the 1890s

Riverside Drive, New York, c. 1896

Loretta reports:


Two voices from the past offer some insight into the thrills and challenges of being a modern woman in the Gay Nineties.

Illustration:  Riverside Drive, New York, c. 1896. 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 where the video ought to be.  To watch the video, please click on this link to the  Two Nerdy History Girls blog.

Friday Video: Silent Screen Actresses Model Flapper Fashions, 1928

Susan reporting:

Today's video is a short newsreel fashion show, featuring several Hollywood actresses modeling the latest fashions for 1928. Like a clip I shared earlier, this is a rare, early use of Kodachrome. Because of it, the women seem startlingly contemporary and fresh, as do many of the clothes. And check out those cars!

Of course I couldn't resist trying to learn more about these silent film actresses.  In order of their appearance:

•Corliss Palmer (1902-1952) was a popular silent screen actress, appearing in numerous films beside such famous actors as Charlie Chaplin, Max Sennett, and Oliver Hardy.
•Raquel Torres (1908-1987) was a Mexican-born actress who appeared in both silent and sound films. Today she's best remembered for playing a would-be Mata Hari in the Marx Brothers' move Duck Soup (1933).
• Laura LaPlante (1904-1996) was the most famous of these actresses in her time, and between 1921-1930 was Universal Pictures' most popular star. Talkies effectively ended her career, but her last movie, the Western Arizona (1931) included a young actor named John Wayne.
• Ruth Elder (1902-1977) was perhaps the most interesting of all these ladies. She was not only an actress, but also an aviatrix who - in a plane dubbed the American Girl - attempted to duplicate Lindbergh's solo flight across the Atlantic to prove that women were equal to men.

The Queen just wants to have fun

Loretta reports:

I know King Charles II had fun, and so did a great many of his successors.  George III, extremely monogamous, sired 15 legitimate children, and presided over what was reputed to be one of history's most boring courts.  His sons, on the other hand, really liked to party.  But shortly after Victoria ascended the throne—after she married Albert—the party element seems to have gone into decline in the British monarchy, with the emphasis shifting to Duty & Service.

And so I watch the present Queen of England visit child care centers and award titles and host parties and make small talk endlessly and look interested in deadly dull speeches and plow through mountains of letters and political documents and give speeches here there and everywhere (and let's not even start on the family issues) and I think, "Yes, I know she's really rich and owns a bunch of palaces & stuff, but I'm not sure I'd want that life."

So I was tickled to find this little video, which I hope will make you smile, too.

 

The Sad Civil War Story of Jennie Wade, 1863

Susan reporting:

This blog was suggested by a schoolmate of my daughter's, a girl who saw the little leather purse, left, and thought the story behind it might make a good TNHG post.  She's right – and what intrigued me the most is that she's just about the same age as the young woman who originally owned that purse.

Born in Gettysburg, PA, Jenny Wade (1843-1863), below, was a seamstress employed by her mother. A fervent Union supporter, she was likely engaged to marry Johnston Hastings "Jack" Skelly, a corporal in the 87th Pennsylvania. In one of those terrible coincidences of history, Jenny, her mother, and her younger siblings left their home on the first of July, 1863, for the house of her sister, Georgia McClellan, which they believed to be in a safer location in the center of town. The war had suddenly become inescapable, with nearly 160,000 Confederate and Unions soldiers converging on their small Pennsylvania town. As the battle raged nearby, Jennie and her sister made loaves of bread, running out to the street to give them to the Union troops marching past on their way to join the fighting.

With gunfire ringing throughout their neighborhood (more than 150 bullets have been found in the walls of the McClellan house), the women struggled to keep life as normal as possible. Early on the warm Friday morning of July 3, Jennie was standing in her sister's kitchen, kneading dough for more bread. The small leather purse, above, was in her pocket while she worked.

As she bent over the dough, a Confederate sharpshooter's bullet entered the kitchen and struck Jennie. The ball pierced her left shoulder and passed through her heart, finally burying itself against the bones of her corset. Jennie died instantly. Her body was discovered by Union soldiers, and she was buried in the back yard of the house. Legend says that her grief-stricken mother went on to finish the bread that Jennie had been kneading, giving the loaves to Union soldiers along with the story of her daughter's death.

When the horrific Battle of Gettysburg was finally over, the casualties on both sides were estimated at between 46,000 and 51,000 soldiers – the highest number for any Civil War battle. Yet only one civilian was killed: Jennie Wade. Within a week, her sweetheart, Jack Skelly, was also dead, perishing from wounds received at the Battle of Winchester. Looking at that remarkably ordinary little leather purse, it's hard not to think of Jennie and Jack, and all the hopes and dreams that must have ended for so many young couples in that hot July of 1863.

Above: Jennie Wade purse, Christian C. Sanderson Museum, Chadd's Ford, PA
Below: Jennie Wade, detail, Wade Family daguerreotype
Many thanks to Hannah Boettcher for suggesting this post! 

18th Century Girls Gone Wild

Loretta reports:

Though I’ve blogged about Lady (Seymour) Worsley before (here and here), I only recently read Hallie Rubenhold’s book, The Lady in Red.  In it we find not only a more detailed picture of the lady, her strange marriage, and the sensational 1782 crim. con. trial, but insights into the world of the 18th century English aristocracy.  We're familiar with aristocratic Men Behaving Badly.  But in Rubenhold’s book you’ll find episodes of Girls Gone Wild. 

On 14 January 1779, Lady Worsley, age 21, and her friends, the two Misses Cramer, unable to persuade their host to lend them a coach for a trip to Leeds, rode off with his cart horses.

“En route the ladies ‘stopt at one of the inns and ordered the waiter to show them into such a room, which he told them he could not do, as it was kept for the officers of the Militia and their colours, etc., were there’.  Upon hearing this, Seymour and the Miss Cramers became ‘determined to go in and took the pokers and broke open the door, then they heated them red hot and pop’d them into the colours which set them in a blaze’ . . . ‘How do you think they quenched the flame their own fair selves had caused?  The did not call water!  Water!, it was more at hand . . .’  These three well-bred young ladies . . .lifted their silk skirts ‘and fairly pissed it out . . .’”

After which they had fun at the windows.  “One of their victims . . . had the misfortune of sauntering by in ‘his best coat & wig & laced waistcoat’.  As he passed beneath them ‘they threw some water,  I really don’t know what sort upon him, and immediately a large bag of soot which covered him entirely over’ . . . After they had thoroughly raised terror at the inn, the gang proceeded on their cart-horses to  . . . the home of Walter Spencer Stanhope, where ‘they broke upon his library, threw all his books about, and  . . . took away a pockett book full of Bank Notes’.”

The girls went on like this for three days.

Illustration:  Thomas Rowlandson. Two Girls Tippling.  Courtesy Yale Center for British Art, Paul Mellon Collection

Intrepid Women: Janet Schaw Weathers a Hurricane at Sea, 1774

Susan reporting:

Those of us who live along the Atlantic Coast are well aware that we're in the thick of hurricane season now, and there's much anxious watching of the Weather Channel to see what may be heading our way next. But in the 18th century, there was no radar, Weather Channel, or computer predictions of "weather events." The Royal Navy had such respect for the destructive power of hurricanes that they preferred to send their Caribbean fleet home to England for the storm season rather than risk the catastrophic loss of vessels and lives.

Merchant ships, however, often continued to sail throughout the autumn season. Janet Schaw (c.1731-c.1801) was a genteel, unmarried Scotswoman who sailed on board the Jamaica Packet to the West Indies and North Carolina in October, 1774. Included in her party were several family members, servants, and three North Carolina children returning home after attending school in Scotland. While little is known today of Miss Schaw's personal history, she did leave behind a wonderful, readable diary of her voyage as well as her keen, detailed observations of life in the West Indies and North Carolina on the eve of the American Revolution. Her Journal of a Lady of Quality is available here, or here to read on-line. Highly recommended!

One of the most vivid passages captures the fear, desperation, and uncertainty of being a passenger on board a wooden sailing ship in the middle of a hurricane:

"On the fourth evening of the gale (as it was now termed) the whole elements seemed at war: horror, ruin and confusion raged thro' our unfortunate wooden kingdom, and made the stoutest heart despair of safety. Just after the midnight watch was set, it began to blow in such a manner, as made all that had gone before seem only a summer breeze. All hands, (a fearful sound) were now called; not only the Crew, but every man who could assist in this dreadful emergency. Every body was on deck, but my young friend [18-year-old Fanny Rutherford] and myself, who sat up in bed, patiently waited that fate, we sincerely believed unavoidable. The waves poured into the state-room, like a deluge, often wetting our bed-clothes, as they burst over the half door. The Vessel which had one moment mounted to the clouds and whirled on the pointed wave, descended with such violence as made her trembled for half a minute with the shock, and it appears to me wonderful how her planks struck together, considering how heavy she was loaded. Nine hogsheads of water which were lashed on the deck gave way, and broke from their Moorings, and falling backwards and forwards over our heads, at last went over board with a dreadful noise. Our hen-coops with all our poultry soon followed, as did the Cab-house or kitchen, and with it all our cooking-utensils, together with a barrel of fine pickled tongues and above a dozen hams. We heard our sails fluttering into rags. The helm no longer was able to command the Vessel, tho' four men were lash'd to it, to steer her. We were therefore resigned to the mercy of the winds and waves. At last we heard our fore-main mast split from top to bottom, a sound that might have appalled more experienced Mariners, but we heard all in silence, never opening our lips thro' the whole tremendous scene...."

Above: De Windstoot (The Gust) by Willem van de Velde II, 1680, Rijksmuseum, Amsterdam

More from Helen Rowland

Loretta reports:

From the era of Downton Abbey, more from Helen Rowland.

~~~
A man weddeth a woman in order to escape loneliness, and immediately thereafter joineth a club in order to escape the woman.

He marryeth a damsel because she appealeth to his "higher nature", and spendeth all the rest of his days seeking after those who appeal to his lower nature.

A woman is cast down with doubts lest a man doth not love her; but a man never troubleth his soul, as to whether or not a woman loveth him, but as to whether or not he wanteth her to love him.

Behold, an honest woman may cheat at cards, but never at love; but he considereth himself an "honorable man" that never cheateth at a game of poker though he never playeth fair at the game of hearts.

Go to! Think no man in love while he flattereth thee and extolleth all thy ways; but, when he beginneth to moralize and to criticise thy hats, then mayest thou plan thy trousseau.

When he saveth thy life it may be for chivalry's sake; but when he carryeth an umbrella to please thee it is for love's sake.

Be not set up when a man giveth thee the key to his heart, for, peradventure, upon the following day, he may change the lock!

Then, how shall a woman understand a man, since they are all cut upon the bias!

Verily, verily, by turning him around , my Daughter, and reading him backward, even as a Chinese laundry ticket!


The sayings of Mrs. Solomon: being the confessions of the seven hundredth wife as revealed to Helen Rowland, 1913

Charlotte Bronte's Fantastical Diary, 1836

Susan reporting:

Diaries of famous folk usually make for fascinating reading, especially when the diary belongs to a writer. The best ones offer insights not only into the writer's projects, professional challenges, and personal relationships, but can also can serve as a "trial run" for ideas that will later evolve into more finished pieces.  The Diary: Three Centuries of Private Lives, an exhibition running through May 22, 2011 at the Morgan Library & Museum in New York, features diaries from their permanent collection, including diarists ranging from English pirate Bartholomew Sharpe (c.1650-1690) to English critic John Ruskin (1819-1900) to American dramatist Tennessee Williams (1911-1983.)  One of the most interesting diaries in the exhibition belonged to novelist (Jane Eyre) and poet Charlotte Bronte (1816-1855.)

Charlotte's childhood was not easy. After the early death of her mother and a numbing stint at a cruelly run boarding school, she returned home and became intensely close to her three surviving siblings. The Brontes were blessed with vivid imaginations as well as literary talent, and together developed elaborate fanciful kingdoms, characters, and stories to help escape the hardships and tedium of life in their father's rural rectory.

When Charlotte accepted a teaching position at the Roe Head School, she continued to turn to storytelling as a means of escape from a job and students that brought her little pleasure. An entry from an 1836 diary (included in the Morgan show), written when she was nineteen, begins by cataloguing the day's activities and frustrations, but soon blossoms into fantastical imagined scenes. It's hardly the expected work of a Victorian maiden schoolteacher, but then Charlotte's true calling would be not teaching, but writing passionately romantic fiction.

In the passage below, Charlotte describes the exotic Queen of Angria, on her "voluptuous ottoman" as she waited for her royal lover:

I had seen [this room in the palace] in the stillness of evening when the lamps so quietly and steadily burnt in the tranquil air, & when their rays fell upon but one living figure, a young lady who generally at that time appeared sitting on a low sofa, a book in her hand, her head bent over it as she read, her light brown hair dropping in loose & unwaving curls, her dress falling to the floor as she sat in sweeping folds of silk. All stirless about her except her heart, softly beating under her satin bodice & all silent except her regular and very gentle respiration...I knew why she chose to be alone at that hour, & why she kept that shadow in the golden frame to gaze on her, & why she turned sometimes to her mirrors & looked to see if her loveliness & her adornments were quite perfect...

Go here to read the complete entry and see Charlotte's handwritten page, and here for more information about the Morgan Library & Museum.

Above: Charlotte Bronte, engraved portrait by James Charles Armytage, after a painting by George Richmond. Purchased by Pierpont Morgan before 1913. Image courtesy of the Morgan Library & Museum.

Intrepid Women: Lady Harriet Acland

Susan reporting:

One of the best parts of this blog for us is how we have the chance to "meet" readers around the world. Recently we were contacted by Gwen Yarker, a fellow Nerdy History Girl at heart, who is also exhibition curator of the Dorset County Museum, Dorchester.

The museum is currently hosting an exhibition of 70 extraordinary portraits called Georgian Faces: Portrait of a County. Included in the exhibition will be works by Sir Joshua Reynolds, George Romney, William Hogarth, and many others. Since most of our readers (including us, alas) won't be able to travel to Dorset, Gwen generously offered to share one of the paintings from the exhibition with us.

The charming portrait, left, shows Lady Elizabeth Fox-Strangways (1773-1844), eldest daughter of the 2nd Earl of Ilchester, standing beside her older cousin, Elizabeth Kitty Acland (1772-1813), known as Kitty. The picture is representative of the new fashion for representing children as children, informally and comfortably dressed, rather than as stiff-laced, miniature adults. They probably sat for Dorset-born artist Thomas Beach (1738-1806) in 1777, at the Ilchesters' family home Redlynch, in Somerset. During this period, the Ilchesters were caring for Kitty while her parents were away in North America.

Kitty was the only daughter of Major John Dyke Acland, 7th Baronet. (1746-1778) and Lady (Christian) Harriet Caroline Fox-Strangways Acland (1749-1815), and it is Lady Harriet who is our Intrepid Woman. Colonel Acland was a major in the 20th foot, fighting in the American War of Independence. Unwilling to be left behind in England, Lady Harriet sailed to join her husband with her mother, a valet, lady's maid, and a dog. Obviously Lady Harriet was no ordinary camp wife; as she followed her husband's expeditions, she kept a detailed diary recording her impressions of the American landscape and native customs that was later published.

But Lady Harriet is best remembered today for her role in a far more dramatic event. In October 1777, Colonel Acland was badly wounded and taken prisoner by the Americans at the second Battle of Saratoga (Bemis Heights.) At once the pregnant Lady Harriet decided to go to him. Accompanied by her maid, a military chaplain, and Acland's valet, she crossed the Hudson River in an open boat and made her way into enemy territory. While there are varying accounts of her night-time crossing, all agree that she was treated courteously by American General Horatio Gates, and permitted to join her husband in captivity to nurse him. The Aclands were released and allowed to return to England (and to their daughter Kitty) in January, 1778, with Lady Harriet still nursing her convalescing husband. Their son John was born on the voyage.

After such perilous adventure, Lady Harriet and Colonel Acland deserved a long and happy life together. Unfortunately, Colonel Acland died later in 1778 from complications after a duel – fought in defense of the American cause.

The dramatic story of Lady Harriet's loyalty and courage made her a much-praised heroine to 18th c. England. Artist Robert Pollard painted his version of her river crossing (right), which he later turned into a popular print. We're guessing that, in real life, the intrepid Lady Harriet and her little party had enough sense not to stand upright with a too-large flag in a too-small boat to challenge the enemy's armed sentries.

Georgian Faces: Portrait of a County continues through 30 April 2011. If you're fortunate enough to be able to visit, here is more information about the show.  Many thanks to Gwen Yarker for all her assistance with this post!

(And as a minor note, proving once again that everything in history really is linked together: Kitty Acland married Henry George Herbert, 2nd Earl of Carnarvon, in 1796. Their son, the 3rd Earl, is responsible for building the family's country house, Highclere Castle – the grand house that stars in the PBS series, Downton Abbey.)

Above left: Lady Elizabeth Theresa Fox-Strangways and Elizabeth Kitty Acland, by Thomas Beach (1738-1806) oil on canvas, 1777. Private collection. Photograph courtesy of Dorset County Museum.
Above right: Lady Harriet Ackland, intaglio print, drawn & engraved by Robert Pollard, London, 1784, Library of Congress.

Intrepid Women: Helen Vincent, Viscountess D'Abernon

Susan reporting:

I've always been intrigued by the elegant fin-de-siecle portraits of John Singer Sargent (1856-1925. While it's easy to dismiss his sitters as empty Edwardian society ladies, not all of them fall into this category. One of the most beautiful was also one of the more interesting: Helen Venetia Duncombe Vincent, Vicountess D'Abernon (1866-1954).

Daughter of the Earl of Feversham, Helen's beauty was extraordinary, and when she married the equally handsome financier and diplomat Sir Edgar Vincent (1857-1941) in 1890, she soon became a celebrated London hostess. To some she was "by reason of her outstanding beauty, intelligence and charm, one of the most resplendent figures" of her age; a far less flattering description by architect Edwin Lutyens called her "a lovely Easter egg with nothing inside, terribly dilettante and altogether superficial."

The truth must have been somewhere in between. As Sir Edgar rose both in the financial world as an international banker and as an ambassador in diplomatic corps, Helen helped further his position by serving as his hostess and as a patroness to English artists and museums. She also welcomed the leading intellectual figures to her salon, including American writers Henry James and Edith Wharton and prominent statesmen George Curzon and Arthur Balfour. She was also drawn to the romantic history of her namesake Venice, and at her urging the Vincents purchased the Palazzo Giustiniani on the Grand Canal. It was here, during an extended visit, that Sargent painted the bravura portrait, above left, in 1904, and made the sketch, right. As isn't always the case, the beauty in the portraits was real, as seen in the stylish photograph of Helen from 1906, lower right.

But when the glory days of Edwardian England collapsed with the onset of the First World War, Helen didn't retreat to the safety of her country estates. Instead she took the unusual step for an aristocratic lady of training as a nurse anaesthetist (anesthesiologist), and served with the Red Cross in Europe, often in risky makeshift circumstances close to the front. She acquired a reputation as the fearless, unflinching lady in the operating room, and treated thousands of patients.

Although she returned to civilian life at Sir Edgar's side after the war, traveling with him through Germany while he was the British Ambassador to the Weimar Republic, it was her own wartime contribution that she believed was her greatest personal accomplishment. In 1946, she published a book of her experiences drawn from her diary, Red Cross and Berlin Embassy, 1915-1926: Extracts from the Diaries of Viscountess D'Abernon. Fascinating reading!

(A random note: As I watched the last episode of this season's Downton Abbey on PBS with its cliff-hanger with the coming war, I wondered if the screenwriters for next season were already reading Lady Helen's diary. I suppose we'll know if Lady Diana turns up as a nurse anaesthetist in France with the Red Cross!)

Above left: Lady Helen Vincent, Viscountess D'Abernon, John Singer Sargent, 1904, Birmingham Museum of Art
Right: Lady Helen Vincent, John Singer Sargent, 1905, York City Art Gallery
Lower left: Lady Helen Vincent, photograph by Lionel de Rothschild, c. 1906, copyright Solent News & Photo Agency

Florence Nightingale in Cairo

Loretta reports:


The Egyptians have a long history of despotic rulers—a situation 19th century Europeans deplored in nearly every journal and travel account I read while researching Mr. Impossible. Florence Nightingale grieves for the oppressed Egyptians, too, but the following passage is more typical of her vibrant writing in this fascinating book—a surprise when I stumbled on it.  As with Queen Victoria, one tends to see Florence Nightingale as an institution.  But here she is as a young woman of twenty-nine, discovering an exotic world.
~~~
No one ever talks about the beauty of Cairo, ever gives you the least idea of this surpassing city.  I thought it was a place to buy stores at and pass through on one’s way to India instead of being the rose of cities, the garden of the desert, the pearl of Moorish architecture, the fairest, really the fairest, place of earth below.  It reminds me always of Sirius I can’t tell why, except that Sirius has the silveriest light in heaven above, and Cairo has the same radiant look on earth below . . . Oh, could I but describe those Moorish streets, in red and white stripes of marble, the latticed balconies, with little octagonal shrines, also latticed, sticking out of them, for the ladies to look straight down through; the innumerable mosques and minarets; the arcades in the insides of houses you peep into ,the first stories meeting almost overhead, and yet the air with nothing but fragrance on it, in these narrowest of narrow wynds!...

We strode down again into the city, swarming with life . . . you cannot imagine how you will get through the streets; you expect to run over every child, and to be run over by every camel, who, gigantic animals! Loom round every sharp corner just as you are coming to it, and are the tallest creatures I ever saw: there does not appear standing room for a fly.  You address your ass in the tenderest terms, and in the purest Arabic; you adjure him by all the names of friendship to stop: but he understands no Arabic except his drivers, and on he goes, full trot, while you are making hairbreadth ‘scapes at every corner, yet receiving hardly a knock.
~~~
Florence Nightingale, Letters from Egypt: A Journey on the Nile, 1849-50.

Illustrations:  David Roberts, Bazaar of the Coppersmiths
 Florence Nightingale about 1845

Courtesy wikimedia.

Sore Throat? Try Hannah Woolley's Sirrop of Violets, 1675

Susan reporting:

Like many, many people in the northern hemisphere, I have a cold, which is probably why I've found the new exhibition at the Folger Shakespeare Library in Washington, DC so intriguing. Beyond Home Remedy: Women, Medicine, & Science is running now through May 14. While women of every rank have traditionally been the family medical caretakers, dispensing home-made remedies and folk wisdom, this exhibition shows their early recipe and housekeeping books instead as the precursors to modern medicine, and stresses the female contributions to the growth of scientific learning. 

One of the books on display is The queen-like closet, or Rich cabinet , above, by Hannah Woolley (1622-c.1675), published in 1675. Hannah came from a family where both her mother and her sisters were skilled in "physick and chirurgery," and her books on household management were among the first to be written by a woman for a female audience.  Below is her recipe for syrup of violet, a popular remedy for soothing a sore throat. Yet this same simple syrup was also employed in experiments on color conducted by philosopher and chemist Robert Boyle (1627-1691). The Folger's site has a fascinating short video explaining these experiments, as well as how Hannah's concoctions, being made by a woman, would never merit the same attention as those of Boyle's, an educated gentleman and the son of an earl. 

Meanwhile, if you, too, are suffering from a malady of the throat, here is Hannah's recipe transcribed – though good luck gathering fresh violets in January.

To make Sirrop of Violets

Pick your Violets very clean, and beat them well in a Mortar, then strain them, and to one pint of the juyce take one quarter of a pint of Spring-water; put it into the Mortar with the stamped Violets which you have strained, stamp them together a while, and strain the Water well from them, and mix them with your other juyce; then put it into a long Gally-pot, and to each pint of juyce put in one pound of double Refined Sugar; let it stand close covered for the space of twelve hours; then put in a little quantity of Juyce of Lemmon, that will make it look purely transparent; then set your Gally-pot into a Kettle of seething-water covered, till you find it to be thick enough; then set it by till it is cold, then put it up.

Above: The queen-like closet, or Rich cabinet, by Hannah Woolley, London, 1675
Thanks to Michael Robinson for suggesting this exhibition to us.