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.

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.

When Too Much is Not Enough: A French Lady's Accessories, c. 1770

Susan reporting:

So often when clothes from the past are displayed in museums, they're shown as a single isolated piece, without any of the little personal additions that changes clothes into *my* clothes.  As we've discussed here before, the 18th century was an era of splendid fashion excess when it came to accessories (see here, here, and here, from a current exhibition in Colonial Williamsburg.)

True, the word "accessories" is a modern one, but these two now-unknown French ladies, c. 1770, left, certainly understood the concept. In this wonderful double portrait, both young women are wearing what appears to be silk damask gowns, robes a l'anglaise. As elegant as these gowns may be, they're only the foundation for everything else that's added on.

Both ladies have tied sheer white silk gauze aprons with ruffles on the edges over their gowns.(Here's an English example.) The triple-flounced lace cuffs, called engageantes, (here are examples) are pinned inside the sleeves of the gown, and the silk ribbon bows at the elbows are pinned on, too – clever ways that a lady could change the look of a gown. The lady in pink wears a gathered lace scarf around her neck, while the other lady wears one of fur, both anchored by more bows, pinned in place.

Flowers were popular decorative elements throughout the 18th century. While the red rose in the lady's hand is probably real (and symbolic of love and romance), the ones that decorate their clothes and bonnets are likely made of paper, artfully tinted and shaped. The bonnets are linen and lace, pinned on top of their tall, powered hair. The lady on the left carries another favorite 18th century accessory, a fan, that may be lace, silk, pierced ivory, or even painted chicken skin.

And then there's the jewelry. Both women are wearing chatelaines hanging from their waists. A chatelaine is a piece that hangs or clips to the waistband, with dangling chains that hold a lady's little necessities, like keys, scissors, seals, and watches. (Here is an example from the V&A, and another.) While the origins of chatelaines are useful, they're often beautifully made, costly status symbols, like the gold ones here that feature large gold watches with enamel faces.

The ladies wear matching heart-shaped necklaces (alas, the resolution of jpg isn't high enough for me to see them in detail.) They both wear clip earrings as well, plus jeweled brooches scattered across their hair and bonnets.  Are they real gemstones, or artful paste jewels? Either is possible, for ladies then, as now, mixed faux jewels with the real thing. There's one more accessory in this picture, one that no 18th c. lady would be without: the small spaniel, sitting on a silk cushion with his mistresses.

Above: Two ladies, one holding a fan and the other a rose, by an unknown French painter, c. 1770, The Bowes Museum

Queen Victoria's Baby Tooth Brooch, 1847

Susan reporting:

I'll freely admit that I'm as sentimental as most mothers, and that like a lot of us, I squirreled away my children's first lost baby teeth as mementos. They're tucked in my desk, inelegantly sealed in business envelopes, preserved for...something.

But then, I'm not Queen Victoria (1819-1901).

When Victoria's oldest child, the Princess Victoria, Princess Royal (1840-1901), shed her first baby tooth, it, too, was preserved, though not in a lowly envelope. The seven-year-old princess's father, Prince Albert (1819- 1861) tugged the tooth free himself in 1847, while the royal family was visiting Ardverikie, by Loch Laggan, as a guest of the Duke of Abercorn. As a memento of both the enjoyable visit (Victoria was so smitten with Scotland that she soon purchased Balmoral Castle as her own retreat in the Highlands) and to commemorate the landmark event in Princess Vicky's young life, Albert had the tooth made into a special brooch, left, for Victoria. Set in gold, the tooth forms the blossom of a gold and enamel thistle, the symbolic wildflower of Scotland. A "private" piece of jewelry as opposed to royal jewels for state occasions, the small brooch had never been shared with the public until last fall, when it was included in the Victoria & Albert: Art & Love exhibition at Buckingham Palace.

It's easy to dismiss a brooch featuring a baby's tooth as one more example of slightly macabre 19th c. taste, but in some circles, such mother's jewelry is still made and worn. Check out actress Susan Sarandon's custom-made bracelet, featuring her children's assorted baby teeth as the charms.

Above: Brooch, gold, enamel, & tooth, 1847. Commissioned by Prince Albert for Queen Victoria. Photo copyright The Royal Collection.

More Faux Pearls: Abigail Adams's Necklace, 1766

Susan reporting:

One of the most enjoyable parts of this blog for Loretta and me is hearing from readers who in turn share more nerdy-history-facts with us. After my recent post on the faux pearls popular in the 18th c., the so-called "Roman pearls", we heard from Sharon Ann Burnston (historian, archaeologist, author, re-enactor, & consultant on Colonial America), who reminded us of what is likely the most famous strand of faux pearls worn in 18th c. North America: the necklace worn by First Lady Abigail Smith Adams (1744-1818). In the earliest known portrait of her, the pastel portrait, left, she is shown wearing the fashionable glass pearls. The strand of pale pink beads, right, belonging to her is now in the collection of the Smithsonian Institution, donated by a descendant in 1914, and is most likely the same necklace from the portrait.

As the bride of an unknown country lawyer in colonial Massachusetts, Abigail would never have owned real pearls, but the strand of glass beads were a handsome, elegant substitute. Abigail also unwittingly set a precedent for First Lady fashion. Far in the future, First Ladies Jacqueline Kennedy, Barbara Bush, and Michelle Obama (ladies who could in fact have afforded the real thing) would all become known for wearing extravagant faux pearl necklaces as part of their public personae.

Long to share Abigail's look? Sharon's "emporium" for 18th c. re-enactors, Village Green Clothier, offers a lovely replica for sale here. (HBO commissioned one from Sharon for actress Laura Linney after she won the Golden Globe for playing Abigail Adams in the John Adams miniseries.) The ironic twist: the modern replicas are genuine freshwater pearls.

Above: Abigail Adams, pastel portrait by Benjamin Blythe, 1766
Below: Glass bead necklace, worn by Abigail Adams, Smithsonian Institution; photograph courtesy Smithsonian Institution

"Roman Pearls": Faux Jewels for the 18th c. Lady

Susan reporting:

Pearls are one jewel that never seems to go out of fashion, with the earliest mentions found 4,000 years ago in China. Pearls were worn as jewelry in ancient Rome, and Cleopatra was said to be particularly partial to them. But until the development of cultured pearls in the early 20th c., however, all true pearls were made by nature and an irritated bivalve, with the result that pearls were exceptionally rare. Considered the most costly of gemstones, they were reserved for kings, queens, and others with the deepest of pockets.

Still, European ladies yearned for the look of pearls, even if they couldn't afford the real thing, and ingenious craftsmen were creating look-alikes from the middle ages onward. By the 18th c. – an era when pearls were the perfect accessory to flowing, pastel Rococo fashions – the very best faux pearls were known as "Roman pearls." These were hollow beads of blown glass, whose interior surfaces were coated with an iridescent derivative of fish scales. Once lined, the beads were then filled with wax to give them the proper weight. Despite the Roman name, the process is credited to a Frenchman, M. Jaquin, and Roman pearls were made by his family for over two hundred years. The luxury-craft is described in Denis Diederot's famous Encyclopedie, which includes illustrations of women making the beads.

Just as modern socialites wear c.z. replicas of their diamonds and keep the originals in their safe deposit boxes, 18th c. ladies often wore copies of their pearl necklaces and earrings. Sometimes, too, they would mix faux pearls with their real diamonds and other jewels. The only caveat was to keep away from the fireplace, for the center wax core of a Roman pearl was known to melt and leak on the neck of an unfortunate wearer.

Roman pearls were also the choice when fashion demanded an extravagance that no mere oyster could ever provide. Given the size and quantity of the pearls worn by these two ladies, it's likely they're wearing Roman pearls, or other similar pearly glass beads.

Mrs. Andrew Lindington, right, clearly followed the trendy motto of "more is more" when it came to accessories, and wears not only enormous pearl beads around her throat, but also edges her wired headdress with more pearls. It's possible that her earrings and the jewel on her headdress are real, but it's the glass pearls that really steal the show. Young Eliza Shrewsbury of Charleston, South Carolina, left, is also stylishly dressed with huge pearls around her throat, plus more hanging from her ears and trimming the bandeau in her hair. While the open book in her lap proves that she's as true a lady of leisure as the new American republic can boast, it's almost certain that her pearls, too, are glass – and no less lovely for being pretend.

Top: Detail of Portrait of Mrs. William Mills (Rebecca Pritchard) and her daughter Eliza Shrewsbury, by James Earl, 1794-96, Winterthur
Below: Detail of Portrait of Mrs. Andrew Lindington, by Joseph Wright of Derby, c. 1761-63, Philadelphia Museum of Art.

The Spectacular Tiara of Hannah de Rothschild Primrose, Countess of Rosebery, 1874

Susan reporting:

Thanks to the recent Royal Wedding, tiaras are much in the spotlight these days. This spectacular tiara left, is receiving even more press. Not only is it a spectacular (and rarely seen) Victorian concoction of diamonds and freshwater pearls, complete with a matching bracelet, but it's up for auction next month. Christie's expects it to bring at least a £1.5 million ($2,433,000), and likely more.

Yet the original owner of this tiara wasn't royalty, or even born into the British nobility. She was, however, from a family that often outshone those aristocrats. Hannah de Rothschild (1851-1890), right, was the only child of London banker Meyer de Rothschild. Hannah was raised on the vast estate of Mentmore Towers, insulated by the immense wealth and luxurious life of her close extended family. When her father died, she became at 24 the wealthiest heiress in Britain, with a fortune that included houses, property, and more than £2 million in sterling. The rest of the Rothschilds expected her to marry within the English Jewish community, preferably one of her Rothschild cousins. Her final choice was much more unexpected.

Archibald Philip Primrose, 5th Earl of Rosebery (1847-1929), left, was a prize bachelor in his own right. At 28, he was considered handsome, intelligent, and fantastically wealthy in his own right, with an annual income of around £30,000. He had two great interests: liberal politics and horse-racing. Hannah soon became the third. Introduced to her by Lady Beaconsfield, the wife of Benjamin Disraeli, Rosebery was impressed. He told a friend that he found Hannah "very simple, very unspoilt, very clever, very warm-hearted and very shy...I never knew such a beautiful character." Hannah was equally attracted, and an engagement was hinted between the two in 1876.

But despite their mutual attraction, there were sizable obstacles. The Jewish world was appalled that she would abandon her faith for marriage; a British aristocracy that was openly anti-Semitic could not believe that a peer with so much promise would make such a match. Hannah was ridiculed for her appearance, her weight (she was plump even by Victorian standards), her demeanor, but most of all her family and her religion. But Hannah and Rosebery persevered, and were wed in 1878. All of Hannah's male Rothschild relatives boycotted the ceremony. Disraeli gave her away, and having the Prince of Wales among the guests must have eased the tensions. The tiara was made at the time of their wedding, an extravagant sign that Hannah was now proudly Countess of Rosebery.

To outsiders, their marriage appeared complicated. Hannah proved to be the perfect political wife, a skillful counterpoint to the more high-strung - some said childish - Rosebery, and with her behind the scenes his career blossomed. He relied on her judgement and ability to run their home and their family as well (they had four children), and though his tongue could be sharp there was no doubt that they cared deeply for one another. When Hannah died of typhoid fever at thirty-nine in 1890, Rosebery was distraught with grief, and mourned her for years. He never remarried. Though he became prime minister - a triumph that would have delighted Hannah - Rosebery no longer had the heart for politics, either. Without Hannah at his side, his life became murky with melancholia and sordid scandals, and in the end, his political career was considered a disappointment. Ahh, if only Hannah had lived to wear that splendid tiara a little longer....

Top: Tiara by R&S Garrard & Co., Haymarket, London, 1878
Above right: Hannah de Rothschild Primrose by Frederic Leighton, 1st Baron Leighton
Lower left: Archibald Primrose, 5th Earl of Rosebery, by John Everett Millais

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

Romantic jewelry

Loretta reports:

The recent engagement of Prince William & Kate Middleton brings up the always fascinating subject of jewelry, a subject dear to the Nerdy History Girl's heart.  Whenever one of my heroines becomes engaged, I pore through my jewelry books, looking for inspiration. Sometimes I'll give her a colored stone with diamonds, like Kate's.  Other times I'll look for the biggest, gaudiest diamond ring I can find.  But other kinds of jewelry were exchanged as love tokens.  One of my favorites, because it's multicolored, is jewelry used to convey a message.

One way to do this was to use the first letter of each stone to spell out a word.


D iamond
E merald
A methyst
R uby
E merald
S apphire
T opaz

According to Jewellery The International Era 1789-1910, Vol I 1789-1861 by Shirley Bury,   "The language of stones...was reported 'in high favour' by the Belle assemblée in 1817 (alas, that edition is not on Google Books yet), which explained only that the initials of the stones 'form devices or sentimental words.'"

Below right is a scan from the Bury book.  See if you can  read the message on these pendants from the Victoria and Albert Museum.

Sometimes the jewelery spelled the beloved's name.  This, as you could imagine, could present tricky problems for the jeweler, depending on the name.

For a visual feast of beautiful Georgian Jewelry, I suggest Ginny Redington's Georgian Jewellery 1714-1830.  It's not very nerdy, being a bit thin in the scholarship department, but it makes up for this with gorgeous color photographs—and a less breathtaking price than the out-of-print Bury tome.

History on the Auction Block

Loretta reports:

The Green family was one of the Significant Families of Worcester, Massachusetts.  I still regard them fondly because of Dr. John Green, who founded the Worcester Public Library (its early incarnation at left).  His collection included some extremely rare and beautiful books—the sort NHGs expect to find only at big university libraries.  Or in England at some duke’s place.  Though not in this priceless category, some of the elderly volumes I consulted for Mr. Impossible bore Dr. Green’s name.

Then there was a Green Hill Park, where once upon a time, the family had lived in a great (for Massachusetts) estate.  To my everlasting grief, the house, like so many others, was long gone by the time I discovered it, through old photographs.  It included, I recently learned, a museum for the family.  And now it turns out that some or all of this collection—art, furniture, furnishings, clothing, books, letters &c—ended up in the care of one lady.  When she died, not long ago, the treasure trove went to descendants who do not strike me as being of the Nerdy History persuasion.  My big clue was their nicknaming the experts evaluating their inheritance “antique geeks.”  So I was troubled, but hardly surprised by their decision to sell off the lot.

Yes, it’s all being auctioned off this week, in the same city where that handsome estate with its private museum once stood.  Here’s the story in the local paper.

I haven’t had time to go through all the catalogs.  For sheer quantity, if not historical value, this reminds me of the auction of Horace Walpole’s estate.   I did make time to check out the clothing—and it’s enough to make a Nerdy History Girl weep.  Ye who are fascinated by historical dress will want to peruse this catalog.  You’ll even find some of those pads they used to pouf out sleeves in the 1820s and 1830s!

If you’ve got some time on your hands, you can examine all the catalogs at the auctioneer’s site.  Or you can hurry on over to the DCU center in Worcester and bid on something.

But before or after that, would you tell me something?  If you were the one who inherited all this stuff, what would you do?

The Queen(s) with the Pearl Earrings

Susan reports:

Last month I wrote about the large pearl that King Charles I wore in one ear. It seems only fair to write about an equally famous pair of pearl earrings worn by his queen, and several others besides. Many legendary jewels of the past have disappeared through wars and revolution, or have been broken up, re-cut, and reset until they bear no resemblance to their original design. But these magnificent earrings, left, have miraculously survived with both pearls and diamonds intact, and with a tantalizing history to match.

The earrings first appear as part of the dower jewels of Marie de' Medici (1575-1642), an Italian princess who left her native Florence to wed the French king, Henry IV (1552-1610). The de' Medici family was old, powerful, and very wealthy, and the jewels that Marie brought with her astonished the French court. At this time, pearls were the most valuable of precious gems, rare accidents of nature. The two almost perfectly matched droplet pearls in the new queen's favorite pair of pendant earrings were of a quality not been seen before in Paris. Other women at the court wore pearl drops (many ladies in 17th c. portraits are shown with them) but most of these pearls were coated glass. Marie's were real, and fit for a queen. She was painted wearing the earrings, right, in 1616 by Peter Paul Rubens.

When Marie's youngest daughter, the princess Henriette Marie (1609-1699), married the English King Charles I (1600-1649) in 1625, Marie gave the pearl earrings to her as a wedding gift. Henriette, too, was painted many times wearing the earrings, including this portrait of her as a young wife in 1632 by Sir Anthony van Dyck. Her marriage was a happy one, and blessed with many children. But the earrings brought Henriette no luck as the English queen. Her husband's unpopular politics eventually led to a disastrous civil war that cost him his life. Henriette was forced to flee the country in 1644 soon after giving birth to their last daughter, leaving the baby behind. In exile in France with her sons, she was forced to gradually sell all her jewels first to help support her husband's army, and then, as a widow, to keep herself from poverty. Mementos of happier times, the pearl earrings were among the last jewels to go, finally being purchased by her nephew, the French King Louis XIV (1638-1714) in 1657.

The nineteen-year-old Louis had fallen desperately in love with eighteen-year-old Marie Mancini (1639-1715), the Italian niece of Cardinal Jules Mazarin, the king's primary minister. At first the match was approved both by the cardinal and Louis's widowed mother, and Louis presented the pearl earrings to Marie as his future queen. Marie's portrait, left, shows her wearing the pearls along with flowers in her hair. But politics intruded and the match was broken off, with Louis instead marrying the Spanish Infanta Maria Theresa, and Marie wed to the Roman Prince Lorenzo Onofrio Colonna. But Marie kept the king's pearls, and the earrings were by now so associated with her that they became known by her name, the Mancini Pearls.

No one is certain whether she left the earrings to one of her children, or sold them herself during her long and tumultuous life. In fact, there is no record of the pearls at all for nearly 250 years, until they appeared at Christie's auction house in New York in October, 1979. There they were sold to a private collector for $253,000, a price that almost seems reasonable considering all the history attached to them. They remain among the most famous jewels sold by Christie's, and are still featured on their website.

Now I know that pearls, however beautiful, are inanimate objects, and no more than the work of an irritated oyster. But don't you wish these earrings could tell their story, and repeat even a few of the confidences and endearments, promises and secrets once whispered into the ears that wore them?

NHG Library: Royal Ice Pails and other trinkets

Loretta reports:

When my heroes buy jewelry for their mistresses or the heroine, they always go to Rundell and Bridge, goldsmiths familiar to readers of Regency-era stories.  I did find No. 32 Ludgate Hill, where the shop once was, and had my picture taken there, and closed my eyes and tried to imagine what it would have looked like in, say, 1818 or 1828.  Not easy.  Rundell & Bridge is mentioned frequently in books and magazines, fiction and non-fiction, but illustrations are very thin on the ground. 

Too, one sees pictures of objects the Prince Regent/King George IV bought from the firm and reads about the amounts of money he spent, but this Nerdy History Girl’s nerdiness was never fully satisfied:  What exactly did the shop look like?  How about an interior?  What kinds of little trinkets did the Regent buy for his favorites?  Here's a cartoon interior .  And here are further glimpses.   But I wanted more.

Then one day I discovered Christopher Hartop’s Royal Goldsmiths: The Art of Rundell and Bridge 1797-1843.   I don’t remember what led me to it, but I do remember my NHG jump-up-and-down excitement and complete lack of hesitation in ordering it.  It’s a wonderful book, a beautifully detailed and splendidly illustrated catalog that accompanied an exhibition.  Among other wonderful things, it includes a large 1790s illustration of Ludgate Hill and the shop front.  You can find out more about the book at the Christopher Hartop site. 

Then, the other day, I came to a dead stop in my perusal of the Wall Street Journal , riveted by an advertisement with a picture of a fantastically ornate silver thing with gods and goddesses flailing about.  "That looks familiar," thought I.

“Fit for a King…and  a Queen,” the copy read.  And so it was.

It turns out that you, too, can own an actual Rundell and Bridge sterling silver ice pail made for the Royal Family in 1827.  You’d probably better hurry and put it in your shopping bag before Her Majesty does, but for a mere $1,500,000 you, too, can cool your wine in the same cooler King George IV used.  Or his brother, the Duke of Cumberland.  Somebody royal, at any rate.  You can read more about it under “Item Details,” at the M.S. Rau Antiques site.

Bottom right illustration is The Crimson Drawing Room of Carlton House (pulled down in 1826-27), a watercolor by W.H. Pyne.  It gives an idea of the rich furnishings supplied by Rundell & Bridge and others.

The King with the Pearl Earring

Susan reports:

Today pearls are among the most common of precious "jewels." But before the development of cultured pearls and farming in the early 20th c., all pearls were natural pearls. These rare treasures could be discovered only by accident and at considerable peril. Natural pearls had great mystique and luminous beauty as well as value, which made them favorites of queens – and kings.

One of the most famous pearls of the 17th c. belonged to King Charles I of England (1600-1649). While the origins of this single pearl earring are unknown, Charles is first shown wearing it in a miniature, left, as the fifteen-year-old Prince of Wales. The pearl soon became what fashion-folk today call a "statement piece", and one that he was seldom without.

Charles's large teardrop-shaped pearl – an especially rare and desired shape –was made into a single dangling earring with a tiny gold crown as the cap, topped with an orb and cross that was most fitting for a future king. Since Queen Elizabeth's reign, fashionable English gentlemen had worn single earrings as a sign of courtly swagger and bravado, qualities that the young prince was woefully lacking: Charles was slight and short (only 5'3"), he limped from childhood rickets, he stammered, and he suffered from acute shyness. Perhaps the sizable jewel gave him the confidence that nature had not.

Whatever the reason, Charles wore the pearl for the rest of his life, and it appears in nearly every portrait of him, including one of him dressed casually for hunting, right. He developed into a style-conscious king who patronized the arts, and the single earring suited him in that capacity, too, as the romantic, cavalier king.

Unfortunately, while Charles was a very good patron to artists, architects, and composers, he proved to be a wretched king to his people, stubbornly unable to reconcile his subjects' desires and expectations with his own. After barely surviving two civil wars, he was captured by the Parliamentary forces led by General Oliver Cromwell and found guilty of high treason. He was executed on 30 January 1649, beheaded with a single stroke of the ax on a scaffold before Whitehall Palace. He was still wearing the pearl earring as he placed his neck on the executioner's block.

Later historians seem to have been determined to give the execution a lurid, gory hysteria that no contemporary witness reported, and describe a (fictitious) howling mob surging forward to tear the precious jewel from the bloody, severed royal head.

Well, no. Even with regicide, this was still Puritan England, not Jacobin France.

Instead Charles's earring was respectfully removed when his head was sewn back to his body in preparation for burial. The earring was then sent as a final memento to his oldest daughter, Mary, Princess Royal (1631-1660), as Charles had requested. After Mary's death, the earring eventually found its way to one of the late king's most loyal supporters, William Cavendish, 1st Duke of Newcastle-upon-Tyne (1592-1672), who had also been entrusted with the education of Charles's son, the future King Charles II. Today the earring, bottom left, remains in the collection of the duke's home, Welbeck Abbey in Nottinghamshire, now owned by the Dukes of Portland.

Top left: Charles, Prince of Wales (later Charles I) by Issac Oliver; the Berger Collection,

Denver Art Museum.

Top right: detail, Charles I, King of England, at the Hunt by Anthony van Dyck; the Louvre

Lower left: detail, Charles I, King of England, from Three Angles, by Anthony van Dyck; Windsor Castle, Royal Collection

Bottom right: Earring of Charles I, Harley Gallery, Welbeck, Worksop, Nottinghamshire

Update: Many thanks to my fellow nerdy art history friend Connie G. for suggesting yet another portrait of Charles I. The detail at left shows the earring more clearly than any other portrait of the king as an adult.

Fashions for February 1830 Part 2

Loretta reports:

From La Belle Assemblée No. 62.—Vol.XI

A robe redingote, composed of French Cachemire, of a light shade of grenat. The corsage, made tight, turns over en schall, so as to display very much the cambric chemisette worn with it. The facings are of black velvet. Sleeve,à la Caroline, fitting close to the arm from the elbow to the wrist, and extremely full above the elbow; the fulness is divided in the middle of the arm by a broad band of black velvet. The cuff is also of black velvet; is very deep, and finished at each edge by a rich but narrow black blond lace. The trimming of the skirt consists of a bias band of black velvet of moderate breadth. Black velvet ceinture. The chemisette is fastened in front with small gold buttons, and finished round the throat with a full ruff of the same material. Black velvet bonnet worn over a cap of the demi cornette form, which is trimmed with Valenciennes' lace. The shape of the bonnet is rather close: it is ornamented on the inside of the brim with three coques of satin ribbond, figured with velvet. Two large nœuds of this ribbon adorn one side of the crown, and three ostrich feathers placed upright fall over it. Brodequins of black figured silk. Pale lavender gloves. The boa tippet is of chinchilla.

DINNER DRESS.
A DRESS composed of painted foulard ; the ground, gris lavande; the bouquets are large and of vivid colours. The corsage is cut low; the shape of the bosom formed by two bands of ermine, which descend from the point of each shoulder in the style of draperies, down each side of the bust, and the skirt, to the broad border of ermine, which forms the trimming of the dress. The sleeves are à la Marino Faliero: they are bordered with ermine, and lined with white satin. The under sleeve is of a moderate width, at the upper part of the arm, and tight towards the wrist. Small cuff, cut at the upper edge in points. The coiffeure is composed of crimson crape, arranged en béret, and displaying no part of the hind hair, but the large knot, which is drawn through the crape on the crown of the head. A bandeau of coloured gems encircles the knot, and crosses the forehead on the left side. An esprit, placed on the right side droops towards the shoulder, and two others are disposed upright at the back of the head. Ear-pendants, rubies and emeralds. Gold bracelets with ruby clasps. Ceinture of gold net.

 FULL DRESS.
A ROUND dress of white gros des Indes, cut rather high round the bust, except at the shoulders, which are very much displayed. A row of narrow pointed blond lace finishes the top of the corsage. The shape of the bosom is very gracefully formed by a slight fulness, which is looped in the centre by a rouleau, that descends to the waist. The sleeve is extremely wide to the elbow, but tight from thence, so as to display the shape of the arm; the cuff is of a moderate depth, cut in points at the upper edge. The points are finished with blond to correspond with the bosom. Over this dress is an open robe composed of satin duchesse, the colour is emerald green. This is a little shorter than the under dress, nearly meets at the waist, and turns back round the bust en pelerine. The skirt flies open in front so as to display the under dress. The pelerine part, and the sides of the robe, are cut in points: these are edged with a rouleau of plain satin, and in the centre of each is a richly-wrought gold button. The bottom of the skirt is cut in very deep scollops, finished like the points with a rouleau and buttons; the scollops surmounted by a twisted rouleau, placed about a quarter of a yard above them. The shoulder of the robe is finished by a single row of points, corresponding exactly with those of the pelerine part of the dress, and forming a double epaulette. The hair is dressed in full curls on the temples; the hind hair disposed in one very large knot, and two bows formed of plaited bands. The coiffeure consists of two bows of gold-figured gauze, disposed en papillon, near the crown of the head, and the tails of two birds-of-paradise inserted among the bows of hair.

Fashions for February 1830

Loretta reports:

From La Belle Assemblée
Fashions for February 1830

EVENING DRESS.
A DRESS of gaze satinée, the ground rose-colour, the stripes of that peculiar shade of drab-colour which resembles unbleached cambric. The skirt, somewhat more ample than last month, is slightly gored, and trimmed rather below the knee with a fringe of uncommon breadth and beauty. It has an open-worked head, very richly wrought in lozenges. The corsage is cut very low, but not quite square round the bust, being rather higher in the shoulders than evening dresses generally are. Sleeves, à la Sultane; very wide, fastened at the wrist by gold bracelets, and drawn round the arm just above the elbow, by a row of fringe, to correspond with that on the skirt, but narrower. The hair is arranged in loose full curls, which fall low on each side of the face, and parted in the middle to display the forehead and eyebrows. The hind hair is disposed in two very large knots on the crown of the head. A scarf of Circassian gauze, corresponding in colour with the ground of the dress, and fringed at the ends, is tastefully arranged in conques, which are intermixed with the bows of hair. One of the ends falls on the left side to the neck; the other forms a tuft on the right side. The necklace, earrings, and bracelets, worn with this dress, are a mixture of pink topazes and filagree gold. A boa tippet, of the finest sable, is thrown carelessly round the neck. White kid gloves. Slippers, white gros de Naples.

EVENING DRESS.
A GOWN of gros d'Orient; the colour, vert de Chine; the border of the skirt, which reaches nearly to the knee, cut in double dents, which are corded round the edge with satin. The corsage, cut exceedingly low, and falling much off the shoulder, is crossed before and behind, and disposed in two folds on each side. Short and extremely full sleeve, of the bouffont form, over which is a long and very loose one of gaze Œrienne, with a cuff à la Montespan, cut in deep scollops, which turn back from the wrist. The hair is arranged in tirebouchons, which fall as low as the neck on each side of the face. Head-dress, a béret/composed of green satin. This is of a very large size, and is ornamented with three esprits/ two are placed near the top of the crown on the right side, and one under the brim on the left. Massive gold ear pendants and bracelets, the latter à la Grecque. Necklace, gold and emeralds, with three very large emeralds pendant from the centre. Gros des Indes slippers, en sandales. White kid gloves.

La Belle Assemblée Fashions for January 1830

Loretta reports:

From La Belle Assemblée
Fashions For January 1830

WALKING DRESS.
A PELISSE of fawn-coloured gros de Naples,* delicately embroidered in black outline down each side of the front where it closes, as far as to a very broad border of black velvet, which surrounds the skirt next the feet, nearly as high as to the knee; at the head of which is a trimming of light sable, or some other valuable light-coloured fur. The sleeves are à la Donna Maria,** and they are trimmed up the outside of the arm, where the sleeve tightens at the cuff, with fur. Round the waist, which is made plain, is a black velvet zone, clasped with a gold brooch. The collar of the pelisse turns back, and is surmounted by a French, double ruff of lace. The bonnet is of black velvet, trimmed with a bow of the same, and three aigrettes of blue corn-flowers and ears of corn; the aigrette in front larger than those on each side. A Chantilly lace veil is worn with this bonnet, which ties under the chin on the right side, with a bow of black satin ribbon. A boa tippet of marten skin is added to this appropriate winter pelisse. The half-boots are of fawn-coloured kid, tipped at the toe with black.

EVENING DRESS.
  A DRESS of pink satin ; the border trimmed en jabots, with the same material, each one bordered by a broad, rich, white blond: these ornaments ascend from the hem next the feet, as high as to the knee. The corsage is made quite plain, with a very broad falling tucker of blond. Over short sleeves of pink satin fall long ones of blond, entirely à L’imbecile, without any confinement. A dress hat of pink satin forms the coiffeure: this is turned up in front, and lightly ornamented with small white ostrich feathers. A superb veil of white blond falls carelessly over each side, and at the back of the hat.
The jewellery ornaments worn with this dress are either pink topazes, or Ceylon rubies, set à l’antique, in fillagree gold. The shoes are pink satin, tied en sandales.

*"a corded Italian silk similar to Irish poplin."
**one of several types of very full sleeves.  In this one "the fullness of the forearm is confined by a loop on the inner side from the bend of the elbow to the wrist."  From English Women's Clothing of the Nineteenth Century, C. Willett Cunnington

Trinkets

Loretta reports:

I've been writing historical romance for a hundred years or so now, and researching diligently all the while. What this does mainly is show me how much I don't know. No surprise then, that I learned some new things at the Milliner's Shop in Colonial Williamsburg.

I learned, for instance, that the milliner sold more than clothing. You could buy snuff from her. And fans and gloves and ribbons and pins. And other stuff I forgot to write down. You could buy these beaded necklaces, too.

I've done some research on jewelry for a couple of my books: the precious gems a nobleman might bestow upon the heroine or his mistress. Those necklaces from Rundell & Bridge and other high end jewelers fastened with gold clasps.

Here's the new thing I learned in CW: The ones in the photo have, as you see, loops covered with thread. The lady ties them at the back of her neck with a ribbon.

The little package in the upper right corner holds straight pins. They're made of steel and, as you may be able to read, they come from London, as does so much else at this time.

Tudor Bling: The Cheapside Hoard

Susan reports:

Raindrops on roses are all very nice, but to really make the hearts of the TNHG go pitter-pat, just show them old jewelry.

Now everyone knows about the famous jewels like those royal baubles kept in the Tower of London or the legendary pearl "B" necklace of Anne Boleyn (left), but non-royal people in the 16th century loved fine jewelry, too. Renaissance London was famous for its goldwork, with one astonished visitor counting fifty-two goldsmiths' shops along the merchant's street of Cheapside.

This would be only one more dry history factoid except for something inelegantly called the Cheapside Hoard. In 1912, workmen demolishing a 17th century building discovered a decaying wooden box beneath a brick floor, stashed there by some long-forgotten goldsmith. Inside the box were over 500 pieces of 16th-17th century jewelry: gold and silver, enamel-work and precious stones, rings, pendants, chains, earrings, and watches. No wonder it's regarded as the greatest cache of Elizabethan jewelry in the world, and that there's already a major exhibition in the works to celebrate the centennial of the discovery in 2012.

These aren't huge Marie-Antoinette style diamonds for court wear, but things a NHG could imagine easily wearing for everyday. While the Hoard is now scattered among three museums, including the Victoria & Albert and the British Museum, the majority of the pieces are in the London Museum, which also has the best pictures on line.

Go ahead, browse a bit. Does the emerald pendant carved into a parrot catch your eye? Or is the diamond-studded hat ornament in the shape of a salamander more to your taste? We have our favs, and you probably will, too.

The Eyes Have It

Susan reports:

One of my fav galleries at the Philadelphia Museum of Art isn't really a gallery, but a little room.  As it should be, because it's filled with little, tiny paintings. Long before IPhones became the way to keep in touch, miniature paintings were the memento of choice for the titled and affluent. Exquisitely painted and framed, miniatures traveled well, whether worn as a locket or on a watch fob or tucked inside a trunk.

But in the late 18th century, the Prince Regent (soon to be George IV, and the Regent who made his Regency THE Regency) launched a fad for a special kind of miniature. Mrs. Fitzherbert, his lover and secret wife, commissioned Richard Cosway to paint a miniature of her right eye, a conceit that was as discrete as it was charming. At once the Prince returned the favor, and had his eye painted and set into a ring for her to wear. Eye miniatures became an instant sensation in England, France, and even America, and were popular well into the nineteenth century. The largest example that I've photographed here (a bit blurry through the glass, I'm afraid) is only about two inches across, and they decorate brooches, rings, and snuffboxes. I like how modern collectors have dubbed them "lover's eyes"; seems fitting, doesn't it?

And so far. nobody's winked.