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.

Two Coats, Two Gentlemen, Two Centuries

Susan reports:

While we've written recently about historic dress and keeping warm in the past, we've only addressed the ladies. Today we'll rectify that, and offer two splendid winter coats, worn by two very different gentlemen of the past.

Held by Colonial Williamsburg tailor Mark Hutter, left, is a copy of a greatcoat worn by statesman, president, and all-around-18th c.-Renaissance-man Thomas Jefferson (1743-1826.) The replica coat was made by the CW tailors, and is based stitch-for-stitch on the original.

Jefferson was serving as America's Minister to France and living in Paris when he bespoke this dark blue greatcoat in the 1780s. Cut from woolen broadcloth with a collar of silk velvet, the coat is noteworthy for the embroidered silver vine that edges the wide cape. Though the original coat now has dark buttons (and thus so does the replica), at one time it likely had polished silver buttons to match the embroidery. In the most sophisticated and fashion-conscious city in the world, Jefferson was determined to represent himself as a gentleman of style, and also to show that the rest of the world should take the fledgling American States seriously. Image the 6'2" Jefferson with his red hair, striding down the steps of his house on the Champs-Elysees in this coat with the sun glinting on the silver: an imposing sight indeed.

The second coat, right, is imposing in quite a different way. This impeccably tailored formal overcoat belonged to Edward VIII of England, later Duke of Windsor (1894-1972). Thanks to the most skilled tailors in Great Britain, His Highness was famous for being the best-dressed gentleman in the land (among a great many other things!)

This coat is a beautiful example from Simpson & London Ltd., fashioned from subtle navy tweed wool and lined with fur, with an elegant black Astrakhan collar. The double-breasted coat is cut with flaring skirts and a slightly raised waist, designed to give an elongating line as well as a military air. While Thomas Jefferson was very tall, the Duke of Windsor was very short – only 5'5" – and it's a great tribute to his tailors that he never appeared that way.

"I was in fact produced as a leader of fashion," the Duke once remarked, "with the clothiers as my showmen and the world as my audience." Certainly this coat would hold its own on any stage, in any era.

The original of Thomas Jefferson's great coat is now in the collection of the Los Angeles Museum of Natural History. Special thanks to tailor Neal Hurst of Colonial Williamsburg for his help with this post.

Click here to read more about the Duke of Windsor's wardrobe.

The School of Manners

Loretta reports:

In the 1750s, during a dinner with foreign dignitaries, Henry Fox’s toddler son Charles was brought in--to be admired by the guests, undoubtedly.  The boy said he wanted to bathe in the huge bowl of cream sitting on the table.   His father had the bowl put on the floor and little Charles put into the bowl to splash around.  I think about scenes like that when I encounter manners-challenged children.  Overindulgent parents are nothing new.

Thus the need for THE SCHOOL OF MANNERS or RULES for Childrens Behaviour.  I think this 1701 publication offers interesting insights into the culture of earlier times, some amusing bits, some curiosities and puzzlers, and many proofs that the fundamentals of manners haven’t changed all that much. 

CHAP. I.  Short and mixt Precepts.
3.  Reverence thy Parents.
4.  Submit to thy Superiors
5.  Despise not thy inferiors.
6.  Be courteous with thy Equals.

CHAP. III  Of Behaviour at Home1.  Always bow at coming Home; and be immediately uncovered.
3.  Never sit in the presence of thy Parents without bidding, though no Strangers be present.
4.  If thou pass by thy Parents or by any place where thou seest them, either by themselves or with Company, bow towards them.
6.  Never speak to thy Parents, without some Title of Respect, viz. Sir, Madam, Forsooth; &c.

CHAP. IV  Of Behaviour at the Table.
5.  Ask not for any thing, but tarry till it be offered thee.
8.  Feed thy self with thy two Fingers and the Thumb of the left hand.
9.  Speak not at the Table; if thy Superiors be discoursing, meddle not with the matter.
19.  Take not salt with a greazy Knife.
25.  Smell not thy Meat, nor move it to thy Nose; turn it not the other side upward to view it upon the Plate.

CHAP V.  Rules for Behaviour in Company.3.  Put not thy hand in the presence of others to any part of thy body, not ordinarily discovered.
6.  Stand not wriggling with thy body hither and thither, but steddy and upright.
9.  When thou blowest thy Nose, let thy Handkerchief be used, and make not a noise in so doing.

CHAP. VIII  Rules for Behaviour Abroad.

5.  Always give the Wall to thy Superiors, that thou meetest; or if thou walkest with thy elder, give him the upper-hand, but if three walk together, the middle place is most Honorable.  [And if anyone can figure this one out, please enlighten me.  L.]



  
The painting is The Children of Edward Holden Cruttenden, by Joshua Reynolds, ca. 1763

Keeping Warm: Buzaglo Stoves

Susan reports:

When I posted the photographs of the ballroom and the supper room in the Governor's Palace, Colonial Williamsburg, two very important fixtures weren't visible in the pictures. Here they are now: a pair of coal-burning, cast-iron stoves that were the cutting edge of keeping warm in the 1770s.

Also called "warming machines," the stoves were imported from London where they were effective, fashionable, and exclusive because of their cost. The stoves were the work of a famous inventor of the time named Abraham Buzaglo (1716-1788.) A Moroccan who immigrated to England in 1760, Mr. Buzaglo immediately amazed Londoners with his cast iron warming machines, which he patented in 1765. As one historian has noted, his ultimate goal was to try to "reform English prejudices regarding comfortable warmth."*

Mr. Buzaglo's trade card modestly promised that his stoves "surpass in Utility, Beauty & Goodness any thing hitherto Invented in all Europe". They "cast an equal & agreeable Heat to any Part of the Room, and are not attended by any Stench," with "a bright Fire to be seen at Pleasure." More importantly, the stoves"preserve the Ladies Complexions and Eye Sight" and "warm equally the whole Body, without scorching the Face or Legs," plus "other Advantages too tedious to insert."**

The warming machines were so popular that they became known by the inventor's name (though incorrectly, if inevitably, pronounced by the English as "Buzz-aglow" rather than "Bu-ZAH-glo".) Buzaglos warmed drafty gracious homes as well as university libraries and the shops of tailors and weavers. The two in Williamsburg were imported to colonial Virginia by the Royal Governor, Lord Botetourt (1718-1770) for the comfort of his guests in the Governor's Palace, and shortly before his death in 1770 he ordered another to warm the House of Burgesses.

So do Buzaglo stoves work? While I don't doubt that the twin Buzaglos in the palace are in fine working order, I also imagine that modern-day fire and pollution regulations frown on combining coal-burning stoves with crowds of tourists. But to a lady shivering in a silk gown two hundred years ago, I'm sure they were a very welcome upgrade from the sparks, soot, and limited warmth of an open hearth.

And, of course, there must have been all those "other Advantages too tedious to insert."

* The Invention of Comfort: Sensibilities & Design in Early Modern Britain by John Crowley

** "Hot Air from Cambridge", an article by J.C.T. Oates appearing in The Library

Biltmore: The house that George built

Loretta reports:

When Lady Dunmore first came to Williamsburg and was shown the Governor’s Palace, she must have said, “You’re putting me on”—in 18th C speak, that is.  Compared to the great houses of Britain, let alone its palaces, it must have seemed like, oh, the dairy building.  It was too small, certainly, to be a stable.  Yet it was quite grand for Colonial America.

It would take a while for rich Americans to start building houses dedicated to showing off their money, but then they did it with a vengeance.  Most of the Gilded Age mansions to me epitomize Wretched Excess—ostentatious and unappealing.  But I did fall in love with Biltmore.  Maybe because the man who built it, George Washington Vanderbilt II (that's Whistler's portrait of him above left), was a man of imagination.  And maybe because he put his palace on a vast piece of land—100,000 acres in the North Carolina mountains--as the aristocrats of England did their country houses.  And maybe because he and his wife did interesting and useful things with their money.

He was 28 years old when he “decided to build the largest private house in America, establish a model dairy farm, revive the forest, and establish a forestry school and an arboretum.”  The Pisgah Forest took up 80,000 of those acres.  “Although it had an extraordinary range of species of trees, the forest was in a deplorable state, ‘burned, slashed, and overgrazed.’”  He also created Biltmore Industries, “furniture workshops set up…to train local North Carolina craftsmen."

He built a private railway spur to carry the materials from the main railroad to the site.  He had the country’s premier talent working for him: landscape designer Frederick Law Olmsted, architect Richard Morris Hunt, and forester Gifford Pinchot.

The house has about 255 rooms.  “In London, he astonished a rug dealer by purchasing at

one time three hundred Oriental rugs for his new house.”  I could go on and on:  about the John Singer Sargent paintings and the system of heating and cooling the house and the beautiful elevator and the gardens and the views and the fascinating servants’ quarters and more--but a visit is worth many thousand words, and if you can’t visit, there are video tours available at the site, and numerous books.

The opinions expressed here are my own.  The facts, figures, and quotes come from a wonderful, sumptuously illustrated book, The Vanderbilts, by Jerry E. Patterson.  The black & white photograph is courtesy the Library of Congress, LC-USZ62-71822.

More Bright Colors: The Governor's Palace

Susan reports:

There was so much interest in the eye-boggling 18th c. wallpaper from Colonial Williamsburg last week that I thought I'd follow up with two of the most brightly painted rooms in the entire town.

The large blue room is the ballroom in the Royal Governor's Palace, and the green room that opens from it is the supper room. Both were added to the palace in 1752, following the new fashion among English aristocrats to build special rooms onto their houses dedicated to dancing and socialising. The rooms are decorated in the latest London fashion for 1770 as if to suit the last royal governor, the Earl of Dunmore.

The ballroom is especially imposing because it has four life-size portraits of English royalty: King Charles II and his queen, Catherine of Braganza (because Lady Dunmore herself had Stuart blood) and, at the other end of the room, the reigning King George III and his queen, Charlotte. The portraits were meant to remind guests that the royal governor was the stand-in for the Crown, and the king literally stood behind his representative, even here in the distant colonies.

The ballroom is very large, historically large enough to hold a ball with 200 guests in attendance. Obviously not all guests danced at once. There would likely be a good many who never made it away from the

card or dining tables in one of the other

rooms, and others who simply passed the evening sitting in the chairs along the walls, flirting or gossiping.

The ballroom was designed to impress with its high arching ceiling, elaborate moldings, and crystal chandelier, but it's the brilliant blue walls, edged all around with gold, that first catch the eye. The wall-to-wall patterned carpet, woven to match, adds more color with vivid gold, pink, and purple.

With daylight streaming in through the tall windows, the effect is almost gaudy. However, the ballroom was used almost exclusively at night, and by candlelight (we NHG attended an evening ball lit entirely by candles) the colors are much more subdued and more elegant, too.

The same can be said of the adjoining supper room with its Chinese-inspired woodwork, brilliant green painted walls, and more patterned wool carpet. When the evening grew late and the guests exhausted from dancing, the doors to the supper room were opened and a lavish late meal was served here. Another set of doors at the opposite end of the room opened directly onto the formal gardens, where on warm nights guests could wander and amuse one another, and the green walls of the supper room were echoed by the trees outside.

Reader Lyn S. told us how bright the colors were in another 18th c. house, George Washington's Mt. Vernon. Here's the link for a virtual tour -- check out the bright green in the dining room!

The Miseries of Human Life

Loretta reports:

James Beresford’s The Miseries of Human Life, which first appeared in 1806, is still funny.  I own the Past Times 1995 adaptation, whose cover bears the Cruikshank illustration, The Head ache, shown at left, and from whose spine a ball & chain dangles.  This version drops the numerous Latin phrases of the original, as well as the dialogue form--a style popular in the late 18th and early 19th C, which modern readers may find a bit arch and artificial.  Yet I’d suggest you try the original anyway, because it’s full of funny little bits, and many of its miseries apply today as well as then.

MISERIES PERSONAL, EXISTENTIAL AND OF THE BODY
The horror of contriving how to adjust one’s legs and arms at the age of nineteen in a drawing room.

MISERIES OF TRAVELLING
In speeding through towns and turnpikes, the nervous habits and desperate manoeuvres to which you are perpetually driven, to avoid gratifying successive shoals of children, in their eager wishes and strenuous endeavours to be run over.

MISERIES OF SOCIAL LIFE
Sitting down alone in a large party upon a sofa that makes an equivocal noise.

MISERIES OF FASHIONABLE LIFE
Being a lady of a certain age, throwing yourself into your carriage at daybreak, after some long and fatiguing orgy, finding yourself face to face with your gentleman escort, with the killing consciousness that the beams of the rising sun, by pointing at certain derangements in the composition of your countenance, are gradually rectifying a few chronological errors in your own history, into which you had been leading him an hour before.

MISERIES DOMESTIC
Squatting plump on an unsuspected cat in your chair.

Being serenaded at your window, all night long, by the tender war-whoop of two cats, performed with demoniacal variations and professional enthusiasm.

MISERIES OF THE TABLE
Slipping your knife suddenly and violently from off a bone, its edge first shrieking across the plate (so as to make you hated by yourself and the whole company), and then driving the plate before it, and lodging all its contents—meat, gravy, melted butter, vegetables, &c., &c., partly on your own breeches, partly on the cloth, partly on the floor, but principally on the lap of a charming girl who sits by you, and to whom you had been diligently endeavoring to recommend yourself as a suitor.

While swallowing a raspberry, discovering by its taste that you have been so unhappy as to occasion the death of a harmless insect!

Thomas Rowlandson and George Cruikshank, among others, illustrated the book.
“The Head-ache” and “Cat-sitting," shown here, are Cruikshank’s work.