London Tailor 1818

Loretta reports:

Following is a short excerpt from a wonderful resource, The book of English trades: and library of the useful arts : with seventy engravings, by John Souter. 1818


THE TAILOR.
THE Tailor makes clothes for men and boys, and riding-habits for ladies.
In a tailor's shop, where much business is carried on, there are always two divisions of workmen: first, the foreman, who takes the measure of the person for whom the clothes are to be made, cuts out the cloth, and carries home the newly-finished garments to the customers. The others are mere working tailors, who sit cross-legged on the bench, like the man near the window, represented in the plate; of these, very few know how to cut out, with any degree of skill, the clothes which they sew together.

The tools requisite in the business of a tailor are very few and unexpensive: the sheers for the foreman, who stands to his work; for the others, a pair of scissors, a thimble, and needles of different sizes. In the thimble there is this peculiarity, that it is open at both ends. Besides these, there are required some long slips of parchment for measures, such as those represented hanging against the wall, and an iron, called a goose, with this, when made hot, they press down the scams, which would otherwise take off from the beauty of the goods. The stand of iron is generally a horse-shoe, rendered bright from use. Before the foreman, or master, (for where the trade is not extensive the master cuts out, measures gentlemen, and carries home the clothes,) is an open box, this contains buckram, tapes, bindings, trimmings, buttons, &c. with which every master-tailor should be furnished, and from which they derive very large profits. On the shelf is a piece of cloth ready to be made into clothes, and also a pattern-book.

....

A writer on this subject says, that a master-tailor ought to have a quick eye to steal the cut of a sleeve, the pattern of a flap, or the shape of a good trimming, at a glance : any bungler may cut out a shape when he has a pattern before him; but a good workman takes it by his eye in the passing of a chariot, or in the space between the door and a coach: he must be able not only to cut for the handsome and well-shaped, but bestow a good shape where nature has not granted it: he must make the clothes sit easy in spite of a stiff gait or awkward air : his hand and head must go together : he must be a nice cutter, and finish his work with elegance.

Lucky Research: The Wedding Suit of James II

Susan reporting:

Loretta and I have often written here about the joys (and the challenges) of dressing our characters. Most times, we rely on a combination of contemporary sources, surviving examples, and imagination. But for one scene in The Countess & the King, I got lucky – really, really lucky. The embroidered suit that James Stuart (the King in the title), then Duke of York, wore to his second wedding over three hundred years ago miraculously still exists, and is on display in the Victoria and Albert Museum, London; see it here.

This suit has its own story to tell. James had it made for his wedding to his second wife in the winter of 1673, and like all royal weddings of the time, it was a political alliance, not a love match. The bride was a fifteen-year-old Italian princess, Mary Beatrice (her name already anglicized) of Modena. She was also Roman Catholic, and because James himself had recently converted to that faith as well, the wedding was wildly unpopular in Protestant England. In protest the princess was burned in straw effigies in London, as was James. A proxy wedding had already taken place in Modena, but the first time the couple were to meet would be when Mary Beatrice landed in Dover. Given England’s hostility, it was decided that the two should be wed in Dover, as quickly and quietly as possible.

Thus James’s suit was made of grey wool broadcloth to keep him warm as he stood on the winter beach. But the lining was a festive, bright coral ribbed silk (the waistcoat, now missing, was likely coral, too) and nearly every inch of the grey wool is covered with gold and silver embroidery, including the Garter Star (above) on the left breast.  The embroidery design features intertwining lilies and honeysuckles, signifying purity and devoted love, both theoretically appropriate for a bridegroom, if not for James. The suit’s cut is the latest French fashion, and the style of the flopping oversized cuffs on the coat was called “hound’s-ears.” There are dozens of tiny decorative buttons, each wrapped in more gold thread; James’s wardrobe records show that he required 228 buttons for a complete suit of coat, waistcoat, and breeches!

It is easy to imagine him standing on the beach wearing it to greet his bride, the winter sun glinting on all that metallic embroidery. He wore the suit to their hasty marriage by the Bishop of Oxford in a private house in Dover, and again several days later when the newlyweds arrived at the palace in London, and James presented Mary Beatrice to his brother the king. 

What happened next to the magnificent suit is especially interesting in light of Loretta's post yesterday. James presented the suit as a memento to Sir Edward Carteret, a loyal friend and supporter who had served as witness to the wedding. (Sir Edward's loyalty had been previously rewarded with a tidy tract of land along the American coast, known today as New Jersey.) After Sir Edward's death, the suit passed to his widow, then to her sister, wife of Matthew de Sausmarez. The suit remained at the Sausmarez Manor on the Isle of Guernsey for 320 years – until at last the family sold it at auction in 1992. (The cover of the Christie's catalogue is right.) Fortunately, the suit was acquired by the V& A, which has preserved it with great care for display, and also created an exact replica for study by history students.

But what was Mary Beatrice’s reaction to her well-dressed bridegroom? Exhausted from sea-sickness and her long journey, the princess reportedly took one look at James and burst into tears. So much for being a sharp-dressed man!

Many thanks to Chris Woodyard for the auction catalogue illustrations.

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?

Intrepid Women: Katherine Sedley, Countess of Dorchester

Susan reports:

Whenever we post about a historical Intrepid Lady, we always see at least one comment about how that lady's story would make a fantastic book. Today I'm heading the comments off at the proverbial pass, because this Intrepid Lady is the heroine of my brand-new historical novel The Countess and the King.

Though only a footnote in most histories, Katherine Sedley (1657-1717) deserves more than that. True, she didn't change the course of history, or create or inspire great works of art. But she was wickedly funny, independent, and unpredictable, and determined to go her own way, which very few other well-bred 17th c. ladies dared to do.

The only child of libertine poet Sir Charles Sedley and a lady-mother who went mad, Katherine was treated more like a pet than a daughter by her father, one of the riotous young gentleman who made the Restoration court such a scandalous place to be in the 1660s. Like some modern Hollywood child, Katherine mingled with rakes and actresses in taverns, playhouses, and at racecourses, and at an early age learned to drink, swear, and speak her mind.

While she could still have been redeemed by her father's connections and wealth and made a good marriage, there were two stumbling blocks. First, Katherine was considered shamefully plain. Second, and more importantly, she didn't want to give control of her life to a husband. Instead she became known as an independent lady at court, shocking and delighting with her wit and outrageous observations. She was often on the receiving end of cruel jests, too, but she held her head high, and laughed in return. She endured several painful love affairs before shocking everyone yet again by becoming the mistress of the king's brother, James, Duke of York. He was smitten by her cleverness and her audacity, and he seems to have genuinely loved her, and she him. Unlike other royal mistresses, she'd chosen to be with him not for wealth or prestige, but simply because it pleased her to do so.

But when Charles II died and James was made king, the relationship soured beneath the weight of James's increasing loyalty to the Catholic Church. The end was untidy, with public scenes and dramatic banishments, but Katherine had chosen wisely when she parted with him. Three years later, James was chased from the throne in the Glorious Revolution of 1688 and replaced by his daughter Mary and her husband, William of Orange.

Most royal mistresses disappear with their kings. Katherine wasn't ready to retire. Instead she fought Parliament to keep the lands and other gifts that James had given their daughter, and won. She teased the new Queen Mary about being her father's old mistress, and acted up in the staid new court as the defiant reminder of the wicked old days. At the then-ancient age of nearly forty, she finally found a man she loved well enough to marry, Sir David Colyear, a gruff, one-eyed officer noted for his bravery, who was in time made Earl of Portmore. She bore him two sons, and relished her new role as a mother.

But even in old age, Katherine was determined to be outrageous. At one of George I's stuffy assemblies, she was sat near Louise de Keroualle, Charles II's last mistress, and Elizabeth Villiers, William III's mistress. "Who would have thought that we three old whores would have met here?" she cackled loudly, to the shocked delight of everyone around them.

"Her wit was rather surprizing than pleasing," wrote Lord Dartmouth, "for there was no restraint in what she said of or to any body." How, really, could I resist?

Above: Katherine Sedley, Countess of Dorchester, by Godrey Kneller, c.1683

Shameless Self-Promotion: Susan's New Book is Almost Here

Susan reporting:

Yes, now it's my turn to be Shamelessly Self-Promoting. My new historical novel The Countess & the King: A Novel of the Countess of Dorchester & King James II will finally be in stores this Tuesday, huzzah, huzzah, huzzah!

Since these are modern times, publishers prefer their authors to engage on blog tours rather than the old-fashioned, horse-and-buggy visits to bookstores, and I've been merrily enjoying the company and hospitality of our fellow bloggers in anticipation of the book's release. I've written a number of guest posts about the history and characters that might interest y'all as well, and I'm posting the links to these posts below. In addition many of these blogs are combining my visits with a giveaway copies of The Countess & the King, which could be just the extra incentive you need to sample a new blog or two.

• Historical Fiction Bloggers Roundtable: Interview with Susan Holloway Scott
• Pittsburgh Examiner: Interview with Author Susan Holloway Scott
• All Things Royal: Two Brothers, Two Kings
• Historically Obssessed: Introducing Katherine Sedley
• The Maiden's Court: The Fine Art of Poetical Slander
• Enchanted by Josephine: Dressing a Royal Bridegroom
• Hist-Fic Chick: A Pair of Merrie Ladies: Katherine Sedley & Nell Gwyn

Medieval Tech Support (Another Silly Historical Video)

Susan & Loretta reporting:

Ahh, another holiday weekend, another silly historical video.

The situation is one that we have ALL encountered at one time or another. Clearly nothing has changed with Tech Support since the middle ages. Please don't be put off by the Norwegian that the characters are speaking. There are English subtitles, which somehow makes the video even more funny.

May all our American readers have a safe and happy Labor Day/End of Summer weekend!

Thanks to Neal Hurst for sending this our way.

The Importance of the Cashmere Shawl

Loretta reports:

From France, by Lady Morgan (Sydney), and Sir Thomas Charles Morgan.  3rd edition.  1817

~~~

The elegant produce of the Indian loom is an indispensable object to every French woman, and from the estimation it is held in, one would suppose there was " magic in the web of it." I shall never forget the mingled emotions of pity and amazement I excited, in one of my French friends, by assuring her, I never had been mistress of a cachemir.

“Ah! seigneur Dieu, mes c'est inconcevable, ma belle," [Ah! but that is inconceivable,] and she added that I ought to buy one with the produce of my next work. I replied: "I had rather buy a little estate with it."

"Eh bien, ma chére," ["Well, but my dear,"] she answered quickly, " un cachemir, c’est une terre, n'est-ce pas?" [" a cachemir is the same as an estate, is it not?"]

In fact, these valuable and expensive shawls generally do become heir-looms, in a French family.

"Voila un trait de toilette pour vous, mon enfant," [" There is an anecdote of the toilette for you, my dear,"] said Mad. de Genlis to me one morning, as I entered her pretty apartment, at her Carmelite convent, to which she has retired. " Here is a trait will amuse you;" and she related to me the following anecdote.

A little before I had paid my visit, a young gentlemen had left this celebrated lady, suddenly cured of a passion for a young married woman, against which Mad. de Genlis had long and vainly preached. She had argued the matter with him morally, prudentially, sentimentally; she had even, like Mad. de Sevigne" (in listening to her son's confessions, respecting Ninon,) tried to get in "un petit mot de Dieu:" [a little word of religion;"] but it was all in vain, until a shawl " peau de lapin" [of rabbit-skin] effected what the charming eloquence of Mad. de Genlis failed to produce.

He had the night before attended his "chére belle" to a ball; she sent him to her carriage for her shawl.  He flew to be the bearer of the superbe cachemir, breathing its kindred roses; but (death to every finer feeling of fashion, taste, and sentiment) the laquais drew from the pocket of the carriage—a shawl peau de lapin!!!"  "Plus de prêchements donc, ma chére comtesse," ["no more 'sermons, my dear countess,] added the convalescent lover, "c'est une affaire finie!" [the affair is over!] Never can love and rabbit skins be associated in my imagination; and believe me, my dear madam, qu'il n'y a pas d'amour à tenir contre un schall, peau de lapin!" ["no love can stand against a rabbit skin shawl!"]