No Sense, No Sensibility (a Silly Historical Video of the Jane Austen Variety)

Yesterday Loretta wrote about the wonderful new annotated edition of Pride and Prejudice. Today we go from the sublime to the...well, not sublime, but funny. Jane Austen and her characters have survived vampire-and-zombie-ization as well as countless spin-offs, both good and atrocious, but we never thought we'd see them in a mash-up with a trailer of the upcoming movie Burlesque. Here we have the voices of Cher, Christina Aguilera, and Stanley Tucci giving a new twist to the classic 1995 Sense and Sensibility.

This clip comes by way of one of our favorite Austen-bloggers, Vic Sanborn at Jane Austen's World. Many thanks to Vic and the mysteriously named Sopmylo of YouTube for bringing this to our guffawing attention.

NHG Library: Brand new annotated edition of Pride & Prejudice

Loretta reports:

My interest in English history developed when I discovered the joys of 19th century English novelists like Jane Austen and Charles Dickens.  One can enjoy the books without understanding every single word or reference, but I guess I was born nerdy, because even in high school, it wasn't enough to read the story.  I wanted to know what unfamiliar words meant.  In Pride & Prejudice, for instance, when Sir William Lucas asked Mr. Darcy whether he often dances "at St. James's," I wanted to know what and where St. James's was.

Imagine my excitement in discovering annotated editions, which not only defined the puzzling words (I did not have my OED then) but enlightened me about historical context and explained subtleties I would otherwise completely miss.

So, naturally, I did a mental swoon when I spotted, at the recent New England Independent Booksellers Conference, a brand new annotated edition of Pride & Prejudice (edited by Patricia Meyer Spacks) from Harvard University Press.  Never mind that I already have three editions of P&P on my shelves. One can never have enough.  And this one's a beauty.

One of the tiresome aspects of most editions with notes is having to turn to the back of the book to get the information.  This large, hardcover volume easily fits full size text on either side of the spine, with the notes in wide right and left hand columns.

Here's a sampling of what I learned on one page in Vol II, Chapter 5:

When Mr. Collins "punctually repeated all his wife's offers of refreshment," punctually in this case meant "In a manner attentive to details; scrupulously; punctiliously."

Aspect meant exposure, and

"Paradoxically, unseldom frequently meant seldom."

But the book offers more than a dictionary of Jane Austen's language (though the importance of language and characters' linguistic choices is beautifully explored).  We find as well  information about Austen's possible sources and inspirations—e.g., for the style of Darcy's proposal.

Merely skimming led to some eye openers.  I knew, for instance, that Miss Darcy's fortune of £30,000 was enormous.  But somehow I'd failed to catch on that "An elopement, which would mean  marriage without the legal settlements that would protect a woman's money, would give Wickham complete possession of his bride's fortune and leave her penniless and completely dependent on him."  There's more in this line, about money and what various possessions and lifestyles tell us about income levels.

There's a great deal more, in fact, than I can possibly convey in a blog.  But you'll find a good  summary as well as real reviews at the Harvard University Press site.

Since this book is one of the Independent Booksellers Holiday Catalog titles, you'll have no trouble finding it at your local bookseller.

And here, in accord with some FTC rule or other (which probably doesn’t apply to us, since we're not reviewers, but never mind), I need to tell you that, unlike the majority of books referred to in this blog, which Susan and I buy with our own hard-earned cash, this fabulous tome came gratis.

An English Family of the Regency in Paris, 1802

Susan reports:

There are certain animosities in history that seem to persist century after century, unshaken through war and peace. The English have never had much use for the French, and the French in turn don't have much regard for the English. One of the most damning ways any 18th-19th c. English caricaturist could ridicule his subject was to "Frenchify" him or her.

But what's sauce for the goose is also sauce for le jars.  While English artists like Gillray and Rowlandson were busily creating effete, frog-laden images of the French, the French were sharpening their own drawing-pens as well. While we've seen examples of elegant French people swimming in Le Supreme Bon Ton, the same artists were being, ahh, inspired by English tourists visiting Paris.

The French couple, above, is shown as graceful and elegant (with the lady displaying considerable decolletage), and in the middle of a quintessentially French flirtation. But stolid John Bull is a tedious family man. He clearly over-indulges in heavy English food and wears wrinkled, old-fashioned-country-squire dress, while his ladies are likewise shown in grimly unflattering clothes and exaggerated bonnets (which we last saw in another Bon Ton cartoon; now I'm thinking that those couples must have been English, too.) Mrs. Bull is hatchet-faced, and both she and her daughters are obviously corseted and pointedly unalluring, with nary a seductive curve in sight. To call them stodgy would be kind. The oldest Miss Bull turns back to look with longing at the French gentleman, and it's clear that she'd be agreeable to his advances if he'd only deign to notice her – and, of course, if she could be pried free of her family.

A further note on foreign interpretations: We NHGs do have a weakness for beaux and macaronis in all their painted 18th c. glory, but we'd never imagined the latest permutation of macaroni-dom. Apparently MTV will be launching the Jersey Shore on an unsuspecting Japanese public next spring. While their marketing teams found that Japanese viewers are eager for this latest glimpse into the idiocy of Americans (doubtless confirming a great many of their own stereotypes, and, really, who can blame them?), the delicate connotations of the title were lost in translation. Further explanation was needed. Thus when the show makes it debut in Japan, it will have a subtitle: Jersey Shore – the New Jersey Life of Macaroni Rascals.

Not even we could make that up....

Above: La famille Anglaise a Paris, published in Le Supreme Bon Ton No. 11 by Aaron Martinet, Paris, 1800-1805.

The latest in kitchen ranges for the Regency era housekeeper

Loretta reports:
Here's a rare look at an ultra-modern kitchen range of the Regency era.
~~~

The Annexed Plate is intended to represent a material improvement in the boiler attached to the kitchen range, manufactured by Mr. James Walker, 41, New Bridge-street, Blackfriars; and it explains the various purposes to which it can be applied, without consuming more fuel, or requiring more attention, than a common range. The superiority of this boiler to all others, for tho same purposes, will be made evident by inspecting the plan. It occupies the whole of the left-hand side of the range, and also the back, both forming one entire vessel; so that a quantity of water is always kept boiling when there U a fire in the range, by the superfluous heat that would otherwise be applied only to the back; and also, by this means, a very considerable expense is saved, as the additional consumption of fuel, by flues, is thus rendered unnecessary. 

As all others have either a copper or iron plate boiler at the back of the range only, the water cannot be made even warm without a large portion of additional fuel; for, in this case, flues will be necessary, and besides this, the heat is drawn off from the front of the fire, which prevents meat from roasting without a constant supply of fresh coals. On the contrary, with Mr. Walker's boiler, a flue can scarcely ever be wanted, except it be to supply an adjoining bath, or the washing troughs. A large quantity of boiling water, constantly ready for use, is certainly a valuable acquisition to all families for various purposes; it has even been found particularly serviceable in cases of sudden illness, when a bath has been required in the middle of the night, as the boiler retains its heat for at least seven hours after the fire is extinguished. And, as the pipes will convey the steam to any part of the house for heating the sitting-rooms and the bath, or for any other purpose for which steam may be wanted, it is evident that this is the most convenient and economical plan for the application of heat to domestic uses that has yet been invented.

~~~
(Unfortunately, I had saved the lovely prints a while back but failed to note the original source for them.  My hunt this time produced the above text from The Monthly magazine and British register, Volume 46, 1818)

Now, About Those Georgian False Teeth....

Susan reports:

While the 18th c. lady in our recent Horrible Histories video displayed a pretty horrible set of teeth for comic effect, missing teeth were no joke to many Georgian ladies and gentlemen. Primitive dental care and diseases like smallpox, malaria, and syphilis combined with diets heavy on sugar, sugary tea, and alcohol and light on fresh fruits and vegetables made for less than glorious smiles. Poets might sing of teeth like pearls, but the reality was likely much less attractive.

Probably the most famous sufferer of dental woes was first American president George Washington (1732-1799), who began losing his teeth while only twenty-two. Historical legend reports that he compensated by wearing clacking false teeth made of wood. But Washington was an affluent gentleman, and he could afford the best replacements then on the market. A pair of dentures that he ordered in 1798 (shown left) are an intricate construction of gold wire springs and teeth carved of hippopotamus ivory. These were the work of Dr. John Greenwood (1760-1819), a New York-based dentist who earned Washington's custom, and his gratitude, too. Though the dentures look dreadfully uncomfortable to modern eyes, they were apparently a great improvement over what Washington had been wearing.

The letters between the dentist and his presidential patient survive today (here they are on-line), and the advice that Greenwood offers regarding the care of the false teeth sounds surprisingly modern:

"The sett [of false teeth] that you sent me from Philadelphia which when I received was very black, occasioned either by your soaking them in port wine [then considered a common way to disinfect false teeth], or by your drinking it. Port wine being sower [sour], takes off all the polish, and [as an] Acid has a tendency to soften every kind of teeth and bone....Therefore it is very pernicious to the teeth. I advise you to either take them out after dinner and put them in clean water and put in another sett, or clean them with a brush and some chalk scraped fine, it will absorbe the acids which collects from the mouth and preserve them longer."

No word remains as to whether Washington took this advice or not. Still, it does add an interesting layer to the custom of gentlemen retiring from the ladies to drink their port in masculine peace, with the men not only unbuttoning a waistcoat button or two after a large meal, but also removing their teeth.


For more about Dr. Greenwood – a colorful 18th c. American in his own right – check out another of our fav blogs, Boston 1776, and here for more about his role as Washington's dentist.

If your eyebrows are imperfect...

Loretta reports:
As Nerdy History persons who've looked into the 18th century can attest, the recent Silly Historical Video Susan posted was all too horribly true.  The only adornment that took us by surprise was the carrots.  I'm still trying to figure out where the Horrible Histories people got that one.

The bit about the mouse fur eyebrows, on the other hand, was not news.  We've seen advertisements.  And I suspect there might have been at least a few ladies whose eyebrows actually looked like those in the video.  But to learn more about aids for less-than-perfect eyebrows, I dipped into one of my favorite tomes, The Lady's Stratagem: A Repository of 1820s Directions for the Toilet, Mantua-Making, Stay-Making, Millinery, & Etiquette.  There I found the following:

"Remedy for Imperfections of the Eyebrows

"When your eyebrows are straw-colored, cut them now and again, so that they darken in growing back.  You run no risk because the absence of this nearly white hair will not be remarked.

"When your eyebrows go only half-way over the eye-socket, rub them with soap moistened with brandy to make the hair grow.  If they are too thin, the same practice is necessary..."

A few pages further on we read:
"To blacken the Eyelashes and Eyebrows.  Rub them often with elder-berries.  For the same purpose, some make use of burnt cork, or clove burned at the candle.  Others employ black frankincense, resin, and mastic:  this black, it is said, will not come off with persperation.

"Wash for blackening the Eyebrows. First wash with a decoction of galls. Then rub them with a brush dipped in a solution of green vitriol, and let them dry.

"Black for the eyebrows. Take an ounce of pitch, a like quantity of resin and frankincense, and half an ounce of mastic.  Throw them upon live charcoal, over which lay a plate to receive the smoke.  A black soot will adhere to the plate; with this soot rub the eyelashes and eyebrows very delicately.  This operation, if now and then repeated, will keep them perfectly black."

I've cited The Lady's Stratagem in an earlier blog.  It's chock full of fascinating Nerdy History information.

Dressing a Fashionable Georgian Lady, 1770 (Silly Historical Video)

Over and over we've shown you caricatures (like the lady and her ambitious hairdresser, right) of the outrageous fashions of the late 18th c. – an era that really sets the standard for over-the-top style.  This video by our favorite folks at Horrible Histories doesn't really stray too far from what was actually being worn in London around 1770. We do admit, however, to being mystified by the carrot earrings. Has anyone else every come across those in their reading, or are dangling root vegetables just a HH whimsy?


Right: Ridiculous Taste, or, The Ladies' Absurdity, M. Darly, London, 1771