Dressing for Autumn 1816

Loretta reports:

London & Paris can be cool to cold in the fall & spring.  So what about those ladies in their muslin dresses?  Did they go for heavier fabrics?  Layers?  Here’s what the November 1816 Ackermann’s Repository has to say.

LONDON FASHIONS
PLATE 29.—EVENING DRESS.
A lilac and white striped gauze dress over a white satin slip; the bottom of the skirt is ornamented with five rows of white silk trimming, of a very light and elegant description : it has just been introduced, and the pattern has more novelty than any thing we have seen for some time: a single flounce of deep blond lace completes the trimming. The body is also very novel; the upper part is formed of lace, and the lower of gauze, to correspond with the dress: the latter is quite tight to the shape, but the former has an easy fulness, which forms the shape in a manner extremely advantageous, to the figure. The sleeve is short and very full; it is composed of lace, looped high, and finished by a trimming to correspond with that on the skirt. The hair is full dressed, without any ornament. Necklace, cross, armlets, and bracelets of rubies. White satin slippers, and white kid gloves.

GENERAL OBSERVATIONS ON
FASHION AND DRESS.
The month of November ought, if we were guided by the seasons, to enable us to present our fair readers with a splendid display of winter costume, but every body knows that the winter of Fashion does not commence till January.

FRENCH FEMALE FASHIONS.
PARIS, October 17...LATE as it is in the season, our promenade dresses are invariably composed of white: perkale is in high estimation, as are also plain and sprigged India muslins...Our promenade costume has at present an uniformity which fatigues the eye, not on account of white dresses only, but because belles of all ages now appear in square shawls...the transparent silk shawls, some of which are ornamented with borders of natural flowers in superb embroidery…are really beautiful, but certainly not calculated for the time of year; however, the season is the last thing a Frenchwoman considers.

Beautiful (and Potent!) Castor Beans

Susan reporting:

When we first came across these tall (over six feet), gaudy plants with their fantastic pods in one of the gardens in Colonial Williamsburg, we'd no idea what they were – though they did remind us of something contrived by Dr. Seuss. If we'd been an 18th c. housewife, however, we would have recognized them as once, and would likely have had one growing somewhere in our kitchen garden – much to the distress and dread of our children.

This is a castor bean plant, and the seeds that grow within the prickly pink capsules are the source of castor oil. While castor oil has a long history – ancient Egyptians burned it in their lamps – now the oil is primarily used as a lubricant and in hydraulic fluids, as well as in pharmaceutical applications and in manufactured goods ranging from soap to dyes.

The castor bean can be a dangerous plant as well. The seeds, stems, and leaves contain high levels of rincin, which is poisonous to humans and animals. In the strange way of nature, the oil derived from pressing the hulled seeds is not toxic, but considerable care must be taken while harvesting.

In the historical past that prized a good purge, castor oil was known for its ability to produce a swift result that one source describes as "exceptionally violent diarrhea." We agree that that sounds pretty hideous, but we suppose it was the historical version of a "cleanse" today.

We think we'd rather admire it from afar...

Cholera's first visit to Paris, 1832

Loretta reports:

Setting books in the 1830s has made me acutely conscious of the shadow cholera—currently raging through Haiti—cast across Europe in the 19th century. 

It first reached Paris in the spring of 1832.  The following numbers are the city's daily death toll for April. 

Apr 1—79, 2—168, 3—212, 4—342, 5—351, 6—416, 7—582, 8—769, 9—861, 10—848, 11—769, 12—768, 13—816, 14—692, 15—567, 16—512

“Up to the last of these dates, there had died in Paris alone, upwards of 8,700 persons ; and before the end of the month the number was nearly doubled….

“In Paris, as in Hungary, the populace took up the idea that the disease was indicted on them by their water and wine being poisoned. Under this impression they perpetrated the most atrocious murders ; it required but the finger of any miscreant to point out an obnoxious individual. An old Jew, who carried a bottle of camphor as a preservative, was called a poisoner, while passing through the market place of the Innocents. The market-women and poissardes attacked him, and he fell dead beneath repeated stabs. At Vaugirard, a village close by Paris, two young men, being attacked by the mob on the same pretext, sought refuge in the house of the magistrate. They were forced out, and murdered in the street. At Paris, however, less than any where else, did the cholera maintain its character of choosing its victims among the squalid, the needy, and the dissolute. The panic, that reigned throughout the capital, was enormously increased by the number of persons, in the higher ranks, on whom the malady laid hold. Peers of France, members of the Chamber of Deputies, of the courts of justice, and of the diplomatic body, swelled the triumph of the pestilence. On the 6th of April, it struck down the prime-minister himself; and although he recovered from the first shock, the hand of death had been laid upon him too heavily to be removed.”
—Excerpt from The Annual Register of 1832.

Keeping Warm in an 18th c. Gentleman's Great Coat

Susan reporting:

With winter on the way, a gentleman of the past would want to make sure he had a stout great coat to defy the elements. Great coats were considered an investment, a practical necessity rather than a fashion statement, and few remain in museum collections simply because they were worn until they wore out. Much like banyans, great coats were garments that men liked wearing. Numerous 18th c. Englishmen had their portraits painted in their great coats, such as shipbuilder and philanthropist Thomas Coram, left (last seen on this blog as the driving force behind the creation of the London Foundling Hospital.)

While great coats often turn up in fiction - especially on adventurous gentlemen who go striding off into the mist and across the moor – but we'll admit we were a little hazy about the finer details of what made a great coat, well, so great.

Fortunately, Tailor Mark Hutter of Colonial Williamsburg obliged us by showing us his handsome great coat, typical of styles from 1740-1770. Working from extant 18th c. examples as well as portraits, Mark made this double-breasted coat, right, from grey wool beaver cloth, a dense, fulled (think felted) fabric that is napped and pressed to resemble beaver fur. The cloth was thick to be wind-proof, and rain and snow would find it a challenge as well. Because this is an overcoat, the body is unlined. The buttons are covered with the same cloth, and the buttonholes are welted.

The wide collar is lined with velvet in a contrasting velvet, both for style and purpose. In the back view, left, Mark has buttoned the collar up high in front to protect his face. That wide collar, pointed in the back, is designed to tuck up beneath a gentleman's hat - quite an efficient way of keeping out the the wind around his ears, much like a modern parka's hood. Because this is such a loose-fitting garment, the pleats at the back of the neck are a stylish, functional way of absorbing all the necessary yardage.

The last photo, right, shows one of the more interesting (at least to us!) features of the coat. Those deep, buttoned cuffs aren't entirely for decoration. On a very cold night, they could be folded down over the hands for extra protection. Gentlemen riding in an unheated carriage could request their servants to go one step further, and button one cuff securely over the other, as Mark demonstrates here. The effect would be the same as an 18th c. lady's muff, and probably just as warm, too.

Many thanks to Mark Hutter, for his expertise and suggestions!


Top: detail of Captain Thomas Coram by William Hogarth, 1740, London Foundling Museum.

Answers to the trick questions

(Questions appeared last week in Amusements from a Ladies' Magazine.)
1.   They both furnish you with Dates.
2.   They both form our habits.
3.   His foot.
4.   Shrove Tuesday. Pancake-day.
5.   Because he has a title.
6.   Because it is always forgetting.
7.   Lie still.
8.   They are both Invisible.
9.   Hose Hannah to the highest—Hosannah to the Highest.
10.  A wedding ring.
11.  It is a Noose-paper.
12.  Because he stands in-kneed.
13.  It is hardly done.
14.  Because he is a male-content.
15.  He animates dead subjects.
16.  February.
17.  It is governed by a Minister.
18.  He claims the unredeemed.
19.  The vowel I.
20.  Because she is notable.
21.  Because it is a-version.
22.  It is the way to Turnham Green
23.  It keeps off the sparks.
24.  Because the first apple damned the first pear—pair.

Miseries of Human Life in the Country

Loretta reports:

Here’s a bit more from James Bereford’s The Miseries of Human Life.  Originally published in 1806, it contains, along with deeply obscure puns & other bafflements for the 21st century reader, miseries not unfamiliar to us.

DIALOGUE THE SIXTEENTH.
ADDITIONAL MISERIES OF THE COUNTRY, AND OF GAMES, SPORTS, &C.
2. (T.)
After having assembled a dinner-party on Michaelmas-day,—finding that the fox has taken upon him to execute the orders you had given with regard to the goose.
6. (S.)
Residing at a country-town…—next door to a quiet neighbour, whose dwelling is suddenly converted into an ale-house of the most cheerful description.
15. (T.)
To be repeatedly called away from your knife and fork by the arrival of different persons (who will not wait) on petty business, which they always contrive should exactly tally with your meals, and which you cannot postpone without even more inconvenience to yourself than the loss of half your dinner.
17. (T.)
On an August evening—windows open, and candles lighted—the incessant visits of gnats, moths, earwigs, &c. &c. without invitation; so that one half of your time passes in killing some of your guests, and the other in helping the rest to kill themselves.

 22. (T.)
Just in that period of your walk when you are overtaken by a torrent of rain, and secretly applauding your own caution, in having provided yourself with an umbrella—said umbrella suddenly and furiously reversed by a puff of wind, and shred to ribbands in an instant.
23.  During the fall of the leaf—the vegetable litter which incessantly deforms your gardens, lawns, and walks, much faster than it can be removed by the broom—and which obliges you to look for all your comfort to the approaching nakedness of winter.
25. (T.)
Passing unawares through a paddock inhabited by an old Bull, by no means celebrated for urbanity to strangers.
27- (T.)
With the heel of one muddy shoe, treading the loosened string out of the other.

Illustrations:
Above left, Dr. Syntax Pursued by a Bull, by Thomas Rowlandson, courtesy Ancestry Images.com.

Below right illustration is from Beresford's book.

Shoe-History Repeats Itself: Venetian Courtesans, Lady Gaga, & the High Price of Walking (Very) Tall

Susan reporting:

Yes, we know the old adage about nothing new under sun.  Even in the wonderfully transitory world of fashion, where the definition of "new" changes by the moment, there have to be some do-overs.

Which brings us back in time to the Italian Renaissance, and to the famous courtesans of Venice. In the 16th c., they epitomized hotness for the rest of Europe. They had their own special style, too, including the most outrageous platform shoes imaginable, some rising as high as twenty inches. (The most fashionable Venetian ladies wore these shoes as well, as did Spanish ladies, but it's the courtesans who wore the most extreme versions, and who were satirized the most.)

These tall shoes were called chopines, and like all trendy shoes, they were as much about their exclusive expense as they were about style; only the wealthiest women, whether of good reputation or not, could afford chopines. (We've written more about them here before, and with more pictures.) The 16th.c. artist of the illustration, left, has thoughtfully done a cutaway view of this courtesan's skirt, so we can see her sauntering seductively on her chopines. The reality, below right, was probably much less jaunty, let alone graceful. Part of the allure of such high shoes came from being able to afford the necessary servants who walked on either side to make sure their mistress didn't fall.

Which brings us forward in time to the present, and to singer, artist, and fashion-setter Lady Gaga. Among her many talents, Gaga has demonstrated a rare gift for walking and even dancing in extremely tall shoes. While there have been some well-documented tumbles (oh, lucky 16th c. courtesans, not having to deal with paparazzi!), on the whole she's been remarkably well-balanced – even if she, too, often has attendants/body guards/spotters on either side to help stave off disaster.

Lady G. could also relate to the handmade chopines that flaunted the Venetian sumptuary laws: her favorite pair by designer Noritaka Tatehana have a price tag of $6500. Here's an entertaining link that shows Gaga and her towering footwear, as well as a video of more mortal women attempting to walk, literally, in her shoes.

We have to think those Renaissance courtesans would have been green with shoe-envy....


Interested in learning more about chopines, as well as zoccoli and pantoufles? Thanks to the glory of Google, we found this amazing site by Francis Classe, a gentleman who has clearly made Renaissance footwear his vocation. Great photos, and there are even directions for whipping up a pair of chopines for yourself. Check it out!


Above left: Venetian Courtesan by Pietro Bertelli, 1589
Above right: Venetian chopines, unknown maker, 16th c., Museo Correr di Veneziani