Status on the Wrist: A Fancy, Flowered Silk Purse, c.1830

Susan reports:

Purses as we know them – accessories for the holding of Stuff – are a relatively new invention. Women in the 18th c. wore over-sized pockets, sewn to a ribbon that tied around their waists, that were hidden beneath their hoops and voluminous petticoats (examples here and here).

But when skirts narrowed to a slender column by the end of the century, there was no place on a fashionable figure to disguise a pocket bulging with necessities, and small drawstring purses soon made their appearances in Paris and London. Often called reticules (a French version of the Latin word for a small mesh or net bag), 19th c. purses could take whimsical shapes and designs, and might be beaded, fringed, embroidered, crocheted, or netted - every manner of handwork embellishment. This was not the place for understatement.

Then as now, a purse was a chance for a lady to exert her personal style, whether the purse was bought at great cost from a Parisian shop or fashioned at home. They weren't large, holding only the essentials. Just as a modern woman will carry a tote along with a purse, her earlier counterpart might have carried a handled work basket or workbag for the excess  - or, if she were wealthy enough, she'd simply turn over the extra things to her servant.

The drawstring purse, above, must have made a sizable fashion statement dangling from a chic wrist. The flowers are created from wired chenille - think pipe-cleaners - that make the petals of the flowers curl outward, the drawstrings are tasseled, and the green silk bag is still vibrant after nearly two centuries. (See here for a detail of the flowers.) That long-ago owner clearly took excellent care of her purse, and with such a prize, who can blame her?

Above: Flower Basket Purse, Europe, probably France, c. 1830. Silk, silk & wire chenille. De Witt Wallace Collection, Colonial Williamsburg Foundation. From the exhibition "Accessories: Head to Toe", now on display through 12/12. 

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.

Breakfast Links: Week of June 6, 2011

Here's the latest serving of weekly Breakfast Links, our favorite links to this and that from miscellaneous blogs, web sites, and news stories from the farthest reaches of the Twitterverse. If you’re on Twitter, please follow us – @2nerdyhistgirls –  just click on the little bird in the column to the right.

• Great news story, 1737: After "poor" widow of bankrupt man dies, £1300 in gold & notes discovered sewn into her stays! http://bit.ly/kdOD2H

• Wonderful small set of vernacular photos - Sally's shoe store, Salem, late 1800s http://bit.ly/lOJ3MG

• Lost Conan Doyle novel to be published, written when he was only 23: http://bit.ly/jzpMWJ via

• New digital archive of Shelley-Godwin collections, including Frankenstein draft! http://bit.ly/kWhgsw

• Tudor coroners' records give clue to 'real Ophelia' for Shakespeare. http://bbc.in/j2RwFW

• Abigail Adams thoughts on French women http://bit.ly/jMV5jP

• Mother of pearl & silver card case, ca. 1860, the Museum of the City of New York's collection. http://fb.me/AGMbKXGZ

• Beautifully done fashion illustrations from a 1930s teenager in a small town: http://bit.ly/k3B09X

• Historic Dress of the Day: portrait of Mme de Florian by Giovanni Boldini, 1898 (with an amazing story) http://bit.ly/juZe6O

• Design students' contest to "complete the look" of historic bodices - wonderful, imaginative results: http://bit.ly/iiicSj

• One of only two surviving coaching inns in London: The George Inn, Southwark http://post.ly/2BWwK

• American vs English Etiquette in Edwardian era: http://bit.ly/iQCIgq

• Breathtaking costumes & hair by Spanish Court Painter Diego Rodríguez de Silva y Velazquez 1599–1660 http://bit.ly/hVBIuQ

• Did the Victorians care about animals? Possibly. Vegetarians? Not at all: http://bit.ly/mRSpcB

• Looking at the William Morris-inspired embroideries & decor at Standen: http://bit.ly/mDh8wJ

• Happy birthday Gustave Courbet: "The proudest and most arrogant man in France" Beautiful images: http://met.org/il75Xf

• Excellent article on Lord Byron & the high price of celebrity: http://bit.ly/kDsygv

• The only surviving theatrical space used by Shakespeare:Treading in his footsteps at Hampton Court http://bit.ly/j9hduc

• Dido Lindsay, the mixed race & illegitimate daughter of a navy man who was brought up by an Earl, http://bit.ly/lkyjMY

The Language of Fans Explained (another silly video by Horrible Histories)

Our Friday silly video again comes from one of our favorite English shows, Horrible Histories. (If you know a child you're trying to lure towards history, the Horrible History books - here and here, among many - are also excellent.) While the complexities of 19th c. fan-language have likely been exaggerated since the time it was used in drawing rooms and across crowded theaters, it's still entertaining to consider how much a lady might have conveyed with only a skillful motion of her fan. Or, as in this case, what she didn't get quite right.

A Little Man Causes a Huge Traffic Jam: Tom Thumb in London, 1844

Susan reporting:

In the mid-19th c., there was no bigger celebrity in the world than Charles Sherwood Stratton (1838-1883), better known by the stage name of General Tom Thumb.

Though born a large baby, Stratton mysteriously stopped growing at the age of six months, and remained 25 inches tall and fifteen pounds for most of his life. His diminutive size made him a curiosity, and at the age of five, he was taken under the enterprising wing of showman P.T.Barnum, a distant cousin. Barnum taught the boy to sing, dance, and impersonate famous people, and soon he launched young Charles - now renamed Tom Thumb - on a hugely successful American tour as an entertainer. In 1844, Barnum and Tom Thumb crossed the Atlantic and took Europe by storm. The tiny boy was an instant sensation in London, where he performed twice before Queen Victoria.

Barnum concocted elaborate stunts to create interest in his young protege. In London, Barnum ordered the famous miniature Tom Thumb carriage. Though perfectly proportioned for its occupant, the body of the carriage was only twenty inches in height, painted blue and white, and drawn by a team of Shetland ponies. The coachman and footmen were boys in livery.

Barnum was delighted by the crowds the small carriage attracted as it traveled slowly through the London streets."His carriage, ponies & servants in livery...kill the public," he boasted gleefully to a friend. "They can't survive! It will be the greatest hit in the universe, see if it ain't!" Barnum's prediction wasn't empty hyperbole; it was reported in 1847 that the receipts of the European tour were an astounding £150,000.

But at least a few Londoners failed to see the charm in Tom Thumb's carriage. This sour letter appeared in The Times on 24 December 1844, during that first European tour:

STREET NUISANCES.
To the Editor of The Times.

Sir – I was passing along the Poultry this morning upon business of importance when my progress was arrested by a crowd of people, and the roadway was also blocked up by a confused mass of vehicles of all descriptions.To my surprise I found that the cause of all this stoppage and crowd was the wretched dwarf, called by his showman Tom Thumb! who was being slowly drawn along in a little carriage. Surely the police ought to interfere to prevent such nuisances as these. Here, at the busiest time of the day, under the very nose of the Lord Mayor, was the whole traffic of the city impeded by a showman's cart.... Tumblers and mountebanks are not allowed to exhibit their feats in public thoroughfares; but what do we gain in point of convenience if they are permitted to evade the law by creeping along at a snail's pace? The "Obstruction" to traffic constitutes the nuisance, whether that obstruction be complete or partial. Both Her Majesty's Government and the coporation of London are exerting themselves at the present moment to facilitate the buisness of this great town; but twice as many new streets as are now being made will not suffice, if they are to be invaded ad libtum by dwarfs and giants, cheap tailors and disinterested upholsterers, vendors of native oysters and dispensers of miraculous pills....

Above: Portrait of the Dwarf Tom Thumb, Stepping into his Carriage, c. 1870, London Stereoscopic Company
Below: P.T. Barnum and General Tom Thumb, c. 1850

The Royal Waterloo Bath

Loretta reports:

~~~

Plate 34.—ROYAL WATERLOO BATH.

This very elegant floating bath is stationed near the north end of the Waterloo-bridge, and has recently been built and completed with entirely new and substantial materials, in a style of superior accommodation, at a very considerable expense: it contains a plunging-bath, 24 feet long by 8 feet wide, and two private baths, 10 feet long by 8 feet wide. The depth may be regulated at pleasure by machinery, which raises or depresses the bottom as required, secured by cross timbers, and bound with iron. To each of the baths are attached small dressing-rooms, commodiously fitted up, with proper persons to attend upon visitors. These baths are so constructed, that the water, being a running stream, is changed every two minutes. The advantage of bathing in a flowing stream is obvious, and gives a decided preference over a cold still bath, which is frequently dangerous from the violence of the shock. The terms of bathing, as our readers will see, are extremely moderate: they are—

                                             £     s.    d.
In the plunging-bath .  0     1     0
For the season . . . . . .  1    11    6
In the private baths .   0     1     6
For the season. . . . . .    2     2     0

Constant attendance at Waterloo-bridge to convey visitors to and from the bath.

Bathing is so essentially connected with health, that we cannot but congratulate the public on this new establishment. It is singular that so few of the kind should be known in London, while there is scarcely a street in the French metropolis that has not its cold, warm, vapour, Chinese, and Tuscan baths, with a variety of others, suiting the capricious tastes of the inhabitants. Yet how deficient they are in the most important article connected with bathing everybody knows, while we have a noble river filled with the purest and most wholesome waters in the world. The want of baths in London has led to the incommodious and indecorous practice of public exposure in the Thames.
—Ackermann's Repository, 1819 (June)

The Cursed Silk Shoes of an Unhappy Ghost, c. 1715

Susan reporting:

While examples of 18th c. ladies' silk shoes like the pair, left, aren't rare (like these, these, and these), shoes with a lurid ghost story attached certainly are. Know as the Papillon Shoes, this pair has a fascinating provenance that's more ghost story and legend than historical fact.

David Papillon (1681-1762) was a wealthy courtier and the master of Papillon Hall, Leicestershire, lower right. "Old Pamp"'s reputation for drunken debauchery was enhanced with whispers that he was friends with the Devil, and that he possessed demonic powers sufficient to paralyze his enemies with a single glance. Other rumors claimed he kept a beautiful Spanish mistress at the Hall. There she was a virtual prisoner, locked away in the attic, and only permitted to walk along the roof for exercise. She disappeared under mysterious circumstances in 1717; one story had her die in the attic, cursing the house and promising death and disaster to any owner who dared remove the shoes in which she'd walked the lonely roof.

Soon afterwards, Papillon left the Hall permanently to marry and live with his new wife in Kent. Some judged his haste suspicious, especially considering that he left strict instructions that certain items should never be taken from Papillon Hall. Among them were these shoes.

Over the years, the Hall changed hands many times. In the mid-19th c., however, the contents (including the shoes) were left to the old owner's daughter, and removed from the house. The new owners were at once plagued with unexplained loud thumps, crashes, and voices coming from the attic rooms, violent enough to terrify the family and servants. A local clergyman recalled Old Pamp's stipulation. The shoes were found and restored to the house, and peace restored with them. On several other occasions in the next century the shoes were removed from the house. Each time poltergeist activity began and continued until the shoes were returned.

The Hall was renovated in 1903, and a long-dead body was found hidden in the walls near the attic.  While there was no way to know for sure if this was Old Pamp's mistress, the discovery fueled the legend, and more reports of paranormal activity with it. Even after the Hall fell into disrepair and was demolished in 1950, the mistress's curse seemed to shift to the remaining outbuildings, terrifying their inhabitants. The site was studied by paranormal investigators, who definitely came to believe in the curse.

After the Hall was knocked down, the shoes were left first to a Papillon descendant, and then to the local museum. Yet even that mundane transfer had its mysteries. The driver of the truck carrying the shoes became inexplicably lost. The short trip took him hours instead of minutes to complete, and when he finally did arrive, he was confused and disoriented, without any knowledge of where he'd been or what had happened. Ahh, the power of the shoes....

Above: Papillon Shoes (with single patten), silk with red leather heels, c. 1715-30. Collections Resources Centre, Heritage Services, Glenfield, Leicestershire
Below: View of Papillon Hall, built c. 1622, now demolished. Photograph courtesy of Lost Heritage.