Summer Cape-r

 

Another delightful offering from La Belle Assemblée…may I present a most delightful Morning Walking Dress, from the June 1810 edition?

 

No. 2.— Morning Walking Dress

A round dress of thick fine India muslin, made high in the neck, with long sleeves, which are trimmed at the wrists with a narrow edging of lace; a lace let in round the bottom of the dress between four rows of small tucks. A light sky-blue mantle, lined with pale buff, with elastic collar, which is formed with letting-in lace, and has the appearance of a full collar, but will, if required, by drawing over the head, form a very pretty and becoming bonnet; a cape of the same materials crosses the back, which is confined at the bottom of the waist, on the inside, with a pale blue or buff ribband, tied with a bow in the front; it is entirely trimmed round with [a] narrow edging of lace. A bonnet of straw, and pale-blue ribband, with plaiting of lace, worn underneath, tied under the chin; with a yellow rose in the front, and hair in ringlet curls, completes the dress. Gloves of pale-buff. Boots of the same colour, calashed and laced with pale blue.

Hmm, there’s a lot going on here. The dress itself seems straight-forward; it’s the mantle that is so noteworthy. I’m intrigued by the “elastic collar” that can be drawn up in a sort of hood: it sounds almost like an 18th century calash or calèche, a type of head covering with stiff ribs that could be folded down or drawn up over the fashionable high coiffures of the era. The crossed-over flaps of the cape are an unusual touch, I think—lending visual interest to the back rather than the front.

The bonnet is appro-priately light and airy, a not-too-extreme poke style (though a bit more of a brim might have been welcome to prevent freckles when out walking…) 

 

Also of interest are the boots, described as “calashed.” I’m not sure how that term applies to boots—as we’ve seen, a calash describes millinery, not shoemaking. Any guesses out there? The blue shoelaces on the buff boots are a lot of fun, though.

I know that all faithful NineteenTeen readers will rush right out to their modistes to have this ensemble made for their own morning walks…right?

Well, maybe not this summer.
 

Retro Blast: Bathing Place Evening Dress

With the temperatures that Britons are suffering right now, I hope most of them can manage a trip to the shore...in somewhat cooler bathing attire, though. As I'm just starting a Ladies of Almack's story set in Brighton in 1810, I'm having fun picturing Annabel in a similar outfit...including the gladiator sandals, still fashionable after more than two hundred years. This post first appeared in July 2017; enjoy, and keep cool. 

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Just in time for summer...

Isn’t this a delightful print, from the September 1810 edition of La Belle Assemblee?  I mean...she’s wearing what we would call pantalettes, complete with a triple lace frill round each leg...not to mention sandals. The dress itself is surprisingly simple, buttoning up the front. It’s cute as a bug, but certainly unlike any early 19^th century evening dress I’ve seen before. Since no text accompanied it. I dug around on-line and found this in Google Books:

No. 2.—A FASHIONABLE SEA-SIDE WALKING DRESS

A gown of white French cambric, or pale pink muslin, with long sleeves, and antique cuffs of thin white muslin, trimmed with Mechlin edging; made high in the neck, without a collar, and formed in points at the center of the bosom, with three rows of letting-in lace; confined down the front of the dress with small buttons; and hemmed round the bottom with three rows of deep Mechlin lace; made rather short, and worn over trousers of white French cambric, which are trimmed the same as the bottom of the dress. A cap composed of lace and light green silk trimming, tied under the chin, with a bunch of natural flowers in front. Hair in full ringlet curls, divided in the front of the forehead. A figured short scarf of pale buff, with deep pale-green border, and rich silk tassels; worn according to fancy or convenience; with gloves of pale buff kid; and sandals of pale yellow, or white Morocco, complete this truly simple but becoming dress.

And there you have it—the reason it’s unlike any other evening dress is because it’s actually a walking dress...and perfect for that. Evidently an engraver for La Belle Assemblee took a mental vacation while working on this print, and gave it an incorrect title. Can’t you see a fashionable young lady out in society, visiting Brighton at the end of the London season, tripping blithely down the sands (not that Brighton has a very sandy beach), kicking at the waves, picking up pretty seashells, and generally having a time of it?☺

 

A Picture’s Worth a Thousand…Insults?

The Ladies of Almack’s are back again with a sojourn into the art world with The Cursed Canvases.

In this installment, the Lady Patronesses are trying to discover who is vandalizing the pictures at this year’s Royal Academy Summer Exhibition, in the process uncovering a scandalous personal vendetta dating back nearly twenty years. Meanwhile, Annabel gains a very eligible suitor in Lord Glenrick, brother of one of her fellow Lady Patronesses and son and heir of the Duke of Carrick—but she’s not quite sure he’s the suitor she’d prefer.

Researching this story was a lot of fun. Ackermann’s Repository always devoted many pages to reviews of several of the works in each year’s exhibition, and at times they could only be described as exquisitely supercilious (or, dare I say it, downright bitchy.) But this gave me a good handle for the type of subjects that were painted and how pictures were named, and I’m rather pleased with the result. Also, the relationship between Annabel and Lord Quinceton is beginning to reach an interesting place…

The Cursed Canvases can be purchased directly from the publisher, Book View Café, in both EPUB and MOBI formats as well as from all the usual online bookstore outlets. Print versions can be found at Barnes and Noble and Amazon.

Book View Cafe

Barnes and Noble

Amazon

Kobo

Smashwords

Apple

Happy reading!

Shawl We Dance?**

 Another stunner from La Belle Assemblée! This one is dated May 1810, so was likely published in April of that year.

The text reads:

ENGLISH COSTUME.

No. 1.—Evening Shawl Dress.

A rich Paris-brown French silk shawl robe, with short full sleeves, made to sit very much off the shoulders; worn over a white satin body with long sleeves. The hair divided on the crown of the head, curled in ringlets in the neck behind, and on the right side of the face, with a small bunch of curls on the left side of the head; a band of diamonds, or coloured stones (with a cornelian clasp or brooch), is worn round the head; diamond earrings; Persian scarf of green silk; white satin shoes; and white kid gloves.

Aside from general bemusement at the description of an “English costume” made up of Paris-brown French silk, what do we have here?

In the early nineteenth century (well, before then too), shawls woven or silk and/or kashmir wool in India and elsewhere in Asia and imported to Europe were prized indeed by fashionable women. The plates in the French Journal des Dames et des Modes in particular contain many depictions of beautiful shawls. So prized, indeed, were these shawls that it became a bit of a “thing” to make dresses out of them (and later, from fabric that had been made to look like a shawl.)  They tended to be quite large, so this was not as silly as it initially sounds; with the slim profile of Regency-era dresses, it was quite doable, as can be seen here at right in this portrait of Empress Joséphine by Baron Antoine-Jean Gros, ca. 1808, from the Musée d’Art et d’Histoire at Palais Massena, Nice, France.

So what about our Belle Assemblée example? It’s a fairly straightforward design: the ends of the shawl, with its deep paisleys, are used to decorate the lower edge of the skirt. I like that the fringe edge was utilized, as you can see around the very bottom of the hem. I’m guessing that the shawl’s selvages form the trim up the front and around the bodice. As this dress is made to be worn over a bodice (white satin, in this case), less fabric has to be used.

And may I just say that her hairstyle may be one of the prettiest I’ve seen in any fashion plate? Simple and charming, though using a diamond necklace as a headband may be anything but “simple!” 

What do you think of today’s confection?

Oh...speaking of “prized” indeed, I’m happy to announce that Evergreen is a finalist in the Young Adult category of First Coast Romance Writers’ National Excellence in Romance Fiction Award contest.

 

 

 

**This is, of course, not a ball dress or at all suitable for dancing. But I couldn’t resist the pun. 😊

A Fine Harvest...of Tassels?

After an exceptionally hot and dry summer, the weather has suddenly turned cool and autumnal (though still dry) here in New England…and in fitting with that “hello Fall!” theme, I’m pleased to present, courtesy of the September 1810 (though the outfit is stated as being for October) of La Belle Assemblée, a “Pelisse Dress of Autumn.” And oh, what an outfit!

The description reads, A pelisse dress of autumnal brown sarsnet, made low in the neck, trimmed down the front and round the bottom with a rich trimming of vandyked white satin, ornamented with silver frogs; the sleeves buttoned on the inside of the arm, to correspond with the front of the dress; over the bosom is tied a light white net mantle, scalloped, and ornamented with acorn tassels. White satin bonnet, with a bunch of wheat in front, and short lace veil. Brown sandals and gloves. Green parasol.

The pelisse dress, on its own, is pretty snazzy, though the description and the image are somewhat at odds: the text describes the front trimming to be silver frogs (a popular borrowing from military uniforms), while the illustrations puts in tassels. The sleeves buttoning up the inside of the arm are a neat conceit, though the decorative panels over the breasts are not quite the thing (though this sort of thing appears in several La Belle Assemblée from around this time.) There appears to be either a white petticoat or underdress as well, which you can see peeping out below the vandyked hem.

The hat is…interesting. I rather think the bunch of wheat is a tad much, though certainly in keeping with the autumnal theme of the ensemble. The little face veil is fun and flirty, and can also be seen in several other outfits of the time in La Belle Assemblée. And the general tassel theme of the outfit is continued in the green parasol, ornamented with more of the same.

But it’s the white net mantle that really draws the attention: purely decorative, of course, as it doesn’t offer much in the way of warmth or shelter from the elements. But can’t you just see those deep ends of the “scollops” fluttering in a cool autumnal breeze?—unless, of course, the little acorn tassels (again, perfect for autumn!) weigh it down.

And of course, we can’t forget the fashion accessory at the lower right-hand side of the image. Were it two hundred or so years later, might this fashionable miss carry her dog in her reticule? 

What do you think? Will you be sporting tassels this fall? 😉

Retro Blast: Bathing Place Evening Dress...Or Not?

Ah, the lure of bathing places in summertime...and no, I don’t mean the tub! I'm in my favorite bathing place right now, also known as Cape Cod--where it’s rather gray and windy just now as we get a flick from the edge of Tropical Storm Isaias. But there’s still a lot of summer left to enjoy...and here’s just the costume to enjoy it in. Or maybe not...

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Just in time for summer...

Isn’t this a delightful print, from the September 1810 edition of La Belle Assemblee?  I mean...she’s wearing what we would call pantalettes, complete with a triple lace frill round each leg...not to mention sandals. The style itself is surprisingly simple, buttoning up the front. It’s cute as a bug, but certainly unlike any early 19^th century evening dress I’ve seen before. Since no text accompanied it. I dug around on-line and found this in Google Books:

No. 2.—A FASHIONABLE SEA-SIDE WALKING DRESS

A gown of white French cambric, or pale pink muslin, with long sleeves, and antique cuffs of thin white muslin, trimmed with Mechlin edging; made high in the neck, without a collar, and formed in points at the center of the bosom, with three rows of letting-in lace; confined down the front of the dress with small buttons; and hemmed round the bottom with three rows of deep Mechlin lace; made rather short, and worn over trousers of white French cambric, which are trimmed the same as the bottom of the dress. A cap composed of lace and light green silk trimming, tied under the chin, with a bunch of natural flowers in front. Hair in full ringlet curls, divided in the front of the forehead. A figured short scarf of pale buff, with deep pale-green border, and rich silk tassels; worn according to fancy or convenience; with gloves of pale buff kid; and sandals of pale yellow, or white Morocco, complete this truly simple but becoming dress.

And there you have it—the reason it’s unlike any other evening dress is because it’s actually a walking dress...and perfect for that. Evidently an engraver for La Belle Assemblee took a mental vacation while working on this print, and gave it an incorrect title. Can’t you see a fashionable young lady out in society, visiting Brighton at the end of the London season, tripping blithely down the sands (not that Brighton has a very sandy beach), kicking at the waves, picking up pretty seashells, and generally having a time of it?☺

Regency Fabrics, Part 22

Here’s another post in our ongoing series on Regency fabrics.

As I have in previous posts, I’ll be examining actual fabric samples glued into several earlier editions of Ackermann’s Repository, samples supplied by the manufacturers and published by Ackermann in order to boost the British cloth-making industry at a time when exporting British goods to Europe was almost impossible because of the Napoleonic war. I'll give you a close-up scan of each sample, the published description if available, and my own observations of the color, weight, condition, and similarity to present-day materials, to give you as close a picture as possible of what these fabrics are like. So here we go!

Today’s four samples are from the August 1810 issue of Ackermann’s Repository (yes, we’ve gone back in time a bit, as I recently acquired this print.) The overall condition of my copy is very good: the page itself is almost free of foxing and toning, and the samples are in good shape as well, with perhaps a bit of brown spotting.

No. 1 and 2. A fast-coloured deep cerulean blue furniture chintz, calculated for the decoration of drawing-rooms, boudoirs, and sleeping-rooms. The linings best contrasted with this fashionable article, are, bright yellow, rose colour, or crimson, with variegated Chinese fringe. It is sold, with various other kinds of permanent chintz furniture, at Mr. Allen’s celebrated furniture ware-house, Pall-Mall.

My comments: This is a nicely weighty, close-woven, and deeply glazed chintz, in a lovely shade of blue. The printing seems a little off (look at the leaves in particular), and the design is a little less elegant than other Regency chintzes we’ve seen.

No. 3. An imperial fancy striped cambric muslin, calculated for frocks, pelisse wraps, and every kind of morning robe. Lace may be introduced in this article, although we very frequently see it made up plain, with double plaited trimming of muslin or scalloped lace, simply forming a border at its terminations. This article is sold by Edwards and Co. Hay’s-court, Newport-market.

My comments: Oh, so very pretty! This is extraordinarily light and airy fabric; the thread is very evenly spun which makes for a nice tight weave. The cable design (thinking like a knitter here) is nicely done as well. Of course it would have to be made with a lining, but is one of the prettiest muslins I think I’ve yet examined.

No. 4. A raised corded leno, appropriate to the evening or dinner robe. It is frequently worn over coloured sarsnet or satin slips, and offers a very pleasing change for summer wear. No lace or needlework can be introduced to advantage in this light article, except as a trimming round the bottom or bosom; and the under dress cannot (from the transparent texture of the leno) be composed of any article of an inferior order. It is also sold by Edwards and Co. Newport-market.

My comments: Although not as pretty as No. 3 above, this is also woven of very fine (in all senses of the word) thread and would indeed be very pretty over a colored slip—pale pink or blue, perhaps? Definitely debutante wear. J

Any thoughts on this month’s fabrics?

1810, What a Year It Was: the (Final) Madness of King George

We’ve talked about the some of the most noteworthy public events of 1810, from literary to sporting to true crime...but perhaps the most momentous was what happened in its final months: the descent of George III into permanent debilitation.

Everyone’s heard of “mad King George”, and doctors and medical historians have derived endless hours of diversion from trying to figure out just what it was that the poor man suffered from. The most recent thinking seems to be that he was indeed suffering from some form of mental illness, perhaps aggravated by arsenic poisoning (arsenic was commonly used in medical treatments of the day) and not porphyria, a metabolic disease. No matter the cause, the last months of 1810 would also be his last months as reigning monarch.

First, a little history: the king’s first confirmed demonstration of mental illness began in the fall of 1788, when various physical symptoms (rash, rheumatic pains, gastric distress, and fever) manifested, quickly followed by delirium, hysteria, and mania. He talked for hours on end, making grandiose, delusional plans and pronouncements until he was out of breath and foaming at the mouth. Though his physical symptoms eased, his behavioral ones did not (on November 17 he talked for nineteen straight hours), and between his ministers and his family, plans were made for a regency to rule in his stead...a plan that fell through when, early in the new year, he began to recover and was able by March to call himself mostly recovered.  He seems to have suffered a brief relapse in 1794 (though not as severe as the 1788 illness) and again in 1801. After that point, his condition seems to have remained highly fragile, with more relapses and recoveries occurring over the next few years.

By October 1810, George III was 72 years old and suffering from cataracts and painful rheumatism. He’d been devastated by the deaths of two of his children in the 1780s, while they were quite young. But now it appeared that he would be facing the death of an adult child—one whose very existence had helped him over those earlier losses.  Princess Amelia, his youngest daughter, had been a semi-invalid for years, probably suffering from tuberculosis, and by this time, was on death’s doorstep. The king’s poor eyesight had perhaps cushioned him somewhat from the truth—he could hardly see how ill she was—but toward the end even that could not shield him from the reality of his daughter’s condition. As her life ebbed, his old, familiar symptoms began to reappear: nervousness and excitability, over-talkativeness, sleeplessness. In her last week of life, he too slipped away into a twilight world, and was too ill to comprehend that Amelia was dead.

The king had realized, early on, that he was in for another period of illness, and instructed his physicians that he was not to be entrusted to any “medical man specially engaged in the department of insanity,” but the doctor who had looked after him in earlier periods, Robert Willis, was brought in to consult. Poor George had days when he seemed almost normal over the course of November and December, but enough bad days encouraged the revival of the Regency bill that had first been drafted (and nearly passed by Parliament) back in 1789.  Everyone—his family, servants, and ministers—waited with bated breath to see what would happen. More lucid days in January occurred, but while there were hopes that he would once again recover, the Regency bill was voted on and passed Parliament, with George’s knowledge, at the end of the month, and Prince George became Regent with limited powers, to be reviewed in one year’s time (presumably in case the king recovered.)

However, it became clear through the spring that recovery was unlikely: while he still had periods of lucidity, the king slipped inexorably into his delusional world, talking and giving commands to people who weren’t there, and seemed to forget his affection for his family. The lucid periods became fewer, and in the fall it was expected that at the one-year anniversary of the Regency Act in January 1812, the regency would be made permanent. Poor King George would hang on for another eight years, growing blinder and sicker, until his death in 1820.

1810, What a Year It Was...Except When It Wasn’t

Last week I mentioned that I had intended to write a post for my 1810 series about the celebrations in observance of George III’s fifty years on the throne. It was kind of a big deal—only three other monarchs since the Norman Conquest (Henry III, Edward III, and James I—and James only squeaks in because of his years on the throne of Scotland as James VI before he became James I of England) had been fifty years on the throne. I blithely assumed that the king’s jubilee took place in 1810—specifically, on October 25, which was the 50^th anniversary of the day he became king on his grandfather George II’s death in 1760. But all my poking around into the events of 1810 made no mention of a jubilee celebration in 1810. Weird, I thought. Maybe it wasn’t celebrated because of the war, or...or something.

And so I continue to think...until last week's research into a darling Jubilee cloak print from La Belle Assemblee made me dig deeper and discover the real reason why there were no jubilee celebrations in 1810... Because they'd all happened in 1809!

I was able to find a fair bit of information about the jubilee observances themselves, but no explanation for why they were held at the start of the 50th year of his reign and not on the anniversary of his assession. The closest I've gotten to an explanation is that it was generally known that the king's health was not good, and it seems that many people were worried that he might die before the anniversary itself. Evidently plans for celebrations were a bit of a last-minute thing They needn’t have worried: in fact he lived for another ten years, outliving Queen Charlotte, though nine of those were spent in a twilight of dementia. By summer 1809 it looked as thought the poor old man would survive, so the tentative plans began to firm up (evidently the first sign of the impending celebrations was a sharp increase in the cost of candles, which were being hoarded for illuminations.)  Sadly, he would not be able to enjoy many of the spectacles that were eventually held in his honor, because his eyesight was almost completely gone by this time.

So how was the jubilee observed?

The King and the royal family attended a service of thanksgiving at Windsor, where the queen later threw a spectacularly splendid fete for the court. But there were plenty of less solemn observances all over the country: many of the nobility had oxen and sheep roasted and basically held barbecues for their tenants and workers, with games and races and bread and ale to go with the meat. Assembly balls for the middle classes in towns and larger villages and fireworks and illuminations in the cities were also widespread. After the fact many communities erected public monuments and statues in honor of the king's anniversary. And of course, there was merchandise. You can still buy George III Jubilee medals on eBay (yes, really), and for the wealthier souvenir hunter there were commemorative dishes, glassware, and my favorite, a child’s game celebrating the glories of the kings of England.

In a way it was probably a good thing that George's jubilee celebrations happened in 1809; by the actual anniversary of his accession in October 1810 he would be in even poorer health—on the verge of his final collapse (the Regency would be declared in January)—and his beloved daughter Amelia on her deathbed. I doubt anyone would have felt much like celebrating.

Regency Fabrics, Part 16

Here’s another post in our ongoing series on Regency fabrics.

As I have in previous posts, I’ll be examining actual fabric samples glued into several earlier editions of Ackermann’s Repository, samples supplied by the manufacturers and published by Ackermann in order to boost the British cloth-making industry at a time when exporting British goods to Europe was almost impossible because of the Napoleonic war. I'll give you a close-up scan of each sample, the published description if available, and my own observations of the color, weight, condition, and similarity to present-day materials, to give you as close a picture as possible of what these fabrics are like.

Today’s three samples are from the October 1810 issue of Ackermann’s Repository. The overall condition of my copy is moderate; while the physical integrity of the fabric samples is good, there’s a lot of spotting on the top sample that obscures the pattern somewhat—mildew, perhaps? The other two samples are in good condition.

Here we go!

No. 1 and 2. A most lively and appropriate furniture print, from Mr. Allen’s 61, Pall-Mall, adapted principally for drawing room curtains and sofas. Boudoir draperies have a most pleasing effect when composed of this article. The most happily contrasted linings are, shades of green, blue, and purple, with variegated fringes to correspond.

My comments: I will confess that my first impression of this pattern was a memory of the little circular gummed reinforcement labels for three-hole punched paper (remember those?) The fabric itself is very finely and evenly woven, with a smooth glazed chintz finish and sufficient weight to mean this fabric definitely draped well. But, um, paired with green, blue, or purple lining? Not in my boudoir, thank you very much!

No. 3. This is an article very superior of its order, forming a neat and delicate intermediate kind of robe, and procured at the most modest expence [sic], being offered from 8s. to 14s. the dress, at Millard’s, in the city. The proprietor of this fashionable resort, which we have had occasion to notice in the foregoing numbers of our Repository, has, we are informed from the best authority, succeeded in forming connections with the great commercial cities in Russia, India, China, South America, Germany, France, Spain, Scotland, and Ireland; and thus rendered the establishment a grand depôt of every article which in elegance or utility can render a mansion comfortable or attractive, as far as relates to the requisite and ornamental furniture for drawing-rooms, eating and sleeping-rooms, nursery, &c. Ladies’ dresses of every degree, and of a superior description, as well as those for general use, are exhibited in abundance; and selections for forming new establishments made be readily made, and executed without delay. Here the nobility and gentry, the merchant, the country trader, and the public, are regularly supplied; and we cannot withhold the just portion of merit which belongs to the proprietor, whose persevering industry, ingenuity, and taste, have completed a depot on so vast and useful a scale. The assemblage of valuable India shawls, and of those manufactured in this country, are, we understand, immense in this establishment.

My comments: Well, it might have been nice to know a little more about the fabric and a little less about the industrious and ingenious (and unnamed!) proprietor in whose establishment this superior article could be purchased! It’s a very fine (and sheer—would definitely require a lining) muslin striped with a thin double line, of red and and white, twilled. Very dainty for a morning dress, I’m sure. Oh—did you notice the reference to the fact that the proprietor appeared to be trading with France? I would have thought that the little matter of being at war with that country might have interfered with trade, but evidently not!

No. 4 is a neat and appropriate article for gentlemen’s waistcoats, and is styled silk toilonet. It is ¾ yard wide, and sold by Messrs. Smith and Ash, fancy waistcoat warehouse, Prince’s-street, Soho, facing Coventry-street. The taste, utility, and reasonableness of this article, are too obvious to need further comment.

My comments: Hmm. I can’t help suspecting that further comment wasn’t forthcoming because the actual samples hadn’t been delivered to Ackermann’s offices before print time, but maybe I’m being cynical. It’s a curious fabric, without any modern counterpart that I can think of: heavier in weight, rather stiff, and in texture somewhere between flocked (like a velvet) and sueded, but not particularly soft to the touch. There’s a bar pattern woven in at wide intervals, of a single thread each of charcoal, brick red, and white. 

And did you think I forgot? The winners of our commenter drawing from my birthday party post last week are...

For the $25 Amazon gift card, veedham!
and for one of my print books (your choice),  mamafrog!

Ladies, if you would, please contact me via marissa @ marissadoyle dot com (removes spaces etc.etc.) so we can arrange for you to receive your prizes. Thank you all for commenting...and reading NineteenTeen!

(Oh, and a postscript: this is the last week By Jove will be on sale for 99 cents, so if you've been dithering on picking it up, now's the time to grab it before the price goes back up. You can snag it at Amazon, Barnes and Noble, Apple's iBookstore, and Kobo, as well as at Book View Cafe's own store (in both epub and mobi formats.)