Court Dresses and Tea Cozies

It's May, and we're in the height of the Season...or we would have been, two hundred years ago. And in addition to husband-hunting, the Season meant something else important: being presented at court. We've discussed the ins and outs of being presented in previous posts...today, due to a delightful recent purchase, I'd like to talk about what exactly our young ladies wore to court--namely, court dresses.

Court dress--what one wore when being presented to the Queen--had throughout the 18th century been very specifically prescribed by royal decree: large skirts (which were the fashion for most of the century), along with a train, lappets (streamers of lace suspended from the back of the head), and a headdress of feathers, often arranged in the Prince of Wales style (three feathers with the center one slightly taller--see above left). The dress of course was supposed to be of particularly splendid design and fabric, because after all, why else did one go to court but to show off (and go through doors sideways, as anyone wearing this dress would have had to)?

But starting in the 1790s, fashion changed. The enormous hooped skirts fell from favor until by 1800, a very different silhouette was in style--the classically inspired, high-waisted and narrow-skirted shape now known as the Empire style, which you've seen plenty of in my Fashion Forecasts over the last few months.

However, fashion did not necessarily rule at court. King George III and his wife Queen Charlotte were conservative in taste, prefering Handel to newfangled Mozart...and the powdered hair and old hooped skirts of their youth. Which meant that what was required at court presentations in 1808 wasn't all that different from what was required in 1788: enormous skirts and feathers. But modern fashion couldn't entirely be shut out...which is where tea cozies come in.

Doesn't this poor lady, who visited court in 1808 on the occasion of the King's birthday, look like something popped over a teapot to keep it warm? This La Belle Assemblee (yes, this is the recent purchase that has so tickled me) print shows what happened: bodices followed the prevailing high-waisted style, while skirts continued to follow court regulation. It made for several years of hilarious and ungainly drawing-rooms, I'm sure, and most people thought the dresses ridiculous...but Queen Charlotte remained steadfastly attached to hoopskirts until her death in 1818.

It wasn't until her son, the Prince Regent, became king two years later that hoopskirts were banished as court attire and presentation dresses could reflect everyday fashion more closely. What a relief that must have been for young ladies who didn't want to adopt the tea cozy look! A train, lace lappets, and feathers (quite a few feathers, in this case!) remained regulation attire as you can see in this Ackermann's Repository print from July 1820, but that seems like a reasonable bargain.

So let me guess...when would you have preferred to be presented? 1808, or 1820?

Heaven, Regency Style

It was "the seventh heaven of the fashionable world", the "exclusive temple of the beau monde", the "marriage mart" of exclusive London society. Regency wit Henry Luttell said of it:

"If once to Almack’s you belong,
Like Monarchs you can do no wrong;
But banished thence on Wednesday night,
By Jove, you can do nothing right."

On the other hand, it served "wretched refreshments", had a "bad floor", and was viewed as shockingly dull by most young men.

So just what was Almack’s, that place that has appeared in almost every Regency-set novel since Georgette Heyer?

Originally, it was an assembly room (remember that we discussed those last week?) built on King Street (behind St. James’s Square) in 1764 by a Yorkshireman of Scottish ancestry named William Almack who began life as a gentleman's valet but soon moved up in the world. Mr. Almack opened his assembly rooms in 1765, charging 10 guineas for a series of twelve weekly balls and suppers over the course of the season. Anxious to make his assemblies appear exclusive and select, Almack enlisted the aid of a group of blue-blooded society ladies to help decide who merited admission and who did not, and thus was the famous voucher system born. If the lady patronesses did not approve of you, no matter how large your estate or noble your birth, you didn’t get in to Almack’s.

Almack’s system worked. By the Regency era, Almack’s was THE place to be if one had any pretensions to being a member of the haute ton. And as a result, the lady patronesses wielded an almost ridiculous amount of power over society; the cartoon above comments on just how sought-after those vouchers to purchase tickets were. According to one story, a man challenged the husband of one of these august ladies to a duel because his wife had been refused a voucher. Others worked out elaborate schemes to sneak in. No one who had any connection to trade was admitted, and even otherwise socially acceptable army officers and members of the aristocracy might find themselves refused admission.

Within the hallowed halls, the rules were just as rigid. There was a strict dress code for men, and even those who had proper tickets might be turned away if not properly attired (even, it was rumored, the Duke of Wellington on one occasion!) Until around 1814, dances like the quadrille and the waltz were not permitted. Even after they were, young ladies had to demonstrate that they were of modest demeanor and attitude before they could get the permission of one of the lady patronesses to engage in waltzing (which was still considered a rather improper dance). And no one was permitted to enter the rooms after 11 pm, even those with tickets. Liquid refreshment was limited to lemonade, tea, orgeat (a non-alcoholic drink flavored with almonds and orange-flower water) and ratafia (a light liqueur, also fruit and nut based); bread and butter and cake were the only munchies served.

So with all these rules and the less-than-exciting atmosphere, why was it so sought-after?

Because admission to Almack’s meant that you counted. It meant that you were the crème de la crème of English society…one of the 19th century version of the beautiful people. If you were on the prowl for a "good" marriage, it was the prime hunting ground. It meant that, as Henry Luttrell said, "you can do no wrong."

Presenting...the Winner!

Not that everyone who commented isn't a cherished reader...but the name I pulled out of my Red Sox World Champions cap is...

ANDY!

Andy, please stop by the contact form on my website (http://www.marissadoyle.com/) and send me your mailing address so I can send a copy of Bewitching Season to you as quickly as possible.

And thank you, all, for stopping by and commenting. Regina did a fabulous job with the interview questions and quiz, and I'm looking forward to returning the favor in the not too distant future.

In the meanwhile, speaking of "Presenting..."

May was the height of "the season", that London social whirl (and marriage market) that coincided with the sitting of Parliament just after Easter. An important part of a girl's first season was being "presented" to the king/queen/another royal filling in for the monarch, at either an afternoon "drawing room" (where young girls usually first made their debuts) or an evening "levee". Being presented meant that the monarch recognized you socially--which meant you were eligible to attend court events. Not everyone could be presented: for example, the wives and daughters of clergy, military and naval officers, barristers, and physicians could be presented...but those of merchants and businessmen, solicitors, and general practitioners could not. Girls were presented when they first came out in society, then again when they married...assuming their husbands were of acceptable rank or profession, of course!

The act of being presented to the monarch was quite an event...think of high school graduation, but way more formal and solemn. For example, there were rules about what you could wear, especially later on in Victoria's reign...these dictated everything from the neckline of your gown (you needed a note from a doctor if you wanted to wear a high-necked gown!) to the height and number of feathers you wore in your hair to what you carried (a bouquet was standard, or at least a beautiful fan) to the length of your train (and yes, you had to have one--a minimum and maximum length were given). The guys had rules about what they wore too, depending on who they were (military or civilian, for example), time of day, and so on.

Then you had to go through the acrobatic act of the presentation itself (I discussed this back in October) with walking backward while curtseying and having your train tossed to you...but then the real fun began: the parties!

Look for future posts about how the nineteenth century teen partied till she dropped.

P.S. There are some very cool books on this topic that you can probably find in your local library if you want to learn more. I recommend The Party That Lasted 100 Days by Hilary and Mary Evans, Splendour at Court by Nigel Arch and Joanna Marschner, Gilded Butterflies by Philippa Pullar, and To Marry an English Lord by Gail MacColl and Carol McD. Wallace

Horsing Around, Part II: Good Habits

Last week we discussed horses and carriages and guys driving too fast (and probably not asking directions). This time, I’d like to talk about the other side of horsing around: riding.

As you might have guessed from looking at the clothes, there weren't many forms of physical activity or exercise that women and girls in the 1800s could do and still be thought proper--so if you’ve always hated gym, you were probably born in the wrong century. One of the few (I’ll talk about the others in a future post) was riding.

Again, we’re speaking relatively here. Grooms and stablehands did all the horse care and saddling and so on, which is half of what makes riding such great exercise. All an upper class nineteenth century girl had to do was amble down to the stables and climb aboard…after she’d changed into the proper costume, of course. You couldn’t wear something frothy made of silk and lace when you were about to gallop around the muddy countryside on horseback, so you wore a riding habit.

A riding habit was generally made of a sturdy fabric like wool broadcloth, trimmed maybe with little luxurious touches like a velvet collar or a fine linen stock (high neckcloth, like a man’s cravat). It generally consisted of a skirt and coat, cut very form-fitting. A hat, often copied from a man’s style but with a veil added in, and gloves completed the costume. Pantaloons were worn underneath it for modesty’s sake in case (horrors!) you fell off, and the skirt was cut with extra fabric so it draped nicely when you were settled into your sidesaddle.

Yes, sidesaddle. Women in polite society did not ride astride. Sidesaddles have a sort of crook that you hook one leg over while the other has a stirrup. It sounds more precarious than it actually is, and many, many women were quite dashing riders.

Horseback riding was not just for country life. A favorite activity for elegant young women during the London Season was riding in Hyde Park, either on the sandy path known as “Rotten Row” or on the Ladies’ Mile. A morning ride was a fabulous way to see and be seen (remember, you were wearing that very handsome and figure-revealing habit), gossip with friends and flirt with the boys, and make plans for afternoon shopping or evening partying. Horsing around, indeed!

Coming Out

In the nineteenth century, teens didn't date, or hang out, or hook up.

They came out.

Hey, stop giggling. I know what you're thinking.

"Coming Out" had nothing to do with sexual identity, though in a way it did have something to do with sex...more specifically, with marriage.

In Regina's last entry, we heard about the Season--non-stop party time in London and in smaller cities around Britain...though a Season spent anywhere but London was unthinkable if you had any social ambition. A major part of the Season was basically a marriage market: young women (as young as 16) meeting men in search of wives.

So when a girl was deemed "ready" at somewhere between age 16 and 19, she would go to London with her parents or other near relative and spend a ridiculous amount of time and money at dressmakers' shops having dresses made for every possible social occasion: ball dresses, dinner dresses, evening dresses, morning dresses, walking dresses, carriage dresses, riding habits, promenade dresses...and one very important Court dress.

Once her wardrobe was full to bursting with neatly folded dresses (hangers didn't come into use till later), a young woman of the proper social standing was then able to go to the Palace of St. James on one of a handful of designated afternoons or evenings, dressed in her Court dress with a train that could be as long as eight feet and tall, nodding white feathers in her hair...and be presented to the Queen. That meant she and a gaggle of other girls her age got to walk carefully into a room where the Queen and throngs of other people waited, curtsey carefully to whatever members of the royal family were there and kiss their hands. If her daddy was someone like an earl or a duke, the Queen kissed her on the forehead.

And that was it...except she couldn't just say "toodles" and go skipping out. No, she had to curtsey again and walk backwards from the Queen's presence--wearing that train, mind you. There were several court officials who spread her train out for her when she arrived and others who lifted her train for her on a long stick and tossed it to her...so she had to back out curtseying, catch her train over one arm, and keep walking backwards till she made it out the door.

After that, she was officially an adult. If Mom and Dad felt like it, they might throw her a ball or some other event to mark the occasion and announce more clearly that she was now entering the marriage market. She'd made her curtsey to the Queen and had Come Out, and could now party to her heart's content.

And wear all those dresses, of course.

'Twas the Season

Around the country, students are either working away at their first quarter of school or about to start it. In fact, our daily lives often revolve around the school year calendar and its holidays. Not so in 19th century England. Among the upper classes in those days, the year revolved around the Season.

The Season—when everyone who was anyone packed their bags and headed for London. To hear some tell, it was one endless party: balls, musicales, Venetian breakfasts (which are held in the afternoon, but that’s another post!), soirees, routs (can someone please tell me the difference?). On any given night you could also choose among events at the many theatres, such as a famous actor reciting Shakespeare, a diva singer at the opera, or a plucky pantomime. During the day, you’d make morning calls (also in the afternoon) on anyone you’d met the nights before so you could wrangle invitations to more balls, routs, the opera, etc. And of course, you’d visit your tailor or a seamstress for new outfits, ride in Hyde Park, tour the sights, enjoy a horserace or, if you were really daring, a boxing match, and do a thousand other things only a large city like London can offer.

So when did all this revelry happen? The Season wasn’t a specific set of days, like December 25 is Christmas. This whirlwind of activity generally started spinning after Easter Sunday, which can be anywhere from the middle of March to the end of April, and ended when Parliament adjourned for the summer, somewhere between early July and mid-August. Some people think there was also a “Little Season” in the fall, but no one has been able to pin it down. It may be that the Little Season was only held when Parliament decided to sit during the fall, which happened six times from 1810 to 1820.

Even today, prices for hotel rooms in London go up after Easter and come down in the fall. How do I know? I’m going to London! (Picture me doing a little happy dance at my computer.) Yes, it’s shocking—I’ve written 18 books set in England and I’ve never been able to go there. Thanks to a whole lot of frequent flyer miles and Marriott hotel points, I’m heading to London with my wonderful critique partner in late February/early March.

Before the Season starts.