Country Life, Part 1

Hello, everyone! We hope you had a wonderful summer. Now that September’s almost here, we’re slipping back into our regular posting schedule once again…did you miss us?

A couple of posts ago Regina blogged about country house visits. We thought it would interesting to delve a little more deeply into the country house...the place where our young ladies of fortune retired to when they weren't gallivanting about in London, going to Almack's and flirting with handsome young men.

An estate (or often more than one) in the country was home for the upper classes in 19th century England. More than the aristocracy of other European nations, the English loved country life. Houses in London, Bath, Brighton, or whatever other urban setting might come and go, but the ancestral estate was always there.

There was a darned good reason it was always there: ownership of extensive amounts of land was the noble family's source of wealth. Don't forget that English titles of nobility were usually tied to a geographical location, a relic of the giant land giveaway that happened after the Conquest. A wealthy landowner's income, whether he was titled or not, came chiefly from rents on land and buildings and commercial property: you rented land for farms out to farmers, houses and shop buildings in your villages to shopkeepers and professionals. But there was also substantial money to be had from from crops and other products of the land like mining, forestry, and animal husbandry, and from manufacturing.

In addition, if you were a member of the House of Commons (open to non-peers), you generally counted on your tenants (the ones who could vote, anyway) to vote for you. Prior to the 19th century seats in Parliament were almost looked at as family perquisites that could be handed down father to son; while that assumption was less true in the 19th century, it hadn't entirely gone away.

In short, if you had land, you had money and power.

Not everyone was enamored of country life--not a few wealthy men dedicated themselves to life in politics, the law, or court life, which necessitated living in the city. But the country house was always there in the background, like a safety net one could fall into during times of illness, disgrace, or surfeit with city life and high living. It was the place you called home.

Stay tuned for more detail on just what life in the country entailed.

And it's nice to be back!

Knock, Knock! Who's There?

Marissa’s posts on calling got me thinking. (Uh oh!) On Tuesday, she discussed the exchange of cards after meeting someone for the first time. You called at that person’s house, let’s say Lady A as Marissa did. (I love internal consistency—don’t you?). You left a card for Lady A with her footman, along with ones from your father for her and her husband. Shortly thereafter, Lady A leaves cards at your house, and she bends down the corners meaning she is delivering them in person.

Immediately, my creative mind wondered what happened then?

Knowing the lady was waiting in the entry hall, you might

1. Tell the footman to invite her up for a nice visit, either in the sitting room (for those you were still a bit cautious about) or the withdrawing room (for those you hoped would become bosom beaus).


2. Realize you were in shocking dishabille (okay, so you were wearing that hideous morning dress Aunt Elspeth insisted on embroidering with puce mangel wurzels and you simply cannot be seen in public in that) and have no time to change so you tell the footman to announce that you are not at home. Note that this isn’t a lie. As Marissa mentioned, “at home” meant you were receiving callers. Being “not at home” meant that you were not receiving callers at this time. That might be because you were out or because you simply weren’t up to company for whatever reason.


3. Have heard the most torrid rumors about the lady (truly, she seemed so sweet!) since leaving the card and have decided not to pursue the acquaintance. In this case, you would have the footman return her cards to her. Note that this was an insult, and you had better mean it because this lady, and likely her family and friends, will never speak to you again.


4. Have learned the lady is a vicious gossip who has been maligning you, your family, and your friends ever since you laid eyes on each other and is just coming around today for more spite. In fact, one of her cruel stories has forced your dear cousin Neville Wedepickler to flee to the Continent in shame. In such a case, you might be justified in ripping her card to shreds and sending the pieces down with the footman to show her your utter disapproval. There is likely no salvation from this insult, so use it wisely.

So, let’s say you are sitting in your library catching up on correspondence, and the footman brings in a lovely card from Lord Hugh Jackman, Earl of Wolverton, and the corner is bent! He’s absolute charmer, but you’re not entirely sure his motives are on the up and up. What do you do?

Duty Calls, Part 3: Let's Go Visiting!

So…let’s pay some calls. It’s 3:00 pm, the accepted time to begin to pay morning calls. Yes, morning calls—morning is loosely defined as the time after breakfast and before dinner. We’re suitably dressed, with that elegant new hat that just arrived yesterday from the milliner’s shop and spotless gloves and our ever-so-pretty carved mother-of-pearl and tortoise-shell card case with the cards engraved with our name in fine copperplate. The coachman awaits us with the carriage at the door, and the footman is ready to help us climb in and then take his place riding on the little platform at the back of the carriage…

…except that there are different types of calls. Which shall we make, and where? Let’s have a look at our options:

1. Acknowledgement calls: Lady Violet Hyacinth gave such a splendid dinner last night! We’ll call on her first; it’s only polite to pay a call on hostesses within three days of attending a party or ball given by them. If it had been a ball she gave, we’d just leave a card…but for a dinner or more intimate party, it’s proper to call in person.

2. Leaving cards: We were introduced to Lady A last night at Lady Hyacinth’s party. She seems very amusing, and it would be pleasant to get to know her better. We’ll stop at her house and give the footman one of our cards to leave with her…oh, yes, Papa said that knowing Lord A could be useful for his work on the army bill in Parliament…so we’ll send in two of his cards (one each for Lord A and Lady A) and one of ours. Some time in the next week or so Lady A will return the favor and leave cards for us. If she wants to be friendly, the card she sends up will have the corner bent over—that means she’s leaving the card in person, not just having servants leave the card as a friendly gesture. If we actually home, we’ll invite her in to pay an actual visit. If she doesn’t choose to pursue the acquaintanceship but still wishes to be cordial, the cards she sends up won’t have a bent corner.

3. Visiting during an "at home": Lady B is always "at home" to callers on Tuesdays between three and five. She’s a bit of a bore, but she is a distant cousin and one should keep up the connection. We’ll stop in for the proper fifteen minutes, make light, general conversation without removing hats or gloves or pelisses (and if Papa were with us, he'd keep his hat and umbrella), and leave.

4. Calling on best friends: It’s just past five and we’ve paid several different calls this afternoon—now it’s time to visit our dearest friends, for this hour is reserved for calling on close friends. We’ll catch up on gossip and news, and maybe darling Lucy will give us a cup of tea because we’re parched after all the smiling and chatting we've done elsewhere. Refreshments are not generally served to morning callers, but certainly to friends in need!