Retro Blast: The Royal Waterloo Bath

 

As much of the US is gasping through a heat wave, I hope those affected have access to somewhere cooling, though not perhaps this particular one, which originally appeared here in December 2009.

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From the June 1819 edition of Ackermann's Repository, may I present to you, with mingled delight and horror...

THE 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--

 

In the plunging-bath. . £0 1s. 0d.

For the season. . . £1 11s. 6p.

In the private baths . £0 1s. 6p.

For the season. . . £2 2s. 0p.

 

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 every body 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.

 

All I can say is, eek! Or maybe just ick. Though the waters of the Thames might indeed have been pure and wholesome upriver, at this point it served as drainage for all the city...gulp! I applaud the recognition that bathing was associated with good health and understand the desire for cleanliness (and for getting the nudists off the banks of the river!) but do have to wonder if the writer of this article visited the baths in person. Unfortunately, no interior views were provided--it would have been interesting to see how the water depth controls worked.

 

I don't think any young ladies of fashion would come here; I expect it was for the working class population of London who didn't have hip baths before the fireplaces in their bedrooms and legions of servants to carry up cans of hot water to fill them.

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?☺

 

Recent Acquisitions: Bathing Place Assembly Ball Dress

Now, I ask you, dear NineteenTeen readers: is this print not perfectly wonderful?

I’m not absolutely certain of the date of this marvelous “Bathing Place Assembly Ball Dress” print from La Belle Assemblée. One source lists it as being from January 1813...but would anyone really be interested in “bathing place” attire in winter? On the other hand, the placement of description of the dress at the top of the plate is in keeping with other La Belle Assemblée prints from 1809-1810, so I’m going to go with August or September of one of those years.

It shows a young woman strategically posed before a full-length mirror so that the viewer very conveniently gets a look at the back of this delightful dress. I can’t begin to guess the materials used, but the style gives more than a passing nod to drapery techniques—the ribbon drawing up the overskirt and the peplum-like decorations  in back make me think of custom window treatments. Note the tops of the sleeves—strips of the green fabric, woven in a lattice—and the frill of lace extending all around the neckline, and the little lion’s head belt buckle.

And her hat! It’s a delightful cross between a Nelson bicorne and a Carmen Miranda head-dress and utterly made of win. Notice too how her hair is arranged, with a braid across the forehead ending in a fetching little curl!

We’ve seen another “bathing place” costume recently—the evening dress that was actually a walking dress, also from La Belle Assemblée. I’ve yet to discern what it is that separates an everyday ball dress (if there is such a thing!) from a Bathing Place ball dress. Perhaps a touch more informality than one might expect in a London ball dress?

And speaking of bathing places (but not ball dresses), my Cape Cod-set contemporary fantasy, Skin Deep, is on sale for 99¢ now through next Friday, after which the price will be going to $4.99—so now’s your chance! You can find it at Amazon, Barnes and Noble, theApple iBookstore, and Kobo. Happy reading!
 

 

Recent Acquisitions: Bathing Place Evening Dress

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?☺

Keep it Clean Part 3: Dean Mahomet, Therapeutic Massage, and Champi

It's hard to believe, when walking down the toiletries aisle at your local pharmacy or market, that all those colorful bottles of shampoo are a fairly recent innovation...like, 20th century recent. As I said last week, when you wanted clean hair, you lathered it up with the same soap you were using for the rest of you…which didn’t do your hair any favors. So where did our modern “shampoo”—a special soap for the washing of hair—come from?

It came initially by way of British India and a very interesting person known as Sake Dean Mahomet (in his native Bengali, Shekh Din Muhammad). Mahomet was born in 1759 and served in the Bengal Army of the British East India Company as a young man, starting out as a trainee surgeon. He came to Ireland with his former Captain, settled down to perfect his English, and married an Irish girl. His language studies went well enough for him to publish a book about India called The Travels of Dean Mahomet—it was, incidentally, the first book published in English by an Indian writer. Mahomet and his wife moved to England in 1810 and accomplished another first—he opened the first Indian takeout restaurant in England!

But before he moved into the restaurant biz Mahomet had worked with a certain Basil Cochrane who had just opened a bathhouse specializing in vapor bath cures, popular with the British in India, as a way to promote the health of London’s poorer classes. When his restaurant (the Hindoostanee Coffee House in George-street) was taken over by unscupulous partners, forcing him out, Mahomet returned to the bathhouse idea as a way of earning a living. He moved to Brighton, the seaside town where the Prince Regent’s favorite house, the Pavilion, was located, and opened a new bathhouse which also offered vapor bath cures and other health-promoting treatments. One of these was the therapeutic massage technique called Champi (which sounds similar to what we know as massage therapy today).

Mahomet’s baths caught on like wildfire and doctors praised his Champi treatments…which eventually changed in pronunciation to “shampoo” and the treatments to massage of the shoulders, neck and scalp, especially the last. Mahomet eventually came to be called “Dr. Brighton” by the happy citizens of that town; doctors referred clients to him, and in time he was appointed “Shampooing Surgeon” to both King George IV (the former Prince Regent) and King William IV. Mahomet lived a long and prosperous life after that, and one of his grandsons became an early and important researcher in high blood pressure studies at the famous Guy’s Hospital in London.

According to etymological dictionaries, by 1860 the word “shampoo” had come to mean the act of washing one’s hair, and a few years later it also meant products used for hair washing—which generally consisted of soap boiled in soda water and mixed with fragrant herbs or oils…not much of an improvement over plain soap, really. Though chemists soon attacked the problem of finding a shampoo that didn’t turn one’s hair to straw (in 1898 that a German chemist and pharmacist made a few improvements and created a shampoo powder that became highly popular), it wasn’t until 1930 that a much less alkaline (and therefore less harsh on the hair) shampoo was introduced to the world by Dr. John Breck. 1930--just eighty years ago.

Next week: Bear fat, Stirachia’s Italian Oil, and Mochrikufsky and Prince’s Russian Oil

Keep it Clean! Part 2: Soap

So our young lady in need of a good wash has her hip bath filled with warm water (and I’m still thinking about those poor maids having to carry it all up for her!) set before the fireplace in her room and surrounded by screens for privacy and to keep the drafts out. There’s probably a chair set nearby too, with a towel warming on it. Our hypothetical young lady steps in and sits down, knees drawn up, maybe scoops some water over her shoulders…and then what?

Well, she reaches for the soap, of course.

Although Castile soap from Spain had been imported into England since the 16th century, the London Soapers’ Company was established in the 1630s to try to give them some competition. After some setbacks in mid-century (the puritanical Roundheads evidently did not believe that cleanliness was next to godliness), by 1700 there were sixty-three soap factories in London making soap in various qualities: speckled was the best and most expensive, then came white, and finally the cheapest, gray. Purchasers bought soft soap by the firkin (a small bucket) and added their own perfume, if they liked; lavender was a favorite.

In 1789 a new soap appeared on the market when an apothecary named Andrew Pears created his transparent bars of hard soap (and yes, that’s the Pear’s Soap you still see on market shelves today). The tax on soap, which had been established in the early 1700s, rose over the decades to three shillings per pound in 1815…which, considering that soap cost about that, meant the tax on soap was 100%—not exactly an inducement to cleanliness!

Fortunately for the noses of London, the tax was cut in half in 1833 and abolished in 1853, which may or may not have had something to do with the growing interest in bathing for health.

So our young lady lathers up…and that includes her head. Shampoo as we know it didn’t exist, so regular old soap was used for hair washing as well. The problem was that it tended to be very harsh and strip away too much oil, leading to a head full of straw-like frizz…which is why 19th century beauty manuals always exhort young ladies to brush their hair one hundred strokes morning and night—in order to redistribute naturally occurring oil and cut down on the frizzies.

I was going to discuss shampoo today as well, but my research turned up such an interesting (and multi-national) story that it deserves its own entry. And so, stayed tuned till next week for "Keep it Clean Part 3: Dean Mahomet, Therapeutic Massage, and Champi."

P.S. Below are some ads for soap drawn from the February 1808 Advertising Supplement to La Belle Assemblee magazine. Short and snappy ads had obviously not yet been thought of!!

"The CELEBRATED VEGETABLE SOAP PASTE.
The Nobility, Gentry, and Public are respectfully informed, that J. DELACROIX has prepared the above valuable Soap Paste from a recipe of Mr. Profkosky, his friend, an eminent Chemist at Warsaw, who is the sole inventor and proprietor of this precious Composition, which has universally been approved of by persons of the first rank, inhabiting that bleak and frozen country, for softening, nourishing, and whitening the skin, and allowed to be a certain preventive against the cold air, chopping [I presume it means 'chapping'!] the face and hands.

This article cannot be offered at a more proper time than at the winter season, when a trial of two days will convince of its superior virtues, as well as superiority over any discovery of the kind ever presented to the public."

***

"TONQUIN BEAN SOAP,
For preserving and softening the Skin, possessing also the true Flavour of that much admired Perfume, from which this newly invented Article takes its name.

Prepared by, and sold at J.T. Rigge's Perfumery Warehouses, No.65, Cheapside and No.52, Park-street, Grosvenor-square: where may also be obtained his much-admired Royal Almond Compound, and celebrated Violet-scented Almond Soap. with a most extensive assortment of every fashionable and useful Preparation for the Skin. Warren's genuine Milk of Roses; Gowland's Lotion; Cream of Almonds; and Blake's celebrated Cream of Almond Soap."

***

"The skin preserved from Chopping &c. during the most intense Winter, by the emollient Properties of

MIDDLEWOOD'S ROYAL ABYSSINIAN FLOWER SOAP,

which is held in the highest repute throughout the Universe, for washing the Hands and Face beautifully clean, white, and smooth--preserving the delicate texture of the skin, particularly young Children, even if washed with hard water, and Gentlemen highly approve its efficacy in shaving.

When this celebrated Soap, which is the sole property and invention of J.W. Middlewood, Wholesale Perfumer, High-street, Whitechapel, London, was introduced to the Royal Family, they were graciously pleased to approve its agreeable properties, by honouring the proprietor with the appointment of Perfumer and Abyssinian Flower Soap Maker to the Princess of Wales, the Duke and Duchess of York, and the Duke of Cumberland, to whom, with the many illustrious Families, the Gentry, his Friends, and the Public in general, he feels deeply impressed with gratitude for their distinguished preference, and hopes, by unremitting attention to its fragrance, &c. to merit a continuance of their protection.

The Proprietor feels it his duty to caution the public against counterfeits, which are now circulating--one under the assumed title of Genuine--another the Improved Abyssinian Soap; indeed the word improved is become the denomination for deception, and which can only be effectually guarded against by desiring servants or carriers to be careful to ask for Middlewood's Soap, and to observe his name, with the Duke and Duchess of York's Arms, &c. are on the outside wrapper. Price 1s. the square, or 10s. the dozen."

Keep it Clean! Part 1

I may love to talk about the 19th century and sometimes dream a little about stepping into a time machine and visiting it, but there are a few facets of life in which I am firmly 21st century…and one of those is taking a nice hot shower every morning. How did our 19th century counterparts keep clean?

By the early 19th century, hundreds of years of aversion to getting wet had given way to the theory that bathing might actually be good for you. The health benefits of visiting places like Bath, where the Romans had built extensive public baths to take advantage of the natural hot mineral springs, were accepted and those who could afford it flocked to bathe in the public and private baths there. Sea-bathing also became a fashionable “cure” for everything from skin complaints to digestive problems. Eventually, keeping up the habit at home gradually caught on as cleanliness was accepted as a desirable—and healthful—quality.

If you were a young lady of fashion, how would you keep clean?

Unless your home had been recently built, it was unlikely it that it had a bathroom, at least in the way we define that word. Instead, the usual method of bathing was in a portable tub (often a hip bath, which we discussed here) set up by the fireplace in your bedroom on an oilcloth sheet in case of splashover and surrounded by screens to block drafts and provide privacy. Hardworking servants had to tote cans of hot water up from the kitchen to fill your bath for you. But taking a bath wasn't your only option; by this time a shower apparatus had been invented as well, though they were generally used with cold water which was poured into the top and released when the bather pulled a cord or chain to open the sluice. According to the wife of prime minister Benjamin Disraeli, her husband had great moral courage but no physical courage, so whenever he took a cold shower-bath (as they were called), she always had to come and pull the chain for him!

In between baths, you could have a sponge-bath in your room; a standard piece of bedroom furniture was the washstand, which held a broad, deep basin which your maid would fill with warm water. It was easy to wash the upper body this way, and certainly much easier than dealing with the hip bath.

By mid-century more houses were being built with bathrooms located near the bedrooms; earlier bathrooms had often been built on the ground floor, with the bathtub doubling as a clothes-washing vessel. Advances in plumbing engineering took a while to catch up, though, and there was often insufficient pressure to get water to those upper floors…which meant those maids had to continue toting water, poor things!

Next week, in Part 2: soap and shampoo

The Royal Waterloo Bath

From the June 1819 edition of Ackermann's Repository, may I present to you with mingled delight and horror...

THE 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--
In the plunging-bath. . £0 1s. 0d.
For the season. . . £1 11s. 6p.
In the private baths . £0 1s. 6p.
For the season. . . £2 2s. 0p.
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 sigular 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 every body 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.

All I can say is, eek! Or maybe just ick. Though the waters of the Thames might indeed have been pure and wholesome upriver, at this point it served as drainage for all the city...gulp! I applaud the recognition that bathing was associated with good health and understand the desire for cleanliness (and for getting the nudists off the banks of the river!) but do have to wonder if the writer of this article visited the baths in person. Unfortunately, no interior views were provided--it would have been interesting to see how the water depth controls worked.

I don't think any young ladies of fashion would come here; I expect it was for the working class population of London who didn't have hip baths before the fireplaces in their bedrooms and legions of servants to carry up cans of hot water to fill them.