And Now, Another Report from Carriage and Driver

It’s September once more, and time for a new report from Carriage and Driver with a preview of the upcoming decade’s hottest new vehicles. Whether you’re looking for a sporty performance model or a practical family vehicle, Carriage and Driver will tell you all you need to know!

First up, this 1816 model landaulette (as illustrated by R. Ackermann—a name well known to Car and Driver readers, I’m sure!), perfect for the smaller household with seating for two and comfortably drawn by one horse. Quite smart!

When more seating is required, Car and Driver readers can’t do better than this Patent Landau built and patented by Birch and Son of Great Queen-street in Lincoln’s-Inn-fields. Mr. Birch “has obtained a patent for improvements in the construction of the roofs and upper quarters, not only of landaus, but of all other carriages which are made to fall down. By these improvements the objections against landaus upon the old plan, either as town, pleasure, or travelling carriages, are entirely removed. The head or roof, and upper parts, by the new invention, have an even smooth surface, like a well built town coach, shew no outward joints on the top of the windows, or locks on the roof; yet are so completely secured as to prevent any possibility of being opened from the outside: it removes the inconveniences arising from the leather contracting, or drawing the fore-lights out of their perpendicular position, it causing the shutters and glasses to act properly, and renders it impossible for water to penetrate the leather or to lie on the roof.” (Ackermann’s Repository, February 1809)

For anyone who admires barouches but requires more seating than a barouche provides, perhaps this handsome caleche will answer. With enclosed seating for four, you’ll be out of the weather and very much in style.

If your fancy runs to foreign vehicles, this droschki may be the carriage for you.  Its form is particularly graceful and elegant, and models seating one or two are available. The Emperor of Russia recently made a gift of one to his majesty King George IV. (Ackermann's Repository, August 1820)

And speaking of Russia…with the approach of winter, our readers might find this next model of interest. This Imperial Sledge, as seen in a outing attended by a number of monarchs, nobility, and other great persons during the recent congress in Vienna, makes getting around during the snowy season both possible and pleasurable. With its phaeton form and elegant decoration, you’ll drive like an emperor! (Ackermann’s Repository, April 1816)

What say you, Carriage and Driver readers? Is there a model here you’d like to take out for a test drive?

Blast from the Past: Mr. Pocock Rides Again (Sort of) (Again)

I still need to figure out a way to incorporate the Charvolant into a story...

It’s amazing what you can find when you clean out a bookcase.

Recently my mother was doing just that, and found an old issue of Heritage, the British history magazine, from February/March 1990. Naturally she saved it for me so that I could put it in my overburdened bookshelves...and while flipping through it, I ran across an article entitled “Pocock’s Flying Carriage”. The story was wonderful, and the name was familiar. Hmm, yes, we have met a Mr. Pocock before, haven't we...however, it seems to have been a different Mr. P.

That Mr. Pocock (William) was, it seems, a London furniture-maker and known for his interest in patent furniture—designs that involved clever, ingenious mechanizations as we saw with his Reclining Patent Chair. Perhaps there’s something to the name that dooms its bearers to be inveterate tinkerers, because another Mr. Pocock, this time a George, was inventing at the same time...and went far beyond furniture. You see, that Mr. Pocock was the proud inventor, in the 1820s, of the Charvolant, or Flying Car.


George P. (1774-1843) was a schoolmaster in Bristol who liked to invent things on the side. One of his inventions, a spanking machine (the “Royal Patent Self-acting Ferule”) which could punish several misbehaving schoolboys at once, had something to do with his teaching vocation (I wish I could find a picture of it!)...but evidently, Mr. Pocock was also fascinated by kites. He spent his youth experimenting with the power of kites, and induced a trusting friend to squat on a makeshift sled attached to kites. The friend ended up dragged away faster than George could follow on foot and was eventually tumbled into a quarry (uninjured, fortunately) but young George was even more hooked by kite power.

More experimentation followed, fortunately with no fatalities—that included launching his own daughter 300 feet into the air in a kite-drawn chair. Of course, you knew what would come next: kite-powered carriages. He spent several years working on his Charvolants, and finally in 1826 registered a patent. In 1828 he demonstrated a Charvolant at Ascot to King George IV, and was soon running demonstration races, beating the London coach in a race from Bristol to Marlborough by twenty-five minutes (after giving the coach a 15 minute head-start.) His Charvolant could travel as fast as twenty miles per hour, and the ride was much smoother and quieter than a horse-drawn vehicle—in fact, a Charvolant driver blew a bugle to warn vehicles it was overtaking, because of its quietness.

Charvolant travel was also much cheaper than travel utilizing horses: wind was free, after all, while horses were expensive to maintain and had to be changed on journeys of more than fifteen to twenty miles. And, amusingly, Charvolants could travel the turnpikes free. Tolls were charged at toll-gates based on the number of animals drawing any given vehicle...and Charvolants were notably draft-animal free. Though critics scoffed that a Charvolant would be grounded on a windless day, Mr. Pocock remained unruffled and replied, “Ships might be objected to on this principle—that there were sometimes calms, or contrary winds.”

Alas for Mr. Pocock, though, his timing was bad. Despite the interest his Charvolants generated, another new mode of transportation generated even more interest and would soon doom the Charvolant to a sidenote in transportation history: the railway.

Bits and Bobs

Any Pokemon fans out there?

Anyone who is even slightly acquainted with Pokemon will know about the one called Eevee, a cute little fox/cat-like critter who is genetically extroverted and can evolve into a multitude of equally cute little fox/cat-like forms, all of which have names ending in –eon. There’s Vaporeon and Jolteon and Flareon and Umbreon andandand...you get the idea.

Well, my daughter presented me with the latest Eevee evolution, and this kid knows me well.  Meet...NAPOLEON!!!

Two hundred and one years ago today, Napoleon was on his final journey on French soil, which he would depart forever on July 15. This little guy, though, won’t be leaving my writing room.

I’m going to ask her if she’ll design me a Wellingteon next. ☺

Holding your Horses

Fans of Georgette Heyer and Regency-set books in general frequently feature heroes (and sometimes heroines) who are adept at “handling the ribbons”, or driving a vehicle, be it a handsome barouche, a dashing curricle, or a semi-suicidal high perch phaeton “to an inch.” I can’t be the only one in this mostly horseless era to wonder what that was like...and here’s a video that can give us a flavor. Just wonderful!

Lights...Camera...Action!

The word on the street (or more accurately, the blogosphere) is that a movie version of one of Georgette Heyer’s funniest and best-loved novels, The Grand Sophy, is in the works.

Yes, you heard me correctly—a Georgette Heyer movie.

I’m not entirely sure how I feel about this—some books are just so wonderfully crafted that being chopped, pushed, and prodded into movie form until they’re unrecognizable is positively criminal (*coughcoughWinter’sTalecough*), and I would hate to see The Grand Sophy butchered to fit some director’s “vision.”  On the other hand, if it’s done right—IF!—it could be awesome.  If you’re interested in following this story, try here and here...I know I’ll be keeping an eye on it!

 

Mr. Pocock Rides Again (Sort of)

It’s amazing what you can find when you clean out a bookcase.

Recently my mother was doing just that, and found an old issue of Heritage, the British history magazine, from February/March 1990. Naturally she saved it for me so that I could put it in my overburdened bookshelves...and while flipping through it, I ran across an article entitled “Pocock’s Flying Carriage”. The story was wonderful, and the name was familiar. Hmm, yes, we have met a Mr. Pocock before, haven't we...however, it seems to have been a different Mr. P.

That Mr. Pocock (William) was, it seems, a London furniture-maker and known for his interest in patent furniture—designs that involved clever, ingenious mechanizations, as we saw with his Reclining Patent Chair. Perhaps there’s something to the name that dooms its bearers to be inveterate tinkerers, because another Mr. Pocock, this time a George, was inventing at the same time...and went far beyond furniture. You see, that Mr. Pocock was the proud inventor, in the 1820s, of the Charvolant, or Flying Car.


George P. (1774-1843) was a schoolmaster in Bristol who liked to invent things on the side. One of his inventions, a spanking machine (the “Royal Patent Self-acting Ferule”) which could punish several misbehaving schoolboys at once, had something to do with his teaching vocation (I wish I could find a picture of it!)...but evidently, Mr. Pocock was also fascinated by kites. He spent his youth experimenting with the power of kites, and induced a trusting friend to squat on a makeshift sled attached to kites. The friend ended up dragged away faster than George could follow on foot and was eventually tumbled into a quarry (uninjured, fortunately) but young George was even more hooked by kite power.

More experimentation followed, fortunately with no fatalities—that included launching his own daughter 300 feet into the air in a kite-drawn chair. Of course, you knew what would come next: kite-powered carriages. He spent several years working on his Charvolants, and finally in 1826 registered a patent. In 1828 he demonstrated a Charvolant at Ascot to King George IV, and was soon running demonstration races, beating the London coach in a race from Bristol to Marlborough by twenty-five minutes (after giving the coach a 15 minute head-start.) His Charvolant could travel as fast as twenty miles per hour, and the ride was much smoother and quieter than a horse-drawn vehicle—in fact, a Charvolant driver blew a bugle to warn vehicles it was overtaking, because of its quietness.

Charvolant travel was also much cheaper than travel utilizing horses: wind was free, after all, while horses were expensive to maintain and had to be changed on journeys of more than fifteen to twenty miles. And, amusingly, Charvolants could travel the turnpikes free. Tolls were charged at toll-gates based on the number of animals drawing any given vehicle...and Charvolants were notably draft animal-free. Though critics scoffed that a Charvolant would be grounded on a windless day, Mr. Pocock remained unruffled and replied, “Ships might be objected to on this principle—that there were sometimes calms, or contrary winds.”

Alas for Mr. Pocock, though, his timing was bad. Despite the interest his Charvolants generated, another new mode of transportation generated even more interest and would soon doom the Charvolant to a sidenote in transportation history: the railway.

Who was this Ackermann Guy, Anyway?

Last week we had our last Fashion Forecast featuring the prints of Ackermann’s Repository (well, sort of—more on that shortly.) I thought this would be a good time to meet the man behind these delightful pieces.

Rudolf Ackermann was born in Stollberg in the Electorate of Saxony, on April 20, 1764, the sixth child of his parents Barthel and Justina. Papa Ackermann was a wealthy and well-connected saddle-maker, and it was expected that young Rudolf would follow in his footsteps and become a saddler as well...which he did, for a while, apprenticing at age 15.

But the boy was also deeply interested in drawing, so at 18 he left his apprenticeship to become a carriage designer (hmm...remember this?) He learned his trade in Dresden, worked in Switzerland for a while then Brussels, and in 1787 moved to London to ply his trade. Plying his trade there proved lucrative: young Rudolf received important commissions for designing carriages, including ones for the Lord Lieutenant of Ireland, the Lord Mayor of Dublin, and a state coach for a certain President Washington in the upstart American republic. His success enabled him to marry an Englishwoman, Martha, with whom he had nine children...and it also let him return to his other passion, art.

In 1795 Rudolf opened his first print shop, later moving to larger premises at 101 Strand. Rudolf sold prints, artists’ supplies, and books, as well as holding art exhibits. It became a favorite hangout for the fashionable, who enjoyed perusing the latest political cartoons and other prints: his early adoption of gas-lighting enabled browsing and made his shop even more of a destination. Business proved good enough that he started commissioning and selling original hand-colored prints from such notable artists as Rowlandson and Cruikshank, the popular satirists. He also published art books, the best known of which is probably The Microcosm of London, an invaluable snapshot, as it were, of important London landmarks and streets.

In 1809, he embarked on a new publishing project: his Repository of Arts, Literature, Commerce, Manufactures, Fashions, and Politics, a monthly journal that covered all those things in the title and more. Illustrations played a prominent role in this magazine: each issue featured not only two fashion prints but also engravings of everything from furniture to embroidery patterns and English houses to foreign scenery. Altogether, nearly 1500 prints were published in the Repository over twenty years.

The Repository was published until 1828; but by that time Rudolf’s success was beginning to overtake him: he had expanded into global markets with print shops in several South American locations as well as other outlets in London, and the added work and financial burden weighed him down and broke his health. In 1829 the Repository was re-imagined as The Repository of Fashion, focusing on fashion reporting...and by mid-year had ceased publication altogether. Poor Rudolf suffered a massive stroke a few months later which more or less side-lined him, paralyzed, till his death in 1834. However, his sons remained in the print business as did their sons...in fact, the last Ackermanns in the print business only closed their doors in the 1990s!

And now, a Report from Carriage and Driver

It’s September, and that means it’s time for Carriage and Driver’s preview of the upcoming decade’s hottest new vehicles. Whether you’re looking for a sporty performance model or a practical family vehicle, Carriage and Driver will tell you all!

Anyone looking for an eminently useful all-purpose vehicle need look no further than Elliott’s Patent Eccentric Landaulet or Chariot. Less cumbersome than older model chariots and therefore less tiring for horses, it yet includes a spacious boot for luggage and comfortable seating out of the weather for longer journeys. (Ackermann’s Repository, November 1809):

Readers of Carriage and Driver know how keen we are on keeping abreast of the latest technological developments, so this Landaulet with Birch’s patent Roof and Ackermann’s patent Moveable Axles will surely be of great interest to our readers. Note that the roof can be folded back on fine days or raised in inclement weather by a series of ingenious folding panels and sections. The moveable axle system is discussed at length in both a pamphlet and in the March 1819 edition of Ackermann’s Repository:

Corinthians looking for a sportier vehicle might turn their attention to this Light Phaeton, also equipped with Ackermann’s patent moveable axles and built by Mr. Kinder at Gray’s Inn Lane. This stylish carriage, with its raised rear seat for a groom or tiger, combines good looks and performance, and will surely draw all eyes during afternoon forays to Hyde Park (Ackermann’s Repository, July 1819):

Mr. Dodd’s excellently appointed Light Phaeton, pictured here, might appeal to the gentleman of more sedate habits and possessed of the best taste. The attention to fine detail in ornamentation and provision of comfort makes this a most desirable vehicle, one which also might be driven with ease by the fairer sex (Ackermann’s Repository, November 1819):

For the last word in a comfortable luxury vehicle, readers of Carriage and Driver might look no further than this elegant Barouche, equipped with Ackermann’s Patent Moveable Axles. From the folding roof to the deeply cushioned seats, this carriage will provide passengers with a driving experience unequalled by any (Ackermann’s Repository, January 1820):

Which would you consider taking for a test drive, Carriage and Driver readers? :)

Where the Boys Were: The Four-Horse Club

Some things never change, and one of those is the preoccupation of young men with going very fast. We already know that fast, “sexy” vehicles are not a modern phenomenon: today’s Porsche was the 19th century’s high-perch phaeton-and-four.

So where were the boys of the 19th century who liked to go fast?

It seems to have been a not-uncommon event for dashing young men who fancied they knew a thing or two about “handling the ribbons’—that is, driving a team of horses—to bribe coach drivers to let them have a go at driving stagecoaches (much to the dismay of the passengers!) So popular was this pastime in the 18th century that one group of well-born hell-raisers started calling themselves “the Four-Horse Club”.

Fortunately for the poor stagecoach passengers of a few years later, young men decided that driving their own coaches might be more amusing (though it was still fashionable to imitate professional drivers in dress and, alas, in use of profanity), and in 1807 a group of them founded the Bensington Driving Club (BDC) in Bensington, Oxfordshire. Because membership in that club was limited to 25, a second driving club was established a year later and took over the name of Four-Horse Club (FHC). Membership was limited by several things—birth and social standing, ability to afford to belong, and, of course, driving skill. To be asked to join one of these very exclusive clubs was an enormous honor.

Members of these clubs gathered somewhere in London (the Four-Horse Club in Cavendish Square), then drove in procession to a pub some 20 miles from the city where they would dine, then drive back the following day. The Four-Horse Club used to alternate its destination between two pubs until one of them distinguished itself one hot summer’s afternoon by providing a change of chairs part-way through dinner, so that members might cool their posteriors!

The rules of the Four-Horse Club were very strict: only barouches were permitted, painted yellow; harnesses had to be silver-mounted, and horses (originally bays, though this rule was relaxed) had to wear rosettes. Drivers wore coats that reached to the ankles with three tiers of pockets and mother of pearl buttons as large as five shilling pieces. Their waistcoats were blue with yellow stripes an inch wide, their breeches of plush with strings and rosettes to each knee. It was fashionable that the hat should be 3 1/2 inches deep in the crown. Very strict, too, were the rules of the bi-weekly outings held in May and June: the order of the procession was always the same, and members were to keep to a strict trot and not attempt to pass each other. No drag-racing for these boys!

A Miscellany

It's warm and sunny out today (after an alarming episode of sleet last week) and I'm having a hard time concentrating. It could be I'm still recovering from the fun time I had this past weekend at the New Jersey Romance Writers conference (that's me with my and Regina's agent, Emily Sylvan Kim, and another of Emily's clients, Opal Carew)...so I'm going to play the grasshopper and metaphorically hop about in an irresponsible and carefree fashion, presenting several items that have caught my fancy lately.

1. A few weeks back I promised I'd post the Ackermann print I'd recently acquired that shows the inside of a carriage. Well, here it is, from the June 1823 edition:
I'm having a hard time figuring out how the window worked, but suspect there was a panel of glass that could slide up and down in the door as her elbow is obviously outside and there is a tiny bit of what looks like a handle by her hand (and note her quizzing glass!) The seats and sides all appear to be cushioned or upholstered; there's even a little swag at the top of the window. Quite an elegant conveyance, wasn't it? My guess (based on the wonderful pictures in a little book called The Elegant Carriage by Marylian Watney) is that this is possibly a type of carriage known as a private drag, a gentleman's private coach developed during the Regency period and used to attend race meetings (it evidently had a tailgate that could be let down to serve as a buffet table for picnics!) and to drive to meets of the Four-in-Hand Club (hmm, I'm sensing a new post topic in our future...!)

2. Thinking about holiday shopping yet? I am...and here's the perfect place for it: an all-Jane Austen Zazzle shop. I rather fancy the coffee (or should I say tea?) mug with the famous quote from Mrs. Bennet ("You take delight in vexing me. Have you no compassion on my poor nerves?") and particularly this t-shirt, which I would love to have in cocktail napkin form:

3. And if you're looking for an extra special gift for an extra special person, check this out: It's a purse made from an actual copy of Sense and Sensibility by Jane Austen, made and sold by an incredibly talented lady on Etsy. Pardon me while I go leave this link open on my husband's computer...

4. And finally, a look at Elizabeth Bennet's inbox from, of all places, a website called Email Marketing Reports. Who knew those marketing folks had such a sense of humor?

Hope you enjoyed today's miscellany!

Three More Reasons Why

Happy birthday to us! Thanks so much for adding your comments on why you love the nineteenth century. Don’t forget, commenting or suggesting a new topic for us enters you to win a wonderful fashion plate or a $25 gift certificate to Barnes and Noble! We’ll draw the names when we get to our nineteenth reason why we love the nineteenth century in a couple weeks. So, here are some of my reasons why:

4. Marissa mentioned the gorgeous women’s clothes, but I love the sophisticated gentlemen’s clothes even more. (And no, it’s not because I’ve been known to masquerade as a dandy!) Those tailored jackets, the polished boots, the high-crowned beavers, all speak of prestige and power. And a man in a black cape, white shirt, and breeches still makes me swoon! The basic suit that developed in the nineteenth century is still the mark of a well-dressed man today. Though I wager none can swagger quite as well as Byron or Brummell.

5. The elegant equipages: There’s something fine about riding high, feeling the strength of very real horses pulling at the reins, knowing you control their motions with a flick of your wrist. You can keep your sports cars—give me a sleek barouche and set of prancing pairs any day of the week.

6. The imaginative architecture: From columns, clean lines, and crisp stone to fanciful
gingerbread, the nineteenth century saw its shifts in architectural vogue. There’s something solid, permanent, and impressive about the earlier styles, but I must admit to a fondness to the later ornamentation. It looks more feminine, kinder, sweeter to me, speaking of tea and cakes and Aunt Bess playing the pianoforte in the background. I can just see myself living here.

So, what are your favorite things?