The Art of the Cravat

You’ve read the descriptions. A gentleman in the early nineteenth century sports a snowy cravat, and all the ladies go into raptures. I had to become more acquainted with the cravats when I began writing Regency romances. But I didn’t really appreciate them until I created and wore one myself.

A cravat in early nineteenth century England was a square or rectangle of material, most often linen but occasionally cotton. I have seen mentions of silk versions, but I do wonder how well they would survive the maintenance process (more on that below). Cravats were wrapped around a gentleman’s neck, usually outside the shirt, forcing the points of the collar upward. You may have seen mention of gentlemen who piled up the folds so high they endangered their ears or eyes with their shirt points.

The color of your cravat was as important. This was an era of lye soap and hand-washing. Imagine trying to keep something snowy white. So, if you had a white cravat, it either meant you could afford a talented laundress or you were rich enough to simply throw the things away if they soiled. Then too, some gentlemen chose to wear colored cravats, particularly if they were a member of the sporting set. Famed boxer Jem Belcher preferred a patterned cravat, the print resembling peacock feathers. Everything I can find suggests his favorite was blue on navy, but the portrait of him in the National Portrait Gallery shows yellow on russet. Either way, he makes the case for colored cravats.

The laundry process is one of the reasons that I question the use of silk very often. The other reason is that cravats were heavily starched to hold up to the intricate folds some gentlemen preferred. You’ll see mention of valets who handled the cravats too roughly and made them limp, preventing the proper fold.

And you may well have needed a valet for assistance. Cravats are surprisingly long—up to five or six feet! Trying to fold, wrap, and tie it appropriately could not have been easy at first.

It certainly wasn’t for me. As I have mentioned, I decided to impersonate a Regency gentleman for a soiree of the Beau Monde, the Romance Writers of America^TM chapter for those who write Regency romances. [We never have enough gentleman for a dance set.] To prepare for the part, I made my own cravat. Mine, alas, isn’t as snowy white as that of Sir Carolus here (AKA the marvelous Cara King), but then neither is the shirt I found. I fold the cream-colored rectangle in half, wind it around my neck, then tie it so that a piece cascades down the front and is affixed in place with a cravat pin. I am invariably asked what my fold is called.

The graphic above was an 1818 satire on cravats, but the particular folds did appear to have names. I call mine the Incomparable, although I nearly called it the Incompetent because it’s so hard to tie!

For more information on how to tie a cravat, see the Historical Designs website or this tutorial by my friend and accomplished author, Kristen Koster. 

It's in the Bag

I nearly hit a wall with my work in progress this week. My hero (you remember the baronet of Blackcliff?) has traveled on horseback in September of 1811 up to an estate he has recently been awarded in the Lakes District. He didn’t intend to stay more than a few days, but circumstances conspire to keep him there a few weeks. During that time, he climbs a mountain, attends services at the local church, and even sweeps the heroine off to the local assembly for dancing. The problem? His suitcase.

When you don’t have a large traveling carriage, your options for packing are limited. English saddles don’t have horns like Western saddles. Saddle bags were more often put on pack horses (which my hero does not own) than riding horses. But the cavalry had some sort of cases that connected to saddles (the picture is of an American one).

Kind of puny, isn’t it?

His problem would be the problem of any young man or lady traveling by horseback or even on the mail coach, where you could only bring so much luggage. And this was still a time when most clothing and footwear were custom-made; not so easy to borrow or buy when you get to your destination, at least immediately. I’m pretty good at packing light, but there’s no way I could fit enough clothes, even with today’s modern packable fabrics, for a variety of activities spanning two or more weeks into a case that size.

So, what did he bring with him?

He’s wearing stockings and boots, trousers, a greatcoat, jacket, waistcoat, shirt, cravat, and hat. He needs a shaving kit. Though it’s a little outside our period (early 1900s), I liked this one made from elephant hide. And he’d have to bring some traveling money with him, which means piles of gold coin (bank drafts aren’t going to work in the wilds of Cumberland). Doesn’t leave a whole lot of room for much else, does it?

The necessities, as I see them, are a nightshirt and a spare shirt, pair of trousers, and a couple cravats so the maid can wash the ones he’s wearing. A spare jacket and waistcoat so he can change up his look a bit would be nice, but that may be straining credibility. But dancing shoes? Not making the cut. Nicer outfit for church? Not going to happen. Spare boots to climb that mountain? Nah.

If you had two small bags for a young nineteenth century gentleman, what would you put in them?

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?