A Hepplewhite by Any Other Name

I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again: I love research. While attending a conference, I heard something about historical furniture that startled and amazed me. So, of course, I had to poke into it and share it with you!

Three names made furniture from the late 1700s and early 1800s famous: Thomas Sheraton, Thomas Chippendale, and George Hepplewhite. We know where and when Sheraton and Chippendale were born, with whom they apprenticed, and where and when they died. Wonderful pieces from either still exist as cherished heirlooms or museum pieces. But George, well George is something of a mystery.

You see, we don’t know where precisely George was born, or the even the day and year. No master was quick to claim him as apprentice. We have only an approximate year when he died. And not one stick of furniture he designed still exists.

Instead, what we have is a guide of his designs published supposedly posthumously by his grieving widow. Alice Hepplewhite published The Cabinet-Maker and Upholsterer’s Guide in 1788, with revisions in 1789 and 1790. The guide contains around 300 drawings, most allegedly by her husband, but as some sources note, George’s name is not included on the title page. Instead, Alice’s name graces over 175 of those drawings. She went on to run the establishment that supposedly had belonged to George. Some sources claim that records show her inheritance; others state the couple had four children. A cursory search failed to verify either claim.

So, was George merely a humble and quiet man who died too young for his genius to be appreciated? Or was Alice, in fact, the designer behind the furniture we still revere? It was a time when women frequently published under pseudonyms or generic titles such as “by a lady.” Could Alice have done the same?

Still, when all is said and done, if she was going to select a nom de plume, she might have chosen something other shorter and easier to spell than Hepplewhite. 

Young Bluestockings Attend the Cinema: BELLE

Here at NineteenTeen, we occasionally gather for a virtual tea-party, and discuss a historical film.  Please join us today as we discuss the gorgeous drama "Belle"!

Filmed in several of England's stately homes as well as Pinewood Studios, "Belle" has a true story as its kernel.  Dido Elizabeth Belle, the mixed-race daughter of a captain in the British Royal Navy, is orphaned, and then sent to be raised by her grandparents.   An ordinary-enough story, except that her grandparents are aristocrats -- and they live in an England which still had the slavery in its overseas colonies, and made great profits off the slave trade.

"Belle" starts with the few facts known about the real Dido Belle, and then creates a fascinating story of what her experiences growing up in England might have been.

 

The cast is full of well-known names.  Here are a few, to help your memory during the discussion!

Belle:  Gugu Mbatha-Raw

Lord Mansfield:  Tom Wilkinson

Lady Mansfield:  Emily Watson

Lady Ashford:  Miranda Richardson

James Ashford:  Tom Felton  (beware Slytherin!)

John Davinier (the love interest):  Sam Reid

Elizabeth Murray (the cousin):  Sarah Gadon

 

This film deals with issues of race, of class, of women's freedom and power, of justice, family, and love.  And of course it has those costumes!  And those gorgeous gardens and country houses.  Pretty much everything a person could want in a movie, if you ask me!

   

But we're not asking me, we're asking you!  Have you seen Belle?  What did you think?  What did you like, not like, want more of?  Did you like the way it handled serious issues?  And which hat would you like to wear?

Nineteenth Century Heroines: With Liberty and Justice for All

A few weeks ago I blogged about The Family Nurse, a wonderful look into family medical practices in early nineteenth century America.  I promised to tell you more about its author, Mrs. Lydia Maria Child, who to me epitomizes many of the traits of a true nineteenth century heroine.

Maria, as she liked to be called, was born in 1802 in Medford, Massachusetts, one of six children.  Like many a romance heroine, she lost her mother just as she was nearing adolescence and was sent to live with her older sister.  Though she attended school, it was her older brother who introduced her to such writers as Homer, Milton, and Sir Walter Scott.  With such a background, it shouldn’t be surprising that she decided to write a novel.

She was only twenty-two when her first book was published.  Heralded as the first New England historical novel, Hobomok scandalized the literary elite by portraying a girl who ran off with a Native American and had a child.  The public adored it.  She followed with a historical novel about the days leading up to the Boston Tea Party, which was another success.  Buoyed by the accolades, she started the first monthly magazine in the U.S. devoted to literature for children, serving as editor for eight years.

But Maria was deeply concerned about the injustices she saw around her.  She felt that women, Native Americans, and African Americans should be given equal rights with the white male establishment.  Her husband David Child, who she married in 1828 when she was 26, had no business sense and would prove to be a poor breadwinner, but he believed in her causes just as strongly.  The next few years of her life would be dedicated to writing books she felt where highly needed: 

• The Frugal Housewife, Dedicated to Those Who Are Not Ashamed of Economy, sought to inform wives who could not afford servants how to run their households as if it were their profession 
• The Mother’s Book encouraged women to educate their daughters so they could financially support themselves
• An Appeal in Favor of That Class of Americans Called Africans laid out the history of slavery and called for its immediate abolition.

That last book so offended some of her readers that subscriptions to her children’s magazine, which had been supporting her family, all but dried up.  That didn’t stop her from publishing The History of the Condition of Women, in Various Ages and Nations, which described the status of women all over the world from the days of the bible until Maria’s own time and made a subtle case for equality.

Over the next few decades, Maria continued to publish fiction and nonfiction books, short stories, and poems that challenged readers to see those minimalized by society as deserving a place.  At times, she was denounced for her opinions.  At others, she was praised and courted.  But she lived to see the slaves freed and major strides taken for women’s rights. 

Though many of her books trained her generation and inspired the next generation of rights activists, one of Maria’s poems is perhaps the best known, even though few realize who authored it.  Lydia Maria Child wrote “Over the River and Through the Woods,” the musical version of which is still often sung in the U.S. around Thanksgiving. 

  

With liberty and justice for all.

Governesses, Part 2: Educating Lady Agatha

Lady Agatha Crumpwhistle is now nearly five. Her devoted nurse, Mrs. Hoggett, has taught her to not make messes and misbehave and to be respectful of her elders, but there’s a new baby in the Earl of Crumpet’s nursery requiring her attention and it’s time little Agatha began more formal education.

So the Countess of Crumpet moves into action: she lets friends know she’s in the market for a governess, in case anyone has a recommendation—governesses do move from family to family as their charges outgrow them or if they want a change. She also reads the newspapers and magazines; governesses in search of positions often place ads in the papers with brief lists of their qualifications. And if those don’t work, she knows she can write to one of many reputable employment agencies in London. Fortunately, a friend comes through: the daughter of an old acquaintance, a well-brought-up daughter of a vicar, is looking for her first position as a governess and might just fit the bill. The Countess is happy to have her problem solved and writes to the girl.

Little Lady Agatha is not quite sure what to think about this turn of events. Why can't she just stay in the nursery with Hoggy? When her older cousins came to visit last month, Diana told her all manner of dreadful things that governesses might do: keep her tied to a board all morning to improve her posture, or pinch her if she got her French verbs wrong, or, almost as bad, not take care when teaching her so that she'd grow up quite ignorant. But Susan said they could also be very nice and teach her how to paint pretty pictures and play the piano and have grown-up manners so that she might have tea with Mama more often. Maybe this governess business won't be so bad...

In a small country vicarage in Norfolk, Miss Viola Fernall is packing her trunk with her few sober dresses and sturdy calico underclothes, her books and paints, her workbasket, and a few mementos of home. The vicarage is too small and her father’s income too meagre to permit her to stay at home as daughter of the house; now that she’s twenty-two and no potential husbands have appeared on her horizon, it’s time for her to make her own way in the world. She leaves at dawn tomorrow to take up a post as governess to the Earl of Crumpet's young daughter.

Despite her family’s poverty Papa, as a vicar, is considered a gentleman, which makes her a gentleman’s daughter. There aren’t many avenues of employment open to gentlemen’s daughters…at least not if they want to remain respectable. There’s being a companion, or there’s governessing…and Viola would rather teach small children than cater to the whims of an invalid or crotchety old dowager. And the salary is quite respectable at ₤35 per year; Lady Hunt, Mama’s old school friend, must have written her a very good ‘character’ (recommendation).

Viola’s education is not outstanding, but it’s adequate: she writes a fine hand and can speak correct if nasal French and a bit of Italian. Her playing upon the piano is just passable, but in needlework and in watercolor painting she’s quite above average, having a good eye for color. Anyway, the most important part of her job is to make sure her pupil, little Lady Agatha, learns to comport herself as befits her station in life: to speak gently and quietly, to carry herself well, to be, in short, a lady.

Viola sighs and contemplates the fact that once she arrives at Crumpet Hall, life will not be easy. She’s about to enter a twilight world in which she is of higher social status than the servants, but not quite the equal of her employers. She might become almost friends with them, or find herself treated with cold civility (or even rudeness). She might be invited to dine with the family when no guests were present or participate in less formal entertainments…or be expected to eat her dinner alone each night from a tray in her bedroom. If her pupil is sweet and well-behaved, life might not be so bad…but if she’s spoiled and willful, it might be dreadful. Her room might be comfortable and airy, or small and furnished with battered cast-offs; she might have a free afternoon each week and even a full day off each fortnight (two weeks)...or everyone might forget that even a governess needs a little time to herself. If the Crumpet family proves to be a large one, she could be employed for the next twenty years...or find herself looking for a new position in six weeks, if she's not thought suitable.

She sighs again, and closes her trunk.

Any specific questions about the lives of governesses and their pupils? Ask away! And for our American readers, have a warm and wonderful Thanksgiving!

What Next, Young Bluestockings?

What a lovely discussion this week in the first ever meeting of the Young Bluestockings Book Club! Bethany set the mood appropriately. Yes, indeed, my dear, a book club is exactly the place to natter on about your favorite books. I’m so glad you, and Rachel, and QnPoohBear, and Sylvia, and ChaChaneen, and Tricia did just that! Heavens, Amy admitted she hadn’t read the book yet, but that didn’t stop her from posting! I hope the rest of you (I can hear you breathing!) feel more comfortable joining us next time.

And what about next time, you ask? Marissa and I are pleased to announce that when the Young Bluestockings next meet, on April 23, we will be discussing Bloody Jack: Being an Account of the Curious Adventures of Mary "Jacky" Faber, Ship's Boy by L.A. Meyer. As a plague wracks London, Mary can only pray for a way to escape. But after her gang's leader is killed, she dons his clothing, trading in the name Mary for Jack, and takes to the high seas aboard HMS Dolphin. What follows is a rollicking adventure, complete with pirates, sea battles, and romance.

Right off the bat, you’ll notice a similarity between Mary and Kim, the heroine of Mairelon the Magician. Like Kim, Mary knew there were benefits from pretending to be a boy in the early nineteenth century. Why?

A girl’s life was fairly constrained. We’ve talked about some of the outstanding examples of women, such as Caroline Herschel, Eleanor Coade, and Mary Anning, who rose above what was expected. But the lives of most young ladies were sketched on a much smaller canvas. Mairelon the Magician outlines several choices:

You could be work behind the scenes, doing your part to help your family advance in wealth or station. For a lower class young lady, this might mean working the land or helping in the family’s shop. For an aristocratic young lady, it generally meant marrying well, being a good hostess to help her husband’s political career, and avoiding scandal (hey, two out of three isn’t bad, Lady Granleigh).


You could be charming and sweet and swoon at the least sight of trouble so the young men felt appropriately manly. This was supposed to guarantee you a good husband who would treat you in the style to which you would like be become accustomed (although I’m not sure you made the best choice, Miss Marianne Thornley).



You could be savvy and dashing, look the fellows in the eye, and make your own way in the world. Note that you generally needed money or some form of income to do this (and income often meant taking money for favors to gentlemen). Even if you were an heiress, a young lady living this way was often thought to be somewhat scandalous (I’m looking at you, Rene D’Uber).

Or you could pretend you weren’t a girl and the rules for girls didn’t apply to you, like Kim and Jacky. I’ll talk more about a real nineteenth century young lady who thought the rules didn’t apply to her next week when we continue our series on nineteenth century heroines.

I’d like to think I’d be more like Rene D’Uber, with a flair and a mind (and inherited, not earned-the-hard-way money) of my own. But I suspect I’d be more likely to fall into Marianne Thornley’s camp. I’m terribly good at batting my lashes, and I tend to go weak at the knees at the first sign of chivalry.

What about you?