A Seemly Seamstress

Oh, I do love looking at Marissa’s fashion prints. And I admit to being a bit of a clothes horse. I can even use a sewing machine to good effect when needed. But I can only bow in admiration to the ladies who plied the needle in the nineteenth century.

You may see various terms for a seamstress. A lady with her own shop in Regency England, for example, might have been called a mantua-maker. Later, the lady was called a dressmaker. You would go to her, look through patterns, and be measured. She might have fabric, or, in some cases, you might bring your own. Once the dress had been pieced together, you might return for an additional fitting. Those with sufficient funds or who lived farther out from the city might pay for a lady to come to them for fittings.

Inside the dressmaker’s shop, several ladies might be employed, all hand sewing every inch of those gorgeous dresses Marissa has been sharing with us. Some were allowed to work from home, picking up projects and returning them as they finished. As a needle worker, you might start with simple things like interior seams or hemming and graduate to more fancy work like embroidery. The hours were long, pay not much, and some seamstresses had trouble with eyesight in later years from toiling over a lamp or candle long into the night. Even in pioneer Seattle, the newfangled sewing machines were rare.

Sometimes dressmakers branched out to other areas. Such must have been the case for Mrs. Libby and Steele, who announced in the December 3, 1866, Puget Sound Weekly that they had opened an establishment on Commercial Street in Seattle. They claimed to have millinery, dress making, and ladies furnishings, including bonnets, hats, hoopskirts, ribbons, trimmings, and flowers, along with plain and fancy sewing done to order. Ladies of Seattle and the vicinity were invited to call. Note that the way the words MRS is written in the ad, it is unclear whether it was two misters or two ladies.

Nora Underhill, the heroine of my upcoming book, A Convenient Christmas Wedding, is a seamstress, one of the first in pioneer Seattle. She hasn’t the funds to set up her own shop, but she convinces one of the general mercantiles to allow her to work out of a corner. The customers buy the fabric and notions from the store and come to her for items to be made up.

That is, until Nora decides to buy herself a husband. More on that in November. :-)

A Stitch in Time

How talented are you?  That’s a question young ladies of good family had to consider when they were about to make their debuts in nineteenth century England.  The ability to make good conversation, play an instrument, acquit herself well on horseback, and perhaps manage a household were supposedly prized traits for gentlemen looking to acquire a wife.  But there was another more important practical skill, for ladies of any social strata:  the ability to sew a fine hand.

Though wealthier ladies were more likely to have someone else like a maid or seamstress mend their clothes (or throw damaged items away entirely in the most spendthrift households), a wife who could reattach a button, hem up a skirt, or take portions of outfits and repurpose them was generally to be commended.  Then too, many a young lady fell to embroidering seat covers, nightgowns, and other items she would need for her trousseau.  Even older ladies were known to embroider to pass the time.

The basic stiches, such as the chain stitch, blanket stitch, satin stitch, and cross stitch were the same then as we know today.  The thread might be fine silk or warm wool.  Designers sold patterns, but some ladies made up their own.  And some of the workmanship was exquisite, as in this apron made from silk.

 Nor were English ladies alone in their accomplishments.  Some of the most beautiful embroidery from the nineteenth century can be found in items from India.  Kent State University Museum has a muslin dress embroidered with iridescent beetle wings (not the shape of the wings--the actual wings!).   Their “details” collection on Pinterest has some lovely examples. 

According to the Victoria and Albert Museum, which has a wonderful online display about embroidery, the designer William Morris played a large role in making English embroidery even more popular in the mid-1800s.  That's one of his designs at the right.  His patronage led to the establishment of the Royal School of Art Needlework, which produced and sold embroidery and designs as well as trained students.

Me?  Well, I have embroidered a few pillow cases and table runners in my time, but I would certainly not rank stitching among my accomplishments.  What about you?