Blast from the Past: Lawn Ornaments, Garden Furniture, and Hermits

It's a busy couple of weeks here in NineteenTeen East, what with winding down the summer and helping assorted offspring launch new ventures for the fall. So to follow up on Regina's bothy boys (and my upcoming posts on the very picturesque Iceland), here is a revisit with The Picturesque Hermit. Both Regina and I will be taking next week off to enjoy the last gasp of summer, and are looking forward to regular posting as September gathers up steam. Look for a new report from Carriage & Driver on the latest model year vehicles, continuing eye candy fashion posts, and more!

As our 19th century young lady tourists meandered about the country, guidebooks in hand as they visited scenic vistas and stately homes surrounded by artfully planned “natural” landscapes, they might pause to admire a grotto here, a ruined temple there, an obelisk raised on an artificial hill…or they might stop to check out the resident hermit.

Yes, really.

Just as the wealthy landowners of the 18th century rebuilt their houses into magnificent country seats, so they hired landscape gardeners to design what was really an outdoor set of “rooms”. All those fake ruins and follies and grottoes and medieval herb gardens and Chinese bridges and sylvan groves and statue gardens were the outdoor equivalent of the libraries, music rooms, dining rooms, drawing rooms, and salons indoors—spaces made to impress, to inspire admiration. The outdoor features, beside being “picturesque”, also carried picturesque meanings: a ruined temple symbolized man’s creations overtaken by the forces of nature, for example. And if a ruined temple or nymph’s grotto was “interesting”, how much more so would be if it contained a resident?

But since authentic nymphs were not always easy to find, some wealthy landowners built hermitages—picturesque (of course) dwellings which would be occupied by hermits. And just as ruins had a meaning, so too did hermitages--they symbolized the idea of man's return to nature.

Hermitages ranged from the very rustic--a single room, perhaps made out of wattle and thatch woven into the roots of an overturned tree--to the rather grand--a temple or miniature cathedral (the image above is of the hermitage at Frogmore, from an 1823 issue of Ackermann's Repository). The hermits themselves differed as well. Some were men (sorry, no female hermits--just think of the scandal!) genuinely interested in living a secluded, humble life dedicated to work and prayer…while others were cheerful types willing to appear suitably ragged and “natural” in order to entertain his lordship’s guests out for a stroll in the grounds.

Some landowners had very specific ideas on how their hermits should behave, demanding their potential hermits sign contracts stating that they weren't to speak, or to cut their hair or toenails. Others were more relaxed and invited their resident hermits to mingle with guests as a form of rustic entertainment.

So what do you think? Is there a spare garden shed in your yard? Why not be 19th century and install a hermit in it?

1810, What a Year It Was, Part 2: The Lady of the Lake and the Hughland Revival

Just in case you think that media having a profound effect on popular culture is a modern phenomenon, I have five words for you: The Lady of the Lake.

In 1810 a Scottish lawyer named Walter Scott who had been slowly building a name for himself as a poet writing about Scottish history and lore published his third narrative poem, called The Lady of the Lake. His previous efforts, The Lay of the Last Minstrel (1805) and Marmion (1808) had seen moderate popular success. But for some reason, the May release of The Lady of the Lake turned Scott into a household name, selling 25,000 copies that year alone.

The poem’s story is a dramatic one, with three suitors vying for the hand of the fair Ellen Douglas, a disguised king reconciling with an estranged old friend and supporter (who happens to be the father of the aforementioned Ellen), and war between the king and his Lowland Scots versus the Highland Clans led by one of the (also) aforementioned suitors. There are bards and druidic prophets and old feuds affecting the present and one-on-one combat and lots and lots and lots of description of the wild beauties of Scotland...and the origins of the song we now know as “Hail to the Chief”!

So, popular book, sold lots of copies, blah blah blah. But The Lady of the Lake also sparked something known as the Highland Revival, a sort of craze for Scottish history and culture (or at least what people thought was Scottish culture). Don't forget that Scotland had been in eclipse through most of the 18th century, ever since the last Stuart uprising in 1745 had led to the horrible slaughter of the Battle of Culloden, decades of sanctions against the Scots, and widespread emigration to America. Scotland as a topic was ripe for romanticization and exploitation; it had already begun with the publication in 1760 of what purported to be epic poems by an ancient Scottish bard, Ossian, by one James Mcpherson. They were an international sensation: people from Thomas Jefferson to Napoleon counted them as favorites. Alas, it turned out that they were not ancient, but Macpherson's own work. Still, the seed had been planted, fertilized by the passion of the late 18th and early 19th centuries for the wild and picturesque. 

Scott knew a good thing when he saw it; he followed up the success of  with a series of historical novels set in Scotland, and the craze only grew. The Prince Regent was an enthusiastic subscriber; he invited Scott to dinner in 1815 after reading his novel Waverley, published the previous year, and ended up visiting Scotland in 1822, the first reigning monarch to do so since 1650. He also had his portrait painted wearing a kilt to commemorate the visit.  The Highland Revival would eventually find its apotheosis in Queen Victoria’s buying a house in the Scottish Highlands, decorating it from cellar to attic in tartans and deer antlers, and trying to spend as much time there as possible, much to the dismay of her ministers.  And long-time NineteenTeen readers may recall my poking gentle fun at the Scottish craze in an April Fool’s Day  post a while back.

And it all more or less started in 1810. ☺

Fashion Forecast: 1830

What was the well-dressed young woman wearing in 1830?

We’re in for a wild decade, fashion-wise. Just as passion for the picturesque had taken over the aesthetic sense of the time, with its accompanying romanticism, so did it in fashion: sleeves, collars, skirts, and millinery will go to extremes in size, hairstyles will attain new heights of elaboration, and women will have to learn to go through doorways sideways. If twenty years ago, fashion was all about vertical lines, in the 1830s it’s all about the horizontal.

Alas, Ackermann stopped publishing in 1829, so for the 1830s I’ll be dipping into other publications, especially La Belle Assemblee (and its successor, the Court Magazine) as well as a French magazine, Petit Courrier des Dames. We’ll try to have fun with these crazy 1830s, because by the end of the decade fashion...well, gets boring. And so...

From February’s La Belle Assemblee are this pair of Evening Dresses , in what appears to be a striped pink satin with full sleeves caught in just above the elbow with a band of fringed trim (which also appears around the skirt). Her companion in green has sleeves in a style we’ve seen for years: a short puff sleeve covered by a transparent oversleeve. Fur boas, as Pink is wearing, will be popular all decade...and that’s quite a turban on Miss Green, decorated with what looks like sprays of very narrow, fine feathers:

Interestingly, La Belle Assemblee seems to feature both English and French fashions. I happen to have both for the month of May, including the original text. Here’s what was said for the yellow Evening Dress on the left: A straw-coloured crape dress, over a gros de Naples slip to correspond. Corsage uni, cut low and square, and trimmed with a falling tucker of blonde de Cambray. Béret sleeve, finished en manchette, with the same sort of lace; a nœud of gauze ribbon, to correspond in color, is placed in front of the arm. The skirt is trimmed with a most superb flounce of blonde de Cambray, headed by a cluster of narrow rouleaus of satin to correspond with the dress. The trimming is raised a little, in the drapery style, on the left side, and adorned with two bouquets, each formed of a single flower, with buds and foliage. One of these bouquets terminates the trimming, where it is arranged in drapery; the other is placed at some distance below the first. The headdress is a crape hat of a shade darker than the dress. The inside of the brim is finished next the face, in a very novel manner, with gauze riband. The crown is adorned with white feathers, placed in different directions, some of which pass through openings made in the brim, and partly shade it. The jewellery worn with this dress should be a mixture of gold and pearls:

And for the French Fashions (a Dinner Dress, Carriage Dress, and Public Promenade Dress), here’s the descriptions:

Dinner Dress A dress of dark blue gros d’été; the corsage cut low and square, drapé across the bosom; the drapery lower than usual; the folds fuller; the sleeve quite tight from the wrist to the middle of the upper part of the arm, and from thence to the shoulder extremely full. The trimming of the skirt is formed of rouleaus arranged en treillage. The cap is an intermixture of rose-coloured gauze ribbon and blonde lace. It is ornamented with bouquets of roses. Necklace of gold and pearls, Ear-rings, pearls.

Carriage Dress: A pelisse composed of vapeur gros de Tours. The corsage, of the shawl kind, but, falling much lower than usual, is bordered with a rouleau of the same material. The corsage is open to the waist; the skirt ornamented down the front, en cœur, with the material of the dress, and rich silk cords and tassels. The sleeve is of uncommon width, but the fulness is arranged in folds from about the middle of the arm to the wrist; the folds confined by rouleaus placed three together; plain black velvet cuff. Richly embroidered chemisette, and small black velvet cravat, edged with narrow blonde lace, and fastened by a pearl brooch. The hat is of rice straw, trimmed with branches of myrtle, and vapeur and white striped ribbons:

Public Promenade Dress: A redingote of gris lavande gros de Indes. Corsage a la Louise very open at the bosom, with a large square collar. Sleeve of the usual form, finished with a velvert cuff, and a trimming of black blond lace. The corsage, and one side of the skirt, are also bordered with black blond lace. The lace is set nearly plain on the skirt, which wraps over, but very full round the corsage. Lavender-coloured gros de Naples hat, ornamented with bouquets of violets, intermixed with  nœuds of gauze riband, tartaned in different shades of green.

That’s it for my 1830 prints—for some reason, I seem to be a little lacking in this year. But here are a few definitions of some of the terms bandied about here:

Gros de naples: a sturdy, plain-weave silk fabric

Blonde: a bobbin lace originally made from unbleached Chinese silk thread (with a faint yellow coloration) Corsage: the front of the bodice. A corsage uni is a front cut in one piece, without seams.

Chemisette: a garment of muslin, cambric, or tulle worn to fill in the space when the front of the bodice descends in the center (think of today’s camis)

rouleau: decorative bands around a skirt or sleeve

redingote: A lightweight coat, often belted

What do you think of 1830’s fashions?

Lawn Ornaments, Garden Furniture, and Hermits

As our 19th century young lady tourists meandered about the country, guidebooks in hand as they visited scenic vistas and stately homes surrounded by artfully planned “natural” landscapes, they might pause to admire a grotto here, a ruined temple there, an obelisk raised on an artificial hill…or they might stop to check out the resident hermit.

Yes, really.

Just as the wealthy landowners of the 18th century rebuilt their houses into magnificent country seats, so they hired landscape gardeners to design what was really an outdoor set of “rooms”. All those fake ruins and follies and grottoes and medieval herb gardens and Chinese bridges and sylvan groves and statue gardens were the outdoor equivalent of the libraries, music rooms, dining rooms, drawing rooms, and salons indoors—spaces made to impress, to inspire admiration. The outdoor features, beside being “picturesque”, also carried picturesque meanings: a ruined temple symbolized man’s creations overtaken by the forces of nature, for example. And if a ruined temple or nymph’s grotto was “interesting”, how much more so would be if it contained a resident?

But since authentic nymphs were not always easy to find, some wealthy landowners built hermitages—picturesque (of course) dwellings which would be occupied by hermits. And just as ruins had a meaning, so too did hermitages--they symbolized the idea of man's return to nature.

Hermitages ranged from the very rustic--a single room, perhaps made out of wattle and thatch woven into the roots of an overturned tree--to the rather grand--a temple or miniature cathedral (the image above is of the hermitage at Frogmore, from an 1823 issue of Ackermann's Repository). The hermits themselves differed as well. Some were men (sorry, no female hermits--just think of the scandal!) genuinely interested in living a secluded, humble life dedicated to work and prayer…while others were cheerful types willing to appear suitably ragged and “natural” in order to entertain his lordship’s guests out for a stroll in the grounds.

Some landowners had very specific ideas on how their hermits should behave, demanding their potential hermits sign contracts stating that they weren't to speak, or to cut their hair or toenails. Others were more relaxed and invited their resident hermits to mingle with guests as a form of rustic entertainment.

So what do you think? Is there a spare garden shed in your yard? Why not be 19th century and install a hermit in it?