How Much Would You Shiver for Fashion?

So, I’m a sucker for makeover shows, and I love wearing my rummage sale designer outfits. But I’m pretty good about looking at a fashion and ruling it out if it doesn’t fit my style. In the early nineteenth century, I think I’d have had a very hard time. Quite simply, I would have froze.

I came across this illustration while doing research this week. The title is “A Timid Pupil.” Look at that girl. She’s wearing muslin with a red shawl and a swan’s down tippet, barely covering her upper half in weather that was cold enough to turn a decent-sized body of water into a skating rink. She’s not hesitating with maidenly virtue. She’s frozen stiff!


Even in winter, the style early in the century was for sheer fabrics, low necks and cap sleeves, and little underneath (comparatively). And this was at a time when every room had to have a fire of some kind to warm it in winter. Even then the heat was often very uneven. Snuggle up to it, and you may have to use a fire screen like this one to keep from roasting. Sit too far away, and once again you’re shivering!

Teens then and now seem to require less clothing to function. A shame I was never that way. Layers, you say? Ah, that’s the ticket. Flannel petticoats, merino wool gowns with cashmere shawls, fine kid gloves. To my elbows. Yeah, maybe. I think I might have been able to get by with something like this February 1814 dinner dress: tightly woven fabric, long sleeves and higher neck, and enough room to stuff a petticoat or two.

Of course the farther you go into the century, the more layers you get. Who knows? By 1880, I might have been warm!

So, how much would you shiver to be considered fashionable?

Balsam, Blunt, the Lour, Mint-sauce, and the Ready Rhino

Okay...now that you’re thoroughly confused about the topic of today’s post…

Believe it or not, these five terms all mean the same thing: money. I’m not sure of the origin of most of them (how did “rhino” come to be slang for cash?) but I love their color and creativity.

The English monetary system, up until 1971 (we’ll talk about that date in a few minutes), was as eccentric to modern eyes as the above slang terms. Our 19th century misses knew about farthings, pennies (pence), shillings, pounds, crowns, sovereigns, guineas…so what was what?

Pounds, shillings, and pence were the main units of value. There were 12 pence to a shilling, and 20 shillings to a pound. The symbol for pound was written ₤, s. was shilling, and d. meant pence…so, say, a bonnet costing 5 pounds, 8 shillings, and 9 pence would have a price tag marked ₤5.8.9. A box of candy costing 4 shillings and sixpence would be marked 4/6. A penny stamp would set you back 1d. Okay so far?

The actual coinage was slightly different. In the 19th century, the one pound coin didn’t exist under that name: a coin worth one pound was called a sovereign. They and half-sovereigns (worth half a pound) were gold. A crown was made of silver and was worth 5 shillings, or a quarter of a pound (and there were also half-crowns, worth, of course, 2 1/2 shillings). A florin was worth 2 shillings and was also silver, and a shilling was worth—yes, you guessed it—a shilling.

Are you still with me?

Then there were the penny-related coins, some made from silver, others copper and later bronze. There was the sixpence (I don’t need to explain that, do I?), the fourpence, threepence, twopence (known as “tuppence”), and the penny. The first three of these were silver, the rest copper or bronze.

Even the lowly penny had its divisions. There was the halfpenny coin (a “ha’pence”), the farthing (worth a quarter of a penny), and the half farthing (worth an eighth of a penny).

And what about guineas? This gets even odder…the guinea coin was worth 21 shillings (one shilling more than a pound). Although they were no longer made after about 1817 the existing ones remained in circulation and became, in a way, the coinage of the wealthy—expensive items were usually valued in guineas, not pounds.

In addition to all this, each coin had various nicknames, as did values…for example, if you hear about Lord Whatchamacallit betting Sir Whosit a monkey on the outcome of a wager, they weren’t exchanging wildlife—a “monkey” was slang for ₤500. A coachwheel was a crown, a half-borde was sixpence, a groat fourpence….

Phew! I think I begin to understand why in 1971 they decimalized the English monetary system and went to the plain and simple, if far less colorful, 100 pence to a pound!

Muff's the Word!

Here it’s turned unseasonably warm (nearly 60 degrees F!), and our rivers runneth over. I’ve been able to don my sweater coat instead of my usual ski parka (I don’t ski, I just parka). But about this time in nineteenth century England, young ladies of fashion would be sporting that essential fashion accessory, the muff.

They certainly look warm enough! Muffs might be made of fur such as fox, mink, or ermine; feathers like swan’s down; or shirred silk, lined with satin or flannel and liberally padded. The idea was that you slipped your hands inside to keep them toasty. And not just when you were outside. Muffs could be carried anywhere—from the family sitting room to the opera.

Mind you, we’re not talking the little bunny fur purse-size muffs some of us remember from childhood. From 1800 to about 1812, they were huge! You can get an idea of size from the pictures. The only specific dimensions I’ve seen so far indicate that the minimum size would have been about 3 feet wide and 4 feet long. Try lugging that around with you!

Now, immediately my devious mind starts dishing up delightful ways in which one might use a muff. Marissa’s first-ever post on this blog talked about how young ladies could whap annoying gentlemen with their fans. I think you’d get better umph from a muff. And where else could you stash those love letters from the handsome young lordling where no one else would find them? Need to scream in vexation that your brother gambled away your dowry but don’t want anyone to hear you? Shout in a muff! Need to hide a pistol? Need to hide a body?

How would you use a muff?

Winter Fun, 1814 Style

Once upon a time (well, before 1831), two interesting facts were true: London Bridge was located somewhat further downstream on the Thames than it is now, and a climatic bump in the road called the Little Ice Age (ca. 1300-1900 AD) held most of Europe in its chilly grip.

So what do these facts have to do with each other?

Plenty, as it turns out! These two circumstances resulted in rare but wonderful phenomena known to Londoners as Frost Fairs. Especially hard winters would freeze the Thames hard enough so that it would support foot traffic…and of course, London’s citizens rushed to enjoy the novelty of strolling across the river wherever they chose to, rather than being forced to use bridges or boats…and where curious and excited Londoners thronged, other Londoners determined to make a fast shilling or two followed. Enterprising tradesmen opened stalls on the ice selling everything from warming (or intoxicating!) beverages to food to books and toys, while others opened games stalls, rather like a country fair.

Frost Fairs were recorded in 1564, 1608, 1634, 1715, 1739, and 1789. The last and probably best known Frost Fair happened in February of 1814. A cold and very snowy January gradually closed the Thames’ flow, and by February 1st hardy souls were venturing out onto it. The inevitable crowds followed and within a few days drinks stalls, printing presses selling souvenirs cards with “Printed on the Thames” on them, and stalls selling any other item that could be similarly labeled (and sold for inflated prices!) were doing a brisk business. One stall built a roaring fire and roasted a sheep on it (spectators were charged admission just to watch it cook!) then sold it by the slice as “Lapland mutton”. Swings (see them in the middle right of the picture above?), skittles, merry-go-rounds, donkey rides, and even an elephant added to the festival air.

Of course, a thaw was inevitable. By February 7 the river was once again flowing and the Fair a thing of the past. In 1823 London Bridge was re-built further upstream and in 1831 the old London Bridge torn down, causing the Thames to flow more swiftly, so that it never froze over again.

Figure Nines, Anyone?

2008 is gone, and we are about to embark on a fine 2009. While many of us are taking down our holiday finery, the young ladies and gentlemen of the nineteenth century would likely have kept theirs up until January 6 (Epiphany or Twelfth Night). But some years at this point England gets a cold snap, and ice begins to form on ponds and rivers. And you know what that means.

Ice skating!

Ice skating was very popular in the nineteenth century, practiced from the farmlands to the city alike. These folks are having a high time in near Kensington Palace in London.



In 1809, the poet Samuel Taylor Coleridge wrote in a magazine:

The lower lake is now all alive with skaters, and by ladies driven onward by them in their ice-cars . . . In skating there are three pleasing circumstances: the infinitely subtle particles of ice which the skate cuts up, and which creep and run before the skate like a low mist, and in sunrise or sunset become colored; second, the shadow of the skater in the water, seen through the transparent ice; and third the melancholy undulating sound from the skate, not without variety; and when very many are skating together, the sounds and noises give an impulse that the icy trees and the woods all around the lake tinkle.

There’s a reason he’s called a poet.

Americans started the trend of figure skating; exhibition skaters from America toured England and Europe in the middle to late nineteenth century, performing acrobatics on ice to music. The Dutch are credited with speed skating, but the first skating race was held in England in 1814. Some places had skating clubs. To join you had to be able to perform a specific feat, such as skating a complete circle on one foot or jumping over obstacles on the ice. The first artificial rink was built in Chelsea in 1876.

The skates themselves were blades that strapped over shoes as opposed to being separate boots. Until the middle of the nineteenth century, the curve of the blade only allowed the skater to go forward, not back. To stop, you had to lean back on your heel with your toes pointing in the air. (Oh, the things I wish I’d learned before writing that skating scene in My True Love Gave to Me!)

But ice is also the prerequisite for another amazing activity, which I believe Marissa will discuss soon. Stay tuned!

A Janeian Postscript

First, the exciting part: the winner our our random drawing for a fun assortment of Jane Austen stuff is...

Christina Farley!

Christina will be receiving Jane Austen's Guide to Dating by Lauren Henderson, So You Think You Know Jane Austen? A Literary Quizbook by John Sutherland and Dierdre Le Faye, Jane Austen's Guide to Good Manners by Josephine Ross, a box of Jane Austen notecards and, of course, the amazing Jane Austen action figure! Christina, can you please e-mail me via the contact form on my website so we can arrange mailing sometime after this holiday weekend?

The noodling around on the internet that I've done as we held our Jane Austen extravaganza has pointed up an interesting fact: Jane Austen is big business. Look at the books we're giving away above...what other 19th century author has spawned such titles? Can you picture, say, Thomas Hardy's Guide to Living Happily Ever After, or Henry James's Simple Country Living Stylebook? But joking aside, I don't think any other author has inspired modern books like these.

And then there are the Jane Austen continuations and fictionalized biographies. My November issue of The Historical Novels Review had reviews of no fewer than six Jane Austen "sequels" or other Jane-related fiction: Eliza's Daughter by Joan Aiken, Cassandra and Jane by Jill Pitkeathley, The Darcys and the Bingleys by Marsha Altman, Pemberley Shades by D.A. Bonavia-Hunt, Lydia Bennett's Story by Jane Odiwe, and Impulse and Initiative: A Pride and Prejudice Variation by Abigail Reynolds. And there are dozens of others, some more fanciful and free-wheeling, others as close to JA as their authors could make them.

What about Jane on the silver screen? Every one of her completed novels has been made into a movie, be it for Hollywood or for release on television--some of them several times. Battles rage between Laurence Olivier-as-Darcy fans and the Colin Firth supporters (not to mention Matthew Macfadyen), and the Keira Knightly movie vs. the A&E miniseries. (I have my preferences, of course...can you guess?)

Lastly, there's fan fiction and the internet. Googling "Jane Austen fan fiction" showed nearly 90,000 hits for hundreds of sites, and included Yahoo Groups for JA fan fiction not to mention fabulous sites like The Republic of Pemberley for all things Jane. Um, wow.

So to close our Jane Austen celebration, I'm going to ask you a few questions:

• What is it about Jane Austen--why do you think she still speaks so clearly to people today?


• What's your favorite JA sequel or JA-related fiction or movie/TV version of JA?


• Are you a secret (or not-so-secret) JA fan fiction writer?

And finally, Regina and I wish you a very happy and healthy 2009, thank you for visiting and chatting with us at Nineteenteen over the last year, and hope you'll continue to do so in the new year to come!

Jane Austen: International Woman of Mystery?

Writer, wit, woman ahead of her time. Jane Austen has been called all of those. But what about her private side?

Though her books deal with romance and marriage proposals, Jane never married. That doesn’t mean that she was never in love. Those of you who saw Becoming Jane know that supposedly she had a tendre for young man named Tom Lefroy. A few years older than Jane, Lefroy was the nephew of the family at a rectory near Jane’s home in Steventon. Jane said of him, “He is a very gentlemanlike, good-looking, pleasant young man.” They had a lovely flirtation over the course of the winter in 1796 when Jane was 20. In a letter to her sister Cassandra, who was at the time up in Berkshire visiting her fiancé’s family, Jane wrote, “Imagine to yourself everything most profligate and shocking in the way of dancing and sitting down together.” Go, Jane!

But Lefroy wandered out of Jane’s life, and nothing more happened (despite Hollywood’s pretensions). In the next 5 years, Jane received and refused at least one other proposal of marriage. Then, when she was around 25, she and Cassandra spent some time along the seashore. There they met a splendid gentleman, passionate, determined. He and Jane fell madly in love.

And then he disappeared.

Jane and Cassandra heard shortly afterward that he had died. Jane was so upset she stopped writing for several years. She was to receive at least two more proposals of marriage, one of which would have allowed her to live a life of leisure in her beloved hometown. She refused.

So, who was this gentleman? We may never know. The story goes that Cassandra was so worried about Jane’s depression that she cut all mention of the fellow from any letters or materials available to spare her sister’s feelings. Jane’s true love remains shrouded in mystery.

Not so the winner of our Jane extravaganza! Come back Tuesday when Marissa will whip out her trusty Red Sox hat and pull forth the name of the winner. You have until this Sunday at midnight to a post comment to be in the running.