Upcoming for Summer

Sometimes even history geeks have to take a bit of a vacation.

Nineteenteen will be operating under a slightly reduced schedule over the summer months: though Regina and I plan what we hope will be a lively Young Bluestockings meeting in mid-July (more on that below) and are looking forward to our annual get-together and live blogging from the Romance Writers of America National Conference at the end of July, we’re also planning on taking a bit of a breather from new posts on occasion and will be re-posting some of our favorite entries from past years (yes, years—we’ve been at this for nearly three now!) We’ll still be around to answer comments, but we both have books to write and could just use a little extra time to write them in July and August.

Now, about that lively Young Bluestockings meeting I mentioned above…please update your Netflix queue and get ready to watch and comment on July 19 when we’ll be discussing the 2009 film Bright Star, written and directed by Jane Campion and starring Abbie Cornish and Ben Whishaw.

Bright Star is the story of the love affair between poet John Keats and literally the girl next door, Fanny Brawne, which ended with his death from tuberculosis in 1821. It's a visually gorgeous film, winning acclaim in particular for its costuming (appropriately enough as Fanny had a keen eye for fashion). It's lush and beautiful and romantic--not that I'm opinionated or anything--and we thought it would be fun to discuss.

So mark your calendars...and enjoy the summer!

Where the Boys Are: At Their Tailors!

Thanks to everyone who’s commented so far on Cotillion by Georgette Heyer! I understand we should expect a few more comments over the weekend—bring them on! The more the merrier!

One of the things that struck me about our hero Freddy Standen is his exquisite taste in clothes. He wasn’t the only young man to pick lint off his lapel or gasp at a wrinkled cravat. Many men spent long hours at their tailors then longer hours with their valets getting dressed and undressed and redressed. Prince George was even rumored to have gone to the home of fashion leader Beau Brummel just to watch how he picked his clothes for the day!

Freddy mentions two of the premier tailors of the day: Weston and Stulz. Between the two, they likely dressed most of the nineteenth century gentlemen with any pretense to fashion. Not much is known about Weston, but Stulz was a German tailor who grew to some fame in his native Karlsruhe (which happens to be the hometown of my husband’s family) before moving to London. He amassed a fortune and gave it away to charities. When he retired in 1820, he was granted a German barony and died Baron Stulz.

One of the items Heyer mentions for her gentlemen are many-caped greatcoats. These were outerwear that went over your usual coat when you were going to be out in the elements. They mimicked the coats worn by the mail coach drivers, who had achieved something like celebrity status in the nineteenth century. The picture here shows one with two capes. Heyer mentions Jack wearing one with sixteen capes. I’m guessing that was a calculated exaggeration, because I can’t see how you could possibly fit sixteen layers on this thing and not look like a grizzly bear!

One of the reasons Kitty is counted a credit to Freddy’s family is that she listens to him in matters of fashion. Could you love a man who was more interested in the latest styles than you were?

The Young Bluestockings discuss Cotillion by Georgette Heyer

Well, how did you like it?

I thought this book would be perfect for discussion on Nineteenteen for a couple of reasons.

• The heroine, Kitty Charing, is one of Heyer’s ingenue heroines, very young but certainly not lacking in spunk. She’s never been to London, so we get to view the city and the Season through her eyes. We get a mini-course on the amusements of fashionable London—Almack’s, the Egyptian Hall in Bullock’s Museum, the Elgin Marbles (didn’t you love the bit in Chapter 11 where Freddy complains about them to his father?)—and not-so-fashionable London—shopping at Grafton House and public masquerade balls at the Opera House and Pantheon.


• We get a look at the manners and etiquette around courtship and marriage of the time (a word of warning here—though Heyer frequently uses the device, engagement announcements were NOT published in the newspapers—only marriages were.)


• We get bad boys of a couple of different stripes in Jack and Camille, and of course the difference between true gentlemen and not-so-true ones in Jack and Freddy.

Ah, Freddy. Some Heyer aficionados have speculated that Heyer was poking fun at herself and her previous books by having the unpromising Freddy as her romantic lead in this book…but I'm not so sure. To me Freddy is a representation of how love can transform a person: he goes from being rather foolish and dim-witted, if gentlemanly, at the beginning, and ends up being the one to solve, gently and with a minimum of fuss, all the tangles Kitty has wrought upon her friends’ (and her own) affairs. Freddy’s father Lord Legerwood is a fascinated witness to the changes Freddy goes through, saying to Kitty, “I like Freddy’s engagement very well, you know. It has done him a great deal of good.” When Freddy tells Kitty at the end of the book, “…Thought you was in love with him [Jack]. Don’t mind telling you it was as much as I could do to keep a still tongue in my head when he asked you to marry him. What I mean is, like you to have everything you want. Wished it was me, and not Jack, that’s all,” it’s terribly romantic, despite Freddy’s characteristically telegraph-like delivery. After Freddy’s not very prepossessing first appearance in Chapter 3, Heyer begins almost immediately after his and Kitty’s engagement to drop clues that he may be hero material after all: first we see even his self-important cousin Lord Biddenden follows his lead in fashion...then we see his kind heart as he cleverly figures out how to bankroll Kitty’s wardrobe without embarrassing her…then we see how well-liked he is in society because of his perfect manners and deportment…and onward through the book until, at the end, he truly is a hero. I think he’s probably one of Heyer’s best-drawn romantic leads.

And what wonderful characters—clueless Meg and her terrible color sense (oh, the lilac gown!), the ravishing but equally clueless Olivia and her awful mother, the sardonic but kindly Lord Legerwood. I especially enjoyed the few scenes between Lord Legerwood and Freddy, showing Lord L.’s growing respect for his firstborn.

The book does have flaws. Poor Dolph got a little monotonous, though of course that was the point…I think it might have been nice to somehow show how living quietly in the country with his horses made him much better able to function coherently, to contrast with his confusion in town. And not to cross too far into applying today’s sensibilities to the past, but at times I couldn’t help squirming a little at how a character with intellectual challenges was depicted…except that the fact he could live a happy, productive life in the right atmosphere was an important plot point. The pacing was a little slow at first—the beginning chapters set at Arnside House rather dragged, I thought, though Mr. Penicuik and Miss Fishguard were both delightfully awful in their own ways. But the action picked up once it moved to London, and simmered pretty nicely after that.

On the whole, Cotillion is one of my top five Heyers, along with The Grand Sophy, Frederica, The Unknown Ajax, and Arabella. How about you? Did you find any of the Regency references or vocabulary confusing, or was it on the whole pretty readable? If this was your first Heyer, do you think you'll read more?

Discussion is now open!

Happy Graduation, Blue Coats and All!

This time of year marks graduation for many—from high school, from trade school, from college or graduate school. Some will wear gowns in their school colors; others will wear somber black. In the nineteenth century, students attending school at Christ’s Hospital wore blue.

The Bluecoat School, as it was called, opened for both boys and girls in 1552. It was designed to educate and house London’s poor children, but students came from all England and Wales, and a few came from Ireland and Scotland. An average of 1,500 students were enrolled each year. It must have been a frugal operation: in 1815, it cost about 22 pounds per year per child to house, feed, clothe, and educate the students.

So let’s say you’re a child of a poor family, and your mother would like to see you have a chance to do something better in life by attending the Bluecoat School. First, she had to petition a member of the board of governors (who were generally officials with the City of London) or some wealthy person with influence at the school (a benefactor) for help. She had to gather birth and baptismal records, a sworn statement from your parish minister, and statements from witnesses that proved you were the right age and in a “destitute condition.” The board member or benefactor brought the proof to the board, who reviewed and approved these presentation papers, at which point your family was notified.

On a set day, Mother brought you down to the school and turned you over to the registrar. I imagine there must have been some teary-eyed farewells at that point. Much as if you were entering prison, the registrar recorded your name in a book and gave you a new set of clothes that consisted of a long blue coat close to the body, a yellow underskirt, yellow stockings, and a flat, round worsted cap. That’s what you wore the remainder of your time in the school, up to age sixteen.

At first, boys and girls were educated in the same school, but just before the beginning of the nineteenth century, the girls were moved out of London to Hertfordshire, and some of the youngest boys (under age 10) joined them shortly afterward. It appears the girls were taught to go into service or trade, but the boys in London were educated in the classics, including learning Latin. The school also housed the Royal Mathematical School to train mathematicians and teach naval officers navigation. Sir Isaac Newton, John Flamsteed the first Astronomer Royal, and Edmund Halley (who first computed the orbit of Halley’s comet) helped build the study materials.

The Bluecoat School was much patronized by the aristocracy and nobility. It operated under Royal Charter, and noted architects Sir Christopher Wren and Nicholas Hawksmoor (I so want to steal his name for a hero!), designed the buildings after many of the originals were destroyed in the Great Fire of London in 1666. The wealthy even left money to the school in their wills. Famous students include critic and writer James Leigh Hunt, essayist Charles Lamb, and the poet Samuel Taylor Coleridge.

So, if you are graduating or have graduated, congratulations! Aren’t you glad you didn’t have to do it in a blue coat and yellow stockings?

P.S. Can't wait to discuss Cotillion next week!

Maid for You

Ah, having a lady's maid. Sounds lovely, doesn't it? Someone to pamper you and pick up your discarded silk shawls and rub your temples with lavender water when you have a headache...what's not to love?

Ahem. I have to admit that the thought of having a lady's maid (also called an abigail after a character in a 17th century play, though that term died out not long into the 19th century) rather spooks me. I'm a neat person by nature and don't need anyone tidying up after me...but then again, I also don't wear a corset or hoops and don't have to change my clothes five times a day (yes, five...we'll get to that shortly). If you were a young (or even not so young) lady in fashionable society, having a maid was a necessity, not a luxury.

So what did ladies' maids do for their employers?

According to The Complete Servant, written in 1825 by Samuel and Sarah Adams (who had come up the servant ranks from the lowest to end their careers as butler and housekeeper, respectively), "the business of the lady's-maid is extremely simple, and but little varied...her education should be superior to that of the ordinary class of females....she should be cheerful and submissive...her character should be remarkable for industry and moderation,--her manners and deportment, for modesty and humility--and her dress, for neatness, simplicity, and frugality."

A lady's maid first duty revolved around getting her mistress dressed, re-dressed, and undressed each day. This was no small task; think about the multiple layers of clothing women wore throughout the century, and think about how many changes were required each day--a morning gown or walking dress for mornings at home or errand running, perhaps changing to a carriage dress or visiting dress for afternoon calls, followed perhaps by a change to a riding habit if one planned on a jaunt to Rotten Row, followed by a dinner dress, opera dress, or ball gown depending on one's evening plans...none of which had zippers or elastic or anything else that makes changes clothes a much simpler prospect today. Once her mistress was dressed, the maid would check the clothes she'd changed out of to see if cleaning or repairs were required, then would put them away (and, um...no dress-hangers till late in the century, so dresses had to be carefully folded).

In the morning a lady's maid woke her mistress, brought her hot water for washing, slipped away for breakfast while her mistress perhaps lingered over a cup of tea in bed, then returned to get her dressed and ready for the morning's activities (clothes and hair--a good lady's maid was not only handy with her needle, but had to be au courant with the latest hairstyles and know what would look good on her lady). She would tidy her mistress's belongings, clean her brushes and organize her dressing table and put away her nightclothes, then occupy herself with mending or dressmaking between being called to help with other changes through the day, which included staying up as late as necessary to put her mistress to be after balls or parties. She also supervised the housemaids' cleaning of her mistress's room, packed her trunks when she traveled, cleaned and kept safe her jewelry, washed her fine linen and lace, and served as nurse when she was ill. And if her mistress had pets, guess who got to walk, feed, and bathe them?

What did ladies' maids earn? The Smiths in 1825 state that 18 to 25 guineas per year was a standard salary; by 1895, according to The Duties of Servants, she might earn 20-35 pounds per annum (not all that different!) Of course she received room and board and possibly a dress allowance; traditionally, a lady's maid might also expect to receive at least some of her employer's cast-off clothing (except, perhaps, for the especially expensive dresses). These might be worn, dispatched off to family members for remaking, or sold to second hand clothing shops for a tidy profit to salt away for old age. The nice thing about being employed as a lady's maid was the potential job security; if a maid and her employer got along well, she could expect to be employed for life and probably receive a handsome retirement gift or bequest in her mistress's will. But I can also see that an unpleasant employer could have been quite a nightmare...

What do you think? Do you wish you had a lady's maid?

Note: Don't forget that next Tuesday the Young Bluestockings will be discussing Georgette Heyer's Cotillion. Looking forward to hearing what you thought of it!!

Nineteenth Century Heroines: The Source of Innovation

Even though the nineteenth century was a time of industrial innovation, farming was one of the mainstays. From tiny hamlets and villages all over England, farmers planted, and tilled, and harvested their crops as they had for generations. Their teenage sons and daughters were enlisted, of course. My heroine for this month was one of them, growing up on a farm, going through her day-to-day tasks, helping first her father then her husband grow potatoes in the Cumberland area. She even helped haul manure to fertilize the crops.

But one day, Mary Jackson happened to notice something. Growing near her potatoes was a single stalk of oats, and one that was different from any other stalk she’d ever seen. The grains were whiter, the plant more sturdy. She decided to preserve the grain and used it for seed the next year. I imagine her husband thought she was a bit daft.

Until the crop was a huge success. It was such a success (the period paper called it to “a very extraordinary degree”) that their friends and neighbors begged for some of Mary’s seeds. Mary’s “potato oats” spread throughout the country and were soon considered “the best oats in England.” Industrious captains carried them across the seas to America and Australia. By 1881, American Cyclopedias, those compendiums of knowledge treasured by many a farm family, were advising farmers that potato oats were the best possible crop they could grow.

Mary Jackson was widowed at 42 and died forty years later, still living on her farm. Though I could not find so much as a picture of her, her death was reported in the leading gentlemen’s magazine, La Belle Assemblée, and newspapers as far away as Australia. All reports commented on how she had been greatly respected throughout her life.

But then, what else would one expect from a nineteenth century heroine?

Court Dresses and Tea Cozies

It's May, and we're in the height of the Season...or we would have been, two hundred years ago. And in addition to husband-hunting, the Season meant something else important: being presented at court. We've discussed the ins and outs of being presented in previous posts...today, due to a delightful recent purchase, I'd like to talk about what exactly our young ladies wore to court--namely, court dresses.

Court dress--what one wore when being presented to the Queen--had throughout the 18th century been very specifically prescribed by royal decree: large skirts (which were the fashion for most of the century), along with a train, lappets (streamers of lace suspended from the back of the head), and a headdress of feathers, often arranged in the Prince of Wales style (three feathers with the center one slightly taller--see above left). The dress of course was supposed to be of particularly splendid design and fabric, because after all, why else did one go to court but to show off (and go through doors sideways, as anyone wearing this dress would have had to)?

But starting in the 1790s, fashion changed. The enormous hooped skirts fell from favor until by 1800, a very different silhouette was in style--the classically inspired, high-waisted and narrow-skirted shape now known as the Empire style, which you've seen plenty of in my Fashion Forecasts over the last few months.

However, fashion did not necessarily rule at court. King George III and his wife Queen Charlotte were conservative in taste, prefering Handel to newfangled Mozart...and the powdered hair and old hooped skirts of their youth. Which meant that what was required at court presentations in 1808 wasn't all that different from what was required in 1788: enormous skirts and feathers. But modern fashion couldn't entirely be shut out...which is where tea cozies come in.

Doesn't this poor lady, who visited court in 1808 on the occasion of the King's birthday, look like something popped over a teapot to keep it warm? This La Belle Assemblee (yes, this is the recent purchase that has so tickled me) print shows what happened: bodices followed the prevailing high-waisted style, while skirts continued to follow court regulation. It made for several years of hilarious and ungainly drawing-rooms, I'm sure, and most people thought the dresses ridiculous...but Queen Charlotte remained steadfastly attached to hoopskirts until her death in 1818.

It wasn't until her son, the Prince Regent, became king two years later that hoopskirts were banished as court attire and presentation dresses could reflect everyday fashion more closely. What a relief that must have been for young ladies who didn't want to adopt the tea cozy look! A train, lace lappets, and feathers (quite a few feathers, in this case!) remained regulation attire as you can see in this Ackermann's Repository print from July 1820, but that seems like a reasonable bargain.

So let me guess...when would you have preferred to be presented? 1808, or 1820?