Beeton’s Book of Household Management, Coloured Plate.

I’m guest posting today over at the English Historical Fiction Authors blog!  If you would like to learn more about Isabella Beeton and her famous 19^th century Book of Household Management (in which she addresses everything from cooking and cleaning to childrearing, animal husbandry, and even the law), do stop by and have a look at my new article Mrs. Beeton’s Book of Household Management: A Victorian Publishing Phenomenon.  You can click through HERE.

Black Bess or The Knight of the Road, featuring Dick Turpin, 1866-1868.

The 1840s ushered in an era of luridly illustrated gothic tales which were marketed to a working-class Victorian audience.  These stories, told in installments and printed on inexpensive pulp paper, were originally only eight pages long and sold for just a penny – giving rise to the term “penny bloods” or “penny dreadfuls.”  With titles such as Varney the Vampire and Sweeney Todd: the Demon Barber of Fleet Street, these types of publications were wildly popular, especially with young male readers, and it was not long before the Victorian public began to make a connection between various juvenile crimes and misdemeanors and the consumption of this (allegedly) depraved material.

By the 1880s, concern over penny dreadfuls leading children into lives of crime and vice sparked what the Longman Companion to Victorian Fiction describes as a “middle-class moral panic.”  Many urged that the publication and consumption of penny dreadfuls be criminalized.  An article in the 1895 issue of Publisher’s Circular fully supports this idea, at the same time acknowledging the difficulties of enforcing such a law, stating:

“Coroners’ juries have condemned it, and coroners themselves have regretted that the law does not interfere to suppress it.  In a criminal trial which has just concluded, several specimens of this gory and sensational stuff were in evidence, and the titles (to go no farther) are certainly suggestive of dark and ruthless deeds.  We are quite sure it is not to the interest of the nation that the rising generation should be nourished on the literary fare enclosed within the covers of a ‘Penny Dreadful.’  Yet we do not very well see how the reading of the people is to be supervised by the police.  Reform, we fancy, must be left to that best of all detectives — public opinion.”

As is often the case, the court of public opinion was divided.  Those railing against the penny dreadful made several arguments for banning or criminalizing the publications.  In support of this argument, newspapers and magazines of the day gave countless examples of boys who, after reading a penny dreadful, had robbed their employer or embarked on some other criminal enterprise.  For example, an 1895 edition of The Speaker relates the tale of a “half-witted boy” who, after reading a great many penny dreadfuls, went and killed his mother.  And an 1896 edition of the Dundee Courier attributes the suicide of a fourteen-year-old London errand boy to the negative effects of reading “penny horribles.”

Dundee Courier, June 17, 1896.

Some Victorian educators asserted that penny dreadfuls glamorized a life of crime.  While others argued that the adventure stories contained within the pages of a penny dreadful encouraged working-class British youths to be dissatisfied with the mundanity of their day-to-day lives and to aspire to riches and adventure outside their class.  As an article in the 1895 Publisher’s Circular states:

“There is something intensely pathetic in this hunger of the little soul for something beyond its own narrow, monotonous ken.  In proportion as its circumstances are more sordid, more confined, more lacking in any interest to break the prosaic realism of its daily round, so much the more does the child, in its unsatisfied sense of the beautiful and the artistic, go blindly out to seek what food it can get.”

Varney the Vampire, 1845.

The same article goes on to state that since the only “food” available was vulgar and shocking pulp fiction, it was only to be expected that, in their “crude, untutored ignorance,” working-class youths would choose to model their behavior on “swaggering highwayman and penny dreadful heroes.”  As a result of this, the author concludes:

“No wonder we find our newspapers full of boy and girl suicides and child-criminals.  And how can the young lives caught thus early in the snare, when once the prison shadows have enclosed them, ever become happy or useful members of society?  They are swept away in the whirlpool before they have really begun to exist.”

Despite all the arguments in favor of it, criminalizing penny dreadfuls was generally acknowledged to be an impossibility.  So too was driving the publishers out of business.  The penny dreadful industry was simply too big and too popular.  In the article “Penny Fiction,” printed in the July 1890 issue of The Quarterly Review, author Francis Hitchman rails against the pervasiveness of the penny dreadful, stating:

“In a lane not far from Fleet Street there is a complete factory of the literature of rascaldom — a literature which has done much to people our prisons, our reformatories, and our Colonies, with scapegraces and ne’er-do- wells.  At the present time no fewer than fifteen of these mischievous publications are in course of issue from this one place.  They are not, it is true, very new, but they have a steady and considerable sale in the back streets, and are constantly advertised as in course of re-issue.”

Spring Heeled Jack, 1886.

With prosecution and eradication off the table, Victorian moralists were forced to come up with another solution to the problem of the pernicious penny dreadful.  Ultimately, this solution was the introduction of an alternative type of publication.  Dubbed “penny delightfuls” by one Victorian publisher, this new penny fiction was touted as being clean, healthy, and moral.  Many hoped it would serve as an antidote to the penny dreadful.  As an article in an 1895 edition of The Review of Reviews Annual, titled “How to Counteract the Penny Dreadful,” asserts:

“The best way to counteract the ‘penny dreadful’ is to provide an equally attractive substitute, and the teachers might do a great deal by seeing that the young folk should have access to a good supply of healthy fiction.  It may be that the teachers themselves will have to be taught first, if it is true, as I have seen it stated, that the pupil-teachers, as well as the boys in the higher standards, buy ‘penny dreadfuls’ and exchange them with one another.  If that is so, the pupil-teachers betray a craving for fiction which had better be satisfied with what is healthy than with what is unhealthy.”

There were some benefits to this late-Victorian moral panic.  In his book Youth of Darkest England: Working-Class Children at the Heart of the Victorian Empire, author Troy Boon states that the outrage over penny dreadfuls spurred on a “major transformation in the children’s publishing industry.”  Suddenly, there was a profound interest in providing working-class youths with quality fiction.

But not all Victorians joined the moral crusade against penny dreadfuls.  There were many individuals who questioned the tenuous connection between popular pulp fiction and juvenile crime.  An article in an 1895 edition of Publisher’s Circular states:

“Sold for Naught” from Thrilling Life Stories for the Masses, 1892.

“Because a misguided lad reads trash, and straightway commits a heinous crime, we need not rush to the conclusion that juvenile literature is going to the dogs by inculcating wrong lessons or holding up false ideals.”

While, in his article in the 1881 edition of The Contemporary Review, Thomas Wright asserts:

“The evil commonly attributed to the dreadfuls is that they tend to corrupt boys morally, and in particular to make them dishonest.  But this we venture to think is a mistaken idea…There were robberies by errand boys when penny dreadfuls were not, and there would still be such robberies if the dreadfuls ceased to be.”

Others made comparisons between penny dreadfuls and the far more graphic and immoral conduct of those characters in mythology and the classics.  As an article in an 1895 edition of Publisher’s Circular points out:

“The classics on the moral side are no better than they ought to be, yet they are studied in our schools and colleges, are lauded by critics and professors, and generally understood to be beneficial in their influence, while the ‘Penny Dreadful,’ which we are told is not immoral, is generally condemned.”

By the close of the century, even magazines like Punch were ridiculing the public’s outrage over penny dreadfuls with mock articles, caricatures, and poems.  In the following 1895 article, for example, Punch makes reference to the “Pernicious Story Punishment Act,” under which a fellow is prosecuted for the “heinous crime” of writing penny dreadfuls.

As the Law Should Be, Punch, 1895.

In the end, the penny dreadful was not driven out by the “penny delightful.”  Instead, the gruesome tales, Gothic romances, and detective stories in Victorian pulp fiction took shape in the novels of the late 19^th and early 20^th centuries.  Today, the types of stories once vilified during the late-Victorian era are sources of some of our greatest entertainment.  Occasionally, some members of the public still object on the grounds that this sort of fiction is inappropriate or harmful.  Thankfully, just as with the penny dreadfuls, common sense usually prevails, for as an article in the 1895 Publisher’s Circular points out:

“If fiction is to be confined by approved rules of gradual advancement, and by the experience of the majority in the routine of daily life, then we may bid farewell to romance.”

Works Referenced or Cited in this Article

Boon, Troy.  Youth of Darkest England: Working-Class Children at the Heart of Victorian Empire.  New York: Routledge, 2005.

Hitchman, Francis.  “Penny Fiction.”  The Quarterly Review.  Vol. 171.  London: John Murray, 1890.

“How to Counteract the Penny Dreadful.”  The Review of Reviews Annual.  Vol. XII.  London: Mowbray House, 1895.

Mackay, T.  “Penny Dreadfuls.”  Time: A Monthly Magazine of Current Topics, Literature, & Art.  Vol. VIII.  London: Swan Sonnenschein, 1888.

“That Poor Penny Dreadful.”  Punch.  Vol. CVIII.  London: Fleet Street, 1895.

“The Poor Little Penny Dreadful.”  The Speaker.  Vol. XII.  London: Fleet Street, 1895.

The Publisher’s Circular.  Vol. LXIII.  London: Samson, Low, Marston, & Co., 1895.

The Publishers Circular.  Vol. LXIV.  London: Samson, Low, Marston, & Co., 1896.

Sutherland, John.  The Longman Companion to Victorian Fiction.  New York: Routledge, 1988.

Wright, Thomas.  “On a Possible Popular Culture.”  The Contemporary Review.  Vol. XL.  London: Strahan & Co, 1881.

 © 2015 Mimi Matthews

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Individual Images of Gowns via Met Museum

The silhouette of women’s gowns changed a great deal over the course of the 19^th century.  From the onset of the Regency to the end of the Victorian era, fashionable ladies saw Empire waistlines drop and classical simplicity give way to flounces, frills, and an abundance of trimmings.  Sleeves ballooned up and skirts ballooned out.  The crinoline morphed into the bustle and steam-molded corsets cinched the waist ever tighter.  Most of us can easily identify the lines of an early Regency gown or the shape of a late-Victorian dress with a bustle.  But what about those transitional years?  The 1820s, 1830s, and 1870s, for example.  Sometimes styles of these decades are harder to pinpoint.  With that in mind, I present you with a decade-by-decade visual guide to silk gowns of the 19^th century.

*All of the images of gowns are courtesy of The Costume Institute at The Metropolitan Museum of Art.  If you click an image here, it will take you straight to their website where, in many cases, you can see multiple views of the gown as well as close-up images of stitching and trim.

1800

To usher in the century, here is an elegant striped silk British dress from 1800.

1800 British Silk Dress.
(Image via Met Museum)

1800 British Silk Dress.
(Image via Met Museum)

1810

A festive 1811 British ballgown of gold and lace fabric trimmed with pearls.  For reference, this is the decade of most of our Jane Austen and Georgette Heyer heroines.  Pride and Prejudice was published in 1813 and Heyer’s Regency Buck was set in 1811.  Which heroine do you suppose would look best wearing this gold confection?

1811 British Ball Gown.
(Image via Met Museum)

1811 British Ball Gown.
(Image via Met Museum)

1820

A lovely printed silk British dress  from 1820.  Note the addition of flounces, belt, and trimmings!

1820 British Silk Dress.
(Image via Met Museum)

1820 British Silk Dress.
(Image via Met Museum)

1830

A beautiful floral and striped silk British gown from 1836.  As a point of reference, this is the decade in which George Eliot set her novel, Middlemarch.  Perhaps the below gown is one that Rosamond Vincy might have worn?  Failing that, it could just as easily have been in the wardrobe of one of the characters in Elizabeth Gaskell’s Wives and Daughters (which was set in the same decade).

1836 British Silk Gown.
(Image via Met Museum)

1836 British Silk Gown.
(Image via Met Museum)

1840

An 1842 British gown of floral-patterned silk.  For literary context, Charlotte Brontë’s Jane Eyre is set in the 1840s.  Although, I cannot imagine a governess in Jane’s precarious position wearing anything half so fine as the dress below!

1842 British Silk Gown.
(Image via Met Museum)

1842 British Silk Gown.
(Image via Met Museum)

1850

A very pretty 1850 British gown made of silk and flax.  The 1850s were the decade in which Margaret Gaskell set her novel North and South.  I wonder if Margaret Hale could have bought a gown like the one below in Milton?

1850 British Silk and Flax Gown
(Image via Met Museum)

1850 British Silk and Flax Gown.
(Image via Met Museum)

1860

A stunning Emile Pingat French silk ballgown, circa 1864.  Notice the increase in the width of the skirts.  During the 1860s, the popularity of the crinoline was at its peak!  To learn more about the controversial 19th century crinoline, click HERE.

1864 Emile Pingat French Silk Ballgown.
(Image via Met Museum)

1864 Emile Pingat French Silk Ballgown.
(Image via Met Museum)

1870

A gorgeous green silk British dress from 1870.  By the late 1860s/early 1870s, the crinoline had fallen out of favor.  The size of skirts reduced to more manageable proportions, with the bulk of the fabric now drawn to the back of the dress in elegant – and sometimes elaborate – draping.  This is generally known as the “first bustle era.”

1870 British Silk Dress.
(Image via Met Museum)

1870 British Silk Dress.
(Image via Met Museum)

1880

A brown silk and velvet American gown from 1884.  This is what is known as the “second bustle era.”  Gowns were made of heavier fabric and trimmings, while the bustle itself grew to enormous proportions.  It was at its biggest by the middle of the decade, but reduced to a more modest size by 1890.

1884 American Silk Gown.
(Image via Met Museum)

1884 American Silk Gown.
(Image via Met Museum)

1890

For our final gown of the 19th century, it seems only fitting to feature this 1890 black silk mourning dress worn by Queen Victoria herself.

1894 British Silk Mourning Dress.
(Image via Met Museum)

1894 British Silk Mourning Dress.
(Image via Met Museum)

In Closing…

I hope you have found the above to be a useful basic visual guide to the evolution of the 19th century gown.  Of course, there are infinite variations on each of these styles.  Fabrics varied.  As did prints, patterns, and colors.  And as for trimmings – some gowns were edged with pearls or jewels.  Some with fragile, expensive lace.  And some with fringe or even fur.  The only limit for a lady was her budget and her own good taste (or the good taste of her modiste!).  But do take note: not every style or color was suitable for every age, event, or time of day.  If you are a writer or researcher, I encourage you to consult a reliable reference book for more detail.  The following links may provide a starting point:

Nineteenth Century Fashion in Detail by Lucy Johnston

Fashion: The Definitive History of Costume and Style by DK Publishing

*Authors Note: I edited this post after its initial release, substituting one 1880s gown for another in order to better illustrate the second bustle era.  If you would like to see the original 1880s gown I used, you can view it at the Met Museum HERE.

 © 2015 Mimi Matthews

For more Romance, Literature, and History, follow me on:

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Un lévrier reposant sur la chaise by Jacques Raymond Brascassat, 1836.

An 1860 edition of England’s Bedfordshire Mercury reports a “curious scene” from Paris.  An attorney was walking his Italian Greyhound on the Boulevard Beaumarchais when he realized that the delicate little dog had strayed.  Retracing his steps, he found his pet in the arms of a dog thief.  The villain had already removed the dog’s collar and identification tags and was attempting to stifle its cries.  The attorney was, according to the article, “a man of great muscular power” and quickly “mastered the delinquent.”  Once he had the thief within his grasp, he gave him two choices – he could either be consigned to the police or he could kneel down on the street and kiss the little dog.

As the Bedfordshire Mercury states:

“The thief, after some little hesitation, chose the latter alternative, and performed the ceremony in the midst of the laughter and jeers of the bystanders.”

Boulevard Beaumarchais, Paris, circa 1900.

Satisfied by this display, the attorney was willing to allow the dog thief to depart.  Unfortunately for the thief, however, some local “sergents-de-ville” had come upon the scene.  They insisted that the thief be taken up before the Commissary of Police.  The attorney accompanied them to the office and, once there, explained to the Commissary that he had acted in accordance with an “old law of the Burgundian Parliament.”  This antiquated law (Tit. X., cap. 8, art. 9), which had not yet been repealed, reads as follows:

“If any man has stolen a grayhound (voltrahum) or a ségusiave (segutium – a particular sort of hound used by the Gauls for hunting the boar), or a lurcher (petrunculum), we ordain that the guilty party be obliged either to kiss the animal before the whole people, or to pay five sols of gold to the master of the dog, and two sols as fine.”

The attorney then concluded by interceding on the dog thief’s behalf, arguing that he had already “satisfied the conditions of the law.”  Such an eloquent and learned plea was of no use to the unlucky thief.  The Commissary had recognized him as “an old offender” and, instead of being released, he was sent to the Prefecture.

Bedfordshire Mercury , July 22, 1865.

Thus concludes another of my Friday features on Animals in Literature and History.  If you would like to learn more about Italian Greyhounds or if you would like to adopt an Italian Greyhound of your own, the following links may be useful as resources:

The Italian Greyhound Club of America (USA)

The Italian Greyhound Rescue Charity (UK)

Works Referenced or Cited in this Article

“A Curious Case.”  Bedfordshire Mercury.  Bedfordshire, England.  July 22, 1865.

 © 2015 Mimi Matthews

For more Romance, Literature, and History, follow me on:

Facebook and Twitter

Individual Images of Gowns via Met Museum

There were many important, transitional years for women’s fashion during the 19^th century.  For example, in a single decade sleeves might transform from slender and straight to enormous gigot or leg o’mutton style sleeves.  While skirts which began a decade flowing loose around the legs might end the decade standing several feet wide atop a crinoline.  In my previous post on the evolution of 19^th century gowns (available HERE), I gave a brief, decade-by-decade visual overview of the ever-changing silhouettes of women’s silk dresses in the 1800s.  For the transitional years, however, a single image can never sum up an entire decade.  With that in mind, I bring you the first in a series of visual fashion guides to those decades of the 19^th century during which women’s fashion underwent the most extreme change.

I begin with the 1820s, a decade which stood between the Regency era (1811-1820) and the Victorian era (1837-1901).  This decade is notable in fashion as providing a bridge between the classic, high-waisted Empire styles of the early 19^th century and the large sleeved, full-skirted styles of the mid-19^th century.

*Please note: These are primarily visual guides – fashion CliffsNotes, if you will.  For more in depth information, please consult the recommended links.

1820

According to an 1820 edition of La Belle Assemblée, popular sleeves for evening dresses at the beginning of the year were “short and full.”  Meanwhile, flounces or borders of lace, ribbons, and flowers were all the rage.  Below is a British ball gown made of silk satin and silk net, embroidered with metal and trimmed with blonde lace.

1820 British Ball Gown.
(Image via Victoria and Albert Museum)

Describing two ball gowns of particular beauty in February of 1820, La Belle Assemblée states:

Evening Dress, 1820.
(Ackermann’s Fashion Plate)

“One is of a figured satin of an entire new manufacture, with the figures woven among the satin in such a manner that they are transparent; round the border is a beautiful festoon of roses and their foliage in rich clusters; they are smaller than nature, but faithfully coloured from it.  The other ball dress is almost equally attractive by its chaste simplicity: it is of fine white net over white satin, and is finished at the border by two flounces of net, richly embossed with white satin in elegant fancy flowers and foliage.”

While at the end of the year, La Belle Assemblée describes a “superb evening dress of light lavender-coloured figured satin” with a “festoon flounce” caught up with rosettes and sleeves made of fine net “clasped all the way to the wrist.”  An example of a somewhat similar style can be seen in the below image of an American striped, silk ball gown with long, sheer sleeves.

1820 American Silk Ball Gown.
(Image via Met Museum)

1820 American Silk Ball Gown.
(Image via Met Museum)

1821

Moving into the year 1821, there is not a great deal of difference in style from the previous year.  La Belle Assemblée states that for November of 1821:

“The most favourite dresses are of plain barége silk, with several rows of the same material, bouillonés, either in horizontal lines, or in bias: sometimes, however, flounces in large quiltings are preferred, or full wadded bands in bias.”

As for the sleeves on evening and ball gowns, short and full still prevailed.  La Belle Assemblée notes:

“To have the sleeves as short as possible, and to ruck the gloves down below the elbow, let them be as long as they will, seems to be the most important points a woman of fashion has to observe.”

1821 Ball Dress.
(John Bell Fashion Plate)

1821 French Dinner Party Dress.
(John Bell Fashion Plate)

1822

Proceeding into 1822, The Lady’s Monthly Museum reports that silk dresses for the evening continue to be in favor.  These dresses are ornamented with “full wadded rouleaux, in half festoons” with short, full sleeves.  Also popular during this decade were short, puffed sleeves combined with close-fitting long sleeves, as seen in the below right image of an 1822 British silk visiting gown.

1822 British Silk Dress.
(Image via Met Museum)

1822 British Silk Visiting Dress.
(Image via Met Museum)

1823

As we advance into 1823, La Belle Assemblée reports that silk is still the chief fabric for evening dress.  Short, full sleeves are still quite fashionable as well.  As for flounces and trimmings, there is no single popular style.  La Belle Assemblée declares:

“Nothing is more versatile than the manner of trimming gowns: festooned flounces, with rosettes between each space, wheat-sheaves, the Indian lotus, rows of quatre-foils; in short, every device that taste and fancy can form; they are all, however, though sometimes embossed, lightly and delicately disposed over the border of the dress, and, with the exception of satin, which is often made use of in these trimmings to mark them well out, are made of crape, gauze, and other slight materials.”

1823 Striped Silk American Gown.
( Image via Philadelphia Museum of Art)

1824

The 1824 edition of La Belle Assemblée reports that “waists are of a charming, moderate length.”  In addition to gradually lowering waistlines, 1824 also began to usher in slightly fuller skirts.  An example of both is evident in the silk Wedding gown below.  Also, take note of the hem of this gown which is finished in what the the Metropolitan Museum of Art refers to as a three-dimensional “hem sculpture.”

1824 American Silk Wedding Dress.
(Image via Met Museum)

When it came to sleeves in 1824, a big change was on the horizon.  At the end of the year, La Belle Assemblée mentions the advent of sleeves en gigot, writing:

“The capacious sleeves, justly named, en gigot, gave to these loose disguises of a fine form, the appearance of a waggoner’s frock, merely confined round the waist; and as such, they actually struck the country people, who live remote from Paris, when they first saw them, on the arrival of some great ladies at their châteaux.”

Inside the Boulogne Panoramam by François Courboin, 1824.

1825

By 1825, according to La Belle Assemblée, “the reign of white dresses” was at an end.  As for sleeves, a mild revolution in fashion was taking place.  No longer strictly for the ladies of Paris, sleeves en gigot became popular with ladies in the rest of the fashionable world as well.  Reporting on the new styles in gowns for 1825, La Belle Assemblée observes:

“The dresses are most elegantly finished, as to their ornaments of lace, flounces, and embroidery; but they are all made in the blouse style, with sleeves en gigot.”

1825 British Dress.
(Image via Met Museum)

La Belle Assemblée did not initially embrace this change in sleeves, lamenting that sleeves in gigot were “in the shape of a leg of mutton! which they certainly resemble.”   They even went so far as to remind their readers that they were not responsible for the new fad, writing:

“We repeat, that as we do not invent the fashions, we must give them with all their incongruities, as well as varieties.”

1825 Pale Pink, Figured Satin American Gown.
(Image via Museum of Fine Arts Boston)

1825 Pale Pink, Figured Satin American Gown.
(Image via Museum of Fine Arts Boston)

1826

Despite initial chagrin over sleeves en gigot (or leg o’mutton sleeves as they were now sometimes called), by 1826 they were everywhere – and not only in the world of high fashion.  As an example, I refer you to the below 1826-1827 British cotton day dress from the Metropolitan Museum of Art.

1826-27 British Cotton Dress.
(Image via Met Museum)

Short sleeves were still sometimes worn at evening parties and, according to the 1826 edition of La Belle Assemblée, were “finished round the arm by a quilling of tulle” or other trim.  As for skirts, La Belle Assemblée reports that by the end of 1826:

“The durable and always elegant fashion of trimming the skirts of the gowns with flounces, was still the most prevalent mode.”

1826 Evening Dress.
(Ackermann’s Fashion Plate.)

1826 Evening Dress.
(Ackermann’s Fashion Plate.)

1827

By 1827, the subtle changes in gowns of the first half of the decade were clearly visible.  Waists were lower, skirts and sleeves were fuller, and according to the 1827 edition of La Belle Assemblée, it now took a full 12 to 14 yards to make an evening gown.  For day dresses, like the 1827 cotton morning gown below, La Belle Assemblée reports that “patterns are new, and in very charming variety” and that printed muslin and chintz were the favored fabrics.

1827 British Cotton Morning Gown.
(Image via Met Museum)

Describing the style in sleeves and trimmings for evening gowns of the year, La Belle Assemblée states:

“The sleeves, though short, are immensely wide, and when they are long, they are in the gigot shape, and more capacious than ever.  Flounces, full, pointed, and headed with superb ornaments at the top, take up a prodigious quantity of silk; and if a full-dress gown, made low, with short sleeves, will sometimes require fourteen yards of silk to make it handsome; it is not unusual for a pelisse, handsomely trimmed with pelerine capes, mancherons, and Bavarian straps, to take thirty yards.”

1827 Promenade Dress.
(Ackermann’s Fashion Plate)

1827 Evening Dress,
(Ackermann’s Fashion Plate)

1828

During 1828, the silhouette of women’s gowns continued to grow bigger and bigger. The 1828 edition of La Belle Assemblée observes that “very wide sleeves were worn with morning dresses” and that:

“The favourite mode of trimming dresses is by one very broad flounce round the border.”

1828 American Cotton Morning Dress.
(Image via Met Museum)

For evening gowns, sleeves, if short, were plain and full.  Meanwhile, the body was generally made high across the bust and low in the shoulders.

1828 American Silk Evening Dress.
(Image via Met Museum)

1828 British Silk Ball Gown.
(Image via Met Museum)

1829

By 1829, gowns were adorned with broad hems that were, according to the 1829 edition of La Belle Assemblée, “generally without any ornament.”  Bodices were made “tight to the shape” and the sleeves, whether short or long, were still very full.  Many gowns with long sleeves finished at the wrist with a close-fitting “gauntlet cuff.”

1829 British Cotton Dress.
(Image via Met Museum)

This does not mean that flounces, frills, and excessive trimmings had gone by the wayside.  La Belle Assemblée reports that many gowns were trimmed with broad flounces of blonde lace and that “frills of blond surround the tucker part of most evening dresses.”

May 1829 Morning and Evening Dresses.
(World of Fashion)

IN CLOSING…

I hope you have found the above overview to be helpful in navigating your way through the often confusing, transitional fashions of the 1820s.  Again, I remind you that this is just a brief, visual guide.  If you would like to know more about the changes in fashion during the 1820s, I encourage you to consult a reliable reference book.  The following links may provide a starting point:

Nineteenth Century Fashion in Detail by Lucy Johnston

Fashion: The Definitive History of Costume and Style by DK Publishing

I leave you with this 1829 caricature by George Cruikshank which sums up how many in the 19th century felt about the fashions of the decade – especially the controversial gigot sleeve.

A scene in Kensington Gardens, or fashion and frights of 1829 by George Cruikshank, 1829.
(Image via The British Library)

Works Referenced or Cited in this Article

La Belle Assemblée.  Vol. XXI.  London: J. Bell, 1820.

La Belle Assemblée.  Vol. XXIV.  London: J. Bell, 1821.

La Belle Assemblée.  Vol. XXVII.  London: J. Bell, 1823.

La Belle Assemblée.  Vol. XXX.  London: J. Bell, 1824.

La Belle Assemblée.  Vol. II.  London: J. Bell, 1825.

La Belle Assemblée.  Vol. IV.  London: J. Bell, 1826.

La Belle Assemblée.  Vol. V.  London: J. Bell, 1827.

La Belle Assemblée.  Vol. VIII.  London: J. Bell, 1828.

La Belle Assemblée.  Vol. IX.  London: J. Bell, 1829.

Lady’s Monthly Museum.  Vol. XV.  London: Dean and Munday, 1822.

Lady’s Monthly Museum.  Vol. XXV.  London: Dean and Munday, 1827.

 © 2015 Mimi Matthews

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Home To Thanksgiving, published by Currier and Ives, 1867.

Thursday November 26^th is Thanksgiving here in the United States.  Originally a commemoration of the First Thanksgiving (a 17^th century feast between the Pilgrims and the Native Americans), it is now one of the major holidays and, for many of us, the official start of the Christmas season.  There was no Black Friday or Cyber Monday during the 19^th century.  Instead, the Thanksgiving holidays were a time for family to gather together from near and far and share a holiday meal.  This usually involved the women of the family cooking a Thanksgiving dinner with roast turkey and all the fixings.  Amongst these fixings was one of the most traditional Thanksgiving desserts: pumpkin pie.

Naturally, a British lady like Mrs. Beeton did not include a recipe for pumpkin pie in her famous Book of Household Management.  Here in America, however, we had plenty of cookery guides which offered up their version of the holiday classic.  Below is an 1843 recipe for pumpkin pie from Mrs. Ellis’s Housekeeping Made Easy.  You will note that, unlike Mrs. Beeton, this recipe does not start with the measurements and the suggested cooking times.  Nevertheless, if you would like to add some authentic 19^th century cooking to your Thanksgiving feast, I encourage you to give it a try.

Mrs. Ellis’s Housekeeping, Pumpkin Pie Recipe, 1843.

I will be taking off a few days to spend the holiday with my family and, as a result there will be no Animals in Literature and History post this week.  I wish you all a very happy Thanksgiving holiday with your own families and anyone else you hold dear (human or animal!).

Works Referenced or Cited in this Article

Ellis, Sarah Stickney.  Mrs. Ellis’s Housekeeping Made Easy.  New York: Burgess and Stringer, 1843.

 © 2015 Mimi Matthews

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Individual Images of Gowns via Met Museum and V&A Museum.

The 1830s was another transformative decade in 19^th century fashion.  Like the 1820s, it was a span of years which stood between the Regency era (1811-1820) and the Victorian era (1837-1901), providing a bridge from the often extreme, gigot-sleeved confections of the 1820s to the tight-sleeved, form-fitting bodices of the 1840s.  The 1830s was also the decade in which the pendulum of fashion swung from large, ornate sleeves to large skirts embellished with various pleats and trimmings.  Or, as fashion historian C. Willett Cunnington describes it, the decade in which women’s gowns moved from the “exuberantly romantic” to the “droopingly sentimental.”

*Please note: These are primarily visual guides – fashion CliffsNotes, if you will.  For more in depth information, please consult the recommended links.  

1830

Beginning the decade, sleeves were still en gigot.  Gowns were low in the waist and, if worn for day, were often adorned with a belt and buckle or a sash tie.  Skirts were ankle-length and scantily trimmed.  Below is a perfect example of this variety of gown.  It is a peacock blue British carriage dress with gigot sleeves, made of silk and trimmed with a belt and metal buckle.

1830 British, Blue Silk Carriage Dress.
(Image via National Gallery of Victoria, Melbourne)

Evening dresses of 1830 were typically cut low off the shoulders.  Sleeves were short and full.  Skirts were generally ankle-length with trimmings and ornamentation beginning at the level of the knee, as illustrated by the silk evening gown below.

1830 British Silk Dress.
(Image via LACMA)

1831

According to C. Willett Cunnington, belts and “deep gilt buckles” were still very popular in 1831, as evidenced by this beautiful, printed cotton day dress.

1830-34 British, Printed Cotton Day Dress.
(Image via Victoria and Albert Museum)

Evening dresses were “less square across the bosom” and tended to be drawn down the center or crossed with drapery or trimmings.  Sleeves in eveningwear were large even when short and were often in the “beret” or “double bouffante” style.  The below image of evening dresses from 1831 clearly shows the belted silhouette, full, short sleeves, and plain skirts which were in fashion.  Note that the skirts are embellished with one line of trim at the knees and no more.

Magasin för konst, nyheter och moder 1831, Sweden.

This same style can be seen in the below paintings.  Both show belted waists, off the shoulder gigot sleeves, and plain skirts.  The right portrait is an example of a short, puffed sleeve with a sheer net oversleeve.

Portrait of a Woman
by Miklós Barabás, 1831.

Portrait of Mrs. Winfield Scott
by Asher Brown Durand, 1831.

1832

Day dresses for 1832 changed little from the previous year.  Sleeves en gigot were still quite popular in all their variations.  Meanwhile, skirts were gradually becoming longer and wider.  C. Willett Cunnington states that as a result of the increase in material, the hem of the skirts was stiffened with flannel or muslin to preserve the shape of the pleats.  The increase in the size of the skirts and the pleating is evident in the below image of an 1832 printed cotton day dress.

1832 American Cotton Day Dress.
(Image via Met Museum)

For evening, bodices were cut low and off the shoulders.  Double bouffant sleeves were still in fashion as were “soufflet sleeves,” which Cunnington describes as being “very short and full with separated puffs.”  Short, puffed sleeves with sheer oversleeves continued to be a favorite.  The below portrait by Friedrich von Amerling provides a lovely example of this style.

Countess Julie von Woyna by Friedrich von Amerling, 1832.

The below image of an 1832 evening gown highlights the fashion in full skirts and short sleeves with separated puffs.  This gown also has a slightly pointed bodice – a feature which began to be quite popular that year, especially for evening dresses.

1832 British Silk Gown.
(Image via Met Museum)

1832 British Silk Gown.
(Image via Met Museum)

1833

Moving into 1833, Cunnington reports that “the skirts are now of the most extravagant and ungraceful width; the pleats doubled and often trebled.”  He also remarks on the sudden popularity of the “pelisse-robe.”

The Court Magazine and Belle Assemblée, 1833.

The 1833 edition of The Court Magazine and Belle Assemblée gives an example of a pelisse robe, as illustrated by the lilac/blue carriage gown at far right.  This image is described in the magazine as follows:

“A pelisse robe of lilac gros des Indes, a plain high corsage, adorned down the centre of the front with white fancy silk trimming, a row of which descends from the waist down each side of the front of the skirt, in the form of a broken cone.  The centre of the skirt is ornamented with knots of satin riband to correspond, laid at regular distances on a satin rouleau.  Satin ceinture tied in a bow, and short ends before.”

In other respects, gowns were relatively unchanged from the previous year.  Pointed bodices continued to be very much in favor for evening dress.  And belts and ribbon bows round the waist were still all the rage, though occasionally a lady might replace her belt with a decorative cord and tassel.

Portrait of Mme. Jules-Antoine Droz by Eugène Devéria, 1833.

Meanwhile, ball gowns were frequently trimmed with lace along the neckline and sleeves.  The 1833 issue of The Court Magazine and Belle Assemblée contains many images of this popular style.  I have included two of them below.  The Court Magazine describes the dresses on the left as follows:

“Blue watered silk façonnée rayée with tulle and satin folds on the body, and blonde to fall all round, blonde sabots, chip hat with three blue feathers.  Yellow satin dress with a black blond cap and bows of riband, black blonde sabots. — Head-dress of black blonde and riband.”

The Court Magazine and Belle Assemblée, 1833.

The Court Magazine and Belle Assemblée, 1833.

1834

As we advance into 1834, Cunnington reports that bodices “are high and close to the shape.”  Skirts were relatively plain and still quite full.  Waists were now primarily round, but could occasionally be pointed.  Meanwhile, the gigot sleeve continued its reign of popularity – though you will note that, in some styles of gowns in 1834, the sleeves were not reaching the enormous proportions of the late 1820s and early 1830s.  This is illustrated by the rather modest sleeved wool gown below.

1834-36 British Wool Dress.
(Image via Met Museum)

1835

Entering 1835, bodices remained plain for day dresses, with wrapped fronts popular for morning gowns.  Skirts continued to be full and were often heavily pleated.  You can observe several fashionable trends at work in the wool and silk afternoon dress below.  It is set off the shoulders with a wrapped front, pleated skirts, and gigot sleeves with a puff that ends at the elbow.  The remaining fabric on the sleeves is then pleated from elbow to wrist.

1835 American Wool and Silk Afternoon Dress.
(Image via Met Museum)

The gradual changes in gigot sleeves continued throughout 1835.  According to Cunnington, the sleeves were now frequently “set in lower than formerly with narrow longitudinal pleats at the shoulder.”  The Court Magazine and Belle Assemblée of 1835 also mentions that sleeves were “less puffed out than usual” and “not quite so large.”  An example of these pleats, as well as of the reduction in the bulk of the sleeves, can been seen in the evening dress below.

1835 British Silk and Wool Evening Dress.
(Image via Met Museum)

1835 British Silk and Wool Evening Dress.
(Image via Met Museum)

1836

In 1836, the ever-controversial gigot sleeve shrank dramatically.  It was so much reduced that, by the summer, people were proclaiming that the era of the gigot sleeve was completely at an end.  Cunnington quotes an unnamed 19^th century source who, upon the demise of the gigot sleeve, declared:

“The only absolute rule is to flatten the sleeve on the shoulder and banish forever the memory of those enormous artificial balloons which gave to the delicate form of female beauty a breadth proportionate to Holbein’s Dutch women.”

1835-36 American or European Cotton Dress.
(Image via Met Museum)

Meanwhile, the skirts were still full and the length remained short enough to reveal the foot.  For daytime wear, pelisse-robes which fastened down one side in a series of ribbon knots were the height of fashion.  While for the summer, pelisse-robes with open skirts and one or two flounces became a favored style of gown.

For evening dress, open robes over an under-dress were also very popular.  The 1836 issue of The New Monthly Belle Assemblée printed a detailed description of an “open robe” style gown with a corresponding image.  It reads as follows:

New Monthly Belle Assemblée, 1836.

“Evening Dress — Petticoat of India muslin, trimmed with a single flounce, embroidered round the border and surmounted with embroidery.  Open robe of the same material, low corsage, square behind, and descending in the demi coeur style in front; it is drawn in with a little fullness round the waist, and is bordered by two folds, through which pale pink ribbon is ran; the space between the folds is beautifully embroidered in a lace pattern.  The same trimming descends down the fronts of the dress, and round the border.  Long sleeves, bouffanted at the top, tight in the centre, trimmed above the elbow with a double bouffant, which descends below it, and from thence to the wrist quite tight.  The sleeve is ornamented with embroidery, and a rosette of pink ribbon. 

Bodices were still cut low and off the shoulders in 1836.  Short sleeves were very short, frequently worn “close to the shoulder” and long sleeves were tight to the arm or, as Cunnington states, made with “a series of small bouffants.”  Dresses were trimmed with blond lace, ribbon knots down the front, or ribbons on the sleeves.

1836 British Silk Dress.
(Image via Met Museum)

1837

As 1837 commenced, gowns began to have longer skirts and much tighter sleeves.  Embellishment on the sleeves was still common with some having puffs or bouffants on the upper arms or knots of ribbon on the shoulders.  Short sleeves were also tight to the arm, but they were often so heavily trimmed with tulle, lace, and ruffles that they appeared to be much fuller than they actually were.

1837 Silk Dress.
(Image via Philadelphia Museum of Art)

For daywear, bodices remained plain and tight to the shape and, as Cunnington reports, the bosom was sometimes partly open, revealing the chemisette beneath.  The pelisse-robe was still popular, especially when trimmed down the front with knots of ribbon.  And for morning dresses, many ladies wore a Fichu Corday – a piece of grenadine gauze worn like a shawl to cross over the bosom and then tie behind.

The 1837 edition of The Ladies’ Cabinet of Fashion illustrates the Fichu Corday in the image of a Visiting Dress at right.  This ensemble is describes in the magazine as follows:

Ladies Cabinet of Fashion, 1837.

“The robe is composed of one of the new mousselines Cachemires; the corsage is half high, square, fitting tight to the shape, and a little pointed at the bottom.  Long tight sleeves, made to fit the arm; they are trimmed with manchettes of white grenadine gauze, disposed in a double bias fold, and set on just above the elbow, being headed by a band and knot of pink ribbon; plain tight cuffs en suite, ornament the bottoms of the sleeves.  Rice-straw hat; a low crown without any curtain, and a brim of excessive depth, standing quite out from the face; a band and knot of pink ribbon, and a sprig of white lilac, decorate the crown.  Fichu Corday of grenadine gauze; it is bordered by a broad hem, through which a pink ribbon is run, and the ends, tied at the bottom of the waist behind, fall low over the skirt.”

Evening dresses changed little from the previous year.  Bodices were still cut low and off the shoulders.  Skirts were long and full and sometimes trimmed with a flounce of lace.  Open robes remained very popular.  An example of an 1837 open robe style evening dress is below.  Note the fall of lace on the short sleeves, the double flounce of lace on the hem of the petticoat, and the ribbon belt at the waist.

Die Mode, Menschen und Mode im neunzehnten Jahrhundert, 1837.

1838

Entering 1838, Cunnington reports that there was a preference for open necks in day dresses.  Meanwhile, skirts remained full and pleated at the waist.

1838 British Cotton Day Dress.
(Image via Met Museum)

Pelisse-robes were still in fashion for daywear, as were fichus, which were now worn with both day and “demi-evening” dresses.  Note the open necks on the day gowns below which reveal a glimpse of the underlying chemisette.

The World of Fashion, 1838.

For evening dress, sleeves were tight and short, coming just to the elbow.  They were often trimmed with falls of fine lace.  Bodices were still cut very low and off the shoulder with waistlines tapering down to a point.  This particular style of pointed bodice is evident in the 1838 Eduard Magnus portrait below.

Porträt einer Frau by Eduard Magnus, 1838.

1839

By the close of the decade, Cunnington reports that the lines of ladies’ gowns continued to slope downwards so as to “accentuate the appearance of drooping.”  Bodices were longer, tighter, and came to a point at the waist.  Sleeves were set below the shoulders, which made it difficult for a lady to raise her arms.  Cunnington states:

“The general effect is to produce long pointed Gothic angles, emphasized by the acute points of shawls and mantles.”

Fashion Costumes and Accessories for 1839.

For evening dress, the 1839 issue of Godey’s Magazine describes a fashionable ball gown of the season as having a pointed waist, both back and front, with very short sleeves in two small puffs, trimmed with frills of blonde lace.  As was common in 1839, the bodice was also trimmed with lace, going round the “bosom of the dress” and “deep in the shoulders and at the back.”  Godey’s describes the open robe skirts of this ball gown as being trimmed with bouquets of “full blown roses” and “wide white ribbon.”

Alas, Godey’s did not include an accompanying image.  Fortunately, the below portrait by Franz Xaver Winterhalter provides a beautiful example of the sloping silhouette and excessive lace trimming which was so prevalent in the evening gowns of 1839.

Portrait of Helena of Mecklemburg-Schwerin, Duchess of Orleans with her son the Count of Paris
by Franz Xaver Winterhalter, 1839.

So many subtle changes over the course of a decade can be a bit hard to take in.  With that in mind, I present you with a side-by-side comparison of an 1830 gown and an 1840 gown to better illustrate the fashion journey we have been on together throughout this decade.

1830 British Cotton Walking Dress.
(Image via Met Museum)

1840 British Cotton Dress.
(Image via Met Museum)

In closing…

I hope you have found the above overview to be helpful in navigating your way through the fashionable gowns of the 1830s.  Again, I remind you that this is just a brief, primarily visual guide.  If you would like to know more about the changes in fashion during the 1830s, I encourage you to consult a reliable reference book.  The following links may provide a starting point:

Nineteenth Century Fashion in Detail by Lucy Johnston

English Women’s Clothing in the Nineteenth Century by C. Willett Cunnington

I leave you with this 1834 caricature by César Hipólito Bacle which satirizes the balloon-like properties of many gowns of the early 1830s.

Peinetones en el paseo by César Hipólito Bacle, lithograph, 1834.

 Works Referenced or Cited in this Article

 The Court Magazine and Belle Assemblée.  Vol. II.  London: Edward Bull, 1833.

The Court Magazine and Belle Assemblée.  Vol. VI.  London: Edward Bull, 1835.

Cunnington, C. Willett.  English Women’s Clothing in the Nineteenth Century.  London: Faber and Faber Ltd., 1939.

Godey’s Magazine.  Vol. 18 – 19.  Philadelphia: Louis Godey, 1839.

Ladies’ Cabinet of Fashion.  Vol. XI.  London: G. Henderson, 1837.

New Monthly Belle Assemblée.  Vol. V.  London: Old Boswell Court, 1836.

 © 2015 Mimi Matthews

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Lady Hamilton as Bacchante by George Romney, 1784.

Often referred to as “Fair Cyprians” or “Dashing Cyprians” by Regency era newspapers, a Cyprian was, quite simply, a high-class prostitute.  The truly celebrated amongst them could take their pick of protectors – gentlemen of means who could provide the discerning Cyprian with a fine house, expensive jewels, and a carriage of her own.  Once established with such a gentleman, a Cyprian might be kept by him for a number of years.  But what happened when a Cyprian grew old or lost her beauty and allure?  And what happened to those gentlemen foolish enough to lose their hearts to these high-class prostitutes?  Or the gentlemen who ran out of money with which to afford them?  Below are a few 19^th century reports which illustrate the hazards of being a Cyprian – and the perils of consorting with them.

A Duel to the Death

It was not uncommon for gentlemen to fight over the favors of a Cyprian.  Unfortunately, those fights sometimes had disastrous results.  The September 18, 1820 edition of Saunders’s Newsletter reports a duel which arose out of a dispute over the “supposed claims to a fair Cyprian.”  As the article states:

Lady Hamilton as Circe
by George Romney, 1784.

“Mr. Folliott, a gentleman well known in Chester for his amiability of disposition, on Monday morning received a challenge from Mr. S. Burrowes, a person connected with the law.”

According to the article, the two gentlemen had been intimate friends for twenty years.  In addition, their families were united by “distant ties of consanguinity.”  Sadly, neither fact held any weight when it came to their dispute over the “fair Cyprian” in question.

Folliott and Burrowes met at eight o’clock on Monday morning, along with their seconds, Mr. Pemberton and Mr. Hall, and a medical man named Mr. Panton.  They drew lots to see who would have the privilege of firing first.  Burrowes won.  The distance was set at twelve paces.  Saunders’s Newsletter reports:

“Shots were exchanged without effect; the pistols were a second time loaded and both fired together with the like result.  An ineffectual attempt was made by Mr. Pemberton to reconcile the parties, and the fatal weapons were again discharged, which unhappily were too certain in their aim.  A ball pierced the head of Mr. Folliott, and considerably fractured his skull; Mr. Burrowes was killed upon the spot.”

Folliott was later trepanned and, at the time the article was printed, there was hope that he would recover from his wounds – though the newspaper acknowledges that “the mental consequence may be serious.”  The Cyprian’s reaction to this fatal duel is unknown.  She is never named in the article.

Lady Hamilton as Ariadne by Elisabeth Vigée-Lebrun, 1789.

A Dreadful Battle

It was not only wealthy gentlemen who fought over the favors of dashing Cyprians.  The April 17, 1811 issue of the Public Ledger and Daily Advertiser reports a violent bout of fisticuffs in which Mr. Colbourn, a blacksmith, and Mr. Wood, a coachman, engaged in a “dreadful battle” over the favors of a “low Cyprian whom they both admired.”  The two men beat each other so severely that their mangled bodies had to be carried away in a cart.

Suicide by Laudanum

On occasion, a gentleman might be forced to abdicate his role of protector for no other reason than lack of funds.  If such a gentleman had been foolish enough to lose his heart to the fair Cyprian, the consequences to his mental health could be severe.  The August 19, 1811 edition of the Salisbury and Winchester Journal reports the sad tale of Mr. Darnley of the Margate Theatre who “put a period to his life” by taking 300 drops of laudanum.  As the article reads:

“The probable cause is stated to be, that he had been violently attached to a Cyprian, upon whom he had expended a considerable legacy, bequeathed him by a relation; but that when he had arrived at the last maravedi, the faithless fair went off with a more favoured paramour.”

The Cyprian and the Sailor

After consorting with Cyprians, many young gentlemen of modest means left the relationship with little more than the shirts on their back.  An article in the August 15, 1811 issue of the Public Ledger and Daily Advertiser reports a sailor who was quite literally subjected to the same treatment.  After accompanying the lady in question to her lodgings in Drury Lane, he took off his jacket, which contained the sum of £2, and delivered it “to her care.”  His trousers, which contained the sum of £10, he kept to himself, hiding them under the pillow where he slept.  Unfortunately, as the newspaper states:

“…when he awoke, at four o’clock in the morning, he found himself divested of trowsers [sic], jacket, and every other article of apparel, excepting his shirt; and his cher amie also.  He then wrapped himself in the coverlid [sic] of the bed, and alarmed the watchman.”

The light-fingered Cyprian was apprehended and taking into custody.  The newspaper reports that she was “fully committed” for her crime.

Lady Hamilton as The Magdalene by George Romney, 1792.

The Abandoned Cyprian

In the relationship between a gentleman and a high-class prostitute, the woman generally fared worse than the man did.  With her livelihood depending so much on her beauty, youth, and charm, a Cyprian frequently faced an uncertain future – a future that some Cyprians were not equipped to deal with.

The October 21, 1811 issue of the Salisbury and Winchester Journal reports the tragic death of the “once dashing Henrietta Wortley.”  Described as having been “a Cyprian of notoriety,” her legion of admirers had all deserted her.  As a result, she was “reduced to the greatest distress.”  The article states:

“In this forlorn situation, she cut her throat on Monday night, and was found dead in her bed on Tuesday morning, at her apartment in the New Road.  An inquest was taken on the body yesterday, when it appeared in evidence that the total neglect she experienced had preyed on her spirits, and produced occasional derangement of intellect.”

The verdict at the inquest was insanity.

The Reluctant Cyprian

Many history books and novels tell stories of the shrewd, manipulative madams who preyed on young country girls newly arrived in London.  These naïve girls were usually looking for work as servants in a respectable household, but before they could ascertain what was what, the madam had them firmly ensconced in a brothel somewhere – or worse.

The November 22, 1811 issue of the Public Ledger and Daily Advertiser reports the story of a Miss Fowler, a young woman of “reputable connections” who was found dead in her bed in her rooms at George-place, Oxford-road.  The article states:

“She had left her home in Buckinghamshire, about three months, and had joined a corps of Cyprians at an house of ill-fame at Charing-cross, from where she had fled; and, in a state of despondency, committed the rash act.  A razor was found grasped in her right hand.”

Whether Miss Fowler had been abducted and forced into prostitution or whether she was suffering under the effects of some other mistreatment or derangement of mind, I suppose we shall never know.

Progress of a Woman of Pleasure by William Holland, 1874.

In Closing…

The names given to prostitutes of the 19^th century – names like Birds of Paradise, Barques of Frailty, Bits of Muslin, and Cyprians – do not give an accurate picture of the grim realities experienced by women who were engaged in prostitution during the 1800s.  The above article is just a small sampling of Regency era news and is by no means intended to be an exhaustive study.  If you would like to learn more about this issue, the following link might provide a starting point:

Prostitution: Prevention and Reform in England by Dr. Paula Bartley

Works Referenced or Cited

“Fatal Duel at Chester.”  Saunders’s News-Letter.  September 18, 1820.

“Pugilism.”  Public Ledger and Daily Advertiser.  April 17, 1811.

Public Ledger and Daily Advertiser.  August 15, 1811.

Public Ledger and Daily Advertiser.  November 22, 1811.

Salisbury and Winchester Journal.  October 22, 1811.

Salisbury and Winchester Journal.  August 19, 1811.

 © 2015 Mimi Matthews

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A Girl and a Boy Riding Ponies in Wales, 1885 .
(National Library of Wales)

Stealing a horse during the 19^th century was a serious crime.  Those convicted could be heavily fined, sent to prison, sentenced to hard labor, or even executed.  But what if the horse thief in question was only a child?  Unsurprisingly, there were many incidents of child horse thieves in Victorian England.  Not all were hardened street criminals.  Some were simply immature youths tempted by the opportunity of an open stable door and the chance to make an easy few pounds.  An 1886 issue of the Dundee Evening Telegraph reports just such a story.  The fiendish criminal in question?  A ten-year-old boy from South Yorkshire.

On September 13, 1886, the Barnsley Magistrates investigated a case of horse-stealing committed by ten-year-old Frank Marsh.  The incident occurred at Penistone, not far from where Frank’s parents lived.  According to the September 15, 1886 edition of the Dundee Evening Telegraph:

“The prisoner gained admittance to the stable at the Wentworth Arms, Penistone, and having saddled a bay mare worth £30, he rode her to Huddersfield.”

Horses in a Stable by Wouterus Verschuur, 1812-1874.

Upon arrival in Huddersfield, Frank took his stolen mount to the stable at the Victoria Hotel.  There, he conscientiously “washed the legs of the mare” and then hopped back on and rode her out of town.  Before leaving, however, he put it about amongst the locals that the mare was for sale for £30.  The Dundee Evening Telegraph reports:

“Suspicion being aroused, the landlord caused the mare to be detained.  The prisoner, on account of his youth, was summarily dealt with.  He was ordered to be well birched.”

Such a punishment was not at all abnormal for very young horse thieves in the 19th century.  An article in an 1888 edition of the Hull Daily Mail reports the story of two “promising youths” named Albert Smith and Henry May who surreptitiously made off with a pony, a cart, and several pairs of breeches – all belonging to a local market gardener by the name of Robert Copland.  As the article states:

“[Copland] asked May to take charge of the pony and cart while he got some dinner.  The boy said he would do so, but when Mr. Copland returned to where he had left the boy with the animal and the cart he could not find them.  He searched until 7 o’clock in the evening for them, and then informed the police.  In the meantime May had been joined by Smith, and the pair took the horse to Hessle, where they sold the breeches and tried to sell the pony.  As they could not dispose of the pony at Hessle, they trotted on towards Anlaby, but on the way a policeman put in an appearance.”

Grey Shooting Pony with a Groom by Thomas Woodward, 1835.

Terrified by the unexpected sight of the policeman, Albert Smith and Henry May both fled.  They were later captured and, the next morning, handed over to a detective.  When brought before Mr. Twiss, the “stipendiary magistrate” at the Hull Police Court, it was agreed that the charge of stealing the pony and cart would be withdrawn (presumably because the property had been returned).  Instead, the boys were charged only with stealing the breeches, which they had “disposed of at Hessle.”  To this charge, both boys pleaded not guilty.  The magistrate was unsympathetic.  According to the Hull Daily Mail:

“Mr. Twiss found them guilty, and ordered each to receive six strokes with the birch rod.”

A birching may not sound as if it would be a very pleasant experience; however, when compared to prison or hard labor, six strokes of the birch rod might not have seemed like such a bad deal for our young offenders.  Did it have the desired effect?  I cannot say.  There is no way to know for certain what became of Frank Marsh, Albert Smith, or Henry May once their punishment had been meted out.  We can only hope that after being “well birched” – and very likely scared out of their wits by the police and the magistrate – these child horse thieves mended their ways and never again gave in to the temptation to hop on someone else’s horse and trot it out of town.

A Bay Horse Approached by a Stable-Lad with Food and a Halter by George Garrard, 1789.

Thus concludes another of my Friday features on Animals in Literature and History.  If you are interested in helping a horse or pony in need, I encourage you to utilize the following links as resources:

Equine Rescue League (United States)

RSCPA Horses and Ponies Rehoming and Adoption (United Kingdom)

Works Referenced or Cited in this Article

“A Ten-Year-Old Horse Thief.”  Dundee Evening Telegraph.  Angus, Scotland.  September 15, 1886.

“Stealing a Pony and Cart in Hull.”  Hull Daily Mail.  November 15, 1888.

 © 2015 Mimi Matthews

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Monument erected at Cawnpore at the Site of the Bibighar Well.
(Image via Leiden University)

The Indian Rebellion of 1857 began on May 10^th with a small-scale mutiny of sepoys in the town of Meerut, in the Indian state of Uttar Pradesh.  Sepoys were the native, Indian soldiers who served in the army of the British East India Company.  This initial rebellion against British rule sparked similar uprisings throughout India.  Amongst these, none had such horrifyingly tragic results as the June 1857 sepoy mutiny in the town of Cawnpore (now Kanpur), which culminated with the senseless, mass killing of hundreds of British women and children who had been confined inside a small house known as the Bibighar.

(*Warning: This article contains some graphic details of the 1857 Bibighar Massacre and aftermath.  If such details might disturb you, I encourage you to skip this post.)

Major General Sir Hugh Wheeler was the British commander at Cawnpore at the time of the mutiny.  When the Sepoys besieged the town, he expected that he would have the support of a local leader by the name of Nana Sahib who would help the British in fighting the rebels.  Instead, Nana Sahib assumed leadership of the rebellion.  Outnumbered, the British garrison at Cawnpore held fast against the rebel forces for three weeks, but they lacked the resources to withstand an extended siege.

Major General Sir Hugh Wheeler’s Entrenchment in Cawnpore where the British were under Seige for Three Weeks during the Indian Rebellion of 1857.
(Photo by Felice Beato, 1858)

In the last week of June, Wheeler agreed to surrender on the condition that the garrison and their women and children would be given safe passage out of the city.  Nana Sahib accepted these terms.  On June 27^th, at Sati Chaura Ghat, as the British were about to board the boats that would take them to safety in Allahabad, they were attacked by rebel sepoys.  The boats were burned and most of the men were killed, including Major General Wheeler.  In The Personal Narrative of the Outbreak and Massacre at Cawnpore, During the Sepoy Revolt of 1857, author W. J. Shepherd relates:

“When the males had all been put to the sword, the order to cease firing was given by the cavalry, and the poor women and children that survived were brought out of the river and collected on the bank.  Many of them were wounded with bullets and sword cuts; their dresses were wet and full of mud and blood; they were ordered to give up whatever valuables they might have hid upon their persons.”

1857 Massacre in the Boats off Cawnpore by Charles Ball, 1858.

The women and children that survived the attack were originally taken to a building called Savada Kothee, but were later moved to the Bibighar.  Bibighar translates roughly to “The House of the Ladies.”  In Cawnpore, it was a small, villa-like residence in the cantonment magistrate’s compound.  It had a courtyard and a well.  Conditions there were poor and, with 200 women and children in residence, illness was quick to strike.  Several died from cholera and dysentery as a result of the unsanitary conditions.

Ground Plan of the Bibighar, the House where Women and Children were Imprisoned at Cawnpore during the Indian Rebellion of 1857.
(Drawing by W. J. Shepherd, 1879)

According to many historians, the prisoners were left under the supervision of a woman named Hossaini – also sometimes called the “the Begum.”  Hossaini was a courtesan in Nana Sahib’s palace.  In his book Freedom Struggle of 1857, author Renu Saran writes:

“Nana Sahib placed the care of these survivors under a prostitute called Hussaini Khanum (also known as Hussaini Begum).  She put the captives to grinding corn for chapatis.”

Engraving of General Henry Havelock, 1886.

At first, Nana Sahib attempted to use the captives as a bargaining chip with the British.  However, when news arrived in Cawnpore that General Henry Havelock was nearing the city with relief troops, an order was issued that all of the British women and children at the Bibighar were to be killed.

It is not clear who gave the order.  Some historians, especially colonial historians and those writing during the Victorian era, claim it was Nana Sahib himself.  In his book Terrorism, Insurgency and Indian-English Literature, author Alex Tickell writes:

“On the fifteenth, two days before the retaking of Cawnpore, the rebel soldiers in charge of the hostages had been ordered to kill them by firing their rifles through the windows of the Bibighar, but sickened by the task the guards only fired a single volley and refused to do anything more.  Finally, an execution squad of local butchers led by Nana Saheb’s [sp] bodyguard entered the building and methodically killed all the prisoners with their swords.  They then dumped the stripped, mutilated bodies of the women and children in a nearby well.”

Other historians place the blame for the massacre on the courtesan, Hossaini – who is often depicted as a very ruthless figure.  The Great Rebellion of 1857 in India, edited by Biswamoy Pati, states:

“It is suspected that it was Hossaini who ordered the massacre of Bibighar, and when the sepoys proved reluctant, she fetched her lover Sarvur (or Sirdar) Khan, who was perhaps a Pathan.”

Expanding on this theory, Saran reports that after the initial volley of shots, the rebel soldiers were so disturbed by the “screams and groans” of the wounded inside the Bibighar that they declared they would not kill any women and children.  Saran writes:

“An angry Begum Hussaini Khanum termed the sepoys’ act as cowardice, and asked her lover Sarvar Khan to finish the job of killing the captives.  Sarvar Khan hired some butchers, who murdered the surviving women and children with cleavers.”

Aftermath of the Siege of Cawnpore, showing the remains of the Bibighar 1857.
(Image via Imperial War Museum, 1857-1859)

The massacre at the Bibighar had a devastating effect on the relieving British forces.  Expecting to find the female hostages alive, when Havelock’s soldiers entered the Bibighar, according to Tickell, they found the floors “ankle deep” in blood, the walls scored with sword cuts, and the rooms “littered with pieces of clothing, daguerreotype cases, bonnets, shoes, and other unspeakable remnants of violent death.”  In The Victorians, author A. N. Wilson cites a portion of a letter from J. W. Sherer, the newly appointed magistrate at Cawnpore, in which he describes the scene:

“The whole of the court and this room was literally soaked with blood and strewn with bonnets and those large hats now worn by ladies – and there were long tresses of hair glued with clotted blood to the ground – all the bodies were thrown into a dry well and on looking down – a map of naked arms, legs and gashed trunks was visible”

The British soldiers were deeply affected by what they found at the Bibighar.  Tickell writes:

“As a terrible derangement of the protocols of European nineteenth-century warfare, the sight of the inner courtyard of the house appeared to rob Havelock’s men of their masculinity: ‘stalwart, bearded men, stern soldiers of the ranks […] have been seen coming out of that house perfectly unmanned, utterly unable to repress their emotions,’ stated one witness.”

As much as the massacre at the Bibighar devastated the soldiers, it also electrified them.  Tickell reports that the soldiers’ grief was “a prelude to an immediate uncontrolled counter-violence, and a compensatory reassertion of authority that was unleashed upon the local Indian population.”  After finding a warehouse full of liquor, Havelock’s soldiers drank to excess and, as Tickell states:

“[the] grief-stricken soldiers ‘remembered’ the colonial dead by embarking on a frenzied bout of ‘intoxication, plunder and rapine’ through Cawnpore’s ‘native town,’ a practice that European soldiers would repeat in other cities retaken from the rebels.”

News of the massacre also electrified the British public at home, unifying them in their desire for retributive justice.  Further stoking the public’s outrage, reports surfaced that the women had been raped before they had been killed.  Some newspapers even printed stories stating that the women and children had been “sold at public auction” after which they were violated and then “barbarously slaughtered.”  The following article from the August 31, 1857 Sheffield Daily Telegraph is fairly representative of those circulating at the time.  Not only does it declare that the atrocities committed at the Bibighar were “almost unparalleled in the history of the world” it also contains the hope that punishment of those responsible would not be long deferred.

Sheffield Daily Telegraph, August 31, 1857.
(©2015 British Newspaper Archive)

According to Wilson, from the very first, the British vowed to “meet cruelty with redoubled cruelty, terror with terror, blood with blood.”  An example of the vengeful feelings generated by the atrocities at the Bibighar is exemplified in this Punch cartoon in which a Bengal tiger standing over the fallen body of a British woman is attacked by a raging British lion.

The British lion and the Bengal tiger by John Tenniel for Punch, 1857.

When Brigadier General Neill arrived to take command at Cawnpore, he exacted a brutal vengeance against those deemed responsible for the massacre.  Saran states that the arrested rebels were forced to “clean the blood from the floor of the Bibighar compound.”  While Wilson claims that Neill forced the prisoners to “lick the blood from the floor while a European soldier lashed their backs with a whip.”

Brigadier General Neill, 1859.

There are numerous accounts of the physical and psychological torture inflicted on those who were suspected of involvement in the massacre at Bibighar, as well as on those in the town who had known of the British women’s plight but had done nothing to assist them.  Those that survived their torture, were ultimately executed by various means – from shootings and hangings to other more sadistic methods.  Saran writes:

“A set of nooses was set up next to the well at the Bibighar, so that they could die within sight of the massacre.  Some rebels were tied across the mouths of cannon that were then fired; an execution method initially used by the rebels, and the earlier Indian powers, such as the Marathas and the Mughals.”

Blowing Mutinous Sepoys From the Guns, Steel Engraving, London Printing and Publishing Co., 1858.

On July 19^th, British forces took possession of Nana Sahib’s palace.  They seized everything of value, including elephants and camels, and then set the palace on fire.  Nana Sahib himself was never found.  It was rumored that he had fled to Nepal, but according to Saran, “his ultimate fate was never determined.”  The same can be said for the courtesan Hossaini.  Though another courtesan connected with the massacre was executed by a British firing squad, I can find no information on what became of Hossaini herself.

As for the Bibighar, after removing the remains of the women and children, the magistrate ordered that the well be filled up and sealed.  Later, when the revolt was finally suppressed, the British dismantled Bibighar in its entirety.  Saran reports:

“They raised a memorial railing and a cross at the site of the well in which the bodies of the British women and children had been dumped.  The inhabitants of [Cawnpore] were forced to pay £30,000 for the creation of the memorial; this was partially their punishment for not coming to the aid of the women and children in Bibighar.”

Photograph of the Marble statue over the Memorial Well by Samuel Bourne, 1860.

The massacre at the Bibighar and the subsequent brutal retaliation of the British is one of the darkest moments in British-Indian history.  Historians and scholars still debate the exact motivation behind it.  Did the rebels panic at the advance of Havelock and the relief soldiers?  Or was the massacre a deliberate retaliation for atrocities against women and children previously committed by the British?  As with much in war and rebellion, the accounts of the events differ according to who is doing the telling.  Nevertheless, some facts are undisputed.  Approximately two hundred British women and children met a tragic end at the Bibighar on July 15, 1857.  They were mothers, wives, sons, and daughters.  I close this article with a partial list of their names, as provided by W. J. Shepherd, one of the few survivors of the siege of Cawnpore.  This list was found by British soldiers in the courtyard of the Bibighar after the massacre and reads as follows:

Partial List of the Victims of the Massacre at Bibighar, 1857.
(W. J. Shepherd, 1879)

Works Referenced or Cited in this Article

1001 Battles That Changed the Course of World History.  New York: Universe Publishing, 2011.

“Cawnpore.”  Sheffield Daily Telegraph.  August 31, 1857.

The Great Rebellion of 1857 in India: Exploring Transgressions, Contests and Diversities.  New York: Routledge, 2010.

Saran, Renu.  Freedom Struggle of 1857.  New Delhi: Diamond Pocket Books, 2008.

Shepherd, W. J.  A Personal Narrative of the Outbreak and Massacre at Cawnpore: During the Sepoy Revolt of 1857.  London: R. Craven, 1879.

Tickell, Alex.  Terrorism, Insurgency and Indian-English Literature, 1830-1947.  New York: Routledge, 2013.

Wilson, A. N.  The Victorians.  New York: W. W. Norton, 2003.

 © 2015 Mimi Matthews

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A Horsecar and an Electric Streetcar, New York.

During the late 19^th and early 20^th centuries, there was a time when electric streetcars shared the road with mounted riders, horse-drawn carriages, and streetcars pulled by teams of horses.  Many interesting animal stories have come out of this brief period of crossover between horsepower and the rise of the modern machine.  Naturally, the bulk of these stories feature horses, but one of the most bizarre accounts I have found involves not equines, but felines.  According to the September 6, 1893 edition of the Edinburgh Evening News, 19th century cats in the city of San Francisco had “grown so big and so numerous as to constitute a nuisance and a menace.”  The cause of their enormous size?  The introduction of electric streetcars!

Introduced to San Francisco on April 27, 1892, the SF & SM Railway (San Francisco and San Mateo Railway) was the city’s first electric streetcar system.  According to Walter Rice at the Virtual Museum of San Francisco, the line ran from the “Union Ferry building at the foot of Market Street” via a circuitous route all the way to 30th Street.  Electric power for the streetcars was supplied by “General Electric dynamos” and the motors were powered by “coal fired Corliss type stationary steam engines.”

San Francisco and San Mateo Electric Railway Car, 19th Century.

There was no electricity in the rails themselves, yet the 1893 Edinburgh Evening News reports that each evening, when the cars stopped running for the night, cats from all over the city would congregate at the tracks and lick the rails – with what some might call electrifying results.  As the article relates:

Hissing Cat from Darwin’s Expression of Emotions in Man and Animals, 1872.

“Carefully selecting a suitable spot on the rail, the cat will lick the rail and then lie down upon it a few minutes.  Pretty soon he will roll over and will stand with all four feet upon the rail and with wild eyes, arched back and distended tail, will yowl and dance, and amuse himself for an hour at a time.”

So bizarre was this nightly occurrence that an “expert electrician” was consulted on the subject.  The electrician’s opinion?  The Edinburgh Evening News reports:

“…he could not imagine what the cats could get out of the rails, but whatever it may be, the cats of the city are said to be attaining an enormous size, unheard of before, and to keep themselves in wonderful condition.”

Is there any truth at all in this strange story?  I really do not know.  However, as someone born and raised in the California Bay Area, common sense tells me that if the cats congregated at the tracks at all, it was likely to curl up on them and absorb some residual warmth.  San Francisco can be quite chilly in the fall and winter.  As for cats yowling, dancing, and growing to an enormous size as yet unheard of in the 19^th century?  I’ll let you be the judge.

Edinburgh Evening News, Sept. 6, 1893.
(©2015 British Newspaper Archive)

Thus concludes another of my Friday features on Animals in Literature and History.  If you would like to help a cat this holiday season, either by providing a home or by donating your time or money, the following links may useful as resources:

Alley Cat Rescue, Inc. (United States)

The Cats Protection League (United Kingdom)

Works Referenced or Cited in this Article

“The Latest Cat Story.”  Edinburgh Evening News.  6 Sept. 1893.

Rice, W., & Echeverria, E.  “San Francisco’s Pioneer Electric Railway San Francisco & San Mateo Railway Company.”  The Virtual Museum of the City of San Francisco.  Web.  10 Dec. 2015.

 © 2015 Mimi Matthews

For more Romance, Literature, and History, follow me on:

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Hall’s Vegetable Sicilian Hair Renewer, 19th Century Advertisement.

I have a new article up today over at the English Historical Fiction Authors blog!  If you would like to learn more about 19^th century women’s hair care – including historical specifics on brushing, washing, oiling, powdering, and pomading – do stop by and have a look at my new post: A Victorian Lady’s Guide to Hair Care.  You can click straight through to my article HERE.

Individual Images of Gowns via National Gallery of Victoria, Met Museum, & LACMA.

The 1840s ushered in a decade of gowns designed in what some 19^th century historians describe as the “Victorian Gothic” style.  Gone were the wretched gigot sleeves of the late 1820s and early to mid-1830s.  In their place were tight, formfitting sleeves which made it impossible for a lady to raise her arms above a certain level.  Meanwhile, corsets were cinched to the utmost and skirts grew larger, further limiting a lady’s movements.  As fashion historian C. Willett Cunnington states, the 1840s was a decade in which the restrictive design of women’s gowns “symbolized a ladylike dependence on others.”

*Please note: These are primarily visual guides – fashion CliffsNotes, if you will.  For more in depth information, please consult the recommended links.  

1840

Beginning the decade, bodices came to a distinct point at the waist.  Skirts were dome-shaped and, for evening wear, were often heavily flounced or trimmed.  In addition, the rich fabrics that we now associate with Victorian fashion were becoming popular.  Though not all fabric used was strictly modern.  The below gown from 1840 is made of ivory silk dating back to 1760!

1840 Gown of Repurposed Ivory Spitalfields Silk .
(Image via Museum at FIT)

Gowns were set low on the shoulder, with sleeves tight to the arm .  Bishops sleeves were also quite fashionable.  An August of 1840 issue of Godey’s Lady’s Book describes two day gowns of particular beauty that season:

Godey’s Lady’s Book, 1840.

Fig. 1.— Coloured silk skirt, the bottom trimmed with three folds, figured mull spencer, bishop sleeves, with sash to match the dress.  Chip bonnet, ornamented with flowers.

Fig. 2.— White skirt trimmed with a broad flounce— spencer similar to that in figure 1— pink sash— straw bonnet, ornamented with roses and pink ribands.

1841

Moving into the year 1841, sleeves in day dresses were substantially tighter and skirts were becoming plainer.  However, according to Cunnington, the most significant change in 1841 was the way that the skirts were set on the bodice.  He writes:

“…the most important innovation, beginning to appear in the spring, is ‘a new method of setting the skirt by gauging it round the top as far as the points of the hips; by this means the excessive fullness (which otherwise would be disposed in pleats or gathers) is formed exactly to the shape.”

1841 American Silk Day Dress.
(Image via Met Museum)

For this new, fuller style of skirt, a bustle was introduced.  Very different from the late-Victorian wire cage bustles that we are more familiar with, the 1840s bustle was simply a padding of wool.  As Cunnington explains:

“During the first half of the decade, in skirts of heavy materials, there was frequently inserted a padding of wool between the dress and the lining just over the back of each hip, to increase the bustle effect.  Towards the end of the decade when flat pleating tended to replace the gauging this padding was no longer needed.”

The below images show both a side view and a 3/4 view of the 1841 silk day dress above.  In these images you can clearly see the bustle effect.

1841 American Silk Day Dress.
(Image via Met Museum)

1841 American Silk Day Dress.
(Image via Met Museum)

1842

Proceeding into 1842, The Court, Lady’s Magazine, Monthly Critic and Museum reports that ladies had overcome their “natural antipathy to short sleeves.”  This was especially true in evening dress, as evidenced by this image of an 1842 silk gown.

1842 Silk Evening Dress.
(Image via Met Museum)

Another innovation of the 1840s was the dress with two, interchangeable bodices (usually one for day and one for evening).  As Cunnington explains, these bodices could be “roughly tacked on to the skirt band as required.”  The below image of an 1842 gown is an example of this new trend.  It is made in three separate pieces: bodice, skirt, and pelerine (a cape or mantle).

1842 British Silk Three-Piece Gown.
(Image via National Gallery of Victoria, Melbourne)

1843

Advancing into 1843, there were very few changes in the actual design of gowns.  Sleeves remained tight, as did bodices.  Skirts were very full and, according to Cunnington, tended to “lengthen almost to the ground.”

1843 American Gown.
(Image via Met Museum)

Though there were few changes in the structural design of gowns, the 1843 edition of Godey’s Lady’s Book reports that there were many new materials for dresses, including:

“…silks with a very narrow satin stripe— shaded or changeable satins — double levantines— or thick twilled silks— Scotch plaid velvets— oriental velvets— gros de Tours— embroidered India muslins— and very rich white Thibets damasked with satin flowers.”

The below image is a lovely example of stripes with a floral pattern.  As you can see on the 1843 gown shown above, when taken as a whole, this pattern is really quite subtle.

1843 American Gown Fabric Detail.
(Image via Met Museum)

1844

The fashion in gowns for 1844 continued much as the previous year, however, the use of luxurious fabrics abounded even in dresses for at home wear.  In the 1844 edition of Godey’s Lady’s Book, for example, the fashion plate and gowns for the month of April include a morning dress made of cashmere.  Below is the actual image from Godey’s and the accompanying description of styles and fabrics for each gown.

Godey’s Lady’s Book, 1844.

Fig. I. — A dress of rich lavender gros des lndes; the skirt full and corsage half high; sleeves are made perfectly plain, and over which is worn a splendid mantilla of white figured tulle, encircled with a broad volant of lace.  Transparent white bonnet entirely covered on the exterior with a magnificent white lace; the crown prettily decorated on the right side with a demi garland of white roses.

Fig. 2 —Dress of striped Balzarine; skirt decorated with two broad volants put on nearly plain; corsage high, trimmed with folds from the shoulder to the point of the waist; straight and tight sleeves; finished with a ruffle at the top of the sleeve and with a cap and folds to match the waist.  Straw bonnet trimmed with plain ribbon.

Fig. 3. — A morning dress of white cashmere: the front of the skirt trimmed with a facing of pink; tight and high corsage, finished with a square collar, full hanging sleeves, bordered and faced to match the skirt. Under dress of mull muslin, trimmed round the bottom with two embroideries.  Cap of light spotted lace, decorated with roses – this, cap is considered the neatest of the season, and is universally admired.

One notable change in 1844 was in the sleeves.  The tight, close-fitting sleeves of the early part of the decade, though still a feature of many fashionable gowns, were gradually giving way to a looser, bell-shaped sleeve, as seen in the image below.

1844 British Wool Morning Dress.
(Image via Met Museum)

1845

By 1845, the focus was beginning to shift downward toward the skirts.  Elaborate trimmings, including flounces, scallops, and even ornamental buttons were not uncommon.  Meanwhile, rounded waists were gradually becoming more acceptable again, though pointed waists still prevailed in most fashionable gowns.

Modeplansch ur Stockholms Modejournal, 1845.

In evening gowns, sleeves were short and bodices were tighter than ever.  Necklines and sleeves were often trimmed with lace or tulle, as in the below image of an 1845 dress and train of embroidered silk satin.

1845 Dress and Train of Silk Satin.
(Image via LACMA)

1845 Dress and Train of Silk Satin.
(Image via LACMA)

1846

Entering 1846, Cunnington reports that the Gothic silhouette of the early part of the decade was softening, the sharp angles of dresses being “further diminished by an abundance of trimming.”  Gowns were made with rich fabrics and adorned with fringe, lace, frogging, buttons, and bows.

New Monthly Belle Assemblée, 1846.

In evening gowns, the 1846 issue of the New Monthly Belle Assemblée describes elaborate styles in skirts for the season, stating:

“Some satin robes, made with double skirts, have the upper one trimmed with lace.  Some of the most novel of these dresses have the lace very broad, and looped on one side by a bouquet of flowers, or an ornament of jewelry.”

This certainly did not mean that plain gowns had gone completely out of style.  For day wear, simpler gowns with subdued flounces and trimmings were still quite popular with many ladies.  As an example, I give you the below gown – which harkens back to the Romantic styles of the 1830s.

1846 British Cotton Afternoon Dress.
(Image via Met Museum)

1847

Advancing into 1847, the elaborate trimmings of the previous year still held sway, both in evening and in day wear.  As an example of how excessive some of the trimmings could be for simple at home or walking dresses, the 1847 edition of the Ladies Cabinet of Fashion, Music, & Romance describes two stylish day gowns:

Ladies Cabinet of Fashion, 1847.

No. 1.  MORNING DRESS.  French grey silk pelisse robe; the corsage made quite high, and trimmed with a pelerine lappel cut in sharp dents.  Long tight sleeves, with deep cuffs to correspond.  The front of the skirt is ornamented with folds placed crosswise, and forming a tablier; the folds are cut in dents, and ornamented at each corner with buttons; they are lightly embroidered, as are also those on the corsage and sleeves, chapeau of straw-coloured taffeta glace; a round shape, trimmed with white marabouts and white ribbons.

No. 2.  PUBLIC PROMENADE DRESS.  Muslin robe; a high full corsage, and demi-large sleeves; the skirt is trimmed with three deep flounces; they are festooned at the edges, and embroidered in detached sprigs.  White crape capote, a close shape; the garniture is composed of folds of white and pink shaded ribbon, and knots of the same on the exterior; brides of the same. Pink taffeta mantelet, rather more than a half-length, high in the neck, and made with a hood, which, as well as the round of the mantelet, is trimmed with a ruche to correspond.

In addition to even more elaborate trimmings,  skirts in 1847 had become markedly fuller.  They now required so much fabric that the material could no longer be gauged to the waist as in the previous years.  Instead, it was once again pleated and gathered.

1847-1850 British Silk Afternoon Dress.
(Image via Met Museum)

1848

During 1848, the silhouette of women’s gowns changed little from the previous year.  However, Cunnington reports that there was an inclination to “introduce in day dresses the funnel-shaped opening to the sleeve.”  In addition, by the summer of 1848, skirts grew shorter and “the foot became once more visible.”  The 1848 afternoon dress below is a wonderful example of the funnel-shaped sleeves and excessive trimmings that were popular that year.

1848 British Silk Afternoon Dress.
(Image via Met Museum)

1849

Closing out the decade, Cunnington states that gowns were merely “marking time.”  In other words, fashion had not really progressed much.  Bodices remained tight, sleeves were slender or slightly bell-shaped, and skirts were enormous.  This silhouette was so popular that, except for minor changes in sleeves and the size skirts, it would continue on into the next two decades.

1845-1850 Silk Gown.
(Image via National Gallery of Victoria, Melbourne)

IN CLOSING…

I hope you have found the above overview to be helpful in navigating your way through the often restrictive, Victorian Gothic gowns of the 1840s.  Again, I remind you that this is just a brief, primarily visual, guide.  If you would like to know more about the changes in fashion during the 1840s, I encourage you to consult a reliable reference book.  The following links may provide a starting point:

Nineteenth Century Fashion in Detail by Lucy Johnston

English Women’s Clothing in the Nineteenth Century by C. Willett Cunnington

*The previous articles in my series on 19th century fashion are available here:

The Evolution of the 19^th Century Gown: A Visual Guide

The 1820s in Fashionable Gowns: A Visual Guide to the Decade

The 1830s in Fashionable Gowns: A Visual Guide to the Decade

Works Referenced or Cited in this Article

Cunnington, C. Willett.  English Women’s Clothing in the Nineteenth Century.  London: Faber and Faber Ltd., 1939.

The Court, Lady’s Magazine, Monthly Critic and Museum.  Vol. X.  Dobbs & Co., 1842.

Godey’s Lady’s Book.  Vol. XX.  Philadelphia: Louis A. Godey, 1840.

Godey’s Lady’s Book.  Vol. XXIV.  Philadelphia: Louis A. Godey, 1842.

Godey’s Lady’s Book.  Vol. XXVI.  Philadelphia: Louis A. Godey, 1843.

Godey’s Lady’s Book.  Vol. XXVIII.  Philadelphia: Louis A. Godey, 1844.

Godey’s Lady’s Book.  Vol. XXXII.  Philadelphia: Louis A. Godey, 1846.

The Ladies Cabinet of Fashion, Music, & Romance.  Vol. III.  London: E. Henderson, 1847.

New Monthly Belle Assemblée.  Vol. XIV.  London: Norfolk Street, 1841.

New Monthly Belle Assemblée.  Vol. XXIII.  London: Norfolk Street, 1845.

New Monthly Belle Assemblée.  Vol. XXIV.  London: Norfolk Street, 1846.

  © 2015 Mimi Matthews

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Technical Illustrations of Early Balloon Designs by Ambrose William Warren, 1781-1856.

In 1828, famed British balloonist Charles Green announced that he would make his ninety-ninth ascent while riding on horseback.  The 19^th century public could not wait to see such a spectacle and, on July 29, 1828 at 5 o’clock in the morning, an immense crowd gathered outside of the Eagle Tavern in City Road, London.  Spectators filled all of Old Street, City Road, and even stood atop nearby buildings, all vying for the first glimpse of the famous aeronaut on his steed.  The August 2^nd edition of the Edinburgh Evening Courant reports:

“For a long time the spectators, some of whom had assembled at a very early hour, were lost in conjecturing what Mr. Green meant in announcing an ascent on horseback, till they were at length shewn a very pretty Shetland pony, one of the smallest breed we ever saw.”

Portrait of Charles Green
by Hilaire Ledru, 1835.

Contemporary accounts differ regarding the breed of the pony.  Most newspapers of 1828 describe him as a Welsh Pony, while the most detailed 1828 article on Mr. Green’s balloon ascent states that it was, indeed, a Shetland Pony.  This pony, according to the Edinburgh Evening Courant, had been “carefully trained” by Mr. Green and had already made one or two balloon ascents with him to “such heights as the ropes would allow.”  Described as being “very docile,” the pony was reportedly accustomed to climbing the stairs, lying down on the hearth-rug, and drinking tea from a cup.  In addition, the pony was trained to bow to ladies and to offer its foot to gentlemen when “commanded to salute them.”  The article states:

“In order to show the wondering and doubting crowd that no trick was intended, the beautiful little and well-trained animal, decorated with blue satin housing, bridle and ribbands, was led round the gardens, bowing to the company, and much exciting their admiration.”

At seven o’clock, the pony was led into a stall underneath the balloon.  Mr. Green then mounted the pony and the balloon was set loose.  It had been “showery and stormy” the previous evening and, though the weather was calmer, there was still “a good breeze.”  As a result, the balloon at once “soared aloft taking a southerly direction, carrying with it the man and the animal.”  The poor pony did not know what to make of this new experience and, quite predictably, panicked.  As the Edinburgh Evening Courant reports:

“The pony evidently disliked the excursion, and plunged violently at the moment of the ascent, greatly to the terror of the spectators.  What Mr. Green may have felt at commencing such a journey, with such a companion, we know not; his exertions to preserve quiet and order seemed wholly to occupy him, and perhaps his fears were not equal to the spectators’ apprehensions; but we never saw a neck that we thought in greater jeopardy than Mr. Green’s, except one that was placed in the hands of the executioner.”

The Eagle Tavern, 1841.

Fortunately, the pony soon reconciled himself to the situation and, for the rest of the voyage, remained “comparatively quiet.”  The journey itself lasted over sixteen hours, the balloon going wherever the wind decided to take it.  The July 30^th edition of the Morning Post reports:

“A messenger arrived at the Eagle Tavern at half-past eleven last night, with the intelligence that Mr. Green descended safe, after a very fine voyage, at Beckenham, in Kent.”

George IV in profile, lithography by George Atkinson, 1821.

Mr. Green’s balloon ascent on his pony proved so popular that he sought to repeat the performance.  He announced that he would do so in honor of King George IV’s birthday on August 12, 1828.  However, the weather was not cooperative and the ascent had to be postponed for three days.  On August 15, 1828, the Morning Chronicle reports that “the ascent was finally accomplished” with “the trifling omission of the horse part of the entertainment.”

The Morning Chronicle likens the exclusion of this “Welsh Pegasus” from the balloon ascent to the exclusion of the character of Iago from Shakespeare’s Othello, writing:

“As soon as we were aware of this circumstance, it forcibly recalled to our mind the Irish mode of performing Othello, with the character of Iago omitted, under the direction of Father O’Leary, as too immoral for any stage…so, in like manner, under the beauteous trees of White Conduit House (poplars half-grown, and beech not grown at all), we heard the faint echoes of sundry sighs and moaning for the omission of the pony…”

Another complaint was that on this occasion, Mr. Green “sailed by deputy,” sending his son in his place.  But the public’s response to the absence of the famous aeronaut was nothing compared to their response to the absence of his tiny steed.  As the Morning Chronicle states rather aptly:

“The balloon, to be sure, went up; but what is a balloon without a pony?”

Shetland Pony.

Thus concludes another of my Friday features on Animals in Literature and History.  If you are interested in helping a horse or pony in need, I encourage you to utilize the following links as resources:

Equine Rescue League (United States)

RSCPA Horses and Ponies Rehoming and Adoption (United Kingdom)

Works Referenced or Cited in this Article

“Balloon Ascent with a Welsh Pony.”  Morning Post.  July 30, 1828.

“The Horse Balloon.”  Morning Chronicle.  August 16, 1828.

“Perilous Balloon Ascent on Horseback.”  Edinburgh Evening Courant.  August 2, 1828.

 © 2015 Mimi Matthews

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“In half a minute Mrs. Cratchit entered—flushed, but smiling proudly—with the pudding, like a speckled cannon-ball, so hard and firm, blazing in half of half-a-quartern of ignited brandy, and bedight with Christmas holly stuck into the top.”
A Christmas Carol by Charles Dickens, 1843.

Mr. Fezziwig’s Ball, etching by John Leech from A Christmas Carol by Charles Dickens, 1843.

A 19th century Christmas feast would not be complete without a Christmas pudding. Comprised of dried fruit, suet, egg, flour, and other basic ingredients, it was a popular holiday dish in both the Regency and Victorian eras.  Naturally, there are many historical recipes available for such an old favorite, but when looking for the simplest, and the best, you need search no further than Mrs. Beeton’s 1861 Book of Household Management.  Below is what Mrs. Beeton refers to as “A Plain Christmas Pudding for Children.”  It is the most basic historical Christmas pudding recipe I could find and perfect for those of us whose only experience with cooking a Christmas pudding comes from reading about Mrs. Cratchit fretting over the copper in Charles Dickens’ A Christmas Carol.

Recipe for Christmas Pudding from Beeton’s Book of Household Management, 1861.

If you find the above children’s recipe too basic, Mrs. Beeton also provides the traditional recipe for Christmas Plum Pudding – complete with brandy.  This pudding is much more similar to the type served by Mrs. Cratchit in A Christmas Carol.

Recipe for Christmas Plum-Pudding from Beeton’s Book of Household Management, 1861.

I will be taking off the week to spend the holiday with my family and, as a result, there will be no Animals in Literature and History post this week.  I wish you all a very merry Christmas and a happy holiday with your own families (both human and animal!).  If you would like to keep up with me, I will be continuing to update my Twitter and Facebook page with lots of 19th century images and info.  You can find me at the links below.  Do stop by and say hello!  Meanwhile, I leave you with an image of the very first commercially produced Christmas card, introduced by Sir Henry Cole in 1843.

The First Commercially produced Christmas card, 1843.

Works Referenced or Cited in this Article

Beeton, Isabella. Ed. Beeton’s Book of Household Management. London: Farrar, Straus, and Giroux, 1861.

Dickens, Charles.  A Christmas Carol in Prose Being a Ghost Story of Christmas.  London: Chapman & Hall, 1845.

 © 2015 Mimi Matthews

For more Romance, Literature, and History, follow me on:

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The 1850s ushered in a decade of bright colors, exotic fabrics, and womanly curves.  Gone were the restrictive Gothic gowns of the 1840s.  In their place were distinctively feminine frocks with flowing, pagoda-style sleeves and impossibly full skirts supported by the newly introduced wire cage crinoline.  This was a decade during which fashion was influenced by the Crimean War, the emergence of the modern sewing machine, and the increasing independence of women themselves.  No longer content to be mere drawing room ornaments, ladies of the 1850s were beginning to break free from their domestic prisons and assert their rights in the outside world.  

*Please note: These are primarily visual guides – fashion CliffsNotes, if you will.  For more in depth information, please consult the recommended links.  

1850

Beginning the decade, the basic shape of gowns changed little from the late 1840s.  Waists remained small and sleeves and skirts continued to grow ever larger.  Rich fabrics were still quite popular and, according to the 1850 edition of the New Belle Assemblée, velvet was “far more in vogue” than silk.  The below gown from 1850 is a gorgeous example of velvet and silk combined.  Note the extremely full sleeves and pleated skirts.

1850 British Silk Dress.
(Image via Met Museum)

For day dress, two and three-piece ensembles consisting of jacket, bodice/waistcoat, and skirt were very much in fashion.  You can see examples of both in the image below.

1850 Stockholms Mode-Journal Illustration.

Wide pagoda sleeves with false undersleeves (often made of lace, muslin, or cambric) were a common feature throughout the decade.  The below images show two varieties of 1850s undersleeves.  Both are made of cotton.

1850s British Cotton Undersleeves.
(Image via Met Museum)

1850s American Cotton Undersleeves.
(Image via Met Museum)

1851

Moving into the year 1851, waists were pointed and sleeves were long and funnel-shaped.  According to Cunnington, for daywear “the bare arm must never be exposed in the promenade.”  For eveningwear, however, short sleeves were preferred.  They were often trimmed with lace or silk fringe as seen in the early 1850s evening gown below.

1850s French Silk Evening Dress.
(Image via Met Museum)

Though lace and fringe were still popular, 1851 saw the introduction of a velvet ribbon stamped to look like lace.  The 1851 issue of the New Belle Assemblée reports that such decadent trimmings were paired with equally decadent gowns, writing:

“Some of the most elegant are composed of velvet; ruby, green, and a bright shade of violet, are favourite hues…Some are trimmed with black lace, and a stamped velvet ribbon…Others are trimmed with passementerie, in imitation of embroidery in relief; these garnitures are equally novel and elegant.  Ruches of ribbons, disposed in zigzag, are also employed, and so are flat fancy trimmings, but neither are so much in vogue as the two first garnitures I have mentioned.”

The below image shows the gown that Queen Victoria wore to the opening of the Great Exhibition in 1851.  Made of Spitalfields silk, it perfectly embodies the silhouette of the early 1850s, complete with pointed bodice, scooped neck, and lace trimmed skirt and sleeves.

1851 Silk Dress worn by Queen Victoria to the opening of the Great Exhibition.
(Image via Royal Collection Trust)

1852

Proceeding into 1852, Cunnington reports that skirts were no longer “rigidly dome-shaped.”  Instead, they flowed outwards “on all sides.”  In addition the combination of jacket, waistcoat, and skirt for daywear was now seen in eveningwear as well.  This fashion, known as “waistcoat style” was yet another example of Victorian women asserting their independence.  As Cunnington states:

“…in the years ’51 and ’52 woman boldly annexed the masculine waistcoat and flaunted it in its owner’s face.”

The below image from an 1852 fashion magazine clearly shows the masculine influence on women’s style that year.  Note the coat and vest combination, softened by lace undersleeves and trimmings.

1852 Stockholms Mode-Journal Illustration.

Elements of women’s fashion may have been masculine in design, but there was no mistaking the beauty and femininity of the flowing lines, rich fabrics, and colors.  To that end, the May 1852 issue of Godey’s Lady’s Book reports on the increasing popularity of patterned silks in a variety of beautiful shades:

“The spring silks are principally of mode colors, striped, plaided, and waved.  The stripes are sometimes of embroidery patterns, in different colors.  India silks are in every variety, of beautiful shades, and will be very much worn as a neat and inexpensive dress.  Pale violet, blue, green, and mode colors predominate.  Their advantage is, that there is no up or down, right or wrong side, and will bear turning, and even washing in clear soapsuds.”

The below image of an 1852 afternoon dress provides one example of the patterned silk fabrics that were so much in favor that year.

1852 American Silk Afternoon Dress.
(Image via Met Museum)

1853

Advancing into 1853, the waistcoat style of the previous two years gave way to the “caraco corsage” or caraco body.  Previously worn in the 1840s (and the 18^th century!), the caraco was a thigh length jacket with an open front.  It was usually worn over a chemisette.  Describing this new style in gowns, the 1853 issue of the Ladies Companion and Monthly Magazine writes:

Illustration of Gowns, Ladies Companion and Monthly Magazine, 1853.

“The waists are not shorter; basques are still worn, and almost all the skirts are made separate from the bodies; some people, when at home, wear a tight-fitting corsage, with basques different from the skirt; but this is not considered in good taste; it is only with a caraco that this may be done, or with a corsage caraco; that is to say a corsage which is not tight to the shape, and which is trimmed with lace or fringe: the plainest are those with rows of velvet or galon.”

The caraco was not the only throwback to the 18th century.  The 1850s saw a general revival of Louis XV styles.  A profusion of lace and trimmings decorated day dresses which were made in even richer materials.  With the increase in the width of skirts, there was even some rumbling in Victorian fashion magazines about whether or not the 18th century pannier would be re-introduced.

The 1853-1854 silk day dress on the below left is a very good example of how gowns of the 1850s were influenced by 18th century style.  Compare it to the 1853 silk evening dress on the below right.  The contrast between the two is not as extreme as that between day and evening dresses in previous decades.

1853-1854 Silk Day Dress with Evening Bodice.
(Image via FIDM Museum)

1853 French Silk Evening Dress.
(Image via Met Museum)

1854

Colors and trimmings in fashion for 1854 were heavily influenced by the beginning of the Crimean War.  According to Cunnington:

“There was a distinct liking for ‘Oriental’ effects and Turkish style in a host of details.  The rich conglomeration of colours favoured in Eastern embroidery, with Turkish tassels, crescent brooches and ornaments, displayed our sympathy with our ‘gallant ally’— of the moment.”

Below is an 1854 day gown of wool and silk.  It’s stunning color, print, and tassel trim is one example of how fashion was influenced by the war.

1854-1856 Wool and Silk Day Dress.
(Image via FIDM Museum)

When it came to the silhouette of gowns, however, the shape was much as it had been in the previous year.  The only change was the ever-increasing size of the skirts.  As Cunnington states:

“…not even the onset of a war could arrest the inevitable growth of the skirt by which the modern woman of the day was unconsciously symbolising her increasing importance in the world.”

You can see the increase in skirt size in the below image of an 1854-1856 silk dress.  Notice the heavy used of teal-colored fringe on the jacket bodice and the scalloped edge on the flounces of the skirts.

1854-1856 British Silk Dress.
(Image via Met Museum)

1855

By 1855, skirts had grown even larger.  Often trimmed with row upon row of stiff flounces, they stood out from the body over layers of petticoats and heavy crinolines.  Bodices were tight to the shape and wide sleeves with lace or cambric undersleeves continued to be fashionable in day dresses.  The 1855 silk carriage dress below artfully combines some of the most popular features of that year.  In addition to wide sleeves and full, flounced skirts with scalloped edging, it is heavily trimmed with lace, ribbon, and buttons made of metal and glass.

1855 British Silk Carriage Dress.
(Image via National Gallery of Victoria)

Rich fabrics and colors remained all the rage.  In addition to silks, taffetas, and velvets, there was silk plush and cashmere.  Meanwhile shades of deep green, dark olive, and Sevres blue only served to enhance the luxuriousness of gowns for both day and evening.  The 1855 issue of Godey’s Lady’s Book describes two gowns of particular beauty:

Illustration of Gowns, Godey’s Lady’s Book, 1855.

Fig. 1. — A carriage dress of the richest deep green taffeta, woven alternately with velvet stripes a still darker shade.  Skirt plain and full, the material being too rich to admit of trimming.  Jacket corsage, high at the throat, and fastened by small fancy buttons, bretelle trimming, a chain-work of narrow gimp cord, edged with heavy fringe, which also surrounds the basque, and makes four rows upon the loose open sleeves, completely covering them.  A plain low corsage, with a fall of black guipure from the jockey, or sleeve cap, transforms this into an elegant dinner or evening dress.  Bonnet of apricot-colored taffeta, with plumes a deeper shade.  Small muff of ermine, scarlet cashmere shawl.

Fig. 2. — Dress of deep Sydenham Pekin, of a rich Greek pattern in. black.  Cloak of dark olive green velvet, trimmed with sable, or ostrich plumes, colored in imitation of fur.  The Czarina cloak is in itself a comfortable garment, with a double cape, forming a sleeve to protect the arm; and, being thickly wadded and quilted, is suitable for very cold weather.  Bonnet of white taffeta, with a deep fall of blonde, turned back from the brim.

Illustration of Gown with Open Sleeves, Godey’s Lady’s Book, 1855.

I cannot close out the year without mentioning a new variation in sleeves.  The image on the left, taken from the 1855 issue of Godey’s, shows a jacket with sleeves which are open from the shoulder to the wrist to expose the cambric undersleeve.  The cuff of the sleeve is then turned up just enough to show the fall of the undersleeve at the wrist.  Also notice that the dark, velvet jacket is worn with a lighter colored poplin skirt.  This combination of dark jacket/caraco with a light colored skirt was quite common in 1855 and considered to be very fashionable.

1856

1856 is most notable for being the year that the wire cage crinoline was introduced.  Made of hooped wires secured by fabric tape, this technological marvel could accommodate skirts that were fuller and heavier and, as a result, during the years from 1856 through 1866, skirts grew to their largest proportions yet.  The increase in the size of the skirts is plainly visible in the below image of a mid-1850s silk dinner dress.

1855-1859 British Silk and Cotton Dinner Dress.
(Image via Met Museum)

The wire cage crinoline notwithstanding, the fashion in gowns was relatively unchanged from the previous year.  Sleeves remained full and the 1856 edition of Godey’s Lady’s Book advised that – unless they were made of thicker silk or a striped pattern – skirts should have three to five flounces.  In addition, Godey’s reports:

“Very pretty fancy trimmings are now put on the fronts of skirts.  This fashion is at once elegant and distinguished.

The 1856-1858 striped silk taffeta gown below is trimmed on the front of the skirts with six rows of tassels.  The same trimming is used on the bodice and sleeves.

1856-1858 American Silk Taffeta Dress.
(Image via MFA Boston)

1857

The end of the Crimean War brought about a burst of change in women’s fashion.  The most noticeable was, of course, the further expansion of the skirts.  It now took as much as eighteen yards of fabric or more to complete a gown.  Short sleeves were still preferred for evening dress and, though satin was making a comeback, silk was still the most common fabric for ball gowns.  The below evening dress from 1857-1860 is made of silk and trimmed along the neckline and sleeves with gold silk fringe.

1857-1860 American Silk Evening Dress.
(Image via Met Museum)

Yet another change in 1857 was the new fashion for highly contrasting colors.  As Cunnington reports:

“A few years back a pretty woman would not have dared to go out in the toilets of to-day; at present she actually wears, on either side of her skirt, mountings of a different colour from the dress itself and in the most glaring contrast to it.”

The below image of an 1857 printed twill day dress gives some idea of how contrasting colors were used to fashionable effect.  Note that the basic silhouette of the gown has not changed from the previous years.  The sleeves are still large with light-colored, cotton undersleeves and, on heavily patterned fabrics, the skirts were devoid of trimmings.

1857 Printed Twill Day Dress.
(Image via FIDM Museum)

For even greater color contrast, I give you the below image of an 1857-1860 silk and embroidered gold court ensemble.  Made of pumpkin colored fabric with a blue train, it is a truly a work of art.

1857-1860 Italian Silk and Gold Court Ensemble
(Image via Met Museum)

1857-1860 Italian Silk and Gold Court Ensemble
(Image via Met Museum)

1858

During 1858, women’s skirts grew to enormous proportions and, thanks to the wire cage crinoline, women of every class could now sport this extreme silhouette.  As a result, factory girls and housemaids alike fell victim to skirt-related accidents and outlandish reports were circulated of society ladies whose skirts had burst into flames during a party or caused the wearer to be blown off a cliff.

Woman Blown off a Cliff, The Dangers of Crinoline, 1858.

Pamphlets were published on the dangers of crinolines and caricatures abounded of ladies knocking gentlemen off of sidewalks or crushing them with their skirts.  (For more on the wire cage crinoline, see my article HERE.)

Crinolines on an Omnibus by Charles Vernier, 1850s.

Flounces and trimmings did not generally suit the new style in larger skirts.  This did not mean that such embellishment had fallen completely by the wayside.  A wide double or triple flounce was still fashionable and, as evidenced by the 1858-1860 printed cotton dress below, could still be quite attractive.

1858-1860 British Printed Cotton Summer Day Dress.
(Image via Victoria and Albert Museum)

A double flounce in evening gowns was also a popular choice.  The below 1858 evening dress with short sleeves is made of striped silk with a wide double flounce.

1858-1859 American Silk Evening Dress.
(Image via Met Museum)

Fashionable ensembles that converted from day to evening with the removal of a jacket or detachable bodice were also very much in style.  The below 1858 silk gown is one example of this trend.  It is shown on the left with a removable velvet and fringe-trimmed jacket and on the right with short, tulle-trimmed sleeves.

1858 American Silk Ensemble.
(image via Met Museum)

1858 American Silk Ensemble.
(image via Met Museum)

1859

Closing out the decade, skirts grew short enough in front to reveal a lady’s foot.  According to Cunnington:

“The effect of this threatened maneuver on a generation of males who for nearly twenty years had never caught sight of a woman’s ankles, except by a fleeting accident, must have been overwhelming, like the first introduction of poison gas in war.”

Gowns frequently had a belted waist and, in day dresses, bodices were typically buttoned all the way up to the neck.  When it came to sleeves, the wide, pagoda style of the previous years was reduced into a narrower bell-shaped or “funnel style” sleeve (as seen in the 1859 cotton day dress below).  In some gowns, the sleeves were slit all the way up the arm, revealing the puffed undersleeves beneath.

1859-1861 Silk Plaid Taffeta Day Dress.
(Image via MFA Boston)

Evening dresses continued to be short-sleeved, with the 1859 edition of Peterson’s Magazine reporting:

“Rich silks of plain colors, poplins, and plaid silks and poplins of very light colors, are all fashionable.  Velvet trimmings woven in the material are very much worn, and have a rich, massive appearance suited to the season.  Granite or speckled silks in various shades of grey are also fashionable.  These are trimmed with bright colors, such as cherry, bright blue, bright green, collar and cuffs or plaids.”

The below 1859 ball gown of silk taffeta is one example of a fashionable plaid print.

1859-1860 American silk taffeta evening dress via MFA for article

A suitable coda to this fashionable decade is provided by the 1859 issue of Godey’s Lady’s Book.  Pausing for a moment from their advice on stylish fabrics and colors, they address the new fashion in huge skirts, writing:

“Generally speaking, young ladles are now presenting a very formidable appearance of amplitude…We do not, by any means, then, ask our young ladies, in defiance of fashion and foolishness, to grow ‘beautifully less;’ but we would suggest to them to let these expansions become intellectual as well as superficial. It surely would be ridiculous to carry a narrow mind and contracted heart under that monstrous outward show.”

IN CLOSING…

I hope you have found the above overview to be helpful in navigating your way through the pagoda sleeved, wire cage crinoline supported gowns of the 1850s.  Again, I remind you that this is just a brief, primarily visual, guide.  If you would like to know more about the changes in fashion during the 1850s, I encourage you to consult a reliable reference book.  The following links may provide a starting point:

Nineteenth Century Fashion in Detail by Lucy Johnston

Fashion: The Definitive History of Costume and Style by DK Publishing

English Women’s Clothing in the Nineteenth Century by C. Willett Cunnington

The previous articles in my series on 19th century gowns are available here:

The Evolution of the 19^th Century Gown: A Visual Guide

The 1820s in Fashionable Gowns: A Visual Guide to the Decade

The 1830s in Fashionable Gowns: A Visual Guide to the Decade

The 1840s in Fashionable Gowns: A Visual Guide to the Decade

I’m off for New Year’s Day this Friday so there will be no Animals in Literature and History post this week.  I hope you all enjoy the rest of your holiday.  I wish you each a very Happy New Year.  See you in 2016!

1860 Christmas and New Year Card.
(Image via Victoria and Albert Museum)

Works Referenced or Cited in this Article

Cunnington, C. Willett.  English Women’s Clothing in the Nineteenth Century.  London: Faber and Faber Ltd., 1939.

Godey’s Lady’s Book.  Philadelphia: Louis A. Godey, May 1852.

Godey’s Lady’s Book.  Vol. 46-47.  Philadelphia: Louis A. Godey, 1853.

Godey’s Lady’s Book.  Vol. LI.  Philadelphia: Louis A. Godey, 1855.

Godey’s Lady’s Book.  Vol. LII.  Philadelphia: Louis A. Godey, 1856.

Godey’s Lady’s Book.  Vol. LV.  Philadelphia: Louis A. Godey, 1857.

Godey’s Lady’s Book.  Vol. LVII.  Philadelphia: Louis A. Godey, 1858.

Godey’s Lady’s Book.  Vol. LVIII.  Philadelphia: Louis A. Godey, 1859.

Ladies Companion and Monthly Magazine.  Vol. III.  London: Rodgerson and Tuxford, 1853.

New Monthly Belle Assemblée.  Vol. XXXII.  London: Norfolk Street, 1850.

New Monthly Belle Assemblée.  Vol. XXXIV.  London: Norfolk Street, 1851.

Peterson’s Magazine.  Vol. 35-36.  Philadelphia: C.J. Peterson, 1859.

  © 2015 Mimi Matthews

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The Lovers by William Powell Frith, 1855.

For many single ladies and gentlemen of the 19^th century, placing a matrimonial advertisement in a local newspaper was considered a viable alternative to traditional courtship.  It was especially popular with those who were new to an area or those who had no family or social groups through which they might otherwise obtain an introduction to a suitable partner.  Naturally, there were those traditionalists who frowned upon this method of acquiring a spouse.  It was viewed as undignified, indelicate, and dangerous.  Even so, matrimonial advertisements were utilized by men and women of every age and every class throughout the Regency and Victorian eras. 

The following matrimonial advertisement was placed in an 1811 issue of London’s Morning Post, where I found it humbly sandwiched between a solicitation for a loan of £50 and an advert for a “Capital Pianoforte.”  Notice that the lady advertising does not mention her appearance, her age, or whether or not she is a widow or a spinster.

Morning Post, November 27, 1811.

The next matrimonial advertisement is from an 1822 edition of the Morning Post.  This advert is far more specific than the previous, with the gentlemen stating clearly what he wishes for in a wife in terms of age, income, and character.

Morning Post, December 19, 1822.

At the higher end of the social spectrum, an 1823 issue of the Morning Post contains a matrimonial advertisement in which a “nobleman” seeks a “Lady of Fortune.”  I do not know who this nobleman was, but it is hard not to imagine him as one of the countless romance novel heroes with an impoverished title who must marry an heiress in order to repair his estates.

Morning Post, June 25, 1823.

The use of a third party to facilitate negotiations between the matrimonial advertiser and his/her applicants was not uncommon.  More common still were those who chose to address the advertiser themselves – either in person or by correspondence.  In his 1832 book Some Remarks on Matrimonial Advertisements Being an Inquiry into their Use and Abuse, author Y. M. advises on how to proceed when personally answering a matrimonial advertisement, writing:

“[After] all matters, as to connexions [sp] and financial concerns, [are] satisfactorily explained in a preliminary correspondence, an interview, with a desire to ascertain how far the parties are mutually agreeable, is then arranged; and this, (in accordance with regal custom), is greatly facilitated by a previous interchange of miniatures, where practicable.”

After this initial interview and exchange of miniatures, Y. M. presumes that the gentleman – if interested – will have proposed.  It is then up to the lady to determine what happens next.  As Y. M. states:

“…a reasonable time is then allowed for the lady to make up her mind, and take the sense of her friends and advisers, and usually within a month a definitive answer is received.  If unfavourable, it simply declines the overtures, no particular reasons being assigned, that the feelings of neither party may be wounded; of course the correspondence is mutually delivered up, the negotiation ends, and ever after remains an inviolable secret.”

Courting by Géza Udvary, 19th century.

This scheme of correspondence followed by a single interview is one which Y. M. endorses as being thoroughly safe, insisting that “no virtuous woman was ever endangered by an intimacy of this sort.”  Unfortunately, matrimonial advertisements were not always safe.  Sometimes the advertisers or the applicants were fraudsters, thieves, or even murderers.  The most notorious case of this sort took place in 1827.  It began with the following matrimonial advertisement placed in the November 13^th Morning Herald by a man named William Corder:

“MATRIMONY.— A Private Gentleman, aged 24, entirely independent, whose disposition is not to be exceeded, has lately lost the chief of his family by the hand of Providence, which has occasioned discord among the remainder, under circumstances most disagreeable to relate.  To any female of respectability, who would study for domestic comfort, and willing to confide her future happiness in one every way qualified to render the marriage state desirable, as the advertiser is in affluence; the lady must have the power of some property, which may remain in her own possession.  Many very happy marriages have taken place through means similar to this now resorted to, and it is hoped no one will answer this through impertinent curiosity, but should this meet the eye of any agreeable lady, who feels desirous of meeting with a sociable, tender, kind, and sympathising companion, they will find this advertisement worthy of notice.  Honour and secrecy may be relied on.  As some little security against all applications, it is requested that letters may be addressed, (post Paid) to A. Z. care of Mr. Foster, Stationer, No. 68, Leadenhall Street, which will meet with the most respectful attention.”

This advertisement received more than forty letters in response, one of which was from a woman named Mary Moore.  She and William Corder were married a week later.  A short time after, Mary discovered that, before placing his matrimonial advertisement, her new husband had brutally murdered his last lover and buried her body in a barn.  Corder was tried, convicted, and ultimately executed for his crimes.  In subsequent years, this sensational case, known as the Red Barn Murder, was used by many as an example of the terrible fiends one might find at the other end of a matrimonial advertisement.

But despite incidences of misrepresentation and outright villainy, matrimonial advertisements only gained in popularity as the century progressed.  Advancing into the Victorian era, matrimonial specialty magazines emerged.  With titles like the Matrimonial News and the Matrimonial Intelligencer (to name a few), these publications were wholly dedicated to the subject of marriage.  This did not mean that newspaper advertisements had fallen by the wayside.  In fact, matrimonial advertisements were still printed in abundance in most newspapers of the day, including those newspapers geared toward a particular religious audience.  An example of this can be seen in the below advertisement from an 1854 edition of the Catholic Telegraph:

Catholic Telegraph, June 10, 1854.

Religion was an important consideration in many matrimonial advertisements.  In the following advertisement from an 1892 edition of the Kent and Sussex Courier, a “good looking bachelor” seeks a Christian widow or spinster.

Kent and Sussex Courier, November 11, 1892.

In a similar matrimonial advertisement from the 1894 edition of the Derbyshire Courier, an “affectionate” spinster seeks a “high principled Christian gentleman” with a “sympathetic nature.”  I found this advertisement somewhat poignant – perhaps because the lady mentions her loneliness.

Derbyshire Courier, November 13, 1894.

Not only were matrimonial advertisements a way for isolated individuals to connect with potential mates, they were an economical alternative to the balls, parties, and expensive entertainments that one must usually attend when seeking a spouse.  Of course, the traditional way of finding a husband or wife was in no danger of being supplanted anytime soon, but it’s nice to know that those in the 19^th century who lacked family, friends, and great fortune, still had a means of making meaningful connections.

Works Referenced or Cited in this Article

Foster, George.  Foster’s Trial of William Corder for the Murder of Maria Marten.  London: George Foster, 1828.

“Matrimony.”  Catholic Telegraph.  June 10, 1854.

“Matrimony.”  Derbyshire Courier.  November 13, 1894.

“Matrimony.”  Kent and Sussex Courier.  November 11, 1892.

“Matrimony.”  Morning Post.  December 19, 1822.

“Matrimony.”  Morning Post.  June 25, 1823.

“Matrimony.”  Morning Post.  November 27, 1811.

Phegley, Jennifer.  Courtship and Marriage in Victorian England.  Santa Barbara: ABC-CLIO, 2012.

M. Y. Some Remarks on Matrimonial Advertisements Being an Inquiry into their Use and Abuse. London: Sedding and Turtle, 1832.

 © 2015 Mimi Matthews

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Girl with a Rabbit by John Hoppner, 1800.

You wouldn’t know it from the countless Regency and Victorian era publications which offer advice on hunting rabbits or raising rabbits for food, but domestic rabbits were a popular family pet during the 19^th century.  Historical newspaper articles abound reporting court cases involving the theft of pet rabbits or compensation sought when a careless neighbor’s dog or cat has hastened a beloved pet rabbit’s demise.  These pet rabbits were generally described as docile, gentle, and sweet.  Their disposition as placid little pets was so ubiquitous that, in some 19^th century stories, you can find characters described as having a temperament “as gentle as a pet rabbit.”  An 1895 article on choosing a wife, published in the Pall Mall Gazette, even goes so far as to state:

“If your conception of happiness is having something pretty and innocent and troublesome about you, something that you can cherish and make happy, a pet rabbit is in every way preferable [to a wife].”

Of course, the 19^th century rabbits that most of us are familiar with are the ones that exist in classic children’s literature.  There’s the White Rabbit in Lewis Carroll’s 1865 novel Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland and Peter Rabbit in the Beatrix Potter books published at the turn of the century.  These are not the only rabbits in 19th century literature, however.  Pet rabbits feature heavily in children’s books, especially during the Victorian era.  One particular book from 1873 is titled Snowdrop; or The Adventures of a White Rabbit.  It is told from Snowdrop’s point of view, with the anthropomorphized rabbit opening the book by stating:

Snowdrop; or the Adventures of a White Rabbit, 1873.

“As a rule, the world does not allow any large amount of intelligence to individuals of my race, because, ordinarily, we remain motionless, and with eyes fixed.  People often would think we were dead, but for a slight movement of the little tip of our nose.  This disadvantageous opinion, however, has not discouraged me.  Having been fortunate in a home where I was carefully trained, I grew very learned, and I repeated to myself, several times daily, a line from a great fabulist, who, I was told, had condescended to write about us, and our cousins the hares : —

“‘What could I do in my burrow, if I did not sit and think?’”

Snowdrop (who, contrary to the title plate illustration, is a male rabbit) recounts his life from the day of his birth in a rabbit hutch at an exclusive girls’ boarding school to his ultimate retirement in the country, where he lives out the rest of his days completely at liberty.  Naturally, Snowdrop’s presence at a girls’ school enables him to offer many philosophical observations about female behavior, as well as to advise his young readers on the wisdom of virtue and warn them about the dangers of vices such as greed, cruelty, and curiosity.

Unlike Snowdrop, real life rabbits of the 19th century were not always relegated to a rabbit hutch.  In fact, because of their size, rabbits were a highly portable pet.  They were also usually much calmer about being transported in a basket than a cat might be.  An article in an 1875 edition of the Shields Daily Gazette tells the story of “Joe the Rabbit,” a much pampered pet whose owner decides to carry him into the city to have his photograph taken.  The article reads, in part:

“One day I told Joe that he should have his photograph taken.  To oblige me he consented to be shut up in a hamper, and taken to a shop two miles on.  Having got there, we had to wait while a crowd of fat babies were attended to.  When the photographer heard that he was required to take the photograph of a rabbit, he declared it was impossible, and he didn’t see how it was to be done.  Then he quoted the anecdote of a lady who wished to have her cat done.  When the job was nearly finished, the cat sprang up the wall.  I assured him that Joe would not jump up the wall.  So he began to work.  I sat down and took Joe on my knee.  He behaved so well, that when it was done, the man said, ‘If any one moved, it was you.’  The idea of taking Joe’s photograph was so novel, that the people did not know what price to charge, and in the end did not charge for Joe at all.”

Portrait of Minna Sophia Farrer Holding a Rabbit by Anna Merrit, 1878.

In addition to being carried about town, either in a basket or in their owner’s arms, pet rabbits were frequently privileged to travel greater distances – and even to accompany their owners abroad.  This could sometimes lead to difficulties with local officials.  An 1893 letter to the editor printed in the London Evening Standard relates the story of a British family travelling in Italy with their pet rabbit.  The letter, written by the angry father of the family, reads in part:

“Early in the month, along with my wife and two children, I travelled by rail from Turin to Genoa.  The fare of each was fifteen francs, and the same for baggage.  My youngest child, aged thirteen, had a small pet rabbit, which she carried in a basket.  En route the ticket collector happened to come to the door and espied it, and at once demanded twelve francs for its transport.

“As I had only paid fifteen shilling for my ticket I declined to pay.  Eventually, at Genoa, the matter was laid before the Stationmaster, and that official, as if in mockery, reduced the claim to eleven francs sixty centimes, which I had to pay.  Nor was this all, for by way of retaliation, the officials insisted on opening some of my baggage, perhaps thinking to find other rabbits there.  But the matter did not end there.  The Octroi officials, scenting their prey, demanded thirty centimes, although informed that it was a pet animal and not destined for the family pie.”

One might argue that, despite the alleged extortion perpetrated by the Italian officials, at least they allowed the rabbit to ride on the train.  Thanks to the bizarre logic of a Pullman palace car porter, an American lady travelling with her pet rabbit was not so lucky.  An 1884 article, published in both the British and American newspapers, reports the humorous incident:

News and Observer (Raleigh North Carolina), August 14, 1884.

It is a common misconception that the only companion animals during the 1800s were cats and dogs.  This could not be further from the truth.  I hope the above article, however brief, has given you some little insight into the popularity of pet rabbits during the 19th century.

Rabbits on a Log by Arthur Fitzwilliam Tait, 1897.

Thus concludes another of my Friday features on Animals in Literature and History.  If you are interested in helping a rabbit in need or would like to adopt a rabbit of your own, the following links may provide a starting point:

House Rabbit Society (United States)

Fat Fluffs Rabbit Rescue (United Kingdom)

 Works Referenced or Cited in this Article

Carroll, Lewis.  Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland and Through the Looking Glass.  New York: Bantam Dell, 1981.

“Joe, the Pet Rabbit.”  Shields Daily Gazette.  April 14, 1875.

Manchester Courier and Lancashire General Advertiser.  April 25, 1885.

“On the Choice of a Wife.”  Pall Mall Gazette.  January 16, 1895.

Potter, Beatrix.  The Complete Adventures of Peter Rabbit.  London: Penguin, 2007.

Snowdrop; or the Adventures of a White Rabbit.  London: T. Nelson and Sons, 1873.

“Travelling in Italy.”  London Evening Standard.  August 1, 1893.

 © 2015 Mimi Matthews

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“…every person pretending or professing to tell fortunes, or using any subtle craft, means, or device, by palmistry or otherwise, to deceive and impose on any of his Majesty’s subjects…shall be deemed a rogue and vagabond.”
(Excerpt from The Vagrancy Act of 1824.)

Question to the Cards by Édouard Bisson, 1889.

Crystal gazing, palmistry, and other forms of fortune-telling were quite popular during the 19^th century.  Husband divination games were heavily featured at Christmas and Halloween parties in the rural countryside.  While professional practitioners of the occult laid the cards for tonnish ladies and gentlemen in some of the finest drawing rooms in London.  In general, such games were viewed as nothing more than thrilling entertainment.  However, there were plenty of individuals – from the highly intelligent to the ridiculously gullible – who truly believed in the supernatural.  Their desire to learn the future or to contact the dead gave rise to a seemingly endless parade of fraudsters, charlatans, and outright villains.

In 1807, Joseph Powell was tried and subsequently convicted for fortune-telling under the Vagrancy Act.  Described in the court record as a “rogue and a vagabond,” he had not only imposed himself on “credulous persons” and duped servants out of their “last shillings,” he had also taken lascivious advantage of women who had consulted him to find out whether or not they would ever have children.  In one such instance, Powell practiced his fraudulent art via correspondence.  As the prosecutor in the case relates:

“One of his letters in particular seems to have been addressed to a female, not of the lowest class, (who stated herself to be married, and who wished to be informed whether she should have any children) and the copy of this letter answers, that she is certainly destined to have children if she takes the means, but not by her husband; that it must be by some other person; that he shall be happy himself to be that person, and that he has no doubt their endeavours will be propitious to the object she has at heart.  He then goes on to invite her to come the next day, when he promises to have his place clear, as well for comfort as safety.”

Mr. Powell’s prices for his services ranged from half a crown to five guineas, but in the above instance the prosecutor states:

“So strong was his amorous propensity on this occasion, that he tells the lady if she agrees to his proposal, that he will give her as much information as he should charge another person five guineas for, but that he will remit the five guineas in her case!”

Mr. Powell was sentenced to six months imprisonment.

Crystal Ball by Thomas Kennington, 1890.

Crystal gazing was another form of fortune-telling during the 19^th century.  An 1853 edition of the Eclectic Magazine describes crystal gazing (or Crystallomancy) as “the art of divining by figures which appear on the surface of a Crystal Ball.”  One of the most famous crystal balls of the era belonged to Marguerite Gardiner, Countess of Blessington.  In an 1852 letter, poet Elizabeth Barrett Browning mentions Lady Blessington’s crystal ball to her friend Mrs. Martin, writing:

“Perhaps you never heard of the crystal ball.  The original ball was bought by Lady Blessington from an ‘Egyptian magician,’ and resold at her sale.  She never could understand the use of it, but others have looked deeper, or with purer eyes, it is said; and now there is an optician in London who makes and sells these balls, and speaks of a ‘great demand,’ though they are expensive.”

An 1850 article in the Bristol Times and Mirror reports “A Most Extraordinary Circumstance” involving the Countess of Blessington’s crystal ball.  According to the article:

“At the sale of the late Countess of Blessington’s effects, a globular crystal ball, stated to have formerly belonged to the Egyptian Magi, was purchased by an old Jew, from whom it passed to Lieutenant H—.  A short time since the Lieutenant threw the ball to his little daughter to play with.  The child, who had lost its mother, suddenly started, saying, ‘Papa, there’s a lady in the ball’ –  ‘It is dear mamma.’  Day after day the child stoutly declared she saw her mother in the ball, until the Lieutenant, being uneasy, gave the crystal to Archdeacon R—.”

After conducting a similar experiment with the crystal ball on his own granddaughter and experiencing similar results, the Archdeacon declared that the crystal ball was “a Satanic agency.”

Maguerite Gardiner, Countess of Blessington by Sir Thomas Lawrence, 1821.

Lady Blessington’s crystal ball later changed hands, eventually ending up in the possession of Zadkiel, a famous 19^th century astrologer whose name features in an equally famous libel suit.  Zadkiel’s Almanac achieved a certain level of notoriety in 1861 for having predicted the death of the Prince Consort.  According to an article in an 1863 edition of The Times, when Sir Edward Belcher was asked by a contemporary about the identity of the almanac’s author, he responded by letter, stating that:

“…the author and the editor of the almanac in question was a retired lieutenant of the navy named Morrison.  He went on to say that Mr. Morrison was the same person who in 1852 had gulled many of the nobility by exhibiting a crystal globe, in which he pretended that various persons saw visions and held converse with the spirits of the Apostles, even our Saviour, with the angels of light as well as of darkness, and could tell what was going on in any part of the world.”

Mr. Morrison (a.k.a Zadkiel) brought an action for libel against Sir Edward Belcher and, at the trial, the crystal globe in question was exhibited.  An 1863 edition of the Louth and North Lincolnshire Advertiser reports:

“It came out in the course of the trial, which took place in one of our law courts during the present week, that several noblemen and gentlemen, and ladies of the highest distinction, had applied to Lieutenant Morrison for the privilege of seeing a certain crystal globe, by means of which the most astounding wonders had been wrought.”

Though the crystal globe excited a great deal of public interest, not everyone was impressed by its supposed powers.  The Louth and North Lincolnshire Daily Advertiser states:

“Now, it is obvious that this Zadkiel’s Almanack [sic] and globe-seeing is to all intents and purposes a delusion and a sham.  The only wonder is, as the Lord Chief Justice remarked, that people can be found who will pay sixpence for the book on the one hand, or a larger sum for the privilege of looking in the globe on the other.”

Mr. Morrison ultimately won his libel suit against Sir Edward Belcher on the grounds that he had never received money for having exhibited the crystal ball.  The jury award him a paltry 20s. damages.

The Fortune Teller by Adele Kindt, 1835.

One of the most common forms of fortune-telling during the 19^th century was done with a deck of playing cards.  Known as cartomancy, it involved assigning attributes to each of the cards in the deck and using those cards, when dealt in a particular fashion or when chosen at random, to foretell the future.  In her 1851 book The Fortune-Teller, author Louisa Lawford explains the meaning of each of the cards in the deck and gives several methods of dealing.  I have included her basic explanations for some of the cards below.

The Fortune Teller by Louisa Lawford, 1851.

Fortune-telling and divination with playing cards was both a harmless party game and a profitable criminal enterprise.  An 1878 edition of the Grantham Journal reports the arrest of forty-nine-year-old Susan Bridges, writing:

“She had been driving an extensive and lucrative business in pretending to tell fortunes, and had by her extraordinary revelations created a great deal of mischief amongst servant girls and persons of weak mind.”

The police employed two females to visit Bridges at her home.  There, Bridges “read their fortunes by means of cards and then demanded a fee.”  Bridges was arrested and sentenced to two months’ imprisonment with hard labor.

The Handbook of Palmistry, Illustration, 1885.

Palmistry was another common method of fortune-telling in the 19^th century.  And one did not have to be a gifted occultist to indulge.  Charts and diagrams of hands with the meanings of various lines were readily available.  The 1886 book Social Amusements even includes palmistry in their “choice collection of parlor games.”  Still, there were many who truly believed in the practice.  In his aptly titled 1806 book A Handy Guide to Palmistry, author Langdon Taylor writes:

“The lines of the hand, being formed by nature, show conclusively and physiologically the temperament and nature of the possessor.”

As with any facet of the supernatural, when it came to palmistry, there were frauds and charlatans aplenty.  An 1893 issue of the Gloucester Citizen reports the case of Clair St. Clair, alias Professor Francisca.  St. Clair was arrested and charged with:

“…unlawfully using a certain subtle craft, to wit, palmistry, to deceive and impose upon her Majesty’s subjects contrary to the Vagrant Act.”

As St. Clair was led away from her dwelling, she reportedly “called upon the Deity to send down fire and damnation upon the Metropolitan Police for robbing her of her means of living.”  Later, in a seemingly calmer state of mind, she defended her chosen profession, declaring:

“I simply expound what many learned and eminent men have written about.  Their works are high priced, but I give the public the benefit of my study of them for 1s.”

St. Clair was remanded to Holloway Prison pending a doctor’s report on her sanity.

The Teller by Ernst Hanfstaengl, 1871.

For the middle and upper classes, crystal gazing, cartomancy, and palmistry were diverting drawing room entertainments.  For the fraudsters and charlatans – and all too frequently for the poor – the same practices could end with the perpetrator being prosecuted for fortune-telling under the Vagrancy Act.  While charismatic fortune-tellers like the famous astrologer Zadkiel might manage to enthrall the nobility, thereby skirting the law, less-sophisticated individuals were at constant risk of being sentenced to prison, hard labor, or transportation.  If you would like to learn more about the Vagrancy Act of 1824, you can read the legislation in its entirety HERE.

*Palm reading, crystal gazing, and casting the cards were not the only forms of fortune-telling in the 19^th century.  Séances and automatic writing with the use of a planchette were hugely popular during the Victorian era.  They are also subjects that deserve articles all their own.  I hope to address them at a later date.

Works Referenced or Cited in this Article

 Baughan, Rosa.  The Handbook of Palmistry.  London: George Redway, 1885.

Browning, Elizabeth Barrett.  The Letters of Elizabeth Barrett Browning.  New York: MacMillan Co., 1899.

“Divination, Witchcraft, and Mesmerism.”  The Eclectic Magazine.  New York: Eclectic Magazine Publishing, 1853.

“Fortune-Telling.”  Grantham Journal.  March 9, 1878.

Gurney, Joseph.  The Trial of J. Powell, the Fortune Teller.  London: The Society for the Prevention of Vice, 1808.

Lawford, Louisa.  The Fortune Teller; or Peeps into Futurity.  London: Routledge, Warne, and Routledge, 1851.

“A Most Extraordinary Circumstance.”  Bristol Times and Mirror.  May, 25, 1850.

Public Opinion.  Vol. 3.  London: G. Cole, 1863.

“The Practice of Palmistry.”  Gloucester Citizen.  July 20, 1893

Social Amusements: A Choice Collection of Parlor Games, Tricks, Charades, Tableux, Parlor Theatricals, Pantomimes, and Palmistry.  Pennsylvania Co., 1886.

Taylor, Langdon.  A Handy Guide to Palmistry.  London: The Roxburghe Press, 1806.

The Times.  July 1, 1863.

“Zadkiel’s Almanac and the Crystal Globe Seer.”  Louth and North Lincolnshire Advertiser.  July 4, 1863.

 © 2015 Mimi Matthews

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Family of Foxes by Ludwig Sellmayr, 1873.

Though many wild animals can be tamed to some extent, a fox was not a common pet in either the Regency or the Victorian era.  Nevertheless, both Charles Lennox, 4^th Duke of Richmond, and Hayes St. Leger, 4^th Viscount Doneraile, kept pet foxes for a time.  This unconventional choice of animal companion would not end well for either of them.  The duke died in 1819.  The viscount died in 1887.  Each met his painful end as a result of a bite from his pet fox.  

The Duke of Richmond died in British North America on August 28, 1819.  Early newspaper reports in England claimed that the duke had taken ill as a result of great fatigue and having suffered wet feet during his travels.  Later reports confirmed that his Grace had, in fact, died as a result of hydrophobia, or rabies, contracted when he was bitten by his pet fox.

Charles Lennox, 4th Duke of Richmond by Henry Meyer, 1807.

The duke’s pet fox was a fairly new acquisition.  The circumstances of its arrival are described in an excerpt of a private letter published in the 1819 issue of The Gentleman’s Magazine.  The excerpt begins:

His Grace having left this place about the 24th of June on an extensive tour through the Canadas after his arrival at William Henry, 135 miles up the river, whilst walking about the village with his little dog Blucher, met a fox about the place, with which the dog appeared sociable, and they entered into play together.  His Grace seemed much pleased, and expressed something like a wish the fox should be purchased. (467)

Having heard the duke express a desire to have the fox, a servant made arrangements to purchase the fox that same night.  It is not clear from whom he purchased the fox or if, indeed, it was a tame fox to begin with (as opposed to a wild fox lingering about the village).  In any case, the purchase was made.  The next morning, the letter reports that Sir Charles Saxton found the fox tied in front of a servant’s tent, appearing to be “much irritated from his restrained situation under a scorching sun.”  Sir Charles requested that the servant remove the fox to a shadier location.  Subsequently, the fox was moved to the duke’s residence, where it was tied to a gate in front of the house.  As the letter states:

His Grace, on coming out in the morning, observing the fox, which he knew to be the same he had seen the day before, went up to him, saying, ‘Is this you, my little fellow?’ and on offering to put out his hand to caress the fox, Sir Charles S. touched the Duke on the shoulder to prevent it, apprising his Grace at the same time of the irritation of the fox, and that he might bite.  ‘No, no,’ said his Grace, ‘the little fellow will not bite me!’ and putting out his hand, the fox snapped and made three scratches on the back of his hand, which drew blood.  His Grace, quickly drawing it back, said, ‘Indeed, my friend, you bite very hard.’ (467)

Fox in Stall by Richard Benno Adam, 1894.

By the next morning, the Duke of Richmond was experiencing “an uneasy sensation in his shoulder.”  However, no other symptoms presented themselves until his Grace returned from his tour at the end of August.  At that time, he reported a “strange sensation” when drinking a glass of wine and water.  An article in an 1819 edition of the Morning Chronicle reports that a local surgeon was called that same night to bleed him.  His Grace felt so much better after being bled that, the next morning, he went out walking in the woods.  As the article states:

He had, in his progress through the woods, started off at hearing a dog bark, and was with difficulty overtaken, and on the party’s arrival at the skirts of the wood, at the sight of some stagnant water, his Grace hastily leaped over a fence, and rushed into an adjoining barn, whither his dismayed companions eagerly followed him.

This aversion to water only increased.  According to the letter in the Gentleman’s Magazine, his attendants reported that he became irritable whenever he must cross even the “the smallest streamlets in the woods” and, on one occasion, “he ran from them into the woods, as if to shun the sight of water.”  The disease was progressing rapidly now and, as the Morning Chronicle reports:

He was with difficulty removed to a miserable hovel in the neighborhood.

Fox in Winter Forest by Otto Grashey, 1880s.

The Duke of Richmond spent his final hours in that miserable hovel being nursed by a devoted Swiss servant.  He was not always in his right mind, but according to the article in the Morning Chronicle, he did experience occasional intervals of lucidity.  During one such episode, his Grace dictated a letter to his daughter, Lady Mary Lennox, reminding her of an incident five months prior when he had been bitten by a favorite family dog.  As the article relates:

…when the Duke shaving, cut his chin, the dog was lifted up, in order to lick the wound, when the animal bit his Grace’s chin.  The recollection of this circumstance gave his Grace but too sure a presentiment (the dog having subsequently run mad) of his approaching fate, and his Grace therefore, in his letter to Lady Mary, expressed his conviction (which indeed appears an irresistible conclusion) that his disorder was hydrophobia.

Charles Lennox, 4th Duke of Richmond, died early in the morning on August 28, 1819.  The letter in the Gentleman’s Magazine asserts that he suffered “excruciating torments,” while the article in the Morning Chronicle reports that he “expired in the arms” of his faithful Swiss servant, “who had never quitted his beloved master for a moment.”

Of peculiar interest, the Duke of Richmond’s death notice in the Gentleman’s Magazine is printed right beside the death notice of Hayes St. Leger, 2^nd Viscount Doneraile.  Sixty-eight years later in 1887, his grandson, the 4^th Viscount Doneraile, would also die as a result of a bite from his pet fox.

Winter Landscape with Fox and Hare by Ebenezer Newman Downard, 1894.

Hayes St. Leger, 4^th Viscount Doneraile, was a noted huntsman and, according to an article in an 1887 edition of the Ballymena Observer, “one of the best authorities in the world on foxhunting.”  Lord Doneraile had a tame vixen, or female fox, which he had raised from a cub.  He would often take this vixen up with him in his carriage when he went driving.  On one occasion, the article relates:

As the coachman was lifting the animal into the brougham, she bit him, and afterwards attacked his Lordship.

Portrait of Louis Pasteur
by Albert Edelfelt, 1885.

An 1887 issue of The Lancet reports that Lord Doneraile was wearing gloves at the time he was bitten.  Nevertheless, as a precaution, he and his coachman removed to Paris to be treated by the noted scientist Louis Pasteur, who at that time was in the early stages of developing a rabies vaccine.  The Ballymena Observer states that when they arrived, Pasteur was not at home.  He returned a week later and treated Doneraile and his coachman.  There is some dispute as to whether Doneraile completed his treatment with Pasteur or not.  In his 1987 book Twilight of the Ascendancy, author Mark Bence-Jones writes:

Lord Doneraile and the coachman travelled to Paris to be treated by Pasteur; the coachman persevered with the treatment, Lord Doneraile grew bored with it and gave it up. (68)

The article in the Ballymena Observer claims that Lord Doneraile was treated and then returned home to Doneraile Court.  The article goes on to state:

It appears that up to a week ago there seemed no immediate reason to anticipate danger.  But M. Pasteur’s treatment must have come too late, for the unfortunate nobleman became ill, and died on Friday from the effects of hydrophobia.

Hayes St. Leger, 4^th Viscount Doneraile died on the morning of August 26, 1887.  That day’s edition of the Gloucester Citizen reports:

Lord Doneraile died this morning at Doneraile, county Cork, from the effects of hydrophobia.  His lordship was bitten by a pet fox last January.  The fox died, and a post mortem examination disclosed the fact that the fox was mad.  His lordship’s servant was bitten on the same occasion, and both were treated by Dr. Pasteur in Paris. 

I am not sure what to make of foxes kept as pets during the Regency and Victorian era – especially when kept as pets by noblemen who actively engaged in the sport of foxhunting.  As for rabies, we now have a reliable vaccine, both for humans and animals.  Unfortunately, the disease itself has not been eradicated.

His Majesty Receives by William Holbrook Beard, 1885.

Thus concludes another of my weekly features on Animals in Literature and History.  If you are interested in learning more about foxes or in helping a fox in need, the following links may provide a starting point:

The Humane Society of the United States (United States)

Royal Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals (United Kingdom)

Works Referenced or Cited in this Article

Bence-Jones, Mark.  Twilight of the Ascendancy.  London: Constable, 1987.

“Bite from a Mad Fox.”  The Lancet.  Vol. 1.  London: John James Croft, 1887.

“Bitten by a Pet Fox.”  Ballymena Observer.  September 3, 1887.

“Death of Lord Doneraile.”  Gloucester Citizen.  August 26, 1887.

Gentleman’s Magazine and Historical Chronicle.  July to December.  London: John Nichols and Son, 1819.

“The Late Duke of Richmond.”  Morning Chronicle.  October 27, 1819.

 © 2015 Mimi Matthews

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