My Dear Readers,

Last week, I got some exciting news which I’ve been dying to share with all of you.  Alas, my literary agent advised me not to say a word until the ink on the contracts was dry.  Well, today the ink is officially dry and I can finally tell you all that I have signed a multi-book deal with Pen and Sword Books (UK)!

My first non-fiction book, titled The Pug Who Bit Napoleon and Other Animal Tales from the 18th and 19th Centuries, will be published as a large size hardback and filled with lots of fabulous animal stories and illustrations.  You can expect it in late 2017!

My next non-fiction book will be A Victorian Lady’s Guide to Fashion and Beauty.  This will be published in 2018 and will—as the title suggests—include lots of 19^th century advice on women’s fashion and beauty, including hair care, cosmetics, and perfume.

After the first two books, I’m hoping to have time to write A Victorian Lady’s Guide to Courtship and Marriage.  We’ll see what happens.  As for my 19th century historical romances, I should have more good news to share with you soon.  I will post an update as soon as I am at liberty to share.

In the meanwhile, I want to thank each and every one of you who have taken the time to read my articles.  Your comments and kind email messages mean more to me than I can say.  In the near future, I hope to organize a proper author newsletter for you all with contests, giveaways, and other goodies.  Stay tuned!

(Individual Images of Gowns via Met Museum)

The 1890s ushered in an era of modest, dignified gowns, some of which were almost prudish in appearance.  Necklines were high, skirts were straight, and enormous puffed sleeves—hearkening back to the gigot sleeves of the 1830s—contributed to an overall impression of women who were far more formidable than delicate.  This was the decade of the New Woman, the Suffragette Movement, and the tailor-made dress.  This was also the decade known as the Naughty Nineties in the United Kingdom and the Gay Nineties in the United States.

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

1890

Beginning the decade, fashion historian C. Willett Cunnington reports that the “tailor-made dress, or at least its style, reigned supreme.”  These tailor-made jackets and skirts were fairly masculine in appearance and, in many respects, not too dissimilar from a Victorian lady’s riding habit.  They were generally made in matched fabrics and could be worn with a vest or a lady’s high-necked blouse or shirtwaist.  The below 1890 fashion print shows a striped tailor-made costume comprised of a jacket, vest, blouse, and skirt.

Freja Magazine, 1890.

For evening, the flannels, wools, and tweeds of tailor-made day dresses gave way to softer, more delicate fabrics.  Not only were silks and velvets quite fashionable, but the 1890 issue of Godey’s Lady’s Book reports that lace was coming into fashion again.  For evening dress and ball gowns, there was even “gemmed lace”—a version of lace wherein the pattern was outlined with precious stones, pearls, and diamonds.  Godey’s describes gemmed lace as being “too rich and rare for ordinary wear.”

The 1890 silk evening dress below is beautifully embellished with lace (sans gems).

1890 Herbert Luey Silk Evening Dress.
(Met Museum)

1891

Though the 1890s is remembered for its gigantic puffed sleeves, the decade began with sleeves that were much more moderately sized.  You can see the first hint of the large sleeves to come in the 1891 walking dress shown below.

1891 Walking Dress.
(Galleria del Costume di Palazzo Pitti/Europeana Fashion)

Bodices of 1891 were usually heavily embellished, while skirts remained comparatively plain and businesslike.  As a result, Cunnington states that:

“…while the bodice caught the eye, and perhaps the man, it was the skirt in which the fin de siècle woman marched forward to emancipation…”

This fin-de-siècle (end of the century) styling referenced above incorporated several Elizabethan elements, including ruffs, padded sleeves, and conical skirts.  These trends are quite evident in the silk dress shown below.

1889-1891 Silk Dress.
Philadelphia Museum of Art)

For both day and evening dresses, waists were often defined with corselets or Swiss belts.  Unlike traditional corsets, corselets and Swiss belts were worn outside of the clothing to further emphasize the waist.  You can see an example of a Swiss belt on the below figure at left.

1891-1892 L’Art Et La Mode, Plate 10.
(Met Museum)

Though day dresses generally covered women’s skin from neck to ankles, most evening dresses had short sleeves and low necklines.  In 1891, sleeves were often adorned with ribbon bows.  Waists could be defined with either a Swiss belt, corselet, or bands of ribbon.

1891-1892 Cotton and Silk Dress.
(Met Museum)

1891-1892 Cotton and Silk Dress.
(Met Museum)

1892

Proceeding into 1892, several features of women’s dress combined to make waistlines appear even smaller.  Large sleeves and pelerine lapels acted to broaden the shoulders.  At the same time, skirts—though still fairly straight—were growing wider at the bottom.  The 1892 House of Worth afternoon dress below gives you some idea of what this silhouette looked like.

1892 House of Worth Afternoon Dress.
(Met Museum)

For day dresses, the January 1892 issue of Godey’s Lady’s Book advises that “elaborate garniture should be avoided.”  Nevertheless, luxurious fabrics and expensive trimmings combined to make otherwise plain dresses appear rich and sumptuous.  As an example, the elegant wool afternoon dress below is trimmed with fur.

1892 Afternoon Dress.
(Met Museum)

Though trains and demi-trains were still a feature of afternoon and evening dresses, the popularity of long trains was on the decline.  Godey’s Lady’s Book reports that “the trained skirt is undoubtedly doomed,” stating:

“All the newest walking gowns are made short, and even for evening wear long trains are being discouraged.”

1892 Afternoon Dress.
(Met Museum)

1892 Silk Dress.
(Met Museum)

1893

Advancing into 1893, the versatile, tailor-made dress still ruled the day.  Made in wool, tweed, flannel, or other sturdy fabrics, the tailor-made was suitable for all manner of activity, including walking, travelling, or engaging in sports like golf or shooting.  The below, two-piece wool walking dress is just one example of this fashionable style.

1893 Wool Walking Dress.
(Met Museum)

Some tailor-made dresses were beginning to be worn with an open coat over a plain skirt, shirt, Swiss belt, and necktie.  This increasingly masculine style was combined with sleeves that were growing ever larger and waistlines that were tinier than ever.  According to Cunnington, the average waist size in the early 1890s was 22 inches, but tight-lacing produced waists as small as 16 inches.  The below dress illustrates the increasing size of sleeves and the decreasing size of women’s waistlines in 1893-1894.

1893-1894 L’Art Et La Mode, Plate 172.
(Met Museum)

For evening, dresses were made of rich velvets, silks, and satins.  Some featured exquisite embroidery.  Others, like those made by the famous House of Worth, featured lavish trimmings like jet beads, braid, lace, rhinestones, jewels, and even iridescent steel spangles.  Below is a lovely 1893 silk evening dress trimmed in rhinestones.

1893 Evening Dress.
(Met Museum)

1894

By 1894, large gigot sleeves were hitting their stride.  Skirts were now bell-shaped and were often combined with a ready-made blouse.  While in dresses, the bodice continued to draw the eye, with contrasting fabrics, patterns, and profusions of lace at the throat as seen on the 1894 bodice shown below.

1894 Silk Dress.
(Met Museum)

For evening, dresses with low necklines and short sleeves were still very popular.  However, it was also quite common to see ladies wearing high-necked evening dresses with long-sleeves.  Below is an 1894 evening dress with a moderately low neckline and large puffed sleeves.  Note that the skirt and bodice are trimmed with glass beads and sequins, while the net is bead-embroidered with a design of butterflies and ribbons.

1894 Stern Brothers Evening Dress.
(Victoria and Albert Museum)

1895

Entering 1895, sleeves had grown even larger and, in order to keep their shape, were often stuffed with eiderdown, stiffened muslin, or chamois.  In some cases, internal sleeve support was provided by a wire hoop.  Drawing even more attention to the top half of women’s dress was what Cunnington describes as “full bulging bodices which resemble pouter pigeons.”

1895 Laboudt & Robina Silk Dress.
(Met Museum)

Much like the gigot sleeves of the 1830s, the enormous sleeves of the mid-1890s fell in for their fair share of ridicule.  By 1895, even Punch was joining in with the below cartoon featuring their suggestions for novelties in women’s sleeves.

Punch, Or the London Charivari, 1895.

Skirts were gored and clung closely to the hips.  However, some skirts—especially those for evening—required a great deal of fabric.  As the 1895 edition of Godey’s Lady’s Book reports:

“Some of the skirts are wide—very wide, according to our ideas. The most Parisian of cuts for an evening skirt at this moment demands fourteen breadths and fifteen seams; roughly speaking, the width around the hem measures about seven yards, but the cutting is so exquisite that it looks no whit wider when worn than an ordinary four-and-a-half-yard skirt.”

1895 Silk Dinner Dress.
(Met Museum)

Brightly colored gowns were all the rage in the mid-1890s.  There were brilliant reds, emerald greens, “bright bleu de roi,” magentas, violets, and yellows.  These fashionable colors were worn in various combinations, leading Godey’s to state:

“There is a riot of color everywhere, and seemingly irreconcilable tints are harmonized in some mysterious manner, known only to the manufacturer.”

1895 House of Worth Day Dress.
(National Gallery of Victoria)

For evening, dresses were usually cut square at the neck.  Sleeves could be short, comprised of nothing more than a satin shoulder strap or a flounce of lace.  Puffed, elbow-length sleeves were also quite fashionable.

1895 Evening Dress.
(Museum at FIT)

1896

Advancing into 1896, sleeves had grown to their largest size of the decade.  To the increasingly active woman, such bulk was insupportable.  It is therefore unsurprising that the fashion in enormous sleeves lasted only until the spring season, at which time the 1896 issue of Godey’s Lady’s Book reports:

“The sleeve, to a close observer, seems to be gradually pushing its fullness to the shoulder, the rest of the arm being clearly defined.”

1896-1897 Afternoon Dress.
(Cincinnati Art Museum)

Skirts of 1896 began to shrink along with the sleeves.  Not only did they decrease in volume, they also grew shorter, with some as much as four inches off of the ground.

1896-1898 Silk Afternoon Dress.
(Cincinnati Art Museum)

Despite the rapidly reducing size of skirts and sleeves, the hourglass silhouette was still highly prized in women’s dress.  To this end, Swiss belts (as seen below) and corselets continued to be a fashionable option for emphasizing the waist.

1896-1899 Wool Dress with Swiss Belt.
(Met Museum)

1897

Entering 1897, dresses began to drift from the stiff, sturdy fashions of the previous years to a softer style, complete with delicate fabrics, colors, and trimmings.

1897 Wool Day Dress.
(Victoria and Albert Museum)

Cunnington describes the new, softer fashions of 1897 as “fluffy and frilly,” stating:

“Fluffiness is, no doubt, expensive but irresistible to the old Adam grown a little weary of the new Eve.”

1897 Silk Evening Dress.
(Cincinnati Art Museum)

The fluffiness he writes about is best represented by evening dresses of 1897.  They were made in soft pinks, ivories, and florals and trimmed in frothy lace and tulle.

1897 House of Worth Pink Satin Evening Dress.
(Victoria and Albert Museum)

These evening dresses continued to be cut square at the neckline.  Skirts were full at the back, with fabric falling gracefully into double box pleats or accordion pleats.  Sashes and bands of ribbon remained a popular choice for accentuating the waist.

1897 Silk Evening Dress.
(Met Museum)

1898

Moving into 1898, the softer, feminine styles of the previous year remained in fashion.  Meanwhile, skirts grew longer and sleeves continued to decrease in size.

1898 Walking Dress.
(Galleria del Costume di Palazzo Pitti/Europeana Fashion)

For evening, skirts were trained.  Sleeves, if short, were little more than a strap.  Necklines continued to be square cut, unless the gown was long-sleeved, in which case the bodice was usually high at the neck.

1898 House of Worth Cherry Printed Evening Dress.
(Met Museum)

Some of the most luxurious ball gowns of the late 1890s were embroidered or trimmed with rhinestones, sequins, beads, or precious stones.  The below silk dress from House of Worth is one of the most beautiful I have ever seen.  It is patterned with butterflies and trimmed in sequins and rhinestones.  According to The Met, it was designed so that the butterflies fluttered upward from the hem.

1898 House of Worth Butterfly Ball Gown.
(Met Museum)

1898 House of Worth Butterfly Ball Gown.
(Met Museum)

1898 House of Worth Butterfly Ball Gown.
(Met Museum)

1899

At the close of the century, the focus of fashionable gowns had shifted from a lady’s bodice down to her hips.  To that end, a tight, hip-hugging skirt with a slight flare at the bottom was introduced.  This was known as the eel skirt.

1899, Le Succès, Plate 4.
(Met Museum)

In day dresses, collars were high at the neck and sleeves were narrow, often extending down over the hand.  Waists remained small, though by 1899 the days of tight-lacing were numbered.

1899-1900 Walking Dress.
(Met Museum)

At the close of the century, the necklines of evening dresses were so low that Cunnington reports that the bodice hung on the shoulders “by a miracle.”  Bodices were cut either square or round.  Skirts hugged the hips.  As in 1898, trimmings were opulent, with trimmings in relief—such as butterflies—being particular popular.

1898-1900 House of Worth Evening Dress.
(Met Museum)

IN CLOSING…

I hope you have found the above overview to be helpful in navigating your way through the giant-sleeved, eel skirted gowns of the 1890s.  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 1890s, I encourage you to consult a reliable reference book.  For a refresher on the decades we have already covered, 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

The 1850s in Fashionable Gowns: A Visual Guide to the Decade

The 1860s in Fashionable Gowns: A Visual Guide to the Decade

The 1870s in Fashionable Gowns: A Visual Guide to the Decade

The 1880s 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.

Fashion: The Definitive History of Costume and Style.  New York: DK Publishing, 2001.

Godey’s Lady’s Book.  Vol. 120.  Philadelphia: Louis A. Godey, 1890.

Godey’s Lady’s Book.  Vol. 125.  Philadelphia: Louis A. Godey, 1892.

Godey’s Lady’s Book.  Vol.  127.  Philadelphia: Louis A. Godey, 1893.

Godey’s Lady’s Book.  Vol. 131.  Philadelphia: Louis A. Godey, 1895.

Godey’s Lady’s Book.  Vol. 132.  Philadelphia: Louis A. Godey, 1896.

Harris, Kristina.  Authentic Victorian Fashion Patterns.  New York: Dover Publications, 1999.

Johnson, Lucy.  Nineteenth Century Fashion in Detail.  London: Victoria & Albert Museum, 2009.

Ladies Home Journal.  Philadelphia: Curtis Publishing Co., 1891.

© 2016 Mimi Matthews

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“A dog is more difficult to dress than a lady, however capricious she may be.”
M. Vivier, Pearson’s Magazine, 1898.

The Actress Rejane And Her Dog by Giovanni Boldini, 1885.

Wealthy and aristocratic ladies of the 1890s who desired to dress their dogs in the latest styles travelled from far and wide to visit the Paris salon of fashionable canine tailor Monsieur Vivier.  Located in the Galerie d’Orleans at the Palais Royal, Vivier’s establishment welcomed dog owners from all over the world.  He was famous for his canine haute couture.  So famous that some compared Vivier to legendary fashion designer Charles Frederick Worth—a fact which Vivier proudly acknowledges in an 1898 interview in Pearson’s Magazine, calling himself “the Worth of Dogs.”

Vivier did not generally go in for extreme styles or ridiculous fancies (though he did once design wedding costumes for a pair of dogs who were getting married).  Instead, he created elegant, impeccably tailored dog coats made in the very fabrics and colors that were in fashion for women’s clothing of the season.  As he explains in his interview:

“We follow the ladies’ fashions.  Thus, this winter what will be mainly worn is pearly grey and a peculiar shade of green known as ‘gros vert,’ and our clothes for dogs will be made in these colours, as well as in the materials which may ultimately be fixed upon by the great dressmakers as ‘the correct thing.’”

Vivier’s clientele consisted, in the main, of a number of toy terriers, greyhounds, and griffon dogs.  These pampered pets were owned by fashionable ladies hailing from Paris, London, and New York and, according to Vivier:

“You can see these ladies with the pet-dogs which we have dressed for them, during the season, in such places as the Parc Monceau, in the Bois de Boulogne, and on the terraces of the Tuileries.”

Pearson’s Magazine, 1898.

Vivier dressed dogs for every occasion.  His designs for 1898 included a visiting costume of box cloth trimmed in leather, an “at home” suit made of warmly lined silk, a yachting costume made of blue serge, and a travelling costume of Scottish tartan which was “fitted with two little pockets” so that its wearer might carry his own handkerchief.  Vivier also designed a special overcoat for dogs to wear while travelling with their owners in an automobile.  This design was as functional as it was elegant.  As Vivier explains:

“You see, when the autocar is driven at a high rate of speed there is always much wind, and the object of these coats is to protect the lungs of the dogs against the air.  We call it the couverture pour automobiles.  It is a stylish article which we turn out in fashionable stuffs at two pounds made to measure.”

Vivier was not the first canine tailor in nineteenth century Paris.  In fact, years earlier, Madame Ledouble—the pioneer of canine couture—operated out of the same shop in the Palais Royal.  By the 1890s, Pearson’s Magazine reports that there were “three or four” other shops offering dog fashions as well.

Galerie d’Orléans, 1840.

Meanwhile, in London, the dog tailoring trade was on the rise.  An 1896 edition of the Cheltenham Chronicle calls it nothing but “fashionable foolishness,” the main criticism being that the expense of even the most basic wardrobe for a “middle-class” dog was far too high.  As evidence of this, the Cheltenham Chronicle presents an itemized bill from a local dogs’ tailor, writing:

 “The sartorial artist supplied the collar—a gilt affair, priced at half-a-sovereign; also the leg-ring, in this case without armorial bearing, at 6s 8d.  Then there were half a dozen shirts at 8s 4d; half a dozen handkerchiefs at 10d; and two double pairs—one double pair in kid—at 12s 6d the lot.  A dressing costume and a seaside costume each figured for a like amount.  A visiting costume cost double.  A travelling suit ran into a sovereign, and a Court or functional get-up into two pounds sterling.  With a furred winter overcoat, cheap at a pound, the account required a cheque for £13 7s 6d to foot it.”

To the wealthiest of Vivier’s clients, the expense was likely no concern at all.  To the more humble dog fancier, or to those with no affinity for dogs whatsoever, the concept of canine couture was considered to be just another ridiculous extravagance of the idle rich—or worse.  Interviewing Vivier for Pearson’s Magazine, author Robert Sherard describes the fashionable dog clothing as a luxury which appeared to him “almost criminal.”  And when contrasted with the suffering of the nineteenth century poor, it certainly might seem so.

Vivier, however, had no qualms about producing such luxury for the dogs of the “grand dames” of fashionable society.  In fact, on the subject of his profession, Vivier took a rather prosaic view.  As he explains in his interview:

 “The rich…must spend their money in some way.  This way, the dressing of their pet dogs, is as good a way as any other.  If they did not spend their money on luxuries, they would not spend it at all, and trade would suffer.  Half Paris lives on the caprices of the very rich.”

Lady with a Dog by Alberto Vianetti, (1841-1927).

Thus concludes another of my (now twice monthly) Friday features on Animals in Literature and History.  If you are interested in adopting a dog or if you would like to donate your time or money to a rescue organization, I urge you to contact your local animal rescue foundation or city animal shelter.  The below links may also be useful as resources:

The Humane Society of the United States (USA)

Battersea Dogs & Cats Home (UK)

Works Referenced or Cited in this Article

“A Dog’s Outfit.”  Cheltenham Chronicle.  29 August 1896.  Newspaper transcript © The British Library Board.  All rights reserved.  With thanks to The British Newspaper Archive (www.BritishNewspaperArchive.co.uk).

Sherard, Richard.  “Dog’s in Dresses.”  Pearson’s Magazine.  Vol. VI.  London: C. Arthur Pearson Ltd., 1898.

© 2015-2016 Mimi Matthews

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The Seamstress by Josef Gisela, 1897.

“Sir,—I am a dressmaker, living in a large West-end house of business. I work in a crowded room with twenty-eight others. This morning one of my companions was found dead in her bed, and we all of us think that long hours and close confinement have had a great deal to do with her end.” 

So starts the anonymous letter which brought the death of seamstress Mary Ann Walkley to the forefront of public attention. Originally printed in a June 17, 1863 edition of The Times, the letter—signed simply “A Tired Dressmaker”—details the miserable work and living conditions of seamstresses, not in the East End of London, but in one of the finest dressmaking establishments in London’s West End.

Mary Walkley was a twenty-year-old seamstress in the employ of court dressmaker Madame Elise. Located at 170 Regent Street, Madame Elise’s shop catered to the most fashionable ladies in London society. In order to meet their exacting demands, the seamstresses who lived and worked on the premises were obliged to begin their day at half-past six in the morning and work straight through until eleven at night. On some occasions—such as those days preceding a Queen’s drawing-room or other major society event—they were even required to work all night and into the next morning to finish an order.

Quadrant, Regent Street engraved by J.Woods after J.Salmon, 1837.

When the seamstresses were finally permitted to retire to bed, they found little respite. Describing the suffocating accommodations at Madame Elise’s establishment, the “Tired Dressmaker” writes:

“At night we retire to rest in a room divided into little cells, each just large enough to contain two beds. There are two of us in each bed. There is no ventilation; I could scarcely breathe in them when I first came from the country. The doctor who came this morning said they were not fit for dogs to sleep in.”

Mary Walkley took ill on a Friday. By Sunday she was worse. The other seamstresses at Madame Elise’s sat up with her that night until she fell asleep. The next morning, Mary Walkley’s bedfellow woke to find Mary dead beside her.

The death of Mary Walkley sparked a firestorm of public outrage. People were horrified by the conditions under which West End seamstresses lived and worked. Many argued for reforms, including strict regulations governing the workrooms. Others wanted Madame Elise and her husband to be prosecuted for their perceived role in Mary’s death. The scandal even prompted the July 4, 1863 edition of Punch to publish a cartoon titled “The Haunted Lady,  or The Ghost in the Looking Glass” which shows a fashionable young woman admiring her new gown in the mirror only to see the reflection of the seamstress who died in the process of making it.

Punch, June 4, 1863.

The fact that many of the young seamstresses employed at establishments like that of Madame Elise were orphans or girls who had fallen on hard times made their working conditions that much more despicable in the public view. Some even compared the exploitation of vulnerable seamstresses to a form of slavery. As an article in the June 27, 1863 edition of the Preston Chronicle states:

“We should even now have been unaware of the extent to which ‘white slavery’ exists at the west end of London had not this poor girl died under circumstances which caused an investigation by a coroner.”

The inquest into the death of Mary Walkley received a great deal of public attention. Ultimately, the jury found that Mary had died of apoplexy, likely accelerated by overwork and poor ventilation. Those who had hoped for Madame Elise and her husband to be charged with murder were deeply disappointed. An article in the July 2, 1863 edition of the Stirling Observer calls the verdict “dissatisfying in the extreme,” writing:

“If to work seventeen and eighteen hours a-day all the year round; to be allowed no out-door exercise or spare time at dinner or tea, but just sufficient to take hurried meals, and then, after slaving at the needle till eye and hand fails, and head and heart grow sick, to be marched off to ‘dens’ four abreast, where throughout the short night, instead of being refreshed by ‘tired Nature’s sweet restorer—balmy sleep,’ they are stifled with the venom of carbonic acid gas, and other active impure agents in bad ventilation—if master or mistress in any millinery or other establishment in the kingdom, compels his or her employees to undergo such an ordeal, or else go without work, in the sight of God and man, nay, according to a fair and just interpretation of the law of the land, they are as deliberately taking away life by slow poison, as sure and deadly in its work as that by which L’Angelier met his death.  If that is not murder, what is it?”

The Earl of Shaftesbury,
Vanity Fair, 1869.

In response to Mary Walkley’s death, the Earl of Shaftesbury brought the matter before the House of Lords. A June 26, 1863 edition of the Peterhead Sentinel and General Advertiser for Buchan District reports that the earl asked if the Government would “bring a bill to provide for the sanitary regulations of the workrooms in which seamstresses were employed,” pointing out that the Legislature had “already granted similar relief in other occupations.” In response, the Earl of Granville is reported to have responded that:

“…the question was a very difficult one, and the Government at present had no power to interfere, but he could not say that the Government would undertake further legislation; but, if the noble Earl himself would, they would give his proposals every consideration.”

Despite the public outcry over the working conditions of West End seamstresses, no laws were ever enacted to regulate their hours and working conditions. Even if they had been, they would have been difficult to enforce as dressmakers worked in private establishments which were not open to government inspectors.

I close this article with an image of a fashionable dress from 1863, accompanied by the final lines of the anonymous letter that first brought the death of Mary Walkley to public attention. Those lines read as follows:

“Of course we are all very much shocked, and although we do not complain of our house, which is better conducted than many, we should be so glad if some plan could be discovered by which we could get a little less work and a little more air.—I remain, Sir,
“A Tired Dressmaker.”

1860-1864 British Silk Dress.
(Met Museum)

Works Referenced or Cited in this Article

“Death in the Work-Room.” Burnley Gazette. 20 June 1863.

“Death in the Workroom.” Stirling Observer. 02 July 1863.

“Death of a Seamstress by Overwork.” Salisbury and Winchester Journal. 27 June 1863.

Kortsch, Christine Bayles. Dress Culture in Late Victorian Women’s Fiction. New York: Routledge, 2009.

London Times. 17 June 1863.

“Worked to Death.” Brighton Gazette. 02 July 1863.

© 2015-2016 Mimi Matthews

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Individual Images via Met Museum and MFA Boston.

During the nineteenth century, red was considered a vibrant, powerful color, suitable for warm winter cloaks, richly patterned shawls, and dramatic evening dresses.  In shades ranging from soft rose to brilliant crimson, it adorned women of every age and every station, providing a vivid pop of color to ensembles that would otherwise be considered plain or even drab.  In today’s article, we look at some of the loveliest examples of the color red in Victorian fashion.

*Please note: These sorts of vivid, deep reds were generally achieved with aniline dye.  Invented in 1856, aniline dye produced a wider range of color than natural red dyes like cochineal. 

GOWNS

In his 1870 book Color in Dress, author George Audsley describes red as “a strong, ostentatious, and warm color.”  In its brightest and richest shades, it could be worn in autumn or winter and was thought to be particularly flattering on brunettes and those with darker hair.  For “florid brunettes” (i.e. brunettes with rich-toned or olive skin), Audsley recommends scarlets, bright crimsons, and all other shades of brilliant reds.

1865-1868 Red Silk Visiting Dress.
(Met Museum)

For pale brunettes, Audsley advises deeper reds, such as clarets, dark russets, and crimsons.  The reasoning behind this was that since the pale brunette had very fair skin and very dark hair, it was “injurious” to the complexion to wear a mid-tone shade.  Instead, the pale brunette was urged to choose colors at either the very darkest or very lightest end of the red spectrum.  Thus, she might wear a rose red or a deep claret, but not a bright scarlet or a vivid cherry.

1876 Red Silk Dress.
(Image via Philadelphia Museum of Art)

Certain shades of red were better suited to certain times of day.  Rose red, for example, was not an ideal color for evening dress since, according to the 1885 edition of Hill’s Manual of Social and Business Forms, “the beauty of rose color disappears under the gaslight.”  Crimson and scarlet, on the other hand, were considered to be more flattering at night.  Whether in gaslight or candlelight, they never lost their brilliancy, making them a perfect choice for evening.

1875 Red Silk Ball Gown.
(Image via Met Museum)

Audsley states that the color red was “expressive of anger and the ardent passions.”  However, depending on the shade, red could also be stately, dignified, or even girlish.  An 1886 edition of The Cosmopolitan reports that red dresses were especially popular that year for “misses and young ladies.”  These red dresses were sometimes made with black or trimmed with black silk passementerie.

1887 Red Wool Dress.
(Met Museum)

According to Audsley, red was also symbolic of war, pomp, and power.  As such, the color was particularly well suited for those garments designed with a militaristic flair.  Red dresses trimmed with military-style buttons or black or gold military braid were considered very fashionable.  Red jacket bodices made to resemble Hussar jackets were also quite popular, especially as British troops began returning from Egypt in 1882.

1899 Red wool Jacket with Military Braid.
(Met Museum)

Shades of red were often used in combination with other colors.  In dresses of the Victorian era, reds can frequently be seen coupled with black.  However, Audsley warns that crimson and black or brown—though technically harmonious—make a rather dull combination.

Late 1870s Red Silk Ball Gown.
(Met Museum)

Red and gold was another popular color combination during the Victorian era.  Red dresses were printed or embroidered with gold patterns or made with gold trimmings, including gold lace, beads, buttons, tassels, fringe, or braid.

1879 Red Silk Dress.
(Met Museum)

Pale red fabrics contrasted with deep red fabrics could make for a dramatic evening dress or ball gown.  As an example, below is stunning silk evening dress from the 1880s.  Note that the designer has left off any tassels, fringe, lace, or beads.  The color combination alone is what makes it so striking.

1884-1886 Red Silk Evening Dress.
(Met Museum)

Shades of red can also be seen in Victorian dresses made of patterned fabric such as plaids or prints.  In these cases, it is generally only an accent color and far less brilliant than on its own.  For fair-skinned blondes, this was considered to be a flattering way to wear red since, according to Audsley, it was generally too powerful for them otherwise, especially when worn close to the face.

1880 Red and Blue Plaid Cotton Dress.
( Museum at FIT)

1875 White and Red Cotton Dress.
(LACMA)

Shoes

Fashion historian C. Willet Cunnington reports that during bleak, Victorian winters “red jerseys, red coats and cloaks, red hose, petticoats, hats, bonnets and muffs, conduce to brighten up the winter somberness.”  Red accessories were not, however, limited to the winter.  Fashionable ladies wore red throughout the year, including red bonnets, parasols, shawls, stockings, and even red shoes.  These red silk boots are just one example of how red was used in Victorian ladies’ footwear.

1865-1875 Red Ribbed Silk Boot with Lace Trim.
(Victoria and Albert Museum)

Evening slippers in shades of red were also very fashionable when paired with the right evening dress or ball gown.  The below evening slippers are made of red silk with decorative glass beading.

1875-1885 Red Silk Beaded Evening Slippers.
(Met Museum)

Bonnets

Red ribbons, red plumes, red beads, and red silk flowers decorated Victorian ladies’ bonnets throughout the year.  The dazzling 1880s red bonnet below is made of red silk ribbons, beads, and feathers.

1883 French Bonnet with Red Beads, Feathers, and Ribbon.
(Met Museum)

Red ribbons were also frequently used to trim plain, straw bonnets.  As an example, the poke bonnet below is trimmed rather sparingly in red velvet ribbon.

1879-1884 Poke Bonnet with Red Velvet Ribbon.
(Met Museum)

Parasols

In author William Black’s 1894 novel Highland Cousins, one of the characters declares that “any young lady that carries a scarlet parasol does nothing more nor less than confer a favor on every one coming within sight of her.”  The idea that a red parasol was a beautiful and eye-catching accessory was nothing new.  Red parasols were fashionable for much of the 19th century.  Generally made of silk, they came in a range of shades, from pale rose to deepest claret.

1886 Red Silk Parasol.
(Met Museum)

Shawls

Shades of red were often found in the rich, cashmere shawls which were so popular during the Regency and Victorian eras.  These reds were generally combined with golds and other rich colors.  Red was also a favorite color in less expensive wool or knitted shawls.  Below is a red wool wedding shawl from 1866.

1866 Red Wool Wedding Shaw.
(Met Museum)

Undergarments

Shades of red were also used in women’s undergarments, with fashionable ladies as apt to don a cherry-colored corset or scarlet stockings as their less ladylike counterparts in the lower strata of society.  In many respects, red underthings were still quite daring.  As an example, below is a red cotton corset from the 1880s.

1880s Red Cotton Corset.
(Met Museum)

Red stockings were especially fashionable during the Victorian era.  Sometimes they were plain red.  Other times they were embellished with decorative patterns or embroidery.  The red, silk knit stockings below feature a design of playing cards.

1900 Red Silk Knit Stockings.
(Museum at FIT)

Fans

A red fan was a striking complement to a light colored or neutral-toned evening dress or ball gown.  Red fans came in many different varieties.  There were painted fans, feather fans, and fans decorated with sequins and spangles.  Below is a red, silk crepe fan stamped with gold rosettes.

Mid-19th Century Red Crepe Fan.
(MFA Boston)

Red fans with red gowns could also be quite striking.  The 1886 red silk reception dress below is shown with a red fan.  As you can see, it makes a very dramatic statement and would probably not have been recommended for young ladies in their first season.

1886 Red Silk Reception Dress.
(Cincinnati Art Museum)

Jewelry

For the fashionable Victorian lady, there were many options in red jewels, with rubies and garnets being by far the most popular.  Depending on a lady’s budget, one might find her wearing a ruby or garnet brooch, necklace, bracelet, earrings, rings, or even hairpins.  Below is an interesting cabochon garnet ring set in gold.  It is designed to resemble the turret of a castle.

1899-1903 Cabochon Garnet Ring.
(Victoria and Albert Museum)

Rubies were much more expensive than garnets.  In fact, according to an 1881 edition of The American Magazine, at that particular time in history rubies had surpassed diamonds in value.  Most valuable of all were the pigeon’s blood rubies found in India.  Below is a magnificent ruby and rose-cut diamond ring from 1850.

1850 Ruby Set in Gold with Rose-Cut Diamonds.
(Victoria and Albert Museum)

A Few Final Words…

There is no one color that fully represents the Victorian era.  However, I hope the above has given you some idea of how red was used in Victorian women’s fashion.  In future, I’ll be profiling other popular shades of the era.  Until then, I leave you with the following wise words on color from the 1862 edition of Littell’s Living Age:

“Dress should be to the person what the frame is to the picture, subordinate — the setting that enhances the beauty of the gem, but does not overwhelm it.”

Nude with Red Stockings by Guiseppe De Nittis, 1879.

Works Referenced or Cited in this Article

Audsley, George Ashdown.  Color in Dress: A Manual for Ladies.  Philadelphia: George Maclean, 1870.

Black, William.  Highland Cousins.  New York: Harper & Brothers, 1894.

The Cosmopolitan, Vol. I.  Rochester: Schlicht & Field, 1886.

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

Gale, Ethel.  Hints on Dress: Or, What to Wear, when to Wear It, and how to Buy it.  New York: J. P. Putnam & Sons, 1872.

Hill’s Manual of Social and Business Forms.  Chicago: Quadrangle Books, 1885.

“How to Choose Colors in Dress.”  Peterson’s Magazine, Volumes 27-28.  Philadelphia: C. J. Peterson, 1855.

“A Lady’s Dress.”  Littell’s Living Age.  Vol. 75.  Boston: Littell, Son, and Company, 1862.

Paxton, Joseph Rupert.  Jewelry and the Precious Stones.  Philadelphia: John Penington & Son, 1856.

Sherwood, M. E. W.  “Jewels, Jewelry, and Goldsmith’s Work.”  The American Magazine, Vol. 12.  New York: Frank Leslie’s Publishing House, 1881.

© 2015-2016 Mimi Matthews

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Individual Collage Images Courtesy of LACMA, Met Museum, and the Kyoto Costume Institute.

Men’s fashion changed very little during the nineteenth century, especially when compared to women’s fashion of the same period. For this reason, I thought it better to provide a general overview of the century, looking at changes decade-by-decade as opposed to year-by-year. In this manner, you can see the slow evolution of nineteenth century menswear, from the Regency dandyism of Beau Brummell to the matched three-piece suits of the late Victorian era. Changes were subtle, but significant, each of them moving men’s fashion one step closer to the elegant silhouettes still evidenced in fashionable menswear of today.

*Please note: This is a brief, primarily visual, overview of men’s fashion in the nineteenth century. For in-depth information on individual decades, please consult the recommended links.

1800

Entering the nineteenth century, men were no longer wearing the fancy fabrics and trimmings that characterized their clothing in the 1700s. Instead—under the influence of George Bryan “Beau” Brummel—men’s fashion was gradually moving toward the restrained, conservative costumes that would set the tone for the rest of the century.

Caricature of Beau Brummell by Robert Dighton, 1805.

Short-fronted tailcoats and fitted waistcoats were worn over plain, white linen shirts. Tight-fitting pantaloons replaced eighteenth century knee breeches, Hessian boots replaced buckled shoes, and intricately tied, white linen neck cloths became the mark of the true man of fashion.

Cutaway Tail Coat, 1805-1810.
(Mint Museum)

Each article of clothing was impeccably made, tailored on simple lines and cut from dark or neutral fabrics. Much of the embellishment in this decade was saved for the waistcoat. Adding to this fashionable, yet understated, ensemble was a  tall, beaver hat (similar to the one shown above) and various accessories such as canes, pocket watches, and quizzing glasses.

Menswear, 1806.

1810

Advancing into 1810, the fashion for simple, well-cut clothing—in the manner of Beau Brummell—had become very much the norm. Men of the upper-classes continued to wear double-breasted dress coats of fine wool and light-coloured waistcoats over white linen shirts. Buckskin breeches and top-boots were de rigueur for the gentleman in the country (see below), while tight-fitting pantaloons and Hessians remained the fashion in town.

Portrait of Joseph-Antoine de Nogent by Jean-Auguste-Dominique Ingres, 1815.
( Harvard Art Museums/Fogg Museum)

For evening dress, gentlemen wore knee breeches of black or light-coloured satin or velvet with white stockings, a white waistcoat, and a dark tail-coat.

Full Dress of a Gentleman, Ackermann’s Plate, 1810.

In 1816, the frock coat was introduced. Unlike long-tailed dress coats, frock coats had a waist seam and a full skirt which hung down to the knees. Initially viewed as being rather informal, the frock coat would eventually become a wardrobe staple.

1815 Wool Tailcoat.
(Met Museum)

1820 Frock Coat.
(LACMA)

1820

By the 1820s,  the silhouette of gentlemen’s fashion was beginning to change. Coat sleeves began to puff at the shoulders, chests swelled out, and waistlines narrowed to an often extreme degree.  This hourglass silhouette—frequently enhanced with padding and corsetry—would remain fashionable into the early 1830s.

Costume Parisien, 1826.

Meanwhile, trousers (or trowsers) were becoming fashionable for day wear. Trousers generally had a fall front which buttoned at the waist and a strap at the foot to ensure that they fell smoothly on the leg.

1820s Wool Trousers with Figured Silk Waistcoat.
(Fashion Museum Bath)

Some gentlemen preferred loose-fitting Cossack trousers.  Inspired by the trousers worn by Cossack soldiers who visited London with Alexander I of Russia in 1814, Cossack trousers were pleated at the waist and full in the hips and thighs.

1820-1830 Cossack Trousers.
(Victoria and Albert Museum)

1830

Entering the 1830s, trousers were fuller in the leg and frockcoats began to be made in a variety of designs, suitable for every taste and every occasion.

1828-1830 Frock Coat.
(Victoria and Albert Museum)

At the same time, waistcoats became a bit more elaborate. They were made of rich fabrics like velvet and jacquard-woven silk and embellished with embroidery, patterns, and prints.

1830s Wool Tailcoat, Cotton Twill Trousers, and Cut-Velvet Patterned Vest.
(Kyoto Costume Institute)

By the late 1830s, elaborately tied white cravats and neck cloths had fallen from favor for day wear. In their place were black neckties,  knotted in a manner not too dissimilar from a bow tie.

1833 Blue Silk Coat.
(Met Museum)

1840

Moving into the 1840s, the Victorian era was well and truly underway. In her 2001 book Pantaloons and Power, fashion historian Gayle Fischer states that this was the decade when:

“Men gave up their claims to ornamentation, colors, and lace, and adopted a more uniform style of dress, thereby making fashion and all its accoutrements the sole province of women.”

1845-1853 Trousers.
(Victoria and Albert Museum)

Trousers of the 1840s were fuller and, as the decade progressed, the strap at the foot disappeared and fall fronts were replaced by a fly front design.

L’Oriflamme des Modes, 1840.

The 1840s is also notable for being the decade that introduced the sack coat. Unlike a frock coat, the sack coat was short, single-breasted, unlined, and loose-fitting. The sack coat was generally worn for sporting or country pursuits. For all other occasions, men donned a frock coat or a tailcoat.

1845 Cotton and Linen Suit.
(Museum at FIT)

1850

Advancing into the 1850s, the waistline of frock coats began to lower, eliminating the high-waisted look of earlier decades.

1852 Frock Coat and Trousers.
(LACMA)

Meanwhile, sack coats grew in popularity, with many of them being made to match a gentleman’s trousers.  Frock coats and tailcoats were also occasionally made to match, as illustrated by the black trousers and coat seen below.

1850 Black Wool Suit with Checkered Vest.
(Museum at FIT)

Despite the prevalence of matching coats and trousers in somber hues, some fashionable gentlemen favored patterned trousers. Through much of the 1850s and into the 1860s, gentlemen could be seen wearing striped or checked trousers, often in relatively bright colors. With the invention of aniline dye in 1856, these colors became even more vivid and—on occasion—rather garish.

L’Elegant, 1853.

1860

Moving into the 1860s, frock coats were no longer as fashionable as they had been in previous decades. Instead, for informal occasions, most gentlemen preferred the sack coat.

1865-1870 Wool Suit.
(Met Museum)

Trousers of the 1860s were creased, with many gentlemen continuing to opt for striped or plaid fabric. Different designs of checks or stripes were popular in different seasons. For example, the 1867 edition of the West-End Gazette of Gentlemen’s Fashion reports that for May of that year:

“Trousering of large check designs are quite the rage among fashionable dressing men; the most favourite design is a check formed of three or four lines of a subdued tint, with a large check of a fine line of blue or other brilliant colour intermingled.”

1860-1870 Wool Plaid Suit.
(LACMA)

The 1860s is notable for being the decade when the three-piece suit began to emerge. Made in matched black, brown, or other dark hues, three-piece suits were generally worn with white shirts and dark-coloured cravats.

1867-1868 Black Wool Three-Piece Suit.
(Met Museum)

1870

Entering 1870, the Gentleman’s Magazine of Fashion reports that coats were cut “a slight degree shorter” than in previous seasons. Coats were also straighter and cut closer to the shape, with longer waists and narrow sleeves.

1870-1800 Wool Twill Trousers.
(Victoria and Albert Museum)

Frock coats were still in fashion for formal day wear. Morning coats, which were single-breasted and cut away from the front, were also quite popular. For business dress or less formal day dress, the sack suit dominated the decade.

Gentleman’s Magazine of Fashion, 1876.

Waistcoats continued to be worn, but were usually hidden behind high-buttoned coats. They were generally made to match coats and trousers. As for trousers themselves, they changed very little in the last quarter of the nineteenth century. During the 1870s, they were cut a bit fuller for day wear, with the knee measuring the same width as at the ankle. For evening wear, trousers were slightly narrower.

1870-1880 Wool Trousers.
(Victoria and Albert Museum)

1880

Advancing into 1880, most gentlemen of fashion owned several styles of coat, including a frock coat, tailcoat, cutaway coat, and sack coat.

1880 Morning Coat and Vest.
(LACMA)

The sack coat was initially the least formal option, however, toward the end of the decade, a dressier version of the black sack coat was introduced in Tuxedo, New York. This tuxedo jacket—or dinner jacket as it was known outside of the United States—would become a mainstay of men’s evening wear for decades to come.

1885 Evening Suit with Dinner Jacket.
(Victoria and Albert Museum)

Matched three-piece suits in blacks, browns, and tweeds continued to be quite fashionable. Trousers patterned in bright plaids or checks were also rather popular, especially when paired with dark coats.

1885 Wedding Suit with Cutaway Coat.
(Philadelphia Museum of Art)

1890

Moving into the 1890s, the morning coat began to rival the frock coat for formal day wear. For informal occasions, the sack coat remained popular.

1894 J.B. Johnstone Wool Morning Suit.
(Met Museum)

Trousers were narrow and—thanks to the invention of the trouser press—were often creased down the front and the back. As for men’s shirts, the 1894 edition of the Clothier and Furnisher reports that:

“…colored starched shirts, with cuffs to match and white collars, are all the go.”

1897 Frock Coat, Vest, and Striped Wool Trousers.
(Philadelphia Museum of Art)

By the 1890s, most men were wearing either neckties or bow ties. For day wear, these ties could be solid or patterned. For evening wear, they were white.

The Sartorial Art Journal, 1894.

A Few Final Words…

I hope the above overview has given you a general idea of the changes in men’s fashion during the nineteenth century. Again, I remind you that this is just a brief, primarily visual guide. If you would like to learn more about nineteenth century men’s fashion, including details on men’s hats, shoes, and accessories,  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

L’Elegant, 1857.

Works Referenced or Cited in this Article

Blanco, José.  Clothing and Fashion: American Fashion from Head to Toe.  Santa Barbara: ABC-CLIO, 2015.

The Clothier and Furnisher, Vol. 23. New York: Masson Publishing, 1894.

Fashion: The Definitive History of Costume and Style. New York: DK Publishing, 2001.

Fischer, Gayle V. Pantaloons & Power: A Nineteenth-century Dress Reform in the United States. Kent: Kent State University Press, 2001.

The Gentleman’s Magazine of Fashion. London: Louis Devere & Co., 1870.

The Gentleman’s Magazine of Fashion. London: Louis Devere & Co., 1871.

Johnson, Lucy. Nineteenth Century Fashion in Detail. London: Victoria & Albert Museum, 2009.

Norris, Herbert and Curtis, Oswald. Nineteenth-century Costume and Fashion, Volume 6. Mineola: Dover Publications, 1998.

Nunn, Joan. Fashion in Costume, 1200-2000. Chicago: New Amsterdam Books, 2000.

The West-End Gazette of Gentlemens’ Fashions. London: Kent and Co., 1867.

© 2016 Mimi Matthews

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Today, I am very pleased to welcome art historian and author Lucy Paquette  with a fascinating guest post on fashion in the paintings of Victorian era artist James Tissot!

In the Conservatory (Rivals), c. 1875, by James Tissot.
Oil on canvas, 15 1/8 by 20 1/8 in. (38.4 by 51.1 cm). Private Collection.
(Photo: Wikiart.org)

No one captured the rapidly-changing fashion trends of the 1860s and 1870s like French painter James Jacques Joseph Tissot (1836 – 1902).  Tissot was more than merely a painter of fashionable women.  His mother and her sister were partners in a successful millinery company.  Tissot’s father established a booming business as a wholesale linen draper – a trader in fabrics and dress trimmings to retailers and exporters.  At 19, Tissot moved to Paris to study painting, and he gained the technical skills to record the fashionable female form of this period – tall, slim figures heightened by high chignons, hats, and heels, with silhouettes changing every few years.

Portrait of Mlle. L.L. (Young Lady in a Red Jacket. February 1864), by James Tissot.
Oil on canvas, 48 13/16 by 39 3/8 in. (124 by 99.5 cm). Museé d’Orsay, Paris.
(Photo: Wikimedia.org)

In Tissot’s Portrait de Mlle L.L. (Young Lady in a Red Jacket, 1864), the subject displays startling self-assurance in her red bolero jacket edged with decorative red braid and bobble fringe.  Its sleeves flare out and are slit to the elbow on the outside, like the pagoda sleeves of the 1850s.  The bolero, reminiscent of a Spanish matador’s costume, was in high style at this time, said to be an homage to Eugénie de Montijo (1826 – 1920), who became Empress of the French upon marrying Napoléon in 1853.  Mlle L.L. pairs her dolman-cut bolero with a white menswear-like shirt that has a classic pointed collar and simple cuffs, and a black tie.  She wears long drop earrings but no other jewelry, and her long, curly brown hair is worn loose, accented only with a red ribbon.  Under her high-waisted, full black skirt, we see a pink slipper – and a hint of a blue stocking.  She also is not wearing a crinoline – perhaps, in part, because sitting on the edge of a desk in a steel cage crinoline hardly would result in an appropriate pose.  Importantly, however, it was in 1864 that Paris couturier Charles Worth (1825 – 1895) declared the steel-cage crinoline – invented in 1856 and popularized by his most illustrious client, Empress Eugénie – dead.  He began to design gowns with straight fronts, moving the fullness from women’s skirts to the back, supported by a horsehair pad bustle.

The Marquis and the Marquise de Miramon and their Children (1865), by James Tissot.
Oil on canvas, 69 11/16 by 85 7/16 in. (177 by 217 cm).  Musée d’Orsay, Paris. 
(Photo: Wikimedia.org)

Thérèse-Stephanie-Sophie Feuillant (1836 – 1912) was from a wealthy bourgeois family.  She inherited a fortune from her father, and in 1860, she married Réne de Cassagnes de Beaufort, Marquis de Miramon (1835 – 1882).  In the 1865 family portrait, The Marquis and the Marchioness of Miramon and their children, Tissot depicts the 29-year-old Marquise in a short, fitted black velvet jacket with dolman-cut sleeves that are heavily embroidered at the edge and accented with three sloping rows of decorative topstitching at the shoulder.  It has elaborate, white-and-grey ribbon rosettes covering the buttons down the front and silver ornaments in a marquise shape at the cuffs.  Her white, menswear-inspired blouse has a narrow, classic pointed collar and voluminous sleeves with simple, narrow cuffs fitted to the wrist.  The blouse, which could be cotton or bleached linen, puffs out of slits toward the end of the jacket’s flared sleeves.  The restrained top of the Marquise’s ensemble is a perfect foil to her cascading skirt in a lightweight and crisp grey-and-white striped silk.  The Marquise’s pose emphasizes the chic, flattened front of the skirt and showcases the dramatic fullness in the back, supported by a crinolette and ending in a train.  The skirt’s high waist is tied with a wide, shimmering silk taffeta sash, edged in ruffled trim.  The ends of the sash flow down toward the skirt’s hem, which is finished with a row of five alternating grey and white horizontal pleats.  Even with high heels, this skirt is so very long that the Marquise must have been quite long-legged.

Her lustrous brown hair is parted in the center, and braids behind each ear are overlapped over her head as if she’s wearing a tiara, with a sheer blue ribbon entwined in the coiled tresses at her nape.  For a closer look, click here.

Young Women looking at Japanese Articles (1869), by James Tissot.
Oil on canvas, 70.5 by 50.2 cm. Cincinnati Art Museum, Ohio, USA.
(Photo: Wikimedia.org)

In Young Women Looking at Japanese Articles (1869), Tissot features a morning walking costume consisting of a long coat in brown wool or perhaps cashmere, with dolman-cut sleeves, and a brown taffeta skirt with a deep ruffle of knife pleats that add movement at the hem.  The woman’s ensemble has no train to drag in the dirty streets.  The coat has a column of dark brown buttons from the throat to the hem.  The collar, cuffs, hem and hip pockets are trimmed in fur that matches the woman’s muff.  The cuffs and hem also are edged with a wide stripe of dark brown fabric and a narrow stripe that echoes it.  The high, draped bustle had appeared by 1868, and Tissot captured the trend in this painting.  The coat’s full skirt is drawn up in two loose rows at the sides and back, and accented with a belt in a soft brown velvet that spreads into a graceful bowed, tiered bustle.  The woman’s ochre-colored kid gloves match her blonde hair, arranged in long, loose curls over her shoulders and gathered up high on the back of her head.  The oval Lamballe hat of brown velvet is tilted over her forehead to accommodate this hairstyle.  It features small, curled plumes in colors that repeat those of her ensemble.  Fastened to the back of her head with a narrow cord, it is finished with a medium-sized brown velvet bow whose wide streamers arc down to her shoulders.  She wears no jewelry but single pearls dangling from her ears.

Caption:  At the Rifle Range (The Crack Shot, 1869), by James Tissot. 
Oil on canvas, 26 ½ by 18 ¾ in. (67.3 by 47.6 cm).  Wimpole Hall, Cambridgeshire, UK. 
(Photo: Wikipaintings.org)

An even more elegant ensemble in brown is the centerpiece of Tissot’s At the Rifle Range (The Crack Shot, 1869).  This sporting woman wears a black silk bodice with long, fairly full sleeves that narrow to a wide fitted cuff, under which can be seen the buttoned white cuffs of the blouse underneath.  The matching black silk skirt is enlivened with nearly a dozen rows of frills and ruching and is lightly trained.  Her dove grey, dolman-cut jacket is of a heavy fabric printed in a darker grey paisley design.  Its sweeping neckline, wide unstructured sleeves and square peplum are trimmed in brown fur.  A matching overskirt is draped à la polonaise over her hips and bustle.  Her black silk Lamballe hat, tied around the back of her head with a narrow black velvet ribbon, is trimmed in light blue silk ribbon and matching silk flowers, with a bow of wide black velvet ribbon at the back.  It is tipped at a steep angle to accommodate her heavy chignon.  She wears no jewelry except a large ring on the third finger of her left hand.  Like the Marquise de Miramon, this woman must be very tall, even if wearing high heels, and she cuts an imposing figure in every way.

Reading the News (c. 1874), by James Tissot. 
Oil on canvas, 34 by 20.5 in (86.4 by 52 cm).  Private Collection. 
(Photo:  Wikimedia.org)

The woman in Reading the News (c. 1874) wears a tailored yachting gown cut from a heavy white fabric, probably cotton, and trimmed in navy blue ribbon and soft white cotton fringe.

The form-fitting jacket bodice has long, narrow set-in sleeves with shaped cuffs, and a pointed waist.  The band collar is bordered at the top and bottom with navy blue ribbon that runs down the center front and along the bottom.  The narrow white lace of a fitted blouse peeks from the collar and cuffs, softening the ensemble – and, under that, a tight, high black collar creates an elegant pedestal for the head.

The underskirt ends in long box pleats lined in navy blue.  A matching overskirt is draped à la polonaise over her hips and punctuated by narrow navy blue sashes fastened by a circular gold brooch at the sides.  The large, high bustle is ornamented only by two short, peplum-like streamers from the bodice back, their rectangular shape outlined in navy blue ribbon and soft white cotton fringe.  On her head is a pale yellow, pleated straw circle, tipped forward and curved down in front to shade the eyes and up in back to accommodate a very high chignon of coiled false hair.  This lightweight, practical and charming hat is embellished with four concentric circles of lacy white ruffles.

The Ball on Shipboard (c. 1874), by James Tissot.
Oil on canvas, 33 1/8 by 51 in. (84 by 130 cm). Tate, London.
(Photo: Wikimedia.org)

Tissot painted this untrained gown from two other angles in The Ball on Shipboard (c. 1874).  The bodice front has a navy blue bib with a column of white buttons from throat to waist.  Again, these women are quite tall – or, in standard fashion plate style, their leg length has been exaggerated to show the ensembles to advantage.  These two women wear short, pale yellow gloves and yellow straw boaters with wide black silk grosgrain ribbon bands and streamers.  The boaters are angled forward to accommodate their large braided chignons of false hair.  One woman carries a large black fan.

The Bunch of Lilacs (c. 1875), by James Tissot. 
Oil on canvas, 21 by 15 in. (53.34 by 38.10 cm).  Private Collection. 
(Photo:  Wikimedia.org)

The blonde model in The Bunch of Lilacs (1875) wears a lightweight white morning gown in two pieces.  The loosely-cut bodice has a square neckline trimmed in a band of blue ruching and a scalloped hem, with a sort of fichu tucked under it.  The eighteenth-century-style Sabot sleeves are tied at the elbow with sheer blue ribbon before flaring into a deep ruffle.  The draped tablier (apron) overskirt and the straight underskirt are cut from white muslin and feature tiers of softy gathered, scalloped flounces, each accented with a band of blue ruching.  The underskirt is edged with a row of white knife pleats, while the train in light blue has an edge of blue knife pleats and white flounces that spread over a length of heavy white cotton.  Just visible from the side is white drapery and a blue streamer hinting at a large bow over a high, soft bustle.  A wide blue silk sash runs diagonally across the overskirt, and the woman dangles a bonnet that matches her ensemble from a black cord over her little finger.  As a contrast to the pastel tones of her gown, the woman wears a black velvet ribbon on her right wrist and one around her throat.  English painter Louise Jopling (1843 – 1933) wrote in her autobiography:  “It was the fashion, in those days, to wear a broad band of velvet round the neck, and it would have been considered indecent if, with a low, square-cut bodice, it had been omitted.”  In Too Early (1873), Hush! (The Concert, c. 1875), and In the Conservatory (Rivals, c. 1875), Tissot also depicts women wearing black ribbons at their throats and wrists.

The blonde in this painting, whom I believe to be Louise Jopling’s pretty sister, Alice – according to Louise, she modeled for Tissot at this time – wears a light fringe and has gently scooped her hair behind her head.  It t is topped by an extraordinarily large braided coil of false hair – another fad of this period.

The Gallery of HMS. Calcutta (Portsmouth, c. 1876), by James Tissot.
Oil on canvas, 27 by 36 1/8 in. (68.5 by 92 cm). Tate, London.
 (Photo: Wikimedia.org)

Though we cannot see the front of these gowns in The Gallery of HMS Calcutta (c. 1876), clearly all the interest is in the back – and by this date, the bustle has shifted downward.

The sheer blue gown on the left has a deep neckline edged in ruffles enhanced by a column of blue silk taffeta bows.  The long, slim, set-in sleeves end in a deep ruffle, accented by a single bow at the wrist.  Bows decorate the hips at the gathered-up sides (an underskirt is implied by the front division of the overskirt and also can be seen under the sheer bodice), and tiers of ruffles and ruching edge the gown from the front to the train that spills out behind the dress, a sea of froth for the two large taffeta bows and streamers which float over an elaborate, swaying concoction of of ruching, frills and knife pleats that draw the eye to that fabulous soft, low bustle.  The prim, round black hat perched at an angle over her chignon and tied under her chin seems calculated to recede into the background.

The woman on the right, in the gown of white striped muslin, presents an even more stunning focal point with her pose.  Her neckline, high in back with a yellow ribbon accent, surely dips in front, and her long, slim sleeves and hips also are trimmed in crisp silk taffeta bows.  Once again, the sheer fabric reveals an underdress, and the skirt sways to an end in a half-dozen layers of gathered ruffles and a more moderate train than the other gown.  Though this gown is less elaborate, the two yellow taffeta bows could not be more arresting.  Hovering at an angle behind the blonde’s heavy braided chignon and fringe, her hat – yellow straw trimmed in white and yellow taffeta bows – matches her dress so perfectly that it blends rather than recedes like the black hat.

Evening (Le bal, 1878), by James Tissot.
Oil on canvas, 35 7/16 by 19 11/16 in. (90 by 50 cm).  Musée Orsay, Paris. 
(Photo: Wikimedia.org)

The brilliant yellow gown in Evening (1878), modeled by Tissot’s young mistress and muse, Kathleen Newton (1854 – 1882), shows off the new cuirasse bodice and Princess line seaming created by couturier Charles Worth.  Fitted over a blouse in ornate white lace with Sabot sleeves trimmed in double rows of yellow silk bows at the elbows, it is a different style of gown altogether from previous Victorian dresses.  It has no waist seam:  the seams run continuously from the shoulder to the hem, and the shape is created by sewing long, fitted fabric pieces together.  The Princess seam created a tall, slender look.  It depended on the curaisse bodice, a tightly-laced, boned corset that encased the torso, waist, hips and thighs.

This lavish creation combines side panels of golden silk damask that nip in at the waist, juxtaposed with diamond-shaped side panels of horizontal stripes in ivory and pale yellow.  They are outlined in narrow golden cord and accentuated with a wide, fringed golden sash affixed to the hips.  While in front, the dress skims the floor with a hem of wide white lace, a vertical band of ruching flowing down the back divides the overskirt into a very low bustle ornamented with a profusion of golden and pale yellow bows and pleated ruffles.  They bloom into deeper layers of matching pleated ruffles combined with narrow rows of white lace, exploding into an astonishing, trailing black velvet train richly embroidered with elaborate Chinese designs.  It is the dress of all dresses.  The yellow neck ruff and frothy lace hat topped in golden silk bows, flowers and feathers over the thick, curly blonde fringe and chignon carry the vertical line upward, and the golden silk fan provides a theatrical block to visual distractions in the room beyond.  Mrs. Newton wears no jewelry but a half-dozen golden bangles on her left wrist, which stand out over her elbow-length white gloves.

During the 1860s and 1870s, the steel-cage crinoline went out of fashion and skirt volume moved to the back of the skirt over a crinolette, then up and out and finally down with the padded bustle, until the Princess seam and cuirasse bodice resulted in a dramatic narrowing of the silhouette of women’s fashion.  James Tissot recorded all the gorgeous details in his oil paintings.  He was so observant and adept at representing every detail of fashionable life that in 1869, in a review of Tissot’s painting, Young Ladies Looking at Japanese Objects, exhibited at the Paris Salon, the critique for L’Artiste wrote, “Our industrial and artistic creations can perish, our morals and our fashions can fall into obscurity, but a picture by M. Tissot will be enough for archaeologists of the future to reconstitute our epoch.”

Reference works:

Angus, Emily et al.  The Fashion Encyclopedia:  A Visual Resource for Terms, Techniques, and Styles.  Hauppauge:  Barron’s Educational Series, Inc., 2015.

Ashelford, Jane.  The Art of Dress:  Clothes and Society, 1500-1914.  London:  The National Trust, 1996.

Laver, James.  Costume and Fashion:  A Concise History, fourth edition.  London:  Thames and Hudson, Ltd., 2002, reprinted 2007.

Nunn, Joan.  Fashion in Costume: 1200-2000, second edition.  Chicago:  New Amsterdam Books, 2000.

©  2016 by Lucy Paquette.  All rights reserved.

Lucy Paquette is the author of THE HAMMOCK:  A novel based on the true story of French painter James Tissot.  Since 2012, she has blogged about the life and times of James Tissot, combining previous scholarship with original research and discussions of his paintings in public and private collections and at auction, at  https://thehammocknovel.wordpress.com/.

THE HAMMOCK:  A novel based on the true story of French painter James Tissot.

If you do not have a Kindle e-reader, you may download free Kindle reading apps for PCs, Smartphones, tablets, and the Kindle Cloud Reader to read The Hammock:  A novel based on the true story of French painter James Tissot.  Read reviews.

The Hammock:  A novel based on the true story of French painter James Tissot, brings Tissot’s world from 1870 to 1879 alive in a story of war, art, Society glamour, love, scandal, and tragedy.

Illustrated with 17 stunning, high-resolution fine art images in full color

Courtesy of The Bridgeman Art Library  

(295 pages; ISBN (ePub):  978-0-615-68267-9).

See http://www.amazon.com/dp/B009P5RYVE.

View Lucy Paquette’s videos:

“The Strange Career of James Tissot”  (2:33 min.)

“Louise Jopling and James Tissot”  (2:42 min.)

Take Lucy Paquette’s BuzzFeed Personality Quiz:  Which Female Victorian Artist Are You?

Take the Fair Face of Woman, and Gently Suspending, With Butterflies, Flowers, and Jewels Attending, Thus Your Fairy is Made of Most Beautiful Things
by Sophie Gengembre Anderson, (1823-1903).

Victorians had a fascination with natural history.  This manifested itself in various ways, not the least of which was in fashionable clothing and décor.  A Victorian parlour, for example, might feature a scientific display of pinned butterflies.  While insects, such as butterflies, dragonflies, beetles, and grasshoppers, were often depicted in Victorian jewellery, with some insect brooches and hairpins set en tremblant (on a spring) so that the jewelled insect would tremble and shake as if it were actually alive.

Of these various insects, butterflies were undoubtedly the most popular of the Victorian era.  Embroidered butterflies decorated women’s ball gowns, enamelled butterfly pins adorned lady’s hats, and diamond butterfly hair ornaments accented fashionable coiffures.  But the butterfly was not only striking in its own right, it was also symbolic of something greater.  As Rosemary McTier explains in her book An Insect View of Its Plain:

“In the complex symbolic language of the Victorian era, flies represented humility and butterflies the soul…”

1840-1850 Gold, Enamel, and Pearl Butterfly Watch.
(Met Museum)

The belief that butterflies represented the soul was fairly widespread.  In the United Kingdom, regional folklore could be quite specific on the matter.  For instance, in Ireland, butterflies were thought to be either the souls of dead grandfathers or the souls of the newly dead waiting to pass through Purgatory.  While in Devonshire and parts of Yorkshire, they were believed to be the souls of unbaptized babies.

1898 Butterfly Ball Gown.
(Met Museum)

Much of these beliefs can be attributed—at least in part—to the notion that the metamorphosis of a butterfly was symbolic of the phases of human growth. Since there was a long-standing idea that, upon death, the soul would escape the body and simply fly away, the final phase of the butterfly’s life—wherein she emerges from her chrysalis and takes flight—was naturally connected with the last journey of one’s immortal soul.

1830-1840 Diamond Butterfly Hair Pin
(Victoria and Albert Museum)

It was therefore quite unlucky to kill a butterfly…Except under certain circumstances. For instance, in his 2011 book, Some Notes on English Animal Lore, author T. Rhiselton Dyer relates the popular Devonshire belief that:

“…anyone neglecting to kill the first [butterfly] he may see in the season, will have, it is generally supposed, ill-luck for the remainder of the year.”

1900 Pair of French Cotton Drawers with Butterfly Insets.
(MFA Boston)

Butterflies were also symbolic of death in general. As the Oxford Dictionary of English Folklore states:

“Butterflies and moths were associated with death, sometimes merely as omens, sometimes as the soul or ghost.”

These butterfly omens came in many ways.  For example, in the nineteenth century United States, some people thought that a trio of butterflies was an omen of death.  Others subscribed to the popular belief that if a butterfly landed on your shoulder it was a sign that you would die relatively soon.

1865 Silk Taffeta Butterfly Dress.
(LACMA)

Such associations might make one wonder that Victorians were so keen on adorning their clothing and their homes with butterfly motifs.  However, Victorians had a great love of symbolism, whether via insects, animals, or flowers.  By the second half of the nineteenth century, they were also becoming quite comfortable with the idea of death.  Victorians of all classes carried memento mori, either in the form of jewellery—often carved in the likeness of a skull or an hourglass (to illustrate that one’s earthly time was growing shorter)—or in the form of a photo of a dead loved one or a brooch containing a lock of a deceased loved one’s hair.

Detail of a Lace Handkerchief with Butterfly Motif, possibly designed by Emma Radford.
(Met Museum)

Spiritualism was also on the rise in the second half of the Victorian era, with many participating in séances or attempting to contact the dead.  Even Queen Victoria herself—by this point in a state of deep mourning after the death of Prince Albert—was suspected of engaging in a secret séance at Windsor Castle.

1880-1890 Lleather and Net Gloves with Appliquéd Butterflies.
(Victoria and Albert Museum)

In this context, butterflies as a fashion accessory seem rather tame.  Nevertheless, it is always good to know the deeper meanings that exist in some elements of Victorian dress and décor.  At the same time, it is important to remember that, to some people, butterflies were not so much symbolic of the supernatural as simply elegant and beautiful—perfect accessories for the fashionable Victorian lady.

1894 Stern Brothers Butterfly Embroidered Evening Dress.
(Victoria and Albert Museum)

Before closing, I must note that butterflies also featured regularly in Japanese art and fashion, such as the painted fan below. The Victorian love for Japonisme encouraged the use of Japanese motifs in fashion and home  décor which was yet another reason butterflies were so much in fashion toward the end of the nineteenth century.  For more on Japonisme, you can read my article linked below:

Japonisme: The Japanese Influence on Victorian Fashion

1875 Paper Leaf Folding Fan with Butterfly Design.
(MFA Boston)

Thus concludes another of my now twice monthly features on animals in literature and history.  Butterflies are one of my favourite creatures in the animal kingdom.  However, rather than pinning one to your hat, I recommend admiring them in their natural habitat.  Below is a link to the butterfly rainforest feeding station cam at the Florida Museum of Natural History.

Butterfly Rainforest Feeding Station Cam at the Florida Museum of Natural History

Works Referenced or Cited in this Article

Daniels, Cora Lynn. Encyclopaedia of Superstitions, Folklore, and the Occult Sciences. Vol. 2. Honolulu: University of the Pacific Press, 2003.

Dyer, T. Rhiselton. Some Notes on English Animal Lore – Birds, Animals, Insects, and Reptiles. Read Books Ltd., 2011.

McTier, Rosemary Scanlon. An Insect View of Its Plain: Insects, Nature and God in Thoreau, Dickinson, and Muir. London: McFarland & Co., 2013.

Simpson, Jacqueline, and Steve Roud. Oxford Dictionary of English Folklore. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2000.

Talairach-Vielmas, Laurence. Fairy Tales, Natural History and Victorian Culture. New York: Palgrave Macmillan, 2014.

© 2016 Mimi Matthews

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“His Lordship said it was perfectly clear from the evidence that an assault was committed.  If any man kissed a woman against her will it was an assault.”
Sheffield Evening Telegraph, 22 February 1888.

Persuasion by Leonard Campbell Taylor, 1914

In February of 1888, Sheffield confectioner Ralph Williamson was charged with the attempted shooting of blacksmith George Bridges, the father of a girl that Williamson had assaulted days earlier.  The girl, named Bertha Bridges, was only fifteen years old.  She worked in Williamson’s confectionery shop in High Street.  It was there that one night, while Miss Bridges remained late to fetch his dinner, Williamson hemmed her into a corner and forcibly kissed her.

While some may not associate ‘stealing a kiss’ with assault, it was then—just as it is now—an unlawful touching and an assault under the law.  At Williamson’s trial, the prosecuting attorney would explain to the jury (as reported in the 22 February 1888 edition of the Sheffield Evening Telegraph):

“…that even if Williamson had put his fingers upon her without her consent, it would have been an assault, but he not only stroked her face but attempted to kiss her.”

After Williamson stroked her face and kissed her, Miss Bridges demanded to know what Williamson meant by such behavior.  Williamson responded by assuring Miss Bridges that “he was single” and that his wife—when she had been alive—had been “a good wife to him.”  He then retreated to the cupboard where he rummaged around until he found a funeral card for this same late wife.  He attempted to give the funeral card to Miss Bridges, though it is unclear to what purpose.  Miss Bridges, however, refused to take the card.  Instead, she went directly home and told her father.

North West Passage by John Everett Millais, 1874.

Most father’s would have been angry under the circumstances.  However, a Victorian father had cause for even greater fury.  In the Victorian era, a girl’s character was judged in relation to her sexual conduct.  Even if a girl had not been a willing participant—even if she was the helpless victim of a groper or a rapist—she was no longer considered to be an innocent.  Instead, as Louise Jackson explains in her book on Child Sexual Abuse in Victorian England:

“The act of sexual abuse was deemed to have corrupted the girl and effected her ‘fall’ from innocence; once ‘fallen,’ her moral status was dubious.  The sexually abused girl was seen as a polluting presence, and a particular danger to other children.”

Knowing this, it is perhaps understandable that Mr. Bridges went looking for the man who had assaulted his daughter, intending to thrash the villain within an inch of his life.  Williamson was well aware of the seriousness of his offense, but rather than resigning himself to accept what would have undoubtedly been a severe beating, he instead armed himself with a loaded revolver.

On Wednesday, February 8, Mr. Bridges finally ran Williamson to ground on High Street.  They exchanged words and then Mr. Bridges struck Williamson.  At that point, though the street was crowded with people, Williamson drew his revolver and fired at Mr. Bridges.  The first shot missed.  Williamson promptly fired again.  The second shot missed Mr. Bridges as well, instead striking an innocent bystander in the ankle.  After that, Williamson gave up on attempting to shoot Mr. Bridges and allowed himself to be taken away by the police.

Duel between Onegin and Lenski by Ilya Repin, 1899.

At trial, Williamson’s assault on Miss Bridges was not disputed by either party (though Williamson did claim in his defence that Miss Bridges told him she was “nearly seventeen”).  Williamson admitted to kissing Miss Bridges against her will and Justice Day declared that:

“If any man kissed a woman against her will it was an assault.”

A jury would later find Williamson guilty of both the assault and the shooting charge.  They recommended mercy, but the final decision belonged to Justice Day.  Day concluded the trial by delivering what the Sheffield Evening Telegraph referred to as “a scathing rebuke” of Williamson.  First, Day addressed the fact that Williamson was Miss Bridges’ employer.  Today we would recognize this type of offense as a classic abuse of power.  Though Justice Day does not use the exact phrase, his words—as quoted below—cannot be misconstrued:

“He took her into his service, and by taking her into his service he entered into a grave moral responsibility towards her.  A man of his years ought to have felt that a child like that was entitled to a parental protection, but she had not been in his service many hours when he got her to come into the place and immediately proceeded to stroke her face, kiss her, and to use her own expression, ‘hem’ her in a corner.”

After the Misdeed by Jean Béraud, 1885-1890.

As for the shooting charge, Justice Day was no less severe.  He concluded that Williamson knew what he deserved for having assaulted Miss Bridges and knew what he was “likely to get” if he met her father on the street, but that it was still no excuse to have armed himself with a loaded weapon.  He declared:

“It would be a very sad thing indeed if a man, because he was threatened with personal chastisement, was to go about the streets of Sheffield…with a revolver at a time when the streets were swarming with people.”

Addressing the conduct of Mr. Bridges, Day went on to say that, though he did not agree with taking the law into one’s own hands, he could not be surprised by the actions of the aggrieved father.  Indeed, in some respects, he tended to agree with the course Mr. Bridges had taken, stating that:

“…he could not help thinking that if more fathers of girls adopted the same course as Bridges did there would be fewer girls ruined and fewer girls brought to the misery they saw in those courts.” 

Ralph Williamson was sentenced to imprisonment with hard labor for fifteen months on the shooting charge.  For forcibly kissing Miss Bertha Bridges, he received three months in prison.  Upon hearing his sentence, Williamson was unusually calm—and a little bit Dickensian.  As the Sheffield Evening Telegraph reports:

“Prisoner, on hearing the sentence, turned to the gallery, and bowing remarked: ‘Well, I wish you all good morning, and God bless you; every one of you.’  He was then conducted from the dock.”

The Irritating Gentleman by Berthold Woltze, 1874.

In Closing:

I have seen a great deal in the news lately with various elected officials claiming not to know whether a forcible kiss or touch is an assault.  I have also seen some who claim that 21^st century complaints about forcible kisses or groping are just another trivial by-product of a society which has become too politically correct.  As a lawyer and historian, these sorts of comments irritate me to no end.  Having said that,  I hope this Victorian era case—which is just one of many—has given you some insight into the fact that even in the 19^th century, even in a patriarchal society where women could not vote, a forcible kiss was recognized as an assault.  Period.

Works Referenced or Cited in this Article

Jackson, Louise A. Child Sexual Abuse in Victorian England.  London: Routledge, 2000.

Lancashire Evening Post (Lancashire, England), 10 February 1888.

Morning Post (London, England), 10 February 1888.

Sheffield Evening Telegraph (South Yorkshire, England), 22 February 1888.

Wiener, Martin J. Men of Blood: Violence, Manliness, and Criminal Justice in Victorian England.  Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2004.

© 2016 Mimi Matthews

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

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The Recital by Vittorio Reggianini, (1858-1938).

As some of you may remember, during the RWA Beau Monde’s 2015 celebration of the eightieth anniversary of the Regency romance novel, I wrote a weekly Georgette Heyer poll here on my site as my way of contributing to the festivities.  These polls were quite popular at the time and a great way for Heyer lovers to connect over favourite characters, favourite scenes, and best loved phrases.  It was during this time that romance authors Avril Tremayne and Jane Godman, editor Ali Williams, and I formed our own little Heyer group which Ali affectionately named the “Dash it Alls” in honour of Freddy Standen from Heyer’s 1953 novel Cotillion. 

Over the next three months, each of the #DashItAlls will be contributing a post here at MimiMatthews.com on the novels of Georgette Heyer and how Heyer’s writing has influenced our own work.  Now, we don’t all write Regency romance.  Ali is an editor and academic, Jane writes paranormal romance and suspense, Avril writes romances set in the twenty-first century, and I write romances set in both Regency and Victorian England.  Nevertheless, Heyer has influenced all of us in ways both big and small.  For example, Avril and Jane both have upcoming books with heroes named Sylvester—a tribute to Heyer’s 1957 novel Sylvester, or The Wicked Uncle.

The Next Dance by George Goodwin Kilburne, (1839-1924).

In my own writing, one of the most influential aspects of Georgette Heyer’s novels has been her use of language, particularly the often humorous exclamations by various male characters.  These exclamations vary widely, from a simple “Good God!” uttered by a horrified Viscount Sheringham in Friday’s Child to a “Silence, rattle!” commanded by Sir Vincent Talgarth in The Grand Sophy.  And, of course, there’s Freddy in Cotillion who, at my last count, uttered the phrase “dash it” more than thirty times throughout the course of the novel.

These exclamations, generally consisting of less than three words, are often more eloquent than a paragraph long speech.  They can convey anger, frustration, disgust, good humour, and—in some cases—the first sign of love developing between the characters.  When coupled with “kindling eyes,” lips that quiver, and expressions that are “hard to read,” one can understand exactly how the character is feeling at any given moment.

While these sorts of exclamations may not technically qualify as “Heyerisms,” to me they are quintessentially Heyer.  They are also a reminder in my own writing that long speeches, minute descriptions, and detailed inventories of a character’s feelings are sometimes not as impactful as a scornful “Good God” or a frustrated “Dash it all.”

The next post in this series will be out next month.  In the meanwhile, if you would like to learn more about my fellow #DashItAlls, Avril, Jane, and Ali, click through to their individual blogs/websites via the links below.

Avril Tremayne

Jane Godman

Ali Williams

**If you are new to the novels of Georgette Heyer, I highly recommend Venetia (linked above).  Not only is it my favourite Heyer novel, it is one of my favourite romances of all time.  If you dislike Heyer or romances in general, have no fear.  I will be back with a post on 19th century history next week!

Works Referenced or Cited in this Article

Heyer, Georgette.  Cotillion.  New York: Putnam, 1953.

Heyer, Georgette.  Frederica.  New York: Dutton, 1965.

Heyer, Georgette.  Friday’s Child.  New York: Putnam, 1971.

Heyer, Georgette.  The Grand Sophy.  New York: Putnam, 1950

Heyer, Georgette.  Sylvester; Or, The Wicked Uncle.  New York: Putnam, 1957.

Heyer, Georgette.  Venetia.  New York: Putnam, 1959.

© 2016 Mimi Matthews

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Individual Collage Images via Met Museum and National Gallery of Victoria.

Unlike popular autumnal shades, such as golds, browns, and burnished reds, the Victorians generally regarded the color orange with disfavor.  Fashion magazines of the day advised against wearing orange dresses, calling the color ugly and claiming that it was unflattering to every complexion.  Even worse, as fashion historian C. Willett Cunnington reports, some believed that the color orange implied “a degree of animal passion which the pure ought not to possess.”  I had not intended to give orange an article of its own, but it’s Halloween today and I can think of no better occasion to showcase a selection of this much maligned—but nonetheless striking—shade of Victorian fashion. 

*Please note: Vivid oranges were generally achieved with aniline dye.  Invented in 1856, aniline dye produced a wider range of color than natural dyes. 

GOWNS

A true, solid orange dress was quite rare in Victorian fashion.  The color was generally viewed as being too overpowering for the complexions of most women.  For example, in his 1870 book Colour in Dress, author George Audsley calls orange one of the colors “particularly to be avoided by the Fair Blonde,” while an 1855 edition of Godey’s Lady’s Book declares:

“Orange suits nobody.  It whitens a brunette, but that is scarcely a desirable effect, and it is ugly.”

1867–1871 Depret French Silk Dress.
(Met Museum)

Does this mean that there were no instances of solid orange dresses during the Victorian era?  Not in the least.  One might see a peach-colored day dress or a warm, pumpkin orange visiting gown.  Bright oranges, however, were usually combined with other colors in the form of stripes, patterns, or trimmings.

1867–1871 Depret French Silk Gown.
(Met Museum)

Orange was considered to be harmonious with several other colors.  Blue was recognized as orange’s opposite.  As such, Audsley states that blue and orange worn together formed a “harmony of contrast” which could be quite attractive on certain ladies.  Orange could also be worn with scarlet, a flattering combination which Audsley refers to as a “harmony of analogy.”

1865-1875 Silk Visiting Dress.
(Met Museum)

In addition to the colors mentioned above, Victorian ladies also paired orange with other autumnal shades, such as soft greens, browns, and yellows.  These shades were worn in various combinations, depending on what was popular that season.  According to an 1868 edition of the Gazette of Fashion a “pale shade of orange” mixed with a “light snuff-brown and a pale green” was considered a fashionable combination that year.

1884 House of Worth Silk Afternoon Dress.
(National Gallery of Victoria)

In choosing complementary shades, much depended on the underlying tones of the orange itself.  As a general guideline, Godey’s advised Victorian women to remember that “yellow-oranges contrast with violet-blue” and “orange-reds with the blue-greens.”  The below dress from 1857-1860 combines orange and gold with a blue train.

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

Though orange was chiefly an autumnal color, it could also be worn in warmer months, especially when paired with white.  White cotton dresses were often trimmed in orange ribbons, while orange silk evening dresses could feature white embroidery, as seen on the House of Worth evening dress shown below.

1865-1867 House of Worth Orange Silk Evening Dress with White Embroidery.
(Kent State Museum)

Lighter shades of orange, such as apricot or peach, were also fashionable options for warmer weather.  When combined with other shades, like cream, white, or blue, the effect was quite pretty.  The below evening dress is a soft peach with cream lace.

1854 Evening Dress.
(Musée du Costume et de la Dentelle)

Though one is unlikely to see many bright orange or rich pumpkin tea gowns, pale peach was a popular shade for the tea gowns that came into fashion in the late 19th century.  The below silk tea gown from 1885 is just one example of how delicate these shades of peach could be.

1885 Liberty & Co. British Silk Tea Gown.
(Met Museum)

1885 Liberty & Co. British Silk Tea Gown.
(Met Museum)

PARASOLS

According to Audsley, orange and black were harmonious.  This combination—particularly evocative of Halloween—was rather striking and is not seen as often in gowns as it is in Victorian hats, parasols, and other accessories.  In these cases, orange silk or satin was frequently paired with black lace or jet beading.  The below 1860s parasol is orange silk with an overlay of black lace and a carved ivory handle.

1860s Silk Ivory and Metal French Parasol.
(Met Museum)

BONNETS

Fashionable hats and bonnets of every type were often trimmed with orange ribbons or orange flowers in shades ranging from pale peach to pumpkin.  As an 1847 edition of the Ladies Cabinet of Fashion, Music, and Romance reports:

“We have recently seen some decorated with shaded orange ribbons, the shades varying from the deepest to the palest shade of range.”

1890s Straw Hat.
(Met Museum)

Some hats and bonnets were made of orange combined with other colors.  When the shades used were strong, the result could be quite dramatic.  This was particularly true when (as noted with the parasol above) orange was worn with black.  The below hat from 1888 is made of orange silk and jet.

1888 Silk and Jet Hat.
(Met Museum)

Somewhat less dramatic were the hats and bonnets made of lighter shades of orange coupled with a softer color, such as blue.  The 1850s capote below illustrates just how becoming shades of blue and orange could be when worn together.

1850s French Straw Capote.
(Met Museum)

Jewelry 

Even those not disposed to wear an orange dress or carry an orange parasol, might adorn their visiting dress or ball gown with a piece of orange jewelry.  Of these, an orange topaz was perhaps the most popular.  The below topaz is from the late nineteenth century and is accented with pearls and gold.

Late 19th Century Topaz, Pearl, and Gold Brooch.
(Met Museum)

A FEW FINAL WORDS…

There is no one color that fully represents the Victorian era.  However, I hope the above has given you some idea of how orange was used in Victorian women’s fashion.  For a refresher on the shades of Victorian fashion that we have already covered, the previous articles in my series are available here:

Shades of Victorian Fashion: Pretty in 19th Century Pink

Shades of Victorian Fashion: Crimson, Claret, Scarlet, and Red

Shades of Victorian Fashion: Lilacs, Lavenders, Plums, and Purples

In future, I’ll be profiling other popular shades of the era.  Until then, I leave you with the following wise words on color from the 1862 edition of the London Society Magazine:

“Experience, after all, is the best guide for those who have any eye for colour at all, and a little quiet observation upon their friends’ dresses during a morning or evening assembly, will teach them more than whole chapters on the subject.”

Portrait of Emilia Włodkowska by Jozef Simmler, 1864.

Works Referenced or Cited in this Article

Audsley, George Ashdown.  Color in Dress: A Manual for Ladies.  Philadelphia: George Maclean, 1870.

Chevreul, M. E.  The Laws of Contrast of Colour.  London: Routledge, Warne, and Routledge, 1861.

“Choice of Colors in Dress; Or, How a Lady May Become Good Looking.”  Godey’s Lady’s Book.  Philadelphia: Louis A. Godey, 1855.

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

The Ladies Cabinet of Fashion, Music, and Romance, Vol. 8.  London: E. Henderson, 1847.

“A Lady’s Dress.”  London Society, Vol. II.  London: William Clowes and Son, 1862.

Minister, Edward.  Gazette of fashion, and Cutting Room Companion, Vol. XXII.  London: Minister and Co., 1868.

© 2015-2016 Mimi Matthews

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My Best Friend by Robert Douglas Fry, (1872–1911).

An 1879 edition of the Huddersfield Chronicle reports the story of a little fox terrier named Wasp and his owner who, at the time, was a student at a college in London.  Wasp was devoted to his master and would follow him wherever he went—including on the train to school each morning.  While his master attended classes, Wasp would remain in the courtyard of the college, dozing in a patch of sun and “to all appearances asleep.”  Despite appearances, however, Wasp was always watching anxiously for his master’s return and those passing through the courtyard would often observe “one watchful eye unclose gently to spy if his master were soon coming.”

When his master arrived, Wasp would immediately spring up “with great delight.”  He would then accompany him home on the train.  According to the Huddersfield Chronicle:

“The young student generally left King’s Cross Station at twenty minutes to five, and, as Wasp accompanied him, they took their seats in the guard’s van, and travelled every day with the same guard.”

Junction of the Midlands, Great Northern, and Metropolitan Railways at King’s Cross,
Illustrated London, 1868.

Sometimes, Wasp’s young master was unable to leave school at the appointed time.  On these occasions, he would give Wasp “a pat on the head” and send him home on his own.  It was a great distance on foot, but somehow Wasp always managed to reach home safely.  His master was never certain of the route which the little dog traveled until, one day, while waiting for the train, he began talking to the guard.  The Huddersfield Chronicle reports the following exchange:

“Oh, sir, we often have your dog, but not you, by this train.”

“My dog?” asked Wasp’s master, astonished.

“Yes, sir; he comes here punctually, finds me out, jumps up and gives me a friendly greeting, and then proceeds to take his place in my van.  He goes comfortably to sleep till we reach H— tunnel, when he gets up, shakes himself, and then, as the train stops at H— Station, gives a farewell wag of his tail and jumps out.”

Engraving of Queen Victoria’s Fox Terrier “Spot” by Gustav Mützel (1839-1893)

Thus concludes another of my (now twice monthly) Friday features on Animals in Literature and History.  If you would like to learn more about Fox Terriers like Wasp or if you would like to adopt a Fox Terrier of your own, the following links may be useful as resources:

American Fox Terrier Club (United States)

The Fox Terrier Club (United Kingdom)

**Author’s Note: I apologize for how sporadic—and how short—these animal history posts have become.  I am currently working on my non-fiction animal history book The Pug Who Bit Napoleon and Other Animal Tales from the 18^th and 19^th Centuries which will be published by Pen and Sword Books (UK) in late 2017.  It is consuming most of my animal history research and writing time at present.  I hope to resume a regular schedule of animal history posts after I have met my deadline!

Works Referenced or Cited in this Article

Huddersfield Chronicle (West Yorkshire, England), 03 March 1879.  ©The British Library Board.

Illustrated London News (London, England), 08 February 1868.  ©The British Library Board.

© 2015-2016 Mimi Matthews

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‘Old maids and cats have long been proverbially associated together, and rightly or wrongly these creatures have been looked upon with a certain degree of suspicion and aversion by a large proportion of the human race.’
Dundee Courier, 5 October 1880.

Portrait of a Lady with a White Cat by Anonymous Artist, 19th Century.

Spinsters have long been associated with cats.  This was especially true in the Victorian era when the stereotype of the old maid and her feline dependents was so pervasive that an 1880 edition of the Dundee Courier not only declared that “the old maid would not be typical of her class without the cat,” but that “one cannot exist without the other.”  Like cats (who were generally viewed as being sly and self-serving), old maids faced their fair share of societal persecution.  Doomed to live in a state of “single blessedness,” they were often seen as being eccentric or as having been soured by their “blighted hopes.”  To that end, the Dundee Courier reports:

“There is nothing at all surprising in the old maid choosing a cat as a household pet or companion.  Solitude is not congenial to human nature, and a poor forlorn female, shut up in a cheerless ‘garret,’ brooding all alone over her blighted hopes, would naturally centre her affections on some of the lower animals, and none would be more congenial as a pet and companion than a kindly purring pussy.”

The Victorian spinster’s predilection for the feline was an accepted fact.  As far as the spinster herself, society was less certain.  She neither married, nor had children.  What purpose, then, did her existence serve?  In 1879, Dr. Andrew Wilson of Edinburgh sought to answer this question during a scientific lecture he gave in the town of Dollar.  Speaking to a packed hall, Wilson declared that, despite having no children, maiden ladies had a critical role to play in the preservation of the human race—or, at least, in the preservation of British clover.

White Cat with Bee by Harry Beard, 1876.

According to Wilson, clover was essential to British life and humblebees (today known as bumblebees) were essential for the fertilisation and growth of clover.  Explaining how the spinster fit into all of this, the Edinburgh Evening News quotes Wilson as stating:

“Now, field mice were enemies to humble-bees, and cats were enemies to the mice. Whoever conserved cats conserved clover, and on clover, as we have seen, depends British welfare.  Old maids had a proverbial fondness for the feline race, and it was thus possible that a scientific justification of spinsterhood might be found in the utility of cats as repressing the enemies of the bees which aided the growth of clover.” 

Wilson’s pronouncement was more humor than actual science. It provoked laughter throughout the hall.  Spinsters and their cats would continue to be a great source of amusement—and of scorn—throughout the remainder of the 19^th century.   Today, for better or worse, the two are still inextricably linked in the public mind.

Works Referenced or Cited in this Article

Dundee Courier (Angus, Scotland), 5 October 1880.

Edinburgh Evening News (Midlothian, Scotland), 14 November 1879.

Lanfear, Elizabeth.  Letters to Young Ladies on Their Entrance into the World.  London: J. Robins & Co., 1824.

© 2015-2016 Mimi Matthews

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Today, I am very pleased to welcome historians Joanne Major and Sarah Murden with a wonderful guest post on Queen Victoria’s first visits to the London theatres upon her ascension to the throne in 1837!

Queen Victoria ascended the throne in June 1837 upon the death of her uncle, William IV. She was just eighteen years of age and her youth symbolised a new beginning. We wanted to share the details of the first visit to the two main London theatres by young queen as a reigning monarch, not least because there are some wonderful images of Victoria on those two evenings.

Queen Victoria at Drury Lane Theatre, 15 November 1837 by Edmund Thomas Parris (1793-1873), drawn 1837.
Royal Collection Trust/© Her Majesty Queen Elizabeth II 2016

Victoria had loved attending the theatre as a princess; her sketchbooks were full of drawings she had made of the actors, actresses and dancers of the day in a variety of roles in plays and ballets. It was no surprise then that she intended to continue her enjoyment of this entertainment once she was monarch.

The QUEEN has been pleased to express her commands that a private box should be reserved for her use for the ensuing season at Covent-garden theatre, and, in consequence, one is now being fitted up in the most tasteful manner for her MAJESTY’S occupation.

On Wednesday 15^th November 1837, Queen Victoria made her first to the Drury Lane Theatre since she had ascended the throne and the surrounding roads were thronged with people hours before the doors opened, all hoping to either gain a seat inside or see the seven carriages containing their new young queen and her party pass by. Inside, the theatre was soon filled to the rafters.

The pit displayed a mass of human beings, influenced and kept up by strong excitement, but gay and delighted notwithstanding the severe pressure occasioned by numbers.

The royal box was to the left of the stage, draped in crimson with the royal arms and the initials V.R. embroidered in gold upon them. A figure of Victory could be seen on the canopy. Victoria, wearing a white dress with a scarf of black net over her shoulders and an elegant tiara which sparkled with diamonds, received a rapturous applause and shouts of “huzzah” on her entrance.

Queen Victoria at the Drury Lane Theatre, November 1837 by Edmund Thomas Parris (1793-1873).
Royal Collection Trust/© Her Majesty Queen Elizabeth II 2016

After a rousing rendition of ‘God save the Queen’ the company settled down to watch the performances, The Siege of Rochelle and, as Victoria thought, the ‘somewhat vulgar’ farce of Simpson & Co. Although Victoria enjoyed the former, she thought the latter ill-acted on the whole and generally she appeared uncomposed and nervous. It was thought that her nerves may have sprung from the fact she was isolated at the front of her box with her attendants placed standing behind her, and her maids of honour in the next box. Victoria left the theatre a little early but to applause and a rendition of ‘Rule Britannia’.

Two days later, on Friday 17^th November, Victoria attended a performance of Lord Byron’s tragedy of Werner (Victoria thought it a dreadful tragedy!) and the first act of the opera Fra Diavolo at the rival Covent Garden Theatre. Again, the streets leading to the theatre and the theatre itself were crowded when the queen and her attendants arrived in the royal box at 7pm. Victoria wore a light coloured dress, again with a black lace scarf over her shoulders and her diamond tiara; her hair was simply parted over her forehead.

Victoria is depicted with a fur stole around her shoulders rather than the black lace scarf she wore.
(Left to right) the Marquess of Conyngham, the Duchess of Sutherland, the Marchioness of Tavistock, Queen Victoria, the Duchess of Kent and Earl Albemarle.
Her Majesty as she appeared on her first visit to the Covent Garden Theatre by William Drummond, 1837.
Royal Collection Trust/© Her Majesty Queen Elizabeth II 2016

The royal box in the Covent Garden theatre was the first box on the dress circle off the stage, and had pale pink and crimson draperies and a richly furnished ante-room. With the queen in her box were her mother, the Duchess of Kent, the Marquess of Conyngham, the Duke of Argyle, the Earl of Abemarle and Lord Hill, and two of her ladies, the Duchess of Sutherland and the Marchioness of Tavistock; as Victoria was able to sit next to her mother she was less nervous. The queen’s maids of honour sat in the next box which had been decorated with light blue silk draperies.

The scene at this moment was animated beyond description. The waving of hats in the pit, the flourishing of handkerchiefs in the boxes, and the sturdy shouts from the galleries, indicated a joyfulness of feeling not very far removed from delirium. Her Majesty curtseyed lowly and repeatedly, as the rolling cheer gathered and multiplied around her. This tumult of acclamation lasted for a considerable time.

This is a later representation of the royal box at Covent Garden, but gives an idea how the theatre would have looked on Victoria’s first visit there as queen in 1837.
The Queen visiting Covent Garden with the Emperor and Empress of the French, 19 April 1855.
Royal Collection Trust/© Her Majesty Queen Elizabeth II 2016

Victoria, perhaps having learnt what to expect from her trip to the Drury Lane theatre two days earlier, was noticeably more composed and looked ‘most happy… and went through the ceremony without those symptoms of weakness which she exhibited [at Drury Lane]’. However, the performance itself was something of a shambles, to the despair of the theatre managers, as the pit was overcrowded and cries of “Manager, manager! Too full! Off, off!” could be heard ringing out. In the end the stage-manager offered to refund the ticket money to anyone who chose to leave the house; he was met with cheers and the play was allowed to proceed. Victoria recorded the event in her journal.

I met with the same brilliant reception, the house being so full that there was a great piece of work for want of room, and many people had to be pulled out of the Pit by their wrists and arms into the Dress Circle. I never saw such an exhibition; it was the oddest thing I ever saw.

At the end Victoria, as she left, was once more assailed with applause and the house singing ‘Rule Britannia’. A troop of the Blues escorted the party to and from the theatre.

A Right Royal Scandal by Joanne Major and Sarah Murden, 2017.

While the streets of London rang to adulation for the new queen, in Oxford a young couple were also exploring new beginnings and romantic possibilities, and challenging the social norms of the day. The aristocratic and well-connected Charles (Charley) Cavendish Bentinck had gone up to Oxford University in the dying days of William IV’s reign; Charley was the grandson of Marquess Wellesley, grandson and nephew to two successive Dukes of Portland and great-nephew to the famed Duke of Wellington. He intended to take Holy Orders once he had obtained his degree and a lucrative living held by his family was earmarked for him. In time, it was assumed, he would make an eligible (and wealthy) young lady his bride. Instead, Charley fell head-over-heels in love with a captivatingly beautiful girl from the Oxfordshire countryside, one from a working-class family who had, moreover, a gypsy heritage. He married her, a union which had to be kept secret from his family but one which, when it was discovered, led to devastating consequences.

Charley’s family had long been close to the royal family; his father (who had caused a scandal with his own marriage) had been a friend to George IV (and Treasurer of the Royal Household) and his half-sister had moved in royal circles, dining with William IV and his queen, Adelaide. He would have taken a great interest in the new Queen Victoria who was only two years younger than he was, but little did Charley know that, in time, his descendants would become inextricably woven with those of his new queen and that his great-granddaughter would herself sit upon the throne.

Our book, A Right Royal Scandal: Two Marriages That Changed History, recounts the marriages of both Charley and his parents as well as looking at the descendants of these two unions. We also co-author the blog All Things Georgian.

Almost two books in one, A Right Royal Scandal recounts the fascinating history of the irregular love matches contracted by two successive generations of the Cavendish-Bentinck family, ancestors of the British Royal Family. The first part of this intriguing book looks at the scandal that erupted in Regency London, just months after the Battle of Waterloo, when the widowed Lord Charles Bentinck eloped with the Duke of Wellington’s married niece. A messy divorce and a swift marriage followed, complicated by an unseemly tug-of-war over Lord Charles’ infant daughter from his first union. Over two decades later and while at Oxford University, Lord Charles’ eldest son, known to his family as Charley, fell in love with a beautiful gypsy girl, and secretly married her. He kept this union hidden from his family, in particular his uncle, William Henry Cavendish-Scott-Bentinck, 4th Duke of Portland, upon whose patronage he relied. When his alliance was discovered, Charley was cast adrift by his family, with devastating consequences.

A love story as well as a brilliantly researched historical biography, this is a continuation of Joanne and Sarah’s first biography, An Infamous Mistress, about the eighteenth-century courtesan Grace Dalrymple Elliott, whose daughter was the first wife of Lord Charles Bentinck. The book ends by showing how, if not for a young gypsy and her tragic life, the British monarchy would look very different today.

Sources:

Morning Chronicle, 28^th September 1837

Morning Advertiser, 16^th November 1837

London Evening Standard, 18^th November 1837

Queen Victoria’s Journals (www.queenvictoriasjournals.org)

“The MANNER of DRESSING the HAIR calls for much attention at the present day, and many are the inquiries addressed to us on this important subject.”
Peterson’s Magazine, 1863.

The Reluctant Bride by Auguste Toulmouche 1865.

Hairstyles of the 1860s are, in my opinion, some of the most beautiful of the nineteenth century.  Hair was arranged in enormous rolls or plaited into intricately woven patterns.  Women donned crowns of flowers or bound their hair up into silken nets or velvet hoods.  These were soft, feminine styles, lacking the Gothic severity of the 1830s and 1840s while, at the same time, still far more conservative than the long, draped curls that would come into fashion in the 1870s and 1880s.  These were also the hairstyles that most of us recognize from the American Civil War era (1861-1865).  Popular coiffures changed from year to year, and often from month to month.  Today, we look at a few of the most fashionable styles of 1863.

To begin, it is important to understand that most ladies of this era had long hair.  This gave them something to work with when rolling or plaiting hair into various styles.  However, just as with women today, not everyone’s hair was thick and luxuriant.  For that reason, many women employed false hair.  As mentioned in my previous article on Victorian Hairdressing (located HERE), false hair came in a variety of forms, including invisible tufts, comb tufts, plaits, ringlets, and pads.  Used to add height, thickness, or simply as fashionable adornment, false hair was meant to blend seamlessly with one’s own hair color. For an exact match, many women made their own hairpieces—also called “rats”—out of the hair that was leftover in their hairbrushes.

Plaits and Rolls

Quite a few of the popular hairstyles featured plaits (or braids) combined with rolls.  These were twisted and woven together into patterns.  Though women’s magazines of the day recommended certain ways of doing this, there was no hard and fast rule about the exact placement of the plaits.  The rolls, however, were usually situated at the nape of the neck or at the sides of the face.  As an example, the below image from Godey’s Lady’s Book depicts “a very graceful style of coiffure for a young lady, suitable for the new side combs.”  Note the overlapping rolls in the back.

Godey’s Lady’s Book, April 1863.

Often, the roll at the nape of the neck was built up in size over a pad of false hair and secured with a thick plait.  This plait was frequently made of false hair as well.  Alternatively, the roll itself could be made of false hair secured with a lady’s own hair plaited around it.  Godey’s advises on how to implement false hair in the below coiffure, stating:

“The front coiffure consists of a full roll and a plait of three strands. The fall at the back can be of false hair, pinned on, and the front plaits twisted round it, which gives it a perfectly natural appearance. When false hair is used for these styles of coiffure, they are arranged with but little trouble.”

Godey’s Lady’s Book, April 1863.

Rolls and plaits could be left plain or adorned with combs, flowers, feathers, beads, ribbons, or lace.  The image below shows a rolled coiffure with white feathers.

Le Moniteur de la Coiffure 2, October 1863.

Evening Bows

The above images were suitable for day-to-day wear.  Formal occasions, however, required something more elaborate.  In the image below, the lady has her hair crimped and rolled off of her face and back over a cushion.  At the nape of her neck, her hair is arranged in the shape of a bow.  This was a very popular  style for evening in 1863.  For this particular coiffure, Godey’s states:

“The bow at the back can be arranged with the natural hair, or it can be made of a false braid. In the latter case, it is pinned on underneath the back hair, which should be tied and combed over the bow, twisted round and fastened with a fancy comb.”

Godey’s Lady’s Book, April 1863.

You can see a hairstyle similar to the one above in the 1863 fashion plate below.  The lady in the blue gown at right has her hair arranged in a much more pronounced bow at the back.  Her crown is adorned with an elaborate plait.

Petit Courrier des Dames, Plate 075, 1863

An even more elaborate bow coiffure is show in the 1863 image below.  This bow features rolls, beads, and a circle of plaits.

Le Moniteur de la Coiffure, Plate 026, 1863.

Floral Wreaths and Floral Bandeaux

For balls and evening wear, ladies also adorned their hair with wreathes of flowers such as orange blossoms, rosebuds, or verbena.  Flowers could also be attached to a decorated bandeaux or hair ribbon.  The below image depicts “The Coiffure Caliste” which was popular in Autumn of 1863.  It is described as being:

“…composed of bandeaux bouffants at each side of the head, and a full bow fixed low at the back. A wreath of red verbena passes along one side, the flowers being disposed in a fall cluster in front of the forehead, and forming a cache-peigne at the back of the head.”

The Coiffure Caliste, Godey’s Lady’s Book, September 1863.

Most commonly of all, flowers were simply pinned into the rolls or plaits of an evening coiffure.  This could be quite simple, such as in the image at below right.  As you can see, the lady in pink is wearing flowers pinned into both the roll at the nape of her neck and the rolls at the sides of her face.

Modes Vraies Musée des Familles, Plate 046, 1863

For a more intricate style, the image below shows a coiffure with multiple layers of rolls trimmed in flowers.  Similarly, Godey’s recommends a coiffure of flowers, bows, and rolls arranged as follows:

“…erect three rouleaux of hair, one above the other, at each side of the head; to place bows or flowers in the centre, between the rouleaux, and then to arrange bows of hair and ringlets to fall low at the back.”

Le Moniteur de la Coiffure, October 1863.

Nets of Gold, Leather, and Velvet

Many ladies bound their tresses up in nets.  These nets varied widely.  There were the ever popular “invisible nets” made of fine silk to match one’s hair color.  There were nets made of chenille and those made of gold net, velvet, or leather.  Some were suitable for everyday wear, including athletic pursuits such as horseback riding.  In fact, according to the 1863 edition of The Englishwoman’s Domestic Magazine, hair nets were an absolute necessity for ladies venturing out of doors as they kept the hair “neat and tidy.”

Plain, everyday nets were worn either on their own or accented with “knots or bows of ribbon over the forehead or at the side of the head.”  You can see an example of plain, everyday nets on the woman and little girl at right in the 1863 fashion plate below.  The little girl’s hair net features a ribbon bow.

Journal des Demoiselles, Plate 054, 1863.

Others nets were elaborately beaded or adorned with gemstones or feathers, making them suitable for evening wear.  The below 1863 net is just one example of a hair net intended for more formal occasions.  The entire headdress is called “The Eulalio” and is described as follows:

“Net composed of gold card caught with black velvet and gold buttons. Three white plumes are on the left side. Over the head is a roll of black velvet, which is finished on the right side by a large bow with ends trimmed with gold and lace.”

Eulalio Headdress, Godey’s Lady’s Book, 1863.

One of the many novelties in nets of 1863 were those made of leather.  According to the December 1863 edition of Godey’s Lady’s Book:

“They are formed of narrow strips caught together in diamonds by steel, jet, or gilt beads, and trimmed with ruches and ribbons.  Sometimes the leather is of the natural hue, at other times it is colored.  Another pretty style has bright silk cords twined in with the leather, which is quite an improvement.”

Hair nets were also made of velvet.  The Englishwoman’s Domestic Magazine reports a new and uncommon style of velvet net for 1863 made of velvet that was “laced in and out and secured to keep the squares in their proper shape, by sewing the velvet together wherever it crosses.”  The same year, Godey’s also featured a similar velvet net for the hair.  Pictured below, it is made of plaited velvet strips.

Velvet Hair Net, Godey’s Lady’s Book, February 1863.

A Few Final Words…

The styles above were not the only fashionable coiffures of 1863,  but I hope they have given you an idea of how ladies wore their hair that year.  For more on hair care and coiffures in the Victorian era, the following links might be useful:

A Victorian Lady’s Guide to Hair Care

A Victorian Lady’s Guide to Hairdressing

I’ll be taking off next week to spend Thanksgiving with my family.  I wish you all a very happy and safe holiday!

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

Works Referenced or Cited in this Article

Englishwoman’s Domestic Magazine, Vol. VI. London: S. O. Beeton, 1863.

Godey’s Lady’s Book, Vol. LXVII. Philadelphia: Louis A. Godey, 1863.

Peterson’s Magazine, Vol. XLIV. Philadelphia: Peterson’s, 1863

 © 2016 Mimi Matthews

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Individual Images via Philadelphia Museum of Art, Victoria and Albert Museum, and Met Museum.

During the Victorian era, yellow was believed to be the color most similar to light. With shades ranging from the palest butter to the liveliest lemon, it was suitable for morning dresses, day dresses, evening gowns, and seaside wear. Fashion magazines and color experts of the day recommended restricting clear, bright yellows to spring and summer. However, shades of yellow could be seen in fashionable dress throughout the year, often in the form of gloves, a decorative fan, a frilly parasol, or a stylish hat. In today’s article, we look at some of the loveliest examples of the color yellow in Victorian fashion.

GOWNS

In his 1870 book Color in Dress, author George Audsley calls yellow “the color nearest approaching to light.” As such, he advises that true, brilliant yellow should be used quite sparingly in dress lest it overpower its wearer. Instead, he recommends that Victorian ladies wear a modified hue of yellow, such as gold, maize, or primrose. Soft, buttery yellows could also be flattering, as illustrated by the 1868 dinner dress below.

1868 Emile Pingat Silk Faille Dinner Dress.
(Philadelphia Museum of Art)

Yellow was considered to be particularly becoming to brunettes and ladies with black hair as it neutralized the yellow and orange undertones in their skin, thereby whitening and brightening the complexion. In fact, and 1855 article in Godey’s Lady’s Book state that, for brunettes with orange undertones, “there is no color superior to yellow.” The below 1844 dress of bright yellow printed cotton would have been an excellent choice for a dark-haired Victorian lady.

1844 Cotton Day Dress.
(Met Museum)

For fair blondes, Audsley calls true yellow a color that is “particularly to be avoided.” Deeper and darker shades of yellow, such as gold and maize, were much more flattering to blondes, especially when combined with other complementary shades. The below 1892 evening dress by the House of Worth may have been a good option for a fair Victorian blonde as it leans more toward gold.

1892 House of Worth Striped Silk Afternoon Dress.
(Museum at FIT)

Yellow harmonized with a variety of colors, including shades of purple, brown, red, blue, and black. Yellow was also often paired with white as an accent color in the form of ribbons or trim. The below dress combines shades of yellow and gold with black lace to magnificent effect.

1900-1902 Kate R. Cregmile Silk Evening Dress.
(Cincinnati Art Museum)

According to Audsley, “The effect of yellow upon the mind is of a bright, gay, gladdening nature, owing to its likeness to light, both natural and artificial.” It was a cheerful color which Audsley claims was best suited for “spring and early summer.” Below is a detail image of an 1887 House of Worth ball gown. I encourage you to click through to the Met Museum website so you can see additional views of the delicate butterfly fabric. (For more on the use of butterflies in Victorian fashion, see my article HERE.)

1887 House of Worth Silk Ball Gown.
(Met Museum)

Yellow could be a bit tricky to wear. A lady must not only choose the correct shade for her complexion and for the season, she must also choose the correct shade for the time of day. The 1897 edition of Hill’s Manual of Social and Business Forms, exhorts its readers to remember that though white and yellow was flattering at night, the color combination was “unbecoming by day.” Conversely, pale shades of yellow, which were handsome in the daytime, became “muddy in appearance by gaslight.” The bold, golden yellow used in the 1880s dress below is one example of a shade that was suitable for evening.

1880s Liberty & Co. Silk Evening Dress.
(Met Museum)

SHOES

Yellow was not a common color for everyday women’s boots and slippers, however, as the 19^th century came to a close, many ladies began to don brightly colored evening slippers with their evening dresses. Among these, shades of yellow were well-represented. The below evening slippers from the 1890s are a perfect example of just how striking a pair of bright yellow shoes could be.

1890-1899 J. Ferry Silk Evening Slippers.
(Met Museum)

Evening slippers were generally made of silk satin and often featured decorative beadwork or ribbon bows (as seen above). The below evening slippers are made of yellow silk satin with glass bead embroidery and rhinestones.

1890 Silk Satin Evening Slippers.
(Museum at FIT)

GLOVES

Yellow gloves were fashionable throughout the 19^th century. However, in the Victorian era, yellow kid gloves were more often seen on men than on women. For ladies, an 1894 edition of Godey’s Lady’s Book states that, though there may be “fanciful and striking colors” available in gloves, “as a rule women of good taste prefer tans, russets, and light golden browns to the more glaring shades.” Below is a pair of 1870s evening gloves in a subdued shade of butter yellow.

1870-1889 French Leather Gloves.
(Met Museum)

HATS

Yellow ribbons and flowers were popular trimmings for Victorian era hats. When combined with a hat of a darker color, such as deep blue or black, the effect could be quite striking. The below sunbonnet from 1842 shows how dramatic a darker straw hat could look when accented with yellow.

1842 Straw and Silk Sunbonnet.
(Met Museum)

Not all yellow hats were as dramatic as the one pictured above. Shades of yellow could also be delicate and quite feminine. As an example, consider the below bonnet of golden yellow silk, horsehair, and straw.

1850 Straw and Silk Bonnet.
(Met Museum)

UNDERGARMENTS

Shades of yellow were also used in women’s undergarments, such as stockings and corsets. The below corset from 1880 pairs yellow with black.

1880 Silk Corset.
(Met Museum)

FANS

Yellow fans could be quite fashionable, especially when made to complement a lady’s evening dress. Victorian fans came in many different varieties. There were painted fans, feather fans, and fans decorated with sequins and spangles.  Below is a particularly striking fan made of pierced yellow horn sticks accented with painted polychrome floral motifs.

Yellow Horn Fan with Floral Motifs, early to mid-19th Century.
(MFA Boston)

JEWELRY

For the Victorian lady seeking a piece of yellow jewelry, a pale topaz or citrine set in gold was both fashionable and affordable. The below brooch from the early 19^th century is made of gold filigree and set with a large citrine accompanied by smaller emeralds and rubies.

1820-1830 Citrine Brooch set in Gold Filligree.
(Victoria and Albert Museum)

If citrines were not to her taste, a Victorian lady might adorn herself with yellow diamonds or yellow sapphires. Yellow diamonds were rather expensive. By contrast, yellow sapphires—though still very brilliant—were actually quite affordable. Below is a 19^th century yellow sapphire ring set in gold.

1800-1869 Yellow Sapphire Ring.
(Victoria and Albert Museum)

A FEW FINAL WORDS…

There is no one color that fully represents the Victorian era.  However, I hope the above has given you some idea of how yellow was used in Victorian women’s fashion.  For a refresher on the shades of Victorian fashion that we have already covered, the previous articles in my series are available here:

Shades of Victorian Fashion: Pretty in 19th Century Pink

Shades of Victorian Fashion: Orange, Pumpkin, and Peach

Shades of Victorian Fashion: Crimson, Claret, Scarlet, and Red

Shades of Victorian Fashion: Lilacs, Lavenders, Plums, and Purples

In future, I’ll be profiling other popular shades of the era.  Until then, I leave you with the following wise words on color from George Audsley:

“Beauty is often diminished by an improper selection and arrangement of the hues of the dress, while an increase of the natural charms may always be secured by the artistic application and grouping of harmonizing tints.”

Portrait of Miss Lloyd by James Tissot, 1876.

Works Referenced or Cited in this Article

Audsley, George Ashdown. Color in Dress: A Manual for Ladies. Philadelphia: George Maclean, 1870.

Chevreul, M. E.  The Laws of Contrast of Colour.  London: Routledge, Warne, and Routledge, 1861.

“Choice of Colors in Dress; Or, How a Lady May Become Good Looking.”  Godey’s Lady’s Book.  Philadelphia: Louis A. Godey, 1855.

Emanuel, Harry. Diamonds and Precious Stones: Their History, Value, and Distinguishing Characteristics. London: John Camden, 1867.

Godey’s Lady’s Book. Philadelphia: Louis A. Godey, 1894.

Hill, Thos. The New Revised Hill’s Manual of Social and Business Forms. Chicago: W. B. Conkey Company, 1897.

© 2015-2016 Mimi Matthews

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Dog of the Havana Breed by Jean Jacques Bachelier, (1724–1806).
(Bowes Museum)

In the mid-nineteenth century, Charles Dickens had a small, shaggy Havana spaniel named Timber Doodle. Dickens had acquired Timber during a visit to America and the little dog soon became his constant companion, even accompanying him on his travels. It was during one of these foreign excursions that Timber suffered from a very severe infestation of fleas. The solution was extreme. As Dickens relates in an 1844 letter:

“Timber has had every hair upon his body cut off because of the fleas, and he looks like the ghost of a drowned dog come out of a pond after a week or so. It is very awful to see him slide into a room. He knows the change upon him, and is always turning round and round to look for himself. I think he’ll die of grief.”

In a few short weeks, Timber’s hair began to grow back. The fleas quickly resumed residence, though not with the severity that they had before. As Dickens writes:

“The fleas only keep three of his legs off the ground now, and he sometimes moves of his own accord towards some place where they don’t want to go.”

Sketch of Dickens in 1842 during his American Tour. Sketch of Dickens’s sister Fanny, bottom left..

Cutting off a dog’s hair was just one way to deal with fleas in the nineteenth century. According to the 1885 edition of Dogs in Disease, a pet owner might also employ a liberal application of whale oil. This was a rather impractical remedy as the oil was required to be thoroughly worked into the dog’s coat “from tip to tip” and then left on for several hours. Afterward, it could be washed out with an egg shampoo or soap and water. The pet owner was then advised to give their dog “a persistent combing.”

Quassia chips were another possible flea treatment. Quassia was a shrub or small tree often used as an insecticide. For flea treatment, pet owners were advised to boil chips of bark “to a strong infusion.” It could then be sponged onto the dog’s coat.

Carbolic acid or soaps in which carbolic acid was a component were also an option. However, pet owners were warned to exercise caution when treating their dog with preparations containing carbolic acid. If the mixture was made too strong, it could harm the dog. The same warning applied to “sulphuret of lime.” A popular Belgian treatment for itching, it was made from sulphur, unslaked lime, and water. If not sufficiently diluted, it could burn the dog right along with the fleas.

Perhaps one of the most popular flea treatments of the nineteenth century was kerosene. Kerosene could not be applied directly to the hair and skin without causing severe irritation. Instead, many Victorians simply dipped a comb into a container of kerosene or crude petroleum and then combed through the dog’s hair, careful not to touch its skin. This method was reportedly a great favorite of many Victorian era kennels.

Today, flea control is much less fuss. A monthly application of a topical flea treatment is all the average dog or cat needs to be flea-free. If only such an invention had been available to ease the suffering of poor Timber!

Portrait of a Dog by Carl Reichert, (1836-1918).

Thus concludes another of my Friday features on Animals in Literature and History. If you are interested in adopting a dog or if you would like to donate your time or money to a rescue organization, I urge you to contact your local animal rescue foundation or city animal shelter.  The below links may also be useful as resources:

The Humane Society of the United States (USA)

Battersea Dogs & Cats Home (UK)

Works Referenced or Cited in this Article

Dogs in Disease: Their Management and Treatment. London: Sampson Low, Marston, Searle, & Rivington, 1885.

The Letters of Charles Dickens, Vol. I. London: Chapman and Hall, 1880.

Marzials, Frank T., Mamie Dickens, and Adolphus Ward. The Life of Charles Dickens. The University Society, Inc., 1908.

© 2015-2016 Mimi Matthews

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Today, I am very pleased to welcome author and fellow #DashItAll Avril Tremayne with a guest post on Georgette Heyer!

Composing a Letter by Vittorio Reggianini, (1858–1938).

I’m admitting upfront to a case of author envy when it comes to Georgette Heyer – even though I write super sexy, ultra-contemporary romances that are a world away from Heyer’s bygone eras full of heroes and heroines who fall in love before they even kiss.

It comes down to the fact that the magic of a good romance isn’t about an era, the sex quotient, or even the happily-ever-after; the magic is strewn along the path the hero and heroine take to reach an understanding that they belong together – and Georgette Heyer strewed the kind of magic I aspire to strew: vivid characterisations, powerfully restrained emotion, super funny scenes, and the sparkliest of sparkling dialogue.

Heyer’s heroes are scandalous bad boys (think Vidal, Devil’s Cub, and Damerel, Venetia); suave, sporting sophisticates (Max Ravenscar, Faro’s Daugher, and Robert Beaumaris, Arabella); omnipotent enigmas (the Duke of Avon, These Old Shades, and the Earl of Rule, The Convenient Marriage); and implacably straightforward military men (Hugo Darracott, The Unknown Ajax, and John Staple, The Toll-Gate).

Her heroines are strong, independent women (Serena Carlow, Bath Tangle, and Frederica Merriville, Frederica); young innocents (Hero Wantage, Friday’s Child, and Pen Creed, The Corinthian); calm and classy ladies (Annis Wychwood, Lady of Quality, and Abigail Wendover, The Black Sheep); and downtrodden and/or plain Jane spinsters (Hester Theale, Sprig Muslin, and Drusilla Morville, The Quiet Gentleman).

I love the precision with which Heyer builds these “types” and mixes and matches them – but what I love more is when she springs a character surprise. It’s one of the reasons I try to give all my own characters something surprising – but I haven’t managed to reach the heights of Heyer’s Cotillion.

On my first read of Cotillion, I could have sworn Jack Westruther was being set up as the hero. He’s an alpha male, handsome, sporting, rakish; the heroine, Kitty Charing, has been waiting forever for him to love her; and none of his three cousins, who are thrown with him into a competition for Kitty’s hand in marriage, show to advantage by comparison.

All the ingredients for a rollicking good romance are there. I could see the plot unfolding, was anticipating it, getting ready to enjoy it…

And then one of the also-ran cousins emerged out of the blue as the real hero!

Freddy Standen is the kind of guy everyone turns to for fashion and etiquette advice, but no girl swoons over. He’s not handsome, dressing to perfection is an obsession, he’s more at home in a ballroom than undertaking any sporting pursuit, and he’s considered (even by himself) slow on the uptake. The way Kitty describes Freddy to his sister Meg is perfect:

“I daresay Freddy might not be a great hand at slaying dragons, but you may depend upon it none of those knight-errants would be able to rescue one from a social fix, and you must own, Meg, that one has not the smallest need of a man who can kill dragons! And as for riding off with one in the middle of a party, which I have always thought must have been extremely uncomfortable, and not at all the sort of thing one would wish to happen to one – What is the matter?”

Meg raised her head from the sofa-cushions: “He w-would say it was n-not at all the th-thing!”

‘Very well, and why should he not?’ said Kitty, refusing to share in her hostess’ unseemly mirth. “If you were to hear of such a thing’s happening, you would think it most improper, now, wouldn’t you?”

Freddy wins the girl in the end because he’s good-natured and kind, and when called upon to save the heroine’s day, he does it with laudable common sense. So not really “heroic” – and yet, what a hero!

I think one of the reasons Freddy so plausibly emerges from the “extras” pool is because Heyer’s secondary characters are always personality-laden – whether they’re risible fops, hapless bachelors, crotchety aunts, or doltish cousins. I can’t hear the word “nemesis” without thinking of the amiably dim-witted Ferdy in Friday’s Child and his insistence that he and his cohorts are being followed around by a “Greek fellow” whose name he can’t remember, but who “creeps up” on a fellow and “puts him in the basket”. When a full cast of such crazies converges on the one place for all the subplots to come together at the end of a Heyer novel, the ensuing screwball-style chaos is laugh-out-loud funny. Sprig Muslin and The Grand Sophy spring instantly to mind. In my own novels, I always aim for this type of comedy in my ensemble scenes with the friends/family of the main players.

Of all the many things I admire about Heyer, however, it’s her witty dialogue that I really wish I could emulate. It’s sharp and clever. A cut and thrust, a parry. Seduction by words instead of touch.

Take the sparring sessions in The Grand Sophy between the dauntingly self-assured Sophy Stanton-Lacy and her uptight cousin Charles Rivenhall. We readers know Charles is a goner from the moment Sophy arrives at his family home as a guest and decides the household needs a good shake-up – and so does Charles’s engagement to his starch-equal, Miss Wraxton…

“Since you have brought up Miss Wraxton’s name, I shall be much obliged to you, cousin, if you will refrain from telling my sisters that she has a face like a horse!”

“But, Charles, no blame attaches to Miss Wraxton! She cannot help it, and I assure you, I have always pointed out to your sisters!”

“I consider Miss Wraxton’s countenance particularly well-bred!”

“Yes, indeed, but you have quote misunderstood the matter! I meant a particularly well-bred horse!”

“You meant, as I am perfectly aware, to belittle Miss Wraxton!”

“No, no! I am very fond of horses!” Sophy said earnestly.

Just as often, Heyer’s dialogue is revealing for all the things that aren’t said. Such as in this conversation between Devils’ Cub’s Dominic Alastair, Marquis of Vidal, and his cousin Juliana, who believes her unsatisfyingly staid beau would benefit from a touch of Vidal’s volatile personality.

“But supposing you loved me, Dominic, and I – well, flirted if you must use that horrid word – with another man: what would you do?” 

“Kill him,” said the Marquis flippantly. 

She shook his arm. “You don’t mean it, but I think perhaps you would. Vidal, you’d not let another man steal the lady you loved, would you? Do answer soberly!” 

The smile still lingered on his lips, but she saw his teeth shut hard. “Soberly, Ju, I would not.” 

“What would you do?” inquired Miss Marling, momentarily diverted by curiosity.” 

His lordship was silent for a minute, and the smile faded, leaving his face strangely harsh. A tiny snap sounded under his fingers. He glanced down at them, and the grim look loft his face. “I’ve spoiled your fan, Ju,” he said, and gave it her back.

Masterfully understated – and it paves the way for how he deals with his jealousy later in the book.

So how am I dealing with my own jealousy? Well, I’ve decided I don’t mind being jealous of Georgette Heyer, because obsessing over her fabulousness has got to make me a better author. So I’m going all out and giving her a cheeky nod in an upcoming series of books – a character name or trait, a reminiscence of storyline, and dialogue, dialogue, dialogue.

Today, I’m sharing a taste of my first venture – and it’s all about Sylvester.

In Heyer’s Sylvester, the impeccably behaved Sylvester Raine, Duke of Salford, decides it’s time to find a wife. A match is suggested with his mother’s goddaughter, the foot-in-mouth Phoebe. Of course, it all goes hideously wrong…then wonderfully right.

Here’s an early interaction between Heyer’s Sylvester and Phoebe:

“I was wondering only whether I ought to accept so much help from you – using your chaise – depriving you of your groom!” She added naively: “When I was not, at first, very civil to you.”

“But you are never civil to me!” he complained. “You began by giving me a heavy set-down, and you followed that with a handsome trimming! And now you threaten to deny me a chance to redeem my character!” He laughed, seeing her at a loss for words, and took her hand, and lightly kissed it. “Cry friends, Sparrow! Am I so very bad?”

“No! I never said that, or thought it!” she stammered. “How could I, when I scarcely know you?”

“Oh, this is worse than anything!” he declared. “No sooner seen than disliked! I understand you perfectly: I have frequently met such persons – only I had not thought myself to have been one of them!”

Goaded, she retorted: “One does not, I believe!” Then she immediately looked stricken, and faltered. “Oh, dear, my wretched tongue! I beg your pardon!”

The retort had made his eyes flash, but the look of dismay that which so swiftly succeeded it disarmed him. “If ever I met such a chastening pair as you and Orde! What next will you find to say to me, I wonder? Unnecessary, I’m persuaded, to tell you not to spare me!”

“Now that is the most shocking injustice!” she exclaimed, “When Tom positively toad-eats you!”

“Toad-eats me? You can know nothing of toad-eaters if that is what you think!” He directed a suddenly penetrating look at her, and asked abruptly: “Do you suppose that that is what like? To be toad-eaten?”

She thought for a moment, and then said: “No, not precisely. It is, rather, what you expect, perhaps, without liking or disliking.”

And here’s a peek at my own ultra-contemporary take on Sylvester and Phoebe, who are caught up in a modern-day arranged marriage…

“Maybe I should have gotten some Youtan Poluo petals. Much more exclusive. But I’m afraid the Youtan Poluo only blooms every three thousand years, and I’m not sure it could put out any earlier, even for you, My Lord Duke.”

The wrinkle between his brows deepened. “Why did you call me that?”

“Because you’re a little…you know…aristocratic. Or do I mean autocratic? Noblesse oblige. Come, my serfs, and pay homage to your liege lord. That kind of thing.”

“You’re saying I’m arrogant?”

“No, no, no. Not arrogant. Superior.”

“Because that’s so much better.”

“Well, you had the Minister quaking in his boots when you unleashed the nostril flare on him.”

“My nostrils don’t flare.”

“Nostril. Singular. The left one. Quite a skill, really, to flare your nostrils individually. Unless you thought he wasn’t worth a dual flair?”

Will my Sylvester and Phoebe find their happily-ever-after? I think you know the answer…

I’ll end with my top 10 Georgette Heyer recommendations, for those who’ve been contemplating entering Heyer’s magical world but aren’t sure where to start.

Meanwhile please feel free to visit me on Facebook, Twitter, or via my website AvrilTremayne.com where you’ll find details of my newest novel, Now You’re Mine, coming out in January 2017

My top 10

Sylvester

Friday’s Child

The Grand Sophy

Devil’s Cub

Frederica

Venetia

Black Sheep

Cotillion

Bath Tangle

The Quiet Gentleman

Works Cited

Heyer, Georgette.  Cotillion.  New York: Putnam, 1953.

Heyer, Georgette.  Devil’s Cub.  New York: Dutton, 1966.

Heyer, Georgette.  The Grand Sophy.  New York: Putnam, 1950

Heyer, Georgette.  Sylvester; Or, The Wicked Uncle.  New York: Putnam, 1957.

“A merry Christmas, with Love’s gifts for the young, Home’s comforts for the old, and Heaven’s bright hopes for all, is our fervent aspiration.”
Godey’s Lady’s Book, 1854.

An elegantly dressed couple walk arm in arm under an umbrella, 1905.
(Wellcome Images CC BY 4.0)

Shopping for Christmas presents in the Victorian era could be quite tricky, especially if one was a lady choosing a gift for a gentleman. Luckily, newspapers, magazines, and etiquette books of the day were only too happy to offer advice on appropriate gifts for all the men, women, and children in one’s life. They also offered advice on such thorny issues as re-gifting gifts and keeping to a Christmas budget. In today’s article we look at a few of these recommended Christmas gifts for ladies and gentlemen, as well as at Victorian advice on re-gifting and living within one’s means during the holidays.

Gifts for Gentlemen

At Christmastime, many Victorian ladies gave gifts to their male relations. Choosing these gifts was not always easy. As an 1879 edition of Harper’s Bazaar explains:

“Gentlemen do not care for the pretty trifles and decorations that delight ladies; and as for real necessities, they are apt to go and buy anything that is a convenience just as soon as it is discovered.”

Ladies were limited not only by a gentleman’s tastes, but by the dictates of polite society. A gift to a gentleman should not be excessively expensive, nor should it be overly intimate in nature. Gifts from ladies were meant to be modest, tasteful, and—ideally—made with their own hand. With so many restrictions, it is no wonder that a columnist in the  1888 edition of Good Housekeeping laments:

“I know just how hard it is to think of something to give the ‘men folks.’ I know how many sighs have been breathed over the perplexity and hopelessness of it…”

So, what sort of Christmas gifts might a Victorian lady give to her father, brother, uncle, or husband?

Gifts from a Shop

There was no one size fits all gift for men. However, as a general rule, smoking caps, sleeping caps, and house slippers were popular go-to gifts for gentlemen relations, as were handkerchiefs and tobacco pouches. Shaving soaps and accessories were also quite popular. In fact, according to an 1897 edition of the Chemist and Druggist:

“The ‘Vestal’ shaving-soap vase in Burslem-ware is one of the few things in the soap line that a lady can buy for a man, and he would think ‘such a practical girl she is!’”

Vestal Shaving-Soap Vase and Cold Cream Soap, Chemist and Druggist, 1897.

House slippers and shaving soaps were certainly practical gifts, but for some young gentlemen—those of intelligence and refinement—a more elegant Christmas gift was recommended. As an 1864 edition of Godey’s Lady’s Book states:

“There can be no holiday gift from a young lady to a young gentleman more appropriate than a gold pen. It is suggestive of mental power and moral improvement, of refinement of thought, and progress in civilization. Would you indicate the highest heroism and patriotism to your masculine friends, remember that ‘the pen is mightier than the sword.’”

Three-piece (or greater) toilet sets also made elegant Christmas gifts, as did various decorative trifles for a gentleman’s desk or dressing table. An 1899 edition of the Sketch describes several such items which would suit as Christmas presents for gentlemen, including a silver tobacco box with a spring lid and a “silver combined whistle, match-box and compass” which “any man would be glad to receive as a Christmas cadeau.”

Homemade Gifts

Though store-bought Christmas gifts were gaining rapidly in popularity, many ladies still made most of their Christmas gifts by hand. An 1894 edition of Demorest’s Family Magazine reminds its female readers that “the gift should be part of the giver.” As such, they advise that:

“Young women making gifts might paint something, embroider something, make anything with their own hands, that may be called part of themselves.”

Lady’s magazines of the day offered many suggestions—and patterns—for homemade Christmas presents suitable for gentlemen, including embroidered handkerchiefs, cravat sachets, and tobacco pouches made of materials as diverse as chamois, satin, and cashmere. Of these various homemade Christmas gifts, tobacco pouches were, by far, the most popular. An 1888 edition of the New Peterson Magazine explains the reason why:

“A tobacco-pouch is one of the very few articles of fancy work which form an acceptable present for a gentleman; and it is one, therefore, of which new models are often demanded by our subscribers.”

Tobacco Pouch, Godey’s Lady’s Book, 1869.

Gifts for Gentleman Not Related by Blood or Marriage

In general, an unmarried Victorian lady did not give gifts to a gentleman who was not related to her by blood or marriage. However, if a Victorian lady was being courted she might give a gift to the gentleman who was courting her. And if she was engaged to be married, she would likely give a Christmas gift to her fiancé. In these cases, the gift should be inexpensive and, preferably, made with her own hand. As Mrs. Houghton’s 1893 book on the Rules of Etiquette and Home Culture advises:

“Gifts by ladies should be of a delicate nature, usually some dainty product of their own taste and skill.”

Gifts for Ladies

The Christmas gifts that a Victorian gentleman gave to his female relations were usually bought rather than made by hand. Though this might seem somewhat impersonal, it was still believed to be in keeping with the maxim that “the gift should be part of the giver.” As Demorest’s Family Magazine explains:

“In their own way young men, too, can give something which is a part of themselves, providing it is given in the true spirit, even though it is bought with money, —money which they themselves have earned.”

Gifts from Shops

The popularity of certain gifts for ladies varied from year to year. For 1899, the Sketch describes purses for opera-glasses made of “soft reindeer-skin” dyed in pale shades of mauve, grey, and light green. There were also calling card cases edged in gold; toilette sets of embossed silver; and even a pair of gold knitting needles “set with cabochon jewels” and described as being “a charming present for an old lady of active early-Victorian habits.”

Some Christmas gifts were perennial favourites. Scented soaps, sachets, and perfumes were always popular gifts for female relations and, depending on the ingredients, could be quite economical as well. Slightly more expensive were perfume bottles, jewellery boxes, work boxes, and dressing cases. Most expensive of all were gifts of jewellery, such as brooches, bracelets, or jewelled hair or hat pins.

Novelties at Mappin and Webb’s, The Sketch, 1899.

Gifts for Ladies Not Related by Blood or Marriage

In general, gentlemen were not supposed to make gifts to unmarried ladies unless that lady was their fiancée or a relative. Even then, Mrs. Houghton declares that:

“A costly gift from a gentleman to a young lady would be indelicate, as having the appearance of a bribe upon her affections.”

Instead, etiquette decreed that a gentleman restrict himself to gifts of flowers, fruit, or candy. These gifts were perishable and therefore left no obligation upon the lady receiving them. This did not necessarily mean that they were less expensive. In fact, oftentimes it was quite the opposite. An 1868 edition of the Northern Monthly reports:

“It is a curious feature in the etiquette of Christmas gift bestowal, that a certain degree of intimacy is required before any gift of lasting and permanent value can be made. A gentleman who has but recently been presented to a lady may not offer her anything but sweetmeats or natural flowers; the gift of a piece of jewelry, or a shawl, or a costly handkerchief would be extremely mauvais ton; even a book is an unpermissible gift, be its cost never so trifling; but a gentleman who has done no more than bow in an introduction to a lady is permitted to send her a casket of bonbons costing a hundred dollars if he choose. Perhaps this is the secret of the rare boxes and silken receptacles of value which have been devised for the holding of candies.”

Christmas Callers, Century Magazine, 1904.

Re-Gifting

Victorian advice on the etiquette of re-gifting was quite simple. A gift, once received, belonged to the receiver. They could then do with it whatever they wished, even if that meant wrapping it back up and giving it as a gift to someone else. Was this always in good taste? Perhaps not, but as the 1890 edition of Good Housekeeping advises:

“It is always kindest not to dictate what shall be done with that which is sent, for the moment it leaves the donor’s hands it is the receiver’s to do as he pleases with, and if it gives him pleasure to send it to someone else or to use it in a different way from what was thought, it still expresses what was intended—a kindness.”

Holiday Budget

Victorian ladies and gentlemen were urged not to exceed their budget on Christmas gifts. This was often easier said than done. Some felt obligated to spend a great deal on the gifts they gave to friends and family in order to prove their affections. An 1887 edition of the New Outlook even went so far as to declare that, at Christmastime:

“It has reached a point where it requires moral courage to stand within the limit of one’s means and refuse to expend more than one can afford.”

Rather than go into debt to purchase Christmas gifts, the Demorest’s Family Magazine advises that:

“A simple little note, written by one’s own hand and couched in terms of kindliness that will touch a responsive chord in the heart of the recipient, is a better Christmas present than something that costs enough money to bankrupt the giver for six months.”

In Conclusion

I hope the above has given you some idea of the types of Christmas gifts ladies and gentlemen might have bought—or made—for each other in the Victorian era. I will be taking off the next two weeks for the Christmas holidays to celebrate with my family (and to finish my animal history book before my January 1^st deadline!). I wish you all a very Merry Christmas with your own families, both human and animal.

The First Commercially produced Christmas card, 1843.

Works Referenced or Cited in this Article

Chemist and Druggist: The Newsweekly for Pharmacy, Volume 51. London: Benn Brothers, 1897.

Cooke, Maude C. Manners and Customs of Polite Society. Boston: Geo M. Smith & Co., 1896.

Demorest’s Family Magazine, Volume 31. New York: W.J. Demorest, 1894.

Godey’s Lady’s Book, Vol. XLVIII. Philadelphia: Louis A. Godey, 1854.

Godey’s Lady’s Book, Vol. LXIX. Philadelphia: Louis A. Godey, 1864.

Godey’s Lady’s Book, Vol. LXXVII. Philadelphia: Louis A. Godey, 1869.

Good Housekeeping, Vol. 8. Springfield: Clark W. Bryan & Co., 1888.

Good Housekeeping, Vol. 10. Springfield: Clark W. Bryan & Co., 1890.

Harper’s Bazaar, Volume XII. New York: Hearst Corp., 1879.

Houghton, Mrs. Walter R. Rules of Etiquette and Home Culture; or What to Do and How to Do It. Chicago: Rand, Mcnally & Company, 1893.

New Outlook, Volume 36. New York: Alfred Emanuel Smith, Francis Walton Outlook publishing Company, 1887.

The New Peterson Magazine, Volumes 55-56. Philadelphia: Peterson’s, 1869.

The Northern Monthly: A Magazine of General Literature, Volume 2. New York: Allen L. Bassett, 1868.

Scribner’s Monthly, Volume 11. New York: Scribner & Co., 1875.

The Sketch: A Journal of Art and Actuality, Volume 28. London: Ingram Brothers, 1899.

© 2015-2016 Mimi Matthews

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“What have I done? Given my word not to touch any stimulants for a whole month. By Jove! what a long month it will seem.”
Bound by Fetters; or The Evils of Drink, 1887.

The Drinkers by Jean Béraud, 1908.

Though the Victorians may not have been familiar with the term “Dry January,” the custom of abstaining from alcohol for a short time each year was nothing particularly new. Medical books and journals of the day often recommended the practice to cleanse the body and clear the mind. For example, in his 1864 Manual of Diet and Regimen for Physician and Patient, Dr. Horace Dobell advises that:

“Those who habitually take alcohol daily, should abstain from it entirely for a few days twice or thrice a year.”

This advice was fairly general and did not change much throughout the Victorian era. The rationale behind it was a bit vague. Just how did an alcohol fast cleanse the body? In an article printed in the 1892 edition of Blackwood’s Edinburgh Magazine, Aberdeenshire physician Dr. Robert Farquharson explains:

“It is a good plan to have an occasional alcohol fast, and to give it up altogether for a day or two from time to time. In this way we can ensure that the blood is periodically and thoroughly cleared from an abnormal ingredient, which is known to be very quickly removed by oxidation and elimination, and the slightest risk of saturation and injury is thus most effectually prevented.”

The actual dangers of alcohol were a subject of some debate. Many temperance advocates claimed it was a poison or a sin, while others were more concerned with the aftereffects of drink than with the liquor itself. As a Temperance Tract from 1881 states:

“Alcohol may or may not be a poison; let the doctors disagree. Any use of alcoholic drinks may or may not be sinful; let the casuists contend. But the brood of evils which follow the click of the wine-glass are every-day facts. And science and experience have settled it that the mass of men are ‘made weak’ by the touch of strong drink.”

At the Café by Édouard Manet, 1879.

The medical and moral pressure to abstain from alcohol “twice or thrice” each year—or to give alcohol up altogether—was quite strong. However, there were some in the Victorian era that made a persuasive case for the benefits of moderate drinking. One such argument, penned by Dr. Robert Farquharson, casts the sedative properties of alcohol in a positive light:

“A glass or two of wine makes a man quiet and contented, at peace with himself and the world, inclined to forget his troubles, and to look on the bright side of things. It is as an anaesthetic to the nervous system that its beneficial effects are most plainly seen; for the angry man forgets his wrath, the married man makes light of his cares, and the despairing wretch, who has flung away all his chances, spends his last penny in a glass of gin, and forthwith lays down all his woes on the shelf of oblivion.”

Dr. Farquharson goes on to argue that for some men, especially those who were poor, friendless, and sunk into despair, alcohol was the only means of obtaining some small sense of hope and cheer. He writes:

“If you have lost your friend, or your money, or your character,—if the black dog of depression has got you by the throat, will not a cheering cup give a peep at the silver lining of the cloud…?”

Unfortunately, the effect of excessive alcohol was not always cheering or sedating. Some drunken men and women became violent and abusive. In these cases, family members occasionally turned to quack remedies to cure their spouse or parent of their desire for alcohol. Advertisements for remedies could be quite appealing for those who were desperate. Consider the following advertisement which appeared in an 1886 edition of Godey’s Lady’s Book:

“DRUNKENNESS OR THE LIQUOR HABIT POSITIVELY CURED in any of its stages. All desire or craving for stimulants entirely removed. Medicine can be given without knowledge of the patient, by placing it in coffee, tea or articles of food. Cures guaranteed. Send for particulars. GOLDEN SPECIFIC CO, 185 Race Street, Cincinnati, Ohio.”

L’Absinthe, by Edgar Degas, 1876.

Of course, liquor in moderation did not—in general—lead to drunkenness, especially when that moderation was defined in Victorian terms. The recommended size of an alcoholic drink was quite small and the times of day in which that drink could be imbibed were rather limited. According to Dr. Dobell:

“Spirituous liquors should not be taken the first thing in the morning or the last thing at night, without medical orders, and they should not be drunk stronger than in the proportion of one ounce avoirdupois of absolute alcohol in about ten fluid ounces of liquid.”

Dr. Farquharson’s advice on the exact amount of alcohol which one could imbibe and still qualify as a “moderate drinker” is much more flexible:

“We are generally told that two ounces of alcohol or its equivalent should not be exceeded under ordinary circumstances; but even this may be too much for some people, and in a general way we would advise every one with sufficient self-restraint to regulate his own proper quantity for himself.”

In the end, the decision whether to abstain from alcohol for a short time or to continue drinking in moderation was—as today—a matter of personal choice. Victorian doctor’s continued to recommend alcohol fasts throughout the nineteenth century. Religious groups and temperance societies continued to urge total abstinence. As a happy medium, I close this article with another sensible quote on moderation in drink from Dr. Farquharson:

“All stimulant is unnecessary for the young, and for people living perfectly healthy lives. But, under the stress and struggle of modern civilization, few of us beyond middle age are placed under normal physiological conditions, and a little alcohol helps us to round the corners, and to plane away the asperities of existence.”

A Bar at the Folies-Bergère by Edouard Manet, 1882.

I wish you all a very Happy New Year and a bright and prosperous 2017! For those of you embarking on a sober/dry January, I wish you the best of luck. If you would like more information on the modern custom of Dry January, the links below may be useful as resources.

Dry January (Official Website)

Dry January: Giving Up Booze For A Month Does Have Benefits (NPR Article)

Works Referenced or Cited in this Article

Dobell, Horace. A Manual of Diet and Regimen for Physician and Patient.  London: J. Churchill and Sons, 1864.

Farquharson, Robert. “The Case for Moderate Drinking.” Blackwood’s Edinburgh Magazine, Vol. CLI. Edinburgh: William Blackwood & Sons, 1892.

Foster, Emily. Bound by Fetters; or The Evils of Drink. London: James Blackwood & Co., 1887.

Godey’s Lady’s Book, Vol. CXIII. Philadelphia: Louis A. Godey, 1886

National Temperance Society. Temperance Tracts. New York: National Temperance Society and Publications House, 1881.

© 2015-2017 Mimi Matthews

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