The Rags of Time

Moments in Time: New Year's Eve 1934

2012-02-17T09:37:00.001+01:00

In the time between World War I and World war II, the world wrestled with enormous questions - can Capitalism survive? Is Democracy desirable? How do we cope in a world that is filled with possibilites; a suddenly urban society where women wear short skirts and demand equal rights to pay and vote, where people are suddenly only a telephone call and a train ride away, where information in the shape of papers, pamphlets, books etc. are suddenly swelling to hitherto unknown proportions? 'Breathing', Beatrice Webb wrote in 1932, 'from infancy an up, an atmosphere of morbid sexuality and alcoholism, furtive larceny and unashamed mendacity [...] the average man is, mentally as well as physically, poisoned.'*

From our perspective, the world back then tends to look simpler. However, it's likely more because distance tends to blur out the things that didn't happen and so it seems like the choices that were made weren't actually choices but just the natural flow of events.

The world we see looking back, however, is not the world they saw looking forward. Or else, would anyone have dared hope for a brighter future in 1934?

(click the picture to be taken to a video of the PMs New Year's speech 1934)

HAPPIER DAYS AHEAD

*Overy, R. J., The morbid age: Britain and the crisis of civilization, Penguin, London, 2010[2009], p. 70

The Times They Are A-Changing

2012-01-05T09:58:00.001+01:00

I started a new writing project, still in the planning stage. It's set during the Thirty Years' War and for the first time, being Swedish is actually good, because there is a wealth of material in Swedish which would be unavailable to English speakers. Yay! I will immerse myself in Bohemia and Lützen for a while so except some posts on 17th century warfare and possibly some defenstration soon.

I also have a future project that I will do one day, set during WWII. See, I've sort of drifted into a fascination with the Golden Era lately, watching old films and backdating my wardrobe. That means... Yes, I'm changing this blog again. It'll be a history blog, still with the main focus on the 17th and 18th centuries, but I might slip in a post or two about 30s fashion and my great-grandmother's war time recipes. I do hope that won't turn you off.

Here's to a great 2012!

Hugs,

Fliss

Making the Wassail a Swinger

2011-12-15T07:28:00.000+01:00

Long time ago, I wrote a blogpost for another blog about warm, alcoholic beverages. Since I recently found myself discussing this topic, I dug out this old post and rewrote a bit. It does reference customs both in the 17th and 18th century, even if I cheat and mention later customs and recipes as well.

Looking back, you will find that different kinds of mulled, alcoholic drinks have been a thing associated with the Christmas season for centuries. One very traditional Christmas drink that was certainly around in England in the 18th century is mulled cider. Now, ‘cider’ here does not mean what I understand it does in the US. It’s not a drink made fresh from apples. It’s a fermented drink that may be quite strong in alcohol and sometimes carbonated. For making mulled cider, it's often recommend to use a still and rather strong one, such as scrumpy.

Jamie Oliver, always a good source when it comes to recipes, gives his version of mulled cider as:

2 litres good cider, such as Scrumpy
6 cloves
3 or 4 star anise
¼ nutmeg, finely grated into the pan
1 cinnamon stick
1 vanilla pod, halved
juice of 1 orange
juice of 2 clementines
juice and seeds from 1 pomegranate
4 or 5 tablespoons of caster sugar, to taste

As a recipe, it’s not at all historically accurate, of course, but it sounds delicious and we wouldn’t want to stand in the way of progress, would we? The way I remember him preparing it was to heat up the cider, then toss in the spices and squeeze in the fruit juice and then let it simmer for some 5-10 minutes before adding the sugar to taste. Just take care not to let it boil as it’ll lose the alcohol!

If that’s not apple-y enough for you, you might want to try Lamb’s Wool. It’s a drink commonly mentioned since the sixteenth century as a drink for winter celebrations such as Christmas, New Year and Twelfth Night (the latter was actually very much celebrated in older times in England, especially after the introduction of the New Style Calendar when it coincided with the date for the old Christmas).

Poet Robert Herrick (1591 – 1674) wrote about it:

Next crown the bowl full

With the gentle lamb’s-wool

Add sugar, nutmeg, and ginger,

With store of ale too;

And thus ye must do

To make the wassail a swinger.

It isn’t all that different from mulled cider, except in one regard – the use of baked apples. There are tons of contradictory recipes for Lamb’s Wool as is befitting for an ancient drink, but essentially it all boils down to (sorry for the pun):

* Core and peel a few apples and bake them in the oven until soft. When they’re done, bash them about until they’re pureed. It is all right to use a food processor for this unless you enjoy bashing apples with a wooden spoon.
* Then heat your scrumpy (or ale, if you think cider is going overboard with apples) and toss in some spices – a cinnamon stick, a few cloves, a bit of ginger, a little nutmeg – and let it simmer for about ten minutes.
* Add the apple purée and taste with sugar until perfect.

The result should be sort of frothy-looking – like lamb’s wool!

Another drink that might be had around Christmas is bishop. In what might be the most famous Christmas story of all – Dickens’ A Christmas Carol – the newly reformed Scrooge says to poor Bob Cratchit: “I’ll raise your salary, and endeavour to assist your struggling family, and we will discuss your affairs this very afternoon, over a Christmas bowl of smoking bishop, Bob!” Now, of course Mr. Scrooge was not thinking about putting a nicotine-addicted prelate in a basin, but rather speaking about something ingested in a bowl – i.e. a hot drink.

Bishop is a form of wine-based drink, sometimes described as flavored with oranges, sometimes with a whole range of spices as well. In countries like Sweden and Germany, a similar drink existed under the name of “Bischoff” (which, not very surprising, means “bishop” in German) – you’ll find it mentioned in Thomas Mann’s Buddenbrooks (1901) for example. It seems to have been common already in the 17th century and continued to be served until around 1900.

I’ve been reading through a whole lot of episcopal recipes, trying to find a good one. Like I mentioned above, some of them are made with just sugar, oranges and wine, while others have cinnamon, cloves, ginger and all sorts of spices in them. Some recommend port, and some claret. I’m sure they’re all good, but I settled on a Swedish one from 1755. It is taken from a lovely cookbook by 18th century Swedish household guru Cajsa Warg (I have given modern proportions to make it a little simpler):

* Cut away the peel from 5 Seville oranges and warm them over fire (in a modern household a frying pan would do) so they are hot, but not burned.
* Put them in a punch bowl while still hot, along with about a cup and a half of sugar.
* Press the juice from the oranges with a spoon and add about 3 bottles of red wine. Cover and let it rest.

It should stand around for 1-2 hours, but Cajsa assures us that it will be better the longer it rests so it’s perfectly all right to make it a day ahead. If it’s too strong, one can dilute it with water, she says, adding that the oranges make this drink very pleasant.

A bishop, being a versatile creature, can be enjoyed in several ways. If one wants one’s bishop smoking, like Mr. Scrooge, one heats him. If one likes one’s bishops cool, one simply pours him in glass and drinks away. It might be served this way at parties and balls as an alternative to punches and other drinks (I think this might work best with the kinds only flavored with oranges, but as many sources don’t specify what went in the drink in question, it’s hard to tell). If you’re more picky you can make your bishop with Rhenish and you have yourself an Archbishop. By using champagne, you get a fully fledged Cardinal! Please note, however, that Cardinals do not take to heat well. It makes them fizzle and go flat.

Add to that all the possible versions of mulled wine, the German Glühwein, French vin chaud and Scandinavian glögg, and you're faced with a wide range of hot, invigorating beverages to choose from.

Because, honestly, don't you want to make the wassail a swinger?

White-clad, with Candles in her Hair...

2011-12-13T14:15:00.001+01:00

Lucia celebration in Sweden

If you’re ever in Sweden around Christmas, you’ll likely get acquainted with a peculiar Christmas tradition – the celebration of St. Lucia on Dec 13. It's a tradition that, while not common until the 20th century actually begun already in the 18th century, and so I figured I could squeeze it in within the timeline for this blog.

St. Lucia is one of the many martyr saints of the Catholic Church – tradition has it that she lived in Syracuse, Sicily towards the end of the third century AD, during the Diocletian persecution. She was a Christian and was denounced as such to the authorities by a jilted suitor. She either gorged her own eyes out in order for him to leave her alone, or they were taken out as part of the torture she suffered before her execution – tradition differs on these accounts. Either way, she is usually depicted with her eyes on a plate (gruesome stuff, martyr saints).

So what does this have to do with Swedish Christmas? Well, according to the Julian calendar (which was used in Sweden until 1753, one year longer than in the British Empire), Dec 13 was the longest night of the year. If you don’t know it, Sweden gets pretty dark in the winter – in fact, in the northern parts the sun doesn’t even rise at all in December. It makes us pretty obsessed with light and the longest night of the year was a terrifying thing in ancient times and an important day in the pre-Christian calendar. It was the time of the year when the forces of darkness were at there strongest. According to folk tales, all sorts of supernatural activity take place during this night and strange creatures roam the midwinter night. As Lucia is a light bringer – her name is derived from the Latin lux, for light, she’s an important ally in this struggle against darkness.

During the Middle Ages, Dec 13 also marked the beginning of the Christmas fast, which was celebrated with feasting, likely of pre-Christian origin. During these festivities, a woman or a mannequin was dressed up as Lussebrud (Lusse Bride – the word is associated with Lucia obviously), but these traditions died out after the Reformation.

For some reason, they were picked up again in the 18th century – the first recorded modern Lucia celebration took place in 1764. During the next decades the custom spread across western Sweden, until it might be viewed as national around 1900.

So what does the custom consist of? Well, you have a woman dressed in a white shift with candles on her head. She appears at the break of dawn, often bringing breakfast, and is accompanied by an entourage of maidens carrying candles in their hands – tärnor in Swedish. Quite often there are also boys with white pointed hats with gold stars on – they are called stjärngossar (literally Star Boys). Lucia wears a red ribbon around her waist, symbolizing the blood of the martyr St. Lucia and there is lots of singing. The most common song is in fact Swedish lyrics to an old Neapolitan melody (the title of this post is a quote from the that), but there are also old folk songs being sung as well as Christmas psalms.

Lucia concert from Swedish national TV (the first song in the video is the one I’m speaking about above – but please note that the Lucia herself doesn’t appear until right after 5 min. You get plenty of tärnor and stjärngossar though).

Every single school in Sweden has it’s own Luciatåg – or Lucia Entourage – and it’s a great honour to be chosen as the Lucia. It is, however, an honour with some drawbacks –getting candle wax out of your hair is no picnic, trust me. Also, there’s always the risk of your hair catching fire and I’ve had hot wax running down my nose and dripping onto my hands as well (just for the record, little kids use electrical candles).

So that’s Lucia for you – an Italian saint celebrated in mostly Lutheran Sweden for very unclear reasons. But it’s a beautiful tradition. There’s something special about watching white-dressed people walking singing through the dark night.

As close to angels as you come on earth.

Note: first photo by Biblioteken i Östergötland (used under a Creative Common Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivs 2.0 Generic license)

Rocking Christmas, War of the Spanish Succession Style

2011-12-06T10:00:00.000+01:00

Because it's finally December and we need to get jolly (and because I have a terrible sense of humor) I'm posting a Christmas video I made over at JibJab, featuring a bunch of historical people (click the image to watch it).

Of course, they do have a common historical denominator – they all took part in the War of the Spanish Succession (1701-1713) in one way or the other.

Do you know who they are? Most likely not. They don’t really look like they usually do. But you might have seen the guy in the red bandana looking something like this?

That’s right – I’m talking about Louis XIV of France, aka The Sun King. He made it to this video because in 1701, he decided to let his grandson become King of Spain despite earlier agreeing that all his heirs should forfeit the right to the Spanish throne. Also I included him because he liked the sort of hair they have in that video and because he has this cute little mustache that makes him look like an overaged Casanova from the 1930′s, bless his little heart.

Our next contender had to be the main singer for no other reason than blatant favorism. I adore the Duke of Marlborough, see. I adore him more when he’s young and pretty, but heck, I adore him old and saggy-chinned as well. The fact that I hold him close to my heart isn’t the only reason I added him though – he was also the British commander for most of the war and kicked French butt on a regular basis, such as at Blenheim and Ramillies for example.

So this is Marlborough’s boss, Queen Anne of England. She supported the ousting of her father James II, had 14 children during her lifetime (none of which survived their childhood) and lovedchubby Danish guy to whom she was married. She was also bosom buddies with Marlborough’s wife Sarah until they quarrelled. Queen Anne was the last Stuart monarch and she fought tooth and nail against the idea of recalling her half-brother James and letting him inherit the throne, instead preferring it to pass to distant German relatives.

If I say this is James FitzJames, Duke of Berwick, you’re all likely going to think he’s on the British side. Well, it ain’t so. Young Berwick, you see, was an illegitimate son of James II and he trailed after old Papa after they’d kicked said James out of England during the so called Glorious Revolution. That means that Berwick, half-brother of Queen Anne, was actually a general on the French side during the War of the Spanish Succession; a damned good general too. What makes the story even more quaint is that his mother was Arabella Churchill, sister of the Duke of Marlborough.

Finally, we have the second allied commander of the war – Prince Eugene of Savoy. He was apparently brave and had quite a temper and people would say it was uncanny how he and Marlborough worked together like they could read each other’s mind. The man had a strong personal dislike of Louis XIV for complicated family reasons, and is generally considered one of the most successful military commanders in modern European history. Unfortunately, it seems he didn’t realize how good he’d look in red hair or think to learn to play bass.

And now you'll never forget who the main players in the War of the Spanish Succession were, right?

17th Century Proverbs: Please Leave Your Delicate Sentiments at the Door

2011-12-01T10:00:00.000+01:00

In 1611, Randle Cotgrave published a French-English dictionary. It must have been fairly popular because there was apparently a second edition in 1632. The Encyclopædia Britannica Eleventh Edition (1910–1911) calls it "a work of real historical importance in lexicography, and still valuable in spite of such errors as were due to contemporary want of exact scholarship" so it ain't at all cat shit (as the Swedish expression goes).

An enthusiast has take the pain to scan it and put it up on the internet (here) and also to collect and organise the proverbs in it. Many of them are some kind of wonderful and for someone wanting to put meat on the historical bones, they're a treasure trove on both English and French vocabulary, but most of all, on 17th century attitudes.

I couldn't keep myself from offering a few samples:

A qui Dieu veut aider sa femme luy meurt: The wife of him whom God will helpe soone dyes (lovely sentiment, isn't it? No clue on what happens with the woman God wants help. Possibly death IS preferable to a French, 17th century husband? Or maybe he simply doesn't bother with women)

Oncques vieil singe ne fit belle mouë: Th'old Monkey neuer made well-fauored mowe (maybe God doesn't bother with old people either?)

A fol avantureux n'est mestier d'avoir sens: An enterprizing foole needs little wit.

La guerre est la feste des morts: Warre is deathes holy-day. (and they'd have many chances to put that saying to the test before the 17th century was over)

C'est folie de se prendre aux femmes, & aux bestes: Tis a madnes to meddle with women, and beasts (Because really, what's the difference between the two?)

En cent livres de plaid n'y a pas vn maille d'amour: In a hundred pound of law there's not a halfepenny weight of loue. (I bet they had plenty of lawyer jokes even back then)

A cul de foirard tousiours abonde merde: There wants no turd at shitten fellowes tayles. (unless my French is way off, it literally mean "Shit abounds at the arse of the coward")

De jeune Angelot vieux diable: We say, a young Saint an old diuell. (the French literally means, "From a young Cherub, an old devil)

What's your favorite?

The Politician and the Spinster: A Love Story

2011-11-28T10:00:00.000+01:00

In the year 1754, William Pitt (who was later to be known as "the Elder") suffered several disappointments. His career wasn't really going anywhere and his health, never very good, failed him, forcing him to leave London and spend the spring and summer at Bath and Astrop. He was 46 years old, very troubled by his gout and while popular on the London streets, his disinclination to compromise (and to pass over the opportunity to score a rhetorical point) meant that he had no friends at court. In fact, George II harboured what can only be called a strong dislike for him.

His friends and allies could be found among the whig group that had originally formed around Richard Temple, 1st Lord Cobham. Two of the most prominent members of that group were George Grenville (who would later become Prime Minister) and his older brother Richard Grenville-Temple, 2nd Earl Temple. Other members included the Grenville's cousin George Lyttleton, who had been to school with Pitt, and Thomas Potter, a son of a former Archbishop of Canterbury. Far on the fringes, you could even find John Wilkes, who would later rise to both fame and infamy.

At the time, William Pitt lived and breathed politics. It was his all-consuming passion – his only passion, you might say. If some of his colleagues, such as Thomas Potter, might be said to occasionally walk on the wild side, William Pitt hobbled down the Avenue of Ambition, troubled by his gout and dressed as, if not a knight in shining armour, at least a man of conviction who was selflessly dedicated to the good of his country.

After his rather miserable summer of taking the waters, Pitt went to stay with the Grenvilles at Wotton in September. There was nothing unusual about it; he was an old friend of the family and had spent quite a lot of time with them. The visit, however, had unexpected consequences.

The Grenvilles had five sons, all Members of Parliament. There was also a daughter named Hester after her mother, aged 34 and a spinster. Exactly what transpired in Buckinghamshire in the autumn of 1754, I don't know, but it must have been something remarkable because suddenly Hester Grenville and William Pitt, who had known each other for years, found themselves in love.

It appeared to be a very conventional match. Pitt wasn't rich, but he could still hope for at least a moderate political career and frankly, 34-year-old spinsters can't be choosers, or they'll spend the rest of their days being obedient daughters whose only joy is the occasional purchase of a new teapot. On the other hand, while no blushing rose, she did have connections and came from a good family and was, all in all, as good a match as William Pitt could ever hope to make. This, however, wasn't all there was to it. Judging from their correspondence, Hester and William were really in LURRRVE.

It makes me curious. Had the thought crossed their minds before? It must have; I refuse to believe they both suddenly found the light of love in their hearts at the same time. So had he had a crush on her or vice versa? Had they both felt the occasional spark? And if so, why had nothing come of it? Did he feel he'd make her a poor husband? Was the hesitation on her part? Or was she simply "good old Hester", who was always there but never quite seen by him? To be honest, a man whose main interests are parliamentary debates and his gout may not have come across as a sex god, any more than a proper old maid may seem a very likely fuel on the fires of love, but there you are. One moment you're discreetly yawning at a game of loo, and the next you realise that your neigbour's lips are inhabited by "sweet and inexpressible bliss".

Not all shared they happiness, however. George Grenville, who wasn't currently too pleased with Pitt, vented his displeasure: "I did not imagine that my behaviour [introducing Pitt to Hester] /.../ was to bring an enemy instead of a friend into our family." And the aforementioned Thomas Potter was furious that Pitt, his hero, could debase himself by marrying a woman like Hester Grenville. In a letter to John Wilkes he wrote "[a]ll that wit and fire and spirit is to be matrimonially soaked in the cold, slimy, acquatic cunt of Lady H. Grenville. What can such an unnatural mixture produce?" The answer would, of course, be "the youngest Prime Minister Britain ever had" as well as one First Lord of the Admiralty and several other children, but then Thomas Potter was a man who raped cows* so you shouldn't be surprised if he was not the sharpest tool in the box. Besides, I think it can only speak well for Hester that she was so violently disliked by Potter whose letters reek of such misogyny that I almost regret the fact that he died in 1759 as it prevents me from looking him up and smacking him over the head.

Happily unaware of Mr Potter's dire predictions on how the seed of Heaven would congeal into frogspawn (yes, I am quoting), Hester Grenville and William Pitt got married on 16 November 1754. Their honeymoon was brief and on 25 November, Hester writes to her sister-in-law that Pitt was busy with "court, committees and the business of this hurrying town." Indeed, it seems that politics was an interest they shared, and by all accounts they had a very happy marriage with no less than five children.

I love this story. I love how it shows that love and happiness is not only for the young, or the lucky or the strong. I also love how they seem to have been friends as well as husband and wife, easily mixing accounts of political news with "my sweetest love" and "my beloved life" in their letters. In regards to his family, "the Great Commoner" William Pitt displays sides that are deeply human, such when he describes how he will devote Saturday to the children when Hester is away and when he urges her on another occasion to "kiss the loved babes for Papa".

The Politician and the Spinster. Wouldn't it make a great novel?

*I do Mr Potter an injustice here, using "cows" in plural. In fact, Mr Potter only ever admitted to having had intercourse with one single cow, on Wingrove Common, but he did brag about that exploit readily enough.

Main sources
Correspondence of William Pitt, Earl of Chatham
Pitt the Elder, by Jeremy Black
John Wilkes: The Scandalous Father of Liberty, by Arthur H. Cash
George Grenville: A Political life, by Philip Lawson

My Husband Went to Tournai & All I Got Was This Stupid Bust

2011-11-14T10:00:00.000+01:00

This is Blenheim Palace, the impressive heap of stone constructed for John, 1st Duke of Marlborough, by Vanbrugh. Like Sarah, the first Duchess, I think it's rather unattractive, but you have to hand it to Marlborough and Vanbrugh – it's built on an amazing scale. I fully mean to blog extensively on Blenheim and its construction one day, but in the meantime I couldn't help giving a sneak peak of one of its many features – Louis XIV.

If you are not familiar with the Duke of Marlborough, he was the commander of the British forces during the War of the Spanish Succession. In 1709, Marlborough laid siege to the French town of Tournai (under rather appalling conditions, as it rained all summer) and when it finally fell into his hands, he celebrated by helping himself to a bust of the French King, Louis XIV, weighing about 30 tons (you can see it above, looking much smaller than it really is).

Now, Marlborough was a parsimonious guy who wouldn't let anything go to waste, but I read more into his decision on putting it up at Blenheim than just using a (huge) piece of free art. Isn't there something delightfully pagan about it? Like a civilised, 18th century version of staking the head of a conquered enemy over the entrance to your castle?

Traffic Congestion, 1701

2011-11-10T10:00:00.000+01:00

"Upon Complaint made to this House, That there is such an Interruption, by Hackney Coaches, Carts, Drays in King-street, and the Passages in The Old Palace Yard in Westm'r, that the Lords and others are frequently hindered from coming to this House, to the great Inconveniency of the Members of both Houses:

It is thereupon Ordered, by the Lords Spiritual and Temporal in Parliament assembled, That the High Steward of the City of Westminster, or his Deputy, together with the Justices of the Peace for the said City, shall, by their Care and Directions to the Constables and other Officers within the said Limits, take special Order, that no empty Hackney Coaches be suffered to make any Stay, between Whitehal and The Old Palace Yard in Westminster, from Eleven a Clock in the Forenoon until Three of the Clock in the Afternoon of the same Day, during the Sitting of this Parliament; and that no Carriages, Drays, or Carts, be permitted to pass through the said Streets and Passages, between the Hours aforesaid, during the Sitting of this Parliament; and herein special Case is to be taken, by the said Deputy Steward, Justices of the Peace, Constables, and all other Officers herein concerned, as the contrary will be answered to this House."

Journals of the House of Lords, Volume XVII, Beginning Anno Decimo Tertio Gulielmi Tertii, 1701

To Sit or Not to Sit: Etiquette at the Court of Louis XIV

2011-11-08T10:00:00.000+01:00

The court of Louis XIV was ordered according to a very strict hierarchy. At the very top was, naturally, the monarch himself, and right below him "the children of France"; i.e. the children of a monarch. These included the legitimate children of the king, as well as his brother the Duke of Orléans, aka Monsieur, who was the son of the former king, Louis XIII, and therefore also a "fils de France" (son of France). Next were the "grandchildren of France" – the children of the children of France. Around 1700, this included the three sons of the Grand Dauphin (the only legitimate son of Louis XIV) the dukes of Bourgougne, Anjou and Berry as well as the children of Monsieur. That the latter would be given this status wasn't obvious, but Louis, by granting them such privileges as were associated with that rank, made it clear that the rights of blood extended over several generations.

Outside of the actual family and right below the petit-fils de France (the grandsons of France as described above) were les princes de sang (the princes of the blood), who were of a cadet branch of the Bourbon family. Below them were the royal bastards. The highest ranks of the nobility therefore ranked right below the illegitimate children of the king.

This fact infuriated several members of the nobility, most notably the Duke de Saint-Simon whose Memoirs are one of the most quoted sources on Louis' reign. You might say he had a bit of a thing against bastardy in all forms and he was more or less obsessed with rank, always rating different families according to titles and the ancientness of their blood, and jealously guarding his own privileges.

So why did matter? Well, rank was expressed all the time, in every little trifling activity. For example, it decided where and how you might celebrate mass in the presence of the king, if you might ride in the king's or queen's coach etc. The most obvious thing, however, was the seating arrangements.

In the presence of the monarch, the children of France and the grandchildren of France were allowed to sit, but only on a stool. Princes of the blood had to stand, but princesses and duchesses were allowed a stool. Cardinals had to stand in the presence of the king but were allowed a stool in the presence of the queen. The importance attached to the stool is expressed in an anecdote by Madame de Sévigné, regarding Madame de Ventadour (who would later become the governess of the future Louis XV). At only 17 she married the much older, ugly and sexually debauched Duke de Ventadour. During a visit to the queen there was a bit of a delay before they brought her the stool, and Madame de Sévigné turned to the Grand Master and said: 'Oh, just give it to her. It certainly cost her enough.'

In the presence of the Dauphin (the Crown Prince), the children of France could sit in an armchair, while grandchildren of France, cardinals, princesses of the blood and duchesses were allowed stools. In the presence of a grandchild of France, their equals were granted armchairs, while princes and princesses of the blood, cardinals and duchesses were given chairs with backs. Dukes were allowed to sit in their presence, but only on a stool. In the presence of princes and princesses of the blood, cardinals, dukes and duchesses could sit in armchairs, and even men and women of quality were allowed to sit down.

The matter was not made less complicated when the court of Versailles interacted with the exile Stuart court at Saint-Germain. After James II took up residence in France after the Glorious Revolution, the contacts between his family and that of Louis XIV were many and great care was taken to express regard for James's position as the true monarch of England (which was Louis's stance). James II and his wife Mary of Modena were given precedence over the Dauphin, and as there was no French queen or Dauphine after 1690, Mary of Modena was treated as the first lady of the French court and was always seated between Louis and James. The Prince of Wales was given precedence over the sons of the Dauphin, and after James II died, as James III, he was granted the same proofs of respect that his father had enjoyed.

One of the problems were that English court customs differed somewhat from French. When the English first arrived, Mary asked Louis if she should treat the French courtiers who visited Saint-Germain in the French or English custom – in England, the queen would kissed the princesses of the blood but did not let them sit, while in France, she allowed them a seat, but did not kiss them. This led to confusion, until it was decided to apply French customs. As there were initially no English duchesses, there were more French ladies who were allowed to sit in Mary's presence than English. However, Mary had extended a personal exception to her childhood friend Donna Vittoria Davia, which led to some resentment as her rank was really lower than several ladies who were forced to stand. The seating arrangements may actually have been the reason for some of the dukedoms created in the Jacobite peerage!

During the exile of the 1640s, Queen Henrietta Maria had given an armchair both to Gaston, the brother of Louis XIII (and herself) and to Philippe, the brother of Louis XIV (Duke of Orléans from 1660). Mary used this precedence to give a chair to the Dauphin and the Duke d'Orléans, as well as the Dauphin's sons. This privilege was not extended to the Duke of Chartres (the son of the Duke of Orléans and the nephew of Louis XIV), not even after he had inherited his father's title. It was a fact that clearly irked him.

In order not to offend, James II always made sure he greeted the Dauphin standing up, and when both he and the queen were present and the Dauphin could not be granted an armchair, the Stuarts both sat on stools themselves. The illegitimate children of James II and his brother Charles II were treated as princes and princesses at the English court and allowed to sit; in the case of the Dukes of Berwick and Albermarle because they were dukes, but in the case of Lady Sussex (daughter of Charles and the Duchess of Cleveland) and Lady Waldegrave (daughter of James and Arabella Churchill) simply due to their relation to the royal family (and the fact that there very few English duchesses and more seated English ladies were needed for the sake of balance).

Complicated? Yes, it was. On informal occasions, exceptions were naturally made (or the conceiving of bastards would have been somewhat awkward) but it was a matter treated with utmost seriousness. You didn't just plop down. Like Madame de Ventadour, if you wanted a stool, you had to earn it!

Main sources:

The Memoirs of Louis XIV, His Court and The Regency, by the Duke of Saint-Simon
Saint-Simon and the Court of Louis XIV, by Emmanuel Le Roy Ladurie
A Court in Exile: The Stuarts in France, 1689 – 1718, by Edward Corp
The Jacobite Court at Saint-Germain-en-Laye: Etiquette and the Use of the Royal Apartments, by Edward Corp in The Stuart Courts, ed. by Eveline Cruickshanks

Images from The Graphics Fairy (armchair and lady with chair)

An 18th Century Theatre: Drottningholms Slottsteater

2011-11-01T09:00:00.000+01:00

The exterior of Drottningholms slottsteater

Outside of Stockholm, you'll find the royal domain of Drottningholm, which is the residence of the king and queen of Sweden. I often go there to walk in the park, but the other week I took the opportunity of viewing one of the best preserved 18th century theatres in the world; Drottningholms slottsteater. Unfortunately, you are not allowed to take pictures inside the theatre, but since the theatre is more or less unique in an international perspective, I thought I would share a little information about it.

A theatre was first constructed at Drottningholm in 1754 for the queen Louisa Ulrika. She had married Adolf Frederick, then crown prince, in 1744, and coming from the sophisticated court of Frederick the Great of Prussia (her brother), she found little to impress her in Sweden. She sought to enliven the cultural life, and the construction of a theatre at the royal palace at Drottningholm was part of this ambition. However, the theatre was not to be long-lived, as it burned down in 1762, on the queen's name day no less.

Louisa Ulrika initiated the construction of a new building, which was begun in 1764 and finished in 1766. The royal couple actually borrowed money from Carl Fredrik Adelcrantz, the architect behind the building, in order to finish it, and he was never repaid. He did, instead, obtain the position of director of the theatre, which was a purely honorary position, as well as a room in the building for his own use.

The golden era of the theatre was in the last decades of the 18th century, during the reign of Louisa Ulrika's son Gustav III, who is known as "the Theatre King" in Sweden for his great interest in music and acting. He even wrote plays and operas himself and liked to participate in various theatrical performances. During his reign, the theatre was used extensively, but after his death, it fell into disuse and remained dormant for almost 150 years. During this time, the theatre was used mainly as a storage facility, mostly for furniture and paintings. The breakfast room (the salon de déjeuner) was actually used for storing potatoes!

The salon de déjeuner, added to the building in 1792

In 1921, a young man by the name of Agne Beijer arrived to look for a painting. As he dug around in the old building, he found a lot more then he'd bargained for as he discovered the stage machinery, still virtually untouched since the 18th century. He initiated a renovation of the building and in 1922, the theatre reopened. It has since then been used mainly for opera and ballet, and all music is still played on original 18th century instruments or faithful copies. Until the end of the 20th century, candles were used for lighting, but due to the fire hazard, they have been replaced by electrical imitations in the last few decades.

Sneak peek inside the breakfast room

There has been no extensive renovation (except for the breakfast room), only maintenance and cleaning, so the theatre is more or less exactly as it was over 200 years ago. 15 set pieces were originally found, and copies of those were made and they have since been supplemented with several others. The stage machinery allows for the use of four alternative sets in one performance and they can be exchanged very swiftly, in just a few seconds.

There are several trapdoors and lifts that allow the entrance and exit of performers in a very theatrical way, and the theatre has quite a lot of special effects – a wave machine, consisting of three cylinders, which when turned look like rolling waves and a wind machine, which is made of a wheel with canvas around it, which produces a swishy sort of sound when moved. There is also a thunder machine, which is simply a coffin with rocks in the attic attached to a rope. When the rope is pulled, the coffin tilts whereby the rocks make a rumbling sound. This device was used as a hiding place for a dead body in a famous Swedish detective story by writer Maria Lang.

The stage is very deep, almost 20 metres, and the set pieces are designed to fool the eye into thinking it's even deeper. In the 18th century, children would sometimes be used as extras, dressed up as adults and placed at the far end, in order to distort the perspective and seem further away then they really were. There is no pit for the orchestra, so they are at level with the first row of the audience. In the middle of the salon, are the two royal chairs; gilded armchairs upholstered in red velvet for the king and queen when they choose to watch a performance. Behind them are chairs with backs, and around them are benches for the common courtiers. It looks grand, but most of the decor is actually made out of wood and papier maché!

The salon contains a pair of royal boxes, but they were only used for greeting the audience in Gustav's days as he preferred the much better view of the royal seats. There are also boxes for the chevaliers; especially chosen young men who could sit in them and view the audience rather then the performance. There are two "incognito boxes", i.e. boxes covered by lattice where you could view a performance unseen. This came in useful for widows, who were not supposed to take part in the amusements of the court.

In the 18th century, all the people working at the theatre lived in the building – from the actors to the lowliest stagehand. The rank decided the quality of your lodgings, though. The primadonna would be found in an apartment on the top floor, while the poorest workers probably slept on the basement floor. The one perk in salary for the actors were that they received a bottle of wine in addition to the food and lodgings!

If you have the opportunity, you should definitely grab a pair of tickets to an opera show here - it's quite an experience. Usually 18th century operas are performed – this summer, for example, it was The Marriage of Figaro and Don Giovanni. If you are just passing by, you should still take the opportunity to view the theatre. It's beautiful and especially the stage machinery is definitely worth a detour.

If anyone is curious, you can catch a few glimpses of the theatre and the machinery in this video. And yes, all pictures in this post are snapped by me. Please do not use them without giving credit!

Many thanks to the very nice but unnamed guide who showed me around this weekend! I owe most of the information above to her. Thank you!

Historical Buildings Galore!

2011-10-30T21:58:00.000+01:00

I take a lot of pictures.

Two birds passing over Vadstena Castle, built in the 16th century

Some of them are of historical places and buildings.

Highgate Cemetary, London

Others are of random stuff.

Rowing results scribbled on the wall at Jesus College, Oxford, England.

Anyway, I thought I should start a Flickr account and upload some of them. I haven't gotten very far yet, but I have uploaded some pictures of Paris, Oxford, Blenheim Palace, Highgate cemetary and a bunch random pictures of Swedish palaces and castles.

You'll find them here.

Enjoy!

An Update

2011-10-21T15:16:00.000+02:00

I used to blog pretty regularly. Then Big Stuff happened and I had to prioritise which meant that this blog more or less died. Now, when things are slowly improving, I hope to be able to ease back into blogging again – with one major change.

This blog started out as dedicated to the 18th century. However, lately I've started reading a lot of 17th century related material and I really want to share that too. Therefore, I am going to branch out and include material concerning the 17th century as well. I hope you won't mind – after all, the 17th century had stays, frilly shirts and great wigs too. Not to mention war, witch burnings, Versailles and other exciting (and almost alliterating) things.

Louis XIV, from the Memoirs of the Louis XIV and theRegency, by Elizabeth-Charlotte, Duchesse d'Orleans (at Project Gutenberg)

Hope to be returning very shortly!

Death of a Pugilist

2011-09-06T08:33:00.000+02:00

"At his house at Walcot-place, Lambeth, in his 85th year, the celebrated Jn. Broughton, whose skill in boxing is well known, and will ever be recorded in the annals of that science. He was originally bred a waterman. His patron, the late Duke of Cumberland, got him appointed one of the yeomen of the guards, which place he enjoyed till his death. He was buried in Lambeth church, on the 21st instant; and his funeral procession was adorned with the presence of the several capital professors of boxing. He is supposed to have died worth £7000."

The Gentleman's Magazine, January, 1789 (Volume 59)

The Importance of Being Mr Nash

2011-09-02T13:13:00.000+02:00

The hall at Jesus College, Oxford. That's Lawrence of Arabia and the legs of Charles I (I think).

A while back I was in Oxford (as evident from my previous post). While I was there, I went on a guided tour which brought me to the hall of Jesus College. The guide pointed out all the famous patrons whose picture hung on the walls - Elizabeth I, Lawrence of Arabia, Charles I...

"And there," he said, pointing, "is Beau Nash."

I started.

I wouldn't say I'm on intimate terms with Mr Nash (in fact, ever since I read the claims of his involvement with a decidedly underaged Fanny Murray, I've had a bit of thing against him), but I knew he died at age 87 in 1761, and I've seen pictures of him and this well-trimmed, rather fragile-looking fellow was not him. So, being incurably curious, I sidled up to said portrait and checked the plaque. It said "John Nash" and things all fell into place.

See, John Nash is something completely different from Beau Nash. Richard "Beau" Nash was the man who made Bath into what it was for a very long time, serving as the Master of Cermonies there from 1704 until his death. He wore wigs that would have made 80's rock bands cry with envy and although I do think he did attend Jesus College, he did not look fragile. At all.

John Nash, on the other hand, could be called "the Architect of the Regency." He lived 1752 – 1835 and his works include Regent Street, Park Crescent and Marble Arch. He was also the architect responsible for turning Buckingham Palace from a plain house into a proper palace. He was a rather dapper looking fellow and incidentally, he also did work on Jesus College, Oxford.

Possibly there is a picture of Beau Nash in that hall, even though I didn't spot it. But the one the guide indicated was most assuredly of John Nash. According to Wikipedia (not always a source to be trusted, but since this comes with a footnote, I'll make an exception) this portrait by Sir Thomas Lawrence was part of a deal with the college – Nash required no fee for his work but asked that the college should commission a portrait of him from Lawrence to hang in the college hall.

Did I say that? Did I actually raise my hand and say: "Well, my good man, I think there's been a little mix-up with the Nash-es here?" I didn't. Of course I didn't. But I did feel a little miffed and for the rest of the tour, I took everything the guide said with a grain of salt.

Because, obviously, there's a difference between Mr Nash and Mr Nash.

The Incident with the Cow at the Royal Exchange

2011-08-28T17:49:00.000+02:00

I recently stumbled over a bizarre incident in the Annual Register for 1761. It took place on May 4, 1761 and is told like this:

"A little after two o'clock the people on the Royal Exchange were much alarmed by the appearance of a cow (hard driven from Smithfield) at the south gate and (though the beast did not run in upon change,) great confusion ensued; some losing hats and wigs and some their shoes, while others lay upon the ground in heaps with their limbs bruised &c and during the alarm, a rumour of an earthquake prevailing, some threw themselves on the ground expecting to be swallowed up. The cow, in the mean time, took down Sweeting's alley, and was knocked down and secured by a carman in Grace-church street."

I mean, an angry cow can be very unpleasant, but there is the slight tinge of things getting out of proportion, I think. Why would an earthquake appear just because there's a cow? Ever hear of causality?

There is a joke regarding stockbrokers' reactions to fairly small incidents somewhere in there, I think.

All Souls College: As Goth as it Gets

2011-08-07T21:26:00.002+02:00

I've been away and busy and all that over the summer, but I hope to return to regular blogging soon.

Meanwhile, enjoy these picture of the north quadrangle at All Souls in Oxford, built by Nicholas Hawksmoor (1661 - 1736) in the early 18th century.

The gardeners of All Souls deserve special mentioning too, I think. Or does your lawn look like this?

The sundial above in close up:

So what do you think? Does Hawksmoor's flirt with Gothic cathedrals appeal to you or is it just too much?

ETA: in case anyone wonders, I snapped those pictures myself. It was a gorgeous day.

Thoughts On Liberty

2011-07-22T12:11:00.000+02:00

”Liberty, like other good and bad principles, can never be taught the people but when it is taught them by faction. The mob will never sing lilibullero but in opposition to some other mob.”

Letter from Horace Walpole to Sir David Dalrymple, Feb 3, 1760

An Hibernian Anecdote

2011-07-21T22:15:00.000+02:00

Peg Plunkett, aka Mrs. Leeson, was a rather infamous Dublin courtesan, born in 1727. There are many stories told about her - many of which are recounted by herself in her Memoirs, published 1795-1797. It was a hard life, being a prostitute in a hostile world and Peg fought tooth and nail (sometimes literally) for her survival. By all accounts she was both feisty and clever, and both traits are manifested very clearly in the following, apocryphal story that I have seen recounted in several places.

In 1784, Charles Manners, 4th Duke of Rutland, was appointed Lord Lieutenant of Ireland. According to this particular story, he appeared in the vice regal box at the theater one night when Peg had also decided to venture there. At the time she was running her own house and the moment she appeared in her box, accompanied by some of her girls, some wits in the the upper galleries started shouting at her.

"Peg! Oy! Peg! Who slept with you last night, Peg?"

Peg, not being easily shaken, is said to have turned to them quite imperiously and, after throwing a theatrically obvious glance at the Lord Lieutenant, reprimanded them with the words:

"Manners, you dogs!"

Whereupon, naturally the whole theater burst into laughter, much to the chagrin of the unfortunate Lord Lieutenant.

True or not, that's one point for team Ireland!

In which a Young Man Advertises for his Mother

2011-07-18T10:05:00.001+02:00

Sometimes you stumble over the most amazing stories by mistake. I found this, looking for mundane comments on the political going-ons of 1762 and was immediately intrigued.

"Whereas a lady, who called herself a native of Ireland, was in England in the year 1740, and resided some time at a certain village near Bath, where she was delivered of a son, whom she left with a sum of money, under the care of a person in the same parish, and promised to fetch him at a certain age, but has not since been heard of: now this is to desire the lady, if living, and this should be so fortunate as to be seen by her, to send a letter directed to I. E. to be left at the Chapter Coffee-house, St. Paul's churchyard, London, wherein she is desired to give an account of herself, and her reasons for concealing this affair: or, if the lady should be dead, and any person is privy to the affair, they are likewise desired to direct as above.

—N. B. This advertisement is published by the person himself, not from motives of necessity, or to court any assistance (he being, by a series of happy circumstances, possessed of an easy and independent fortune) but with a real desire to know his origin.

P. S. The strictest secrecy may be depended upon."

The Annual Register or a View of the History, Politicks and Literature of the Year 1762 quoting Faulkner's Dublin Journal February, 21.

Honestly, doesn't it sound like a novel? Very Tom Jones-esque! Especially the "he being, by a series of happy circumstances, possessed of an easy and independent fortune." How did that happen? How did he go from a poor little abandoned babe to a young man (he'd be 22 if my math is working all right) with an independent fortune? A "series of happy circumstances" it would most certainly have to be.

I wonder if he ever heard anything?

Lord Talbot, His Horse & Its Behind

2011-07-14T19:16:00.001+02:00

At the coronation of George III in September 1761, part of the festivities was a challenge issued by a champion knight against anyone who would contest the king's right. He was supposed to be accompanied by three additional knights on horseback. They were to be the Duke of Bedford, Lord Effingham and Lord Talbot.

Mindful of the importance of the day, Lord Talbot did not want his horse to turn and show its rump to the King on its way out – he was quite determined to teach it to back its way out, like any good courtier would.

However (in the words of Horace Walpole), "he had taken such pains to dress it to that duty, that it entered backwards" and backed its way up to the King, most persistently showing its behind all the way, much to the loud enjoyment of the guests. In other words, the plan backfired (yes, pun totally intended) and poor Lord Talbot was mortified and pretty much the butt (sorry, can't seem to help myself) of jokes told in every coffeehouse in London.

The story might have ended there, but obviously it was too good not to be used in the notoriously catty political climate at the time. When in it was brought up in the North Briton, Lord Talbot, who was probably sick and tired of hearing of that horse's arse, snapped.

North Briton was a publication supposedly written by an anonymous author. That was not to say that everybody didn't know that it was written by John Wilkes, MP for Aylesbury and ardent admirer of Lord Temple and Pitt the Elder. Accordingly, Talbot wrote to Wilkes and demanded that he would admit or deny writing the offending paper. Wilkes declined to do either, but declared, in case Lord Talbot was not satisfied with his answer, that he was ready to give him "any other satisfaction becoming me as a gentleman." Now, that may sound a little lewd to the modern ear, but I think you know what he was getting at.

And so, after a few more letters in which Wilkes remained firm in neither confirming or denying his authorship, the point was reached when Lord Talbot's honour could only be satisfied in the field. The two combatants finally came together at the Red Lion Inn in Bagshot one night, but Wilkes, true to the attitude of cool carelessness he'd applied throughout their correspondence, declared that he'd rather not fight the same night as he'd spent the night before at a gathering at Francis Dashwood's Medmenham Abbey and had drunk quite a lot and not gone to bed until four am. Lord Talbot, however, insisted. Worse, he declared that if indeed Wilkes killed him, he hoped he'd be hanged for it.

That's obviously not what a gentleman says in a duel that has been brought about by his own challenge, but we might put it down to the stress that had surely tormented poor Lord Talbot ever since the bloody horse decided to back into Westminster Hall. He even unleashed what the seconds called "a Torrent of Billingsgate" at his opponent. Wilkes, according to his own version anyway, remained calm and collected and declared that Lord Talbot might be his "superior indeed in rank, fortune, and abilities" but "my equal only, in honour, courage, and liberty."

They stepped outside and were given a large horse pistol each. Standing about eight yards apart, back to back, they waited for the signal. When it came, they both turned and fired at the same time.

Both missed.

Afterwards, Wilkes stepped up to Talbot and admitted to being the author of said piece. They then declared mutual affection and respect before withdrawing to the inn to get plastered together.

And that is how something as trivial and innocent as a horse's behind almost got two men killed in October, 1762.

Recommended: Great Fashion Resource

2011-07-11T10:33:00.001+02:00

I read a lot of costuming blogs and one of my absolute favorites is Diary of a Mantua Maker, which contains a lot of in-depth and useful info on a variety of topics relating to 18th century fashion (not to mention she makes sewing sound so... doable. Very dangerous, that).

Recently, she did a wonderful series on fashion 1760-1794, breaking it down into 5 year periods. It contains a lot of useful and detailed info, such as types of trims and fabrics used. You'll also find a great many pictures for each era. A wonderful resource and a good place to start your 18th century fashion/costume research.

Go check it out if you haven't!

Historical Character of the Day: George II

2011-06-27T06:53:00.001+02:00

Why today: On June 27, 1743, George took part in the Battle of Dettingen, thereby becoming the last British monarch to personally led his troops into battle.

Name: George

Class: King

Lived: 1683 - 1760

Also known as: George Augustus, Georg August

Special powers: Loud Speaking (20%)

Known affiliates: Caroline of Ansbach; Sir Robert Walpole; Henrietta Howard; Amalie von Wallmoden; Lord Carteret

Short bio: At the time George was born in Hannover, the idea that he would one day be king of England would have seemed rather ludicrous. But through a series of unexpected events little Georg August's father, the Elector of Hannover, would end up inheriting the English throne as George I when Queen Anne died without heirs in 1714.

In 1705, George married Caroline of Ansbach and he took part in the War of the Spanish Succession, most notably at the Battle of Oudenarde where he fought with the Hannoverian cavalry and had his horse shot from under him.

In 1714, Queen Anne died and George followed his father to England as he took his place as King of England. Their relationship was very strained and remained so until the death of George I in 1727. Ironically, George II and his son Frederick, Prince of Wales, would likewise find themselves at odds and in 1737, the Prince and his family was banned from court. Shortly after, Queen Caroline died. George II never remarried but he did, indeed, take mistresses.

The 1740s was a turbulent time for George II with Britain involved in the War of the Austrian Succession and the Jacobite Rebellion of '45, headed by Charles Edward Stuart (aka Bonnie Prince Charlie). It was during the former that George II would take part in the the Battle of Dettingen, thereby becoming the last British monarch to personally led his troops into battle.

In 1751, Frederick, Prince of Wales, died which meant that when George II finally died in 1760 of a ruptured ventricle, it was his grandson who inherited the throne as George III.

Read more: Courtiers: The Secret History of Kensington Palace by Lucy Worsley

On the Potential Consequences of Burning Bridges

2011-06-24T17:08:00.002+02:00

"It is enacted by 9 Geo. 1. c. 29. f. 6. for preventing the wilful and malicious damaging or destroying Westminster-bridge, or any part thereof, 'That if any person or persons shall wilfully and maliciously blow up, pull down, or destroy the said bridge, or any part thereof, or attempt so to do, or unlawfully and without authority remove or take away any works thereto belonging, or in any wise direct or procure the same to be done, whereby the said bridge, or the works thereof may be damaged, or the lives of the passengers endangered, such offender or offenders shall be adjudged guilty of felony, and suffer death without benefit of clergy.' "

Treatise of the Pleas of the Crown; A System of the Principal Matters Relating to that Subject, Digested under Proper Heads. By William Hawkings, Serjeant at Law. The Sixth Edition, by Thomas Leach, Esq. of the Middle Temple, Barrister at Law. 1777.

Mitts & Fingerless Gloves

2011-06-22T06:52:00.003+02:00

Recently, someone asked about mitts. Now, 18th century mitts are not to be confused with modern mittens. A mitt, essentially, is "a woman's glove that leaves the fingers uncovered" (definition from Merriam-Webster).

Your average 18th century mitt would have a thumb (or rather half a thumb), but not have any other fingers. It would sometimes extend not just over the hand but over part of the fingers as well. This meant that it would keep you warm (or protected from the sun in the summer) but not hinder your movements at all. You could do things like write, draw or do needlework with mitts on. And combined with a muff, they were quite enough even for venturing outside in the winter.

An example can be seen in The Lady with the Veil, by Alexander Roslin (1768) - you can see that the part covering the fingers has been folded back to reveal a lining of a different color. The material is likely silk and they probably reach up to the lady's elbow.

In the 18th century, such mitts were very common. They weren't just for roughing it outdoors or wearing at home where no one saw you, though I am certain they added greatly to the comforts in poorly heated houses and helped you keep your fingers soft and skillful. Nope, mitts could be worn with an elegant (but informal) outfit as well. It was all a matter of what sort of mitts you wore. Knitted ones... Well, I think you realize where they stood. But the sort seen in the portrait above looks very stylish, don't you agree? There are many examples of extant gloves which are quite elaborate; heavily worked with embroidery and decoration.

Silk mitts, first quarter 18th century at the Metropolitan Museum of Art (www.metmuseum.org)

More examples of extant mitts:

Yellow silk mitts, 1700-1800, at the Victoria & Albert Museum

Satin mitts, undated, at the Museum of Fine Arts Boston
Mitt, cream silk and blue needlework, 1760-1780, at Colonial Williamsburg

Pair of mitts, probably Italian, 18th century, at the Museum of Fine Arts Boston

Axel von Fersen: Lover, Fighter & Victim of an Angry Mob

2011-06-20T06:50:00.003+02:00

The Swedish Count Axel von Fersen, who died on June 20, 1810, lived an extraordinary life. He took part in the American Revolutionary War – among other things he served as an interpreter between Washington and the French and he excelled at Yorktown – and he served as a diplomat as well as a leading Swedish statesman. Axel's main claim to fame, however, is his intimate friendship with Marie Antoinette.

Marie Antoinette in court dress (image from Graphics Fairy)

Whether or not this relationship was a friendly one or if the French Queen and von Fersen were indeed lovers has been hotly debated over the years, and the truth will likely never be known. Sofia Coppola's film Marie Antoinette from 2006 takes the romantic view of the two and depicts von Fersen as the love of Marie Antoinette's life – which he may well have been as far as anyone knows. There just isn't anything solid to support the idea, beyond the two of them being on friendly terms and expressing a mutual admiration. He called her "the most beautiful and amiable princess" and in a letter to his sister Sophie Piper he wrote "She is an angel of goodness, heroic in all her sensitivity. I have never been so loved." Apparently Napoleon would later refuse to speak with him, saying that he would never discuss anything with a person who had had an affair with the widow Capet.

It was von Fersen who organized the ill-fated attempt to escape which ended at Varennes and he continued to try to save the royal couple long after all hope of an escape was essentially gone. After their execution, he eventually returned to Sweden and devoted himself to Swedish politics (and I'm sure, also comforting himself for the loss of his queen - he seems to have been something of a playboy).

As you know if you've read the post on the murder of Gustav III, Sweden was in a bit of a turmoil at the time as well. After Gustav III was shot, his brother Charles, Duke of Södermanland, became regent during the minority of young King Gustav Adolf. The young king came of age in 1796 and soon proved to be one of the more inept monarchs to grace the throne of Sweden (but following in the fine old royal tradition of slight mental instability). There are lots of more or less unsubstantiated stories of his eccentricities, but be that as it might – he managed to lose Finland (which had been a part of Sweden since times immemorial and is a rather sizeable thing to lose, about twice the size of California) and that led to him being deposed. This plunged Sweden into something of a crisis.

You see, next in line for the throne was the former regent Charles who had no legal issue. Since neither of his siblings did either (save the former King Gustav Adolf, of course), this meant that there was no one to inherit the throne after the 61 year old king. The Swedish Parliament solved the matter by electing the Danish Prince Charles August as Crown Prince, but it was all for naught because Charles August managed to die of apoplexy less than a year after the election, leaving Sweden once again without an heir to throne.

Now – you may ask – what the heck does this have to do with Count von Fersen? Well, von Fersen and his sister Sophie Piper were both considered to be of the Gustavian faction - that is, old favorites of Gustav III who were thought to secretly plot to reinstate his heirs on the throne. It didn't take long for rumors to start circulating that Charles August had not died of natural causes at all but had been poisoned by the Gustavians.

At the time von Fersen was Marshal of the Realm which was essentially something like Master of Ceremony of the Swedish court. As such, it fell to him to head the funeral procession as it entered Stockholm. He was warned that feelings were running high against him and that maybe he should desist, but he wouldn't listen.

On June 20, 1810 the procession entered Stockholm from the south. The carriage with the coffin was pulled by eight black horses and was plain and dusty, having traveled from the south of Sweden. In front of it, as protocol demanded, rode the Marshal von Fersen in a gilded coach, with his long grey hair lose and dressed in a long black coat with the Royal Order of the Seraphim on his chest.

Right from the start, the crowd showed its disapproval for von Fersen. Stones were thrown at the coach and random shouts of "Murderer!" were heard. By the time the coach had reached the central parts of the city, things had detoriorated to the point where von Fersen had to take cover in a tavern. The abuse continued, however, and the officer in charge decided that they should relocate to the City Court which was situated nearby.

The place where von Fersen was killed - the yard outside what is now the Supreme Court of Sweden (photo by me). The house was built 1661-1673 and in 1810, it served as the City Court of Stockholm

They never made it. Instead, the mob managed to get hold of von Fersen in the yard outside the courthouse and tore his clothes off, kicked him, stoned him and ended by jumping on him, crushing his chest and killing him in the most barbaric fashion. How this could happen, right in front of the Royal Life Guards who lined the square was widely debated at the time and it was suggested that von Fersen was sacrificed by the authorities to appease the people. It could also have been that it was feared that interfering might cause a full scale riot, or simply that the guards present were too afraid to intervene (though some of them tried and were told to stand down). It is a fact that the aftermath led to very few arrests being made.

A few months after the incident, von Fersen and his sister were cleared of all suspicions of murder as it was established by a court of law that the Crown Prince had died of a stroke and that there was no reason to suspect foul play.

Sophie erected a monument over her brother (which can be seen here) which read (in my clumsy translation):

"For an unforgettable brother; the courage in his last moments on June 20, 1810 bears witness of his virtue and serenity."

Some people claim he haunts the place of his death, which is now the site of Sweden's Supreme Court. I hope not. Not only because a courthouse seems such a dreary place to haunt, but because if he must insist on haunting any place at all, the soppy side of me hopes it's Paris, or possibly Versailles – somewhere where he can team up with his angelic and beautiful queen again. It's probably as close to a Happily Ever After as any of them will ever get...

Jack roast beef

2011-06-17T07:12:00.000+02:00

"A jocular name given by the French to Englishmen, who, as many of them suppose, cannot exist without roast beef, plum pudding and punch; which liquor they term contradiction, from being compounded of lemon to make it sour, and sugar to make it sweet, water to make it weak, and spirits to make it strong."

A Provincial Glossary with a Collection of Local Proverbs and Popular Superstitions, by Francis Grouse (1787)

Tooth Powder & Dentifrice: Dental Care Georgian Style

2011-06-15T07:36:00.000+02:00

Dental hygiene in the 18th century wasn't always top-notch. Not only did teeth decay from cavities, but they were also lost for other reasons, such as periodontitis and scurvy. In fact, losing your teeth was considered a natural effect of aging and a blackened smile was no unusual sight. But people did fight it, best as they could.

The Toilet of Flora (1772) contains a large number of tricks and recipes concerning dental products. There are several recipes for tooth powders, most of which use abrasive substances like pumice stone, egg shells and cuttle bone, but also recipes for chemical bleaches like this recipe for A Liquid Dentifrice:

"Take Lemon Juice, two ounces, Burnt Alum and Salt, of each six grains ; boil them together about a minute in a glazed pipkin, and then strain through a linen cloth."

The liquid is then rubbed against the teeth, but you are cautioned that too much should not be used as it may excoriate the gums or the inside of the mouth and it should not be used above once every two or three months. Strong stuff, apparently.

The most astonishing recommendation in the book is probably that you are advised to take a little bruised gunpowder on a small stick every fortnight and rub on your teeth with. The proceeding is claimed to give your teeth an astonishing whiteness. Again, you are advised to rinse carefully and not do it too often due to the strength of the salpeter (one of the ingredients of gunpowder).

Most of these remedies are meant to be rubbed on the teeth using a piece of linen, but toothbrushes were also used. An example of a toothbrush from 1801 can be seen as part of a little dental care kit at the Museum of London website. In addition to the brush, it has a container for toothpowder and a tongue scraper (gotta fight that halitosis!). Toothbrushes were quite often made from bone, and that they could be fairly personified is evident from this piece which is likely part of one of Thomas Jefferson's toothbrushes and has his name inscribed on it.

The aforementioned Toilet of Flora describes how roots may be prepared for being used in the place of brushes, the advantage being that they are softer to the gums than brushes. There is also, in the same book, a description of how to prepare sponges to be used for cleaning teeth.

So while as a Georgian, the future may not have been looking great for your teeth, you needn't give up the dream of a brilliant smile without a fight!

White-pot: a Romantic Recipe for a Pastoral Love Scene

2011-06-13T06:54:00.000+02:00

"In good roast-beef my landlord sticks his knife,
The capon fat delights his dainty wife,
Pudding our parson eats, the squire loves hare,
But white-pot thick is my Buxoma's fare.
While she loves white-pot, capon ne'er shall be,
Nor hare, nor beef, nor pudding, food for me."

From The Shepherd's Week, by John Gay (1714)

From John Gay's use of white-pot in the shepherd Cuddy's coarse praise of his beloved Buxoma in the pastoral parody quoted above, I deduce he thought it to be a very inelegant dish. But, while obvious to men hob-nobbing with Alexander Pope in 1714, it isn't as readily discernible to the 21st century reader what the eff white-pot really is.

Not really a white-pot, but a pudding anyway

Basically, we're talking about a pudding. Hannah Glasse in her The Art of Cookery, Made Plain and Easy (1774 edition) gives two versions, one plain and one made with rice. Sarah Harrison's The House-keeper's Pocket-book: and Compleat Family Cook (1739) also gives it as a bread pudding, but a lot more elaborate one.

Since Buxoma is a simple country gal, I'm assuming her white-pot would be a plain bread one. According to Hannah Glasse, here's how to make it:

"TAKE two quarts of new milk, eight eggs, and half the whites, beat up with a little rose water, a nutmeg, a quarter of a pound of sugar; cut a penny loaf in very thin slices, and pour your milk and eggs over. Put a little bit of sweet butter on the top. Bake it in a flow oven half an hour."

Personally, I think I'd grow tired of it pretty quickly, but that's me. Presumably, blushing shepherdesses in 18th century burlesque pastorals weren't quite as demanding. They are, after all, unlikely to have sushi bars, Thai restaurants or take-out pizza in pastoral Arcadia.

A House in Surrey

2011-06-10T07:06:00.001+02:00

"To be sold by Mr. Hutchins

A very neat complete Villa, with excellent Officies, a new-built Coach-house, Stable for Seven Horses, new Colt-house, Cart-house, Cow-house for four Cows, Poultry Yard, with suitable Erections, a Pleasure Ground, Kitchen Ground, and Orchard; a new Fruit-Room, completely fitted; and a capital Hot-house &c with Two good Meadows adjoining. The Whole containing about Sixteen Acres; most delightfully situated at the Top of Streatham Common; in the Lane leading to N-wood.

To be viewed by Tickets to be had of Mr. Hutchins, King-Street, Covent-Garden; and immediate Possession may be had, by taking a few Fixtures at a Valuation."

Advertisement in The Times, Tuesday, Jun 21, 1785

In a Mirror Darkly: The Claude Glass

2011-06-08T07:25:00.000+02:00

In the 18th century, a Claude glass was considered an indispensable tool for an amateur landscape artist. Named for French 17th century painter Claude Lorrain, the Claude glass is a black mirror, slightly convex, that serves to concentrate and frame scenery, as well as simplifying the color and tonal range. This created an image with the qualities of a painting by Claude and made drawing scenery much simpler.

The Claude glass (samples can be seen here) wasn't just a painter's tool, though. It was more a landscape-viewing device and used extensively by tourists. Indeed, it was recommended in guide books such as West's A Guide To the Lakes that a tourist serious about his study of scenery should bring along a Claude glass and turn his back on the view and instead study it, deprived of its vibrant color and slightly distorted, in the dark mirror.

The world as seen through a Claude Glass - image from Observations relative chiefly to Picturesque Beauty, Made in the year 1772, Cumberland & Westmoreland by William Gilpin (retrieved from Wikipedia)

There is something about that which boggles the mind, isn't it? Imagine going all that way, climbing a hillside until you reach the perfect spot – and then, turning your back on it and so you can watch a fabricated image of the place rather than the reality. It reminds me of Plato's analogy of the cave - turning the real life realities into dancing shadows on the wall. Preferring the illusion to reality, if you will. But then, there is also an aspect of the contrary; of a desire to strip the world of all foofaraw and reduce it into the bare necessities, to the Platonic ideal.

I can't help but thinking it reflects a desire to domesticate the wild, but also to dissect it and understand it. A sort of reversed engineering of scenery that allows you to force Nature to give up its secrets so that you can truly make it yours.

Framed, tamed and hung on your wall.

Gimcrack - the Little Engine That Definitely Could

2011-06-06T13:50:00.005+02:00

My dictionary gives the meaning of gimcrack as "flimsy or poorly made but deceptively attractive", but etymology online claims that the word was first recorded in 1610 in the sense of "showy person."

Neither seems entirely appropriate for the mid-18th century racing horse Gimcrack, much admired in his day. Small, but with a top-notch engine, his looks rather promised less than they delivered – during his 7 year career he met and defeated almost all of the top race horses of his day.

Video from www.christies.com

Born in 1760, he had a long string of owners, one of whom was Lord Bolingbroke (also known as "Bully" to his friends). Lord Bolingbroke was so pleased by the prowess of little grey Gimcrack that he had the above painting commissioned of him in 1765 by Stubbs, the fashionable choice for any gentleman who needed to plaster his walls with images of horse-flesh in the mid-to-late 18th century.

You can see Gimcrack twice in it; running far ahead of his competitors in the background, and posing in the foreground. I have no idea what the man on the ground is doing - presumably he's about to give the horse a rub-down since he's holding a handful of hay, but he looks a little mad, not to mention menacing the way he's eying what looks to be very private parts of poor Gimcrack.

If the ogling stable-lad doesn't bother you, then I'm glad to tell you the painting may soon be yours. It's up for auction at Christie's in July though it will likely tax your purse a bit - it's expected to realize in excess of £20 million (app $33 million).

But then, Gimcrack was a very special horse. Just ask Lord Bolingbroke.

Bad Bailiffs Restrained, 1759

2011-06-03T07:17:00.000+02:00

"It has been common for bailiffs, when they have arrested a person for debt, to drag him to some publick house, and order liquors, &c. of their own accord, for which they oblige him to pay; it has also bee customary for them to demand more than their legal fees for the arrest, and exact a farther sum from the prisoner, under the name of civility money; from all these iniquitous practices they are restrained, under severe penalties, by this act"

A Summary of the last Act of Parliament for the Relief of Debtors, The Gentleman's Magazine, Volume 29, 1759 (June)

Pockets, pockets, pockets...

2011-06-01T06:05:00.005+02:00

I posted about the pockets with Mr. Lunardi's balloon ascension the other week, and it occurred to me that not everyone may be fully acquainted with the concept of 18th century pockets.

First, there's a difference between male pockets and female pockets. Men's pockets were sewn in their clothes; in the lining of coats for example. Breeches quite often had pockets (in the front usually; I never heard back pockets in 18th century breeches). This would be what we think of when we say 'pockets' today. Women's pockets, however, were something entirely different.

18th century women did not have handbags. They didn't carry reticules, either - they're mostly an 19th century accessory. What they did have were sizable, detachable pockets that they tied under their skirts or somewhere between the different layers of petticoats, which could be accessed through slits in the outer layers of clothing.

Makes sense? This is the basic layout of a typical pocket:

It would usually be attached around your waist with a long linen tape - you could have a pair of pockets but you could also have just one, of course. They could be plain, although for obvious reasons few such examples have survived (but one may be seen here), or very elaborate. A few examples of pretty pockets may be found at different museums around the world - here, here and here, for example.

Pockets, 1700-1750, Metropolitan Museum of Art (www.metmuseum.org)

Pockets were not limited to one class. All used them, but the purpose and content may vary depending on who you were. The pockets would be where any woman kept valuables when she walked outside, but if you were poor and lived in a crowded boarding house, they may be where you kept your valuables at all times. In this case, your pockets would be the last – or only – bastion of privacy you ever truly possessed. As Amanda Vickery comments in At Home With The Georgians, they were a private space, one in which any invasion would be a clear violation. A woman's pockets were her sacred space, even more so than a handbag today as they were hidden under her clothes, close to her body.

This sense of privacy was obviously not respected by thieves. On the contrary, pockets were a prime target for pickets and rogues of all kinds. There were several ways in which you could target a pocket – one, obviously, would be to do what picketpockets are supposed to do; shove their hands inside your pocket and remove the content.

This is not as easy as it sounds. The slits through which you would access the pockets are situated on a woman's hips might be protected by drawstrings or hard to find through the layers of clothing and also hard to access without her noticing. Much better to cut the pocket strings and grab the whole pocket. You could also slash the pocket so the content fell out. The very informative page on V&A on the history of pockets cites a thief who says that the habit of women to wear their pockets under their hoop petticoats made stealing very easy, as opposed to what it would be if they wore them between the hoops and the petticoats.

Like I said earlier, pockets were a prime chance to let your fancy run free – pretty pockets seem to have been coveted and you'll find a lot of very beautiful objects, despite them obviously not being displayed to a great extent. The Lunardi ones were lovely of course, but so are these in white on white. These plain silk ones reminds me of ballerina shoes! Patchwork pockets seem to have been fairly common too – a sample can be seen here. A pair of pockets in the making, can be found here.

The V&A not only encourages you try to making your own pockets, but they also invite you to share them, which I think is a great idea. I am actually thinking of trying my hand at a pair myself... In which case I will share, of course. Nothing says love like pics of poor needlework!

Weddings and Bad Omens

2011-05-30T06:54:00.018+02:00

In May, 1770 Marie Antoinette married the Dauphin of France, later Louis XVI. This has all the hallmarks of 18th century romantic nostalgia since it involves both a wedding and Marie Antoinette (as well as a number of good frocks and glamorous partying). However, what it did not entail was a Happily Ever After. In fact, if you believe in omens, you might have known it was going to go down the loo for M-A & Louis.

Wedding celebrations weren't just arranged for the court at Versailles, but for the people of Paris as well. The finale of these celebrations took place on May 30, when there was a great big firework show at the Place Louis-XV (present day Place de la Concorde). After the display, people trying to get ut of the Place and people trying to get into it clashed. The situation was not improved by the presence of several carriages – people were trampled under the hooves of the horses and squished to death by the crowd, while the carriages were overturned and crushed. Afterwards, 132 corpses were collected, but the public mind magnified the catastrophe until it was thought to have caused a much larger number of deaths than was owned by the authorities.

Either way, it was a carnage, and identification was made difficult due to the mutilation some of the bodies had suffered in the fray. The Dauphin and Dauphine immediately sent money to be distributed to the poor as a way of compensation or consolation, but some damage had already been done, since the deaths were intrinsically linked to the wedding.

Some twenty years later, both the King & the Queen were beheaded in that very same square.

Bad omens; just like I said.

Smells Like Party Spirit?

2011-05-27T06:36:00.008+02:00

"Imagine to yourself a high exalted essence of mingled odours, arising from putrid gums, imposthumated lungs, sour flatulencies, rank armpits, sweating feet, running sores and issues, plasters, ointments, and embrocations, hungary-water, spirit of lavender, assafoetida drops, musk, hartshorn, and sal volatile; besides a thousand frowzy steams, which I could not analyse."

Mr. Bramble on attending a dance in The Expedition of Humphry Clinker, by Tobias Smollett (1771)

Three Highwaymen, Two Pistols and 36 shillings

2011-05-25T05:23:00.132+02:00

It's October 8, 1760, and David Morgan, William Dupuy and Ralph Wayne are up to no good.

They don't look like fearsome criminals at first glance. Wayne is only 16 and described by witnesses as short and slender. Dupuy is not yet 24, and a native of Hampshire though of French descent. He was entered as a volunteer aboard a man-of-war when he was only eight years and served as a sailor for several years before disembarking to a life of petty crime. During the sad aftermath of their adventure, he will be described as "giddy, trifling, and boyish." Morgan is an unknown entity, but from the general account, I'm assuming he is about Dupuy's age or a little older. Somehow I get the feeling that he's pretty much the leader of the group. The cool kid, if you know what I mean. The kind who draws people to him.

Can you see them? Wayne is wearing a light coat and Morgan a dark grey one. They do not have boots on, and Dupuy has a long pig-tail. Morgan is riding a light bay horse with cropped ears while the other two are seated on a roan horse and a dark bay gelding respectively. If you want to, you can add tricorns, because we're told that they have hats on and we can make them any sort of hats we want. Personally, I think any budding highwayman needs a tricorn.

Getting a mental picture? Good.

Being short on capital, they start by Dupuy pawning a coat and Wayne selling a Bible in Fleet Street which gives them 12 shillings, enough to buy a pair of pistols and rent a horse each. Now, selling a Bible in order to buy pistols isn't something nice boys do, but then, neither of the three probably aspire to the title.

Next, our merry trio stops briefly at the Cock & Crown in Islington where they have "a shillingsworth of punch, and some biscuit and cheese, and a two-penny glass of brandy each" before loading the pistols and heading out on the highway.

An hour or two later, at dusk, they hold up a post chaise on the road, Dupuy on one side and Morgan on the other.

One of the passengers, a Mr. Dobinson, points a blunderbuss at Morgan through the window, threatening him to back off.

Morgan, who obviously has an unfortunate balls-to-brains ratio, says: "D - m you, shoot away!"

Mr. Dobinson takes him at his word and the blunderbuss flashes in the pan, but does not go off.

Morgan is peeved at being shot at, despite pretty much having himself to blame, so he puts his pistol to Mr. Dobinson's chest and says: "You fired a blunderbuss at me, and I have a good mind to shoot you."

Dobinson, terrified, replies: "I beg your pardon, and desire you would desist."

Morgan, feeling magnanimous, decides to leave it at that. He takes some money and the watches from Mr. Dobinson and his fellow traveler; a Mr. Auckland. Wayne later pawns them for a guinea and a half each, and describes them at the Old Bailey a few months later: "One of the watches was a mettal one, with a shagreen case, with a ribband to it. The other silver gilt, with a steel seal ingraved."

Feeling successful and supposedly very manly and daring, our boys proceed to a public house where they have some more punch, bread and cheese. After enjoying these refreshments, they head back to London, with Wayne and Morgan randomly stopping a coach on the way, from which they collect four purses. Sometime after 11 pm they arrive at Robinson's bagnio in Prince Street, Covent Garden where they have supper and "a girl a piece".

Alas, this merry existence filled with sex, punch and cheese will not last for Messrs. Wayne, Morgan and Dupuy. Instead, Lady Justice rears up her blind head in the shape of the magistrate Mr. John Fielding, Esq. of Bow Street, who isn't just blind for real, but also a brother of author Henry Fielding and one of the founders of the Bow Street Runners. Mr. Fielding, examining our trio at his house after they are accused of robbery, sends them to Newgate in order to await trial.

On May 6, 1761, Dupuy and Morgan face trial at the Old Bailey, while Wayne testifies against them, laying most of the blame on them. Dupuy and Morgan are both found guilty and sentenced to death.

Wayne ends up being granted a free pardon and released, but he does not escape entirely unscathed. One of his fellow prisoners at Newgate, a woman named Mrs. Degoe, has taken umbrage to his giving evidence against his friends and stabs him with a table fork in the press-yard while naming him a snitch. The role of Morgan and Dupuy in this not clear, but personally, I'd be willing to stake good money on their involvement. The Ordinary of Newgate reports that while the accident is not fatal, he hopes it will help the young man see the light.

Meanwhile, Dupuy's boyish giddiness is slowly morphing into a more serious state of mind as his end grows near and on May 20, he and Morgan are both brought to the place of execution, but on different carts. Once they get there, Morgan is suddenly granted a reprieve and is taken away. Dupuy, who is not so lucky, cranes his neck as far as he can to keep watching Morgan as he disappears, leaving Dupuy to face his death alone. He is the only of the three to hang for the crime.

After comprehending that he really won't be executed, Morgan faints away but soon recovers. He later receives his Majesty's most gracious pardon, on condition of being transported during his natural life. According to The London Magazine, he is delivered to an officer to serve in one of the regiments abroad.

What do you think? Did young Wayne keep to the straight and narrow or did he pursue the career of crime he'd begun? And what became of Morgan?

Historical character of the day: Linnaeus

2011-05-23T06:17:00.005+02:00

Why today? Linnaeus was born on May 23, 1707

Name: Carl von Linné

Class: Scientist
Lived: 1707 - 1778
Also known as: Carl Nilsson Linnæus, Carolus Linnæus, Carl Linnaeus
Special powers: Classification Shower (+2 Chr), Botany +10
Known affiliates: Olof Celsius, King Adolf Frederick, George Clifford III

Quotes: "In natural science the principles of truth ought to be confirmed by observation."

Short bio: He was born as Carl Nilsson Linnæus in Småland, Sweden in 1707, the son of a curate with a great interest in botany. Linneaus first attended the University in Lund and then, later Uppsala University. He wrote his thesis on plant sexuality in 1729 and shortly afterwards decided to create his own system for classification of plants.

During the 1730s and 40s, Linneaus made several expeditions and excursion, such as the expedition to Lappland and later to Öland and Gotland. He also spent some time abroad in Europe and was made professor of medicine at Uppsala University in 1741. In 1750, he was made rector of the same university.

Linneaus' classification system is based on 5 levels: kingdom (plant, animal or mineral), class, order, genus and species and was in part rather artificial. Still, it was to have a great effect on the future studies on botany and endowed him with considerable fame. His Systema Naturae was first published in 1735 and then revised several times and published in several editions. He then published Species Plantarum, which is generally regarded as the starting point of modern botanical nomenclature, in 1753.

While at Uppsala University, Linneaus had what he termed his "apostles", who traveled the world in the name of science in order to explore the natural world. Two of them accompanied James Cook on various journeys while others explored North America and Asia. Their findings prove invaluable to Linneaus' research and ultimately to the promotion of natural sciences, but it also cost several of them their lives.

In 1761, Linneaus was ennobled by the Swedish King, and took the name von Linné. He stepped down as rector at Uppsala University in December 1772, mostly due to his declining health, and finally died of a stroke in 1778.

Read more: Linnaeus: The Compleat Naturalist by Wilfrid Blunt

On the Abuse of Authority in Courts of Justice

2011-05-20T07:33:00.001+02:00

"One abandon'd Judge may do more Mischief than a whole standing Army; open Force we can, and dare oppose; but Injustice, or Persecution in Law-Proceedings, are so doubly, and trebly sanctify'd, that the Sufferer must not even presume to complain."

On the Abuse of Authority in Courts of Justice, Gentleman's Magazine, January 1743

More Needlework and Ballons; Or, Mr. Lunardi in Stitches

2011-05-19T06:09:00.001+02:00

On Friday, I mentioned Mr. Lunardi and his balloon ascensions and on Monday, I spoke about needlework. What cold be more fitting as a follow-up to those posts than a reference to these pockets, found at The Museum of Fine Arts in Boston?

As you can see if you read the description on the museum page, they are based on a pattern that was clearly commercially sold, and depicts Mr. Lunardi in his balloon with his cat and dog (which can also be seen in the portrait of him at Wikipedia). You have to zoom in to see them on the pocket, but they are completely adorable sitting at Mr. Lunardi's feet – the dog looks rather like a Cavalier spaniel and the cat seems brown.

These pockets are an excellent good example of the way 18th century pockets often combines a very utilitarian purpose with fanciful embroidery and I absolutely love them. What do you think?

Historical Character of the Day: Catherine I of Russia

2011-05-17T06:05:00.003+02:00

Why today? Catherine departed this world on May 17, 1727

Name: Catherine I, Empress and Autocrat of All the Russians
Class: Queen
Lived: 1684 - 1727
Also known as: Yekaterina I Alekseyevna, Marta Elena Skavronska
Special powers: +3 on all luck rolls
Known affiliates: Menshikov, Tsar Peter I

Short bio: Catherine was born to humble beginnings, likely the daughter of Lithuanian peasants, and was raised in Marienburg in present day Latvia. Through various complicated turns of fate, she ended up in the household of Prince Aleksandr Menshikov, close friend and ally of Tsar Peter the Great.

Around 1703, Peter met her and soon made her his mistress. He married her secretly in 1711 and officially in 1712. She bore him 12 children all of whom died in childhood, save two daughters. In 1724, she was officially named co-ruler of Peter.

A year later when he died, without having named a successor, a coup was arranged by Menshikov in which Catherine was proclaimed Empress of Russia. She ruled for only two years before dying at age 43, after which the throne passed to Peter's grandson, who would rule as Peter II.

Catherine wasn't just the ultimate rags-to-riches story, she would also set a precedent for later 18th century Russian Empresses such as Anna, her own daughter Elizabeth and later, Catherine the Great.

Read more: Russia in the Age of Peter the Great by Lindsey Hughes

A Lady and Her Tambour: The Heroine You Rarely See

2011-05-16T06:53:00.001+02:00

I realized something amusing the other day – despite having read what must amount to hundreds, or at least a great many, historical romance novels over the years, I have barely ever come across a heroine who likes to sew or embroider. On the contrary, a pronounced dislike for such activities is more or less obligatory. It seems that by renouncing the needle and thread, these women are meant to assert themselves as something more – indeed better – than the humdrum domestic, dutiful women of their era.

Let's face it; it's a cliche.

No doubt a great many women did find stitching dreary, especially since it was so very closely connected to duty and the proper and rather depressing virtues praised in women in the Georgian era, such as patience, modesty and passivity. Certainly a good deal preferred to let their creativity find other outlets, such as drawing, shell-work or playing music, but I would argue that embroidery has an undeservedly bad reputation.

Embroidery isn't just stitching; it's an artistic endeavor. Well, perhaps not always, but it can be. You are free to draw your pattern, chose your colors, and then, carefully and laboriously, create an object of great beauty and sometimes utilitarian purpose. You can't wear your sketches, but your apron, carried out in delicate whitework on fine linen? You can carry it with you and look at it as often as you want and you can quite safely, without being thought to brag, flaunt it to all and sundry. Or, in the case of a pair of elegant pockets, you can wear them under your skirts, like a treat to secretly rejoice in. And best of all, in the 18th century, you would command nothing but praise and admiration for your hard work.

Women practiced needlework. From the lower echelons of society to the highest, needlework was thought to be the mark of a virtuous woman. The royal princesses embroidered. Queen Charlotte did it. I have read somewhere that Marie Antoinette made a waistcoat for her husband, and certainly ladies at the French court excelled in needlework as much as their English counterparts.

So what did they make? The answer is: all sorts of things. Some would be purely decorative while others could be part of clothing, such as decorations for handkerchiefs, aprons and mitts. At the Victoria and Albert Museum, you can find a collection of patterns for such purposes, named after Lady Middleton, one of the women in the circle that apparently used them. Lady Middleton was born Frances Pelham, the daughter of the 1st Earl of Chichester. She married in 1778 and died in 1783, which gives a pretty precise date for the patterns.

Surely any woman would love a petticoat like this?

Woman's petticoat, ca 1785, at LACMA (www.lacma.org)

Detail of the former, at LACMA (www.lacma.org)

Like Marie Antoinette, you could also stitch for the men in your life.

Silk waistcoat, 1780-1800, at the Metropolitan Museum of Art (www.metmuseum.org)

Considering the hours of work behind a waistcoat like the one above, it could serve the double purpose of expressing devotion and allowing your hubbie to brag about his accomplished and dutiful wife. Not to mention you could make sure he looked good and wouldn't embarrass you by flaunting his own abysmal taste. Plus, hey, I doubt the thrill of designing clothes arrived with Project Runway. I'm sure there were women three hundred years ago who enjoyed it every bit as much as Michael Kors.

Woman's Bodice Front, 1730-60 at LACMA (www.lacma.org)

It is hard work, embroidering. It's slow, fiddly and requires both skill and patience. But, in case you haven't already figured it out, I like it. In fact, I like it despite not being either modest, passive or in the least domestically dutiful. I do it because I enjoy creating beautiful things (or at least attempting to, ahem), and I would like to see a heroine (or two) who does it too. In fact, I think it'd be downright subversive, a heroine who dared take pride in work that the men around her would likely never appreciate or be very impressed by. Someone who wasn't a natural with children but loved her some crewel work?

She'd be unique, anyway.

A Disappointing Spectacle

2011-05-13T19:29:00.001+02:00

The first balloon voyage in England was made on September 15, 1784, by Vincenzo Lunardi, who had come to England as secretary to the Neapolitan ambassador. He was to entertain the crowds several times after that, but not always with unmitigated success as this review from The Times reveals:

"Yesterday being fixed by Mr. Lunardi for the ascent of his balloon, the public were taught to believe that he, Mr. Biggin. and a lady were to ascend from the Artillery Ground, and the concourse of people was great beyond any former instance. But the very reverse of all his was true, for after the signal was given, Mr. Lunardi alone ascended, to the disappointment of all present, as no reason whatever could be assigned why the engagements with the public were not fulfilled. Deceptions of this kind had better be avoided, as those who finish entertainment for the people will always find their interest in performing what they promise.

The balloon was exceedingly large, and more beautiful than we has seen, but as it has been exhibited in the Pantheon for so long a time, we presume our readers are sufficiently acquainted with it."

The Times, May 14, 1786

Clearly, just Mr. Lunardi flying wasn't nearly as exciting as Mr. Lunardi flying with Mr. Biggin and a lady. One can only guess why the addition of the latter would add so greatly to the entertainment of the spectators. Perhaps it was freakish in the same vein as the dog, the cat and the caged pigeon he brought on his virgin flight?

All in all, the flight must still be called a success as it is reported that "Mr. Lunardi descended about 25 minutes after near the Adam and Eve in Tottenham-court-road."

A Man and His Banyan: A Love Story

2011-05-11T07:02:00.002+02:00

A banyan is a piece of 18th century men's clothing, intended for informal use. This is what your 18th century gent would have put on when he wanted to slip into something more comfortable.

The word banyan derives from an Indian word for merchant or trader. The exotic heritage is obvious when you look at extant banyans; they are quite often colorful and exotically patterned. A banyan could be a simple garment, T or kimono-shaped, but could also be fitted. A banyan was sometimes worn with a matching waistcoat, like this rather spectacular piece of Chinoiserie or this one from 1765.

An nice example of a fitted banyan in yummy green brocade can be found at LACMA:

Man's banyan, 1750-60, LACMA (www.lacma.org)

(You like it? Well, good for you, because you can download the pattern from LACMA. You're only a few weeks of painful hand stitching from owning a genuine banyan!)

A banyan was worn over a shirt and breeches at home and marked the informality of that setting. It may look like a modern dressing gown, but wasn't quite as informal as that; more of a comfortable sort of coat intended for home use (like the present day comfy, worn, old jeans perhaps) or even informal company and business. Instead of a stiff and likely itchy wig, the gentleman would wear a cap or turban along with his banyan. The full effect can be seen here on Matthew Prior, British poet and diplomat (as well as banyan super model of international fame, of course).

You will quite often find portraits of artists and philosophers in banyans, likely because they were associated with an informal lifestyle, but also coupled with a sort of disdain for looks and appearances. The great thinker, after all, was above such pettiness as vanity!

A Case for Using Nefarious Means to Impart Knowledge to the Uninformed Mind

2011-05-09T06:19:00.003+02:00

A while back I read an interview with Lucy Worsley in the Guardian in which she touched upon the negative attitude many historians have to re-enactors, a feeling clearly colored by the righteous anger of the professional when an amateur stumbles into your arena. I have come across that many times, but this time it made me think.

One thing, first of all, I think we should all be able to agree on is that historical knowledge is important. I mean, if it isn't, why do we keep huge archives full of old papers? Why else do people spend a large part of their life rifling through those documents? I doubt anyone would brush off their thesis with "Oh, but that little trifle. It isn't important."

But if it is important, shouldn't we aim at spreading it? And if we are to do that, aren't we both going to have to allow amateurs to get interested and, oh fearsome thought, try to make the knowledge accessible to the public?

I'm not a historian myself, nor am I an re-enactor. But I do know that both myself and other members of the public need a little help in imagining things, and re-enactment and re-creation helps.

I went to the Historical Museum in Stockholm a while back and shortly after, the Museum at Birka to gawk at Viking stuff. Now, they had much the same objects on display, the difference being that the objects in the Historical Museum were the actual artifacts and the objects at Birka were freshly made copies. Honestly, I couldn't tell what the real things were. A few scraps of rusty metal... OK, I'll buy it's a sword if you say it's a sword. You're the archeologist! But seeing the modern copy - wow! I got it!

Now, the latter naturally cannot take away the value of real artifacts. But it may be an invaluable tool in communicating things, just as a site like Colonial Williamsburg may be valuable in spreading the practical knowledge of the past. Personally, I'm secretly working at a pair of 18th century stays, because I'd like to be able to speak about how it feels to wear them with some authority. From first-hand experience.

Perhaps that makes me a dunce, I dunno. But to me, as part of the interested public, sniffing too loudly at that sort of interest reeks a little of miserliness and even fear. As if sharing the knowledge might make it less special.

Now, I fully respect the hard work of a real historian. I fully appreciate that my superficial scraping on the surface and joy at trivial detail cannot rival the insight and analysis of a professional, but I'm ever so happy when they choose to tell me about it. Heck, my mother's extreme delight when she watched At Home With the Georgians was a direct result of Amanda Vickery's hard work doing real research and I am very glad that she shared that with us. The public. In ways we could understand.

Even if it involved letting people dress up.

Note: I'd love to see If Walls Could talk, but I'm cursed with being in the wrong country. Just for the record, whenever a historical documentary is released on DVD, an angel blesses a kitten with sparkly stars. For realz!

On the Superiority of the English Night Gown

2011-05-06T07:45:00.000+02:00

"After all, Mr. Printer, partiality apart, what wonderful excellence of contrivance; what inimitable, taste can the French boast of in point of dress? Will they stake their reputation on the negligee; or on the dishabille a la Polonaise? The first a meer bundle, calculated more for the advantage of the mercer and mantua-maker than the wearer, who, if she has any good mien, will lose it in the midst of trimming and flounces; the other convenient enough for a country milk maid to fetch up and milk her cows in in a frosty morning. I must say, though at the hazard of being singular, that for neatness and simplicity, which ought to be the characteristic of an undress, neither Deshabille a la Reine, a la Polonaise, a la Pompadour, or any other French invention, can equal the English night gown."

The signature Anna Maria Theresa Tittle Tattle in The London Magazine, Jan 1768

Roses & Hog's Lard: The Secret of Lovely Lips

2011-05-05T08:35:00.004+02:00

Apparently, this year, blushing cheeks are not enough. No, this is the year of the lipstick.

Since I would not want to be unfashionable, and do not want you, Dear Reader, to be forced to appear as sadly provincial as a Devon milk maid either, I am going to supply you with a recipe for a Scarlet Lip-Salve:

"Take Hog's Lard washed in Rose-water, half a pound; Red Roses and Damask Roses bruised, a quarter of a pound; knead them together and let them lie in that state two days. Then melt the Hog's Lard, and strain it from the Roses. Add 3 fresh quantify; of the latter, knead them, in the Hog's Lard, and let them lie together two days as before; then gently simmer the mixture in a vapour-bath."

The Toilet of Flora, 1774

Now, get to it!

Paris: Life & Luxury at the Getty

2011-05-04T06:28:00.000+02:00

Recently, the J. Paul Getty Museum in LA launched an exhibition called Paris: Life & Luxury which recreates a day in the life of a fashionable Parisian townhouse in "the cultural epicenter of Europe."

It's meant to give you a feeling of how a day would have played out for a member of the French elite during the reign of Louis XV and brings together a great number of different objects from several museums and collections in order to recreate that experience; art, furniture, musical instruments, textiles and dress etc. I love this little video on a multi-functional table!

There are also lectures and courses relating to this exhibition, as well as film viewings and a performance by Philharmonia Baroque Chamber Players. For all the costume fans, there's a panel discussion on June 5 called Dressing the Part: Historical Costume in Film, where panelists include James Acheson (Dangerous Liaisons).

The exhibition is open until August 7, 2011 when it moves to the Museum of Fine Arts, Houston, where it will be on view September 18–December 10, 2011. Unfortunately, I won't be able to make either of those places for which I'm very sorry, because it looks both informative and positively sumptuous!

There is, however, an accompanying book that "seeks to reimagine objects from eighteenth-century Paris within their original context, showing how they were used in the daily routines of elite members of society" and which looks delicious. May be an alternative if, like me, you can't see the actual exhibition?

Fashion Plates Galore!

2011-05-03T06:00:00.001+02:00

I stumbled over this nice set of 18th century fashion plates on Flickr recently and thought I'd share.

I always wonder with fashion plates, though - how realistic are they? They always seem a good deal more extreme than anything you see in a real portrait, but maybe that's simply because they are so over stylized?

The Sad and Sordid End of Mrs. Sally Salisbury

2011-05-02T06:40:00.008+02:00

In the early 18th century, Sally Salisbury was a famous, not to say notorious, prostitute. She could count some of the most famous and powerful men of her day as her customers, and I suppose she might be likened to today's reality show celebrities - you know of them even if you deny watching the show.

Late on the night of December 22, 1722, when Sally would have been around 30 years old, she ended up having a heated argument with The Hon. John Finch. Apparently, Mr. Finch had given some opera tickets to her sister, which Sally disapproved of. The servant had just brought in some refreshments when the argument started; some wine and a French roll, along with a knife.

Sally first emptied a glass into the face of a certain Mrs. Darby who had known about the tickets and not told her. Then, in the words of the servant:

"she made a Motion with her Hand, like a Push, at Mr. F—: I did not presently know what was done; but he, rising up, clapped his Hand upon his Breast, and said, Madam, you have wounded me! Hearing that, I stept up to him, and took off his Hand, and saw the Blood run out, upon which I went immediately and fetched a Surgeon."

The surgeon found Mr. Finch in pretty poor condition, with a faint pulse and breathing with difficulty, and according to the doctor's assessment, bleeding inwardly. He dressed the wound and according to another witness who was present, Sally then asked Mr. Finch: "Jacky, do you forgive me?"

Mr. Finch then, rather eloquently for a freshly stabbed man, is said to have replied: "Yes, I do, and can die with Pleasure by your Hand."

Unfortunately, his forgiveness wasn't enough to save her. She was tried and sentenced to one year's imprisonment in Newgate, hardly a pleasurable experience despite the fact that her former clients did their best to ensure her comfort (they also visited her; including Mr. Finch, apparently). However, she died before the year was up, most likely from syphilis.

Picture

In Which I Am Being a Self-Absorbed Twit

2011-04-29T18:44:00.003+02:00

Follow my blog with bloglovin

I am making a desperate attempt to you know, be with the times and all that by joining bloglovin and apparently in order to claim my blog, I have to add the code above to a post. So by all means, click the link above and do follow me there.

While we're at it, I might as well pimp out my twitter as well. I mostly twitter according to Heinz' Law (you know, like those ketchup bottles - first there's nothing, then there's nothing and then suddenly, too much), but if you can bear with that, we should be fine.

And since I am about to start being a little more ambitious about this blog, if there anything someone would like to see or read about, let me know. I am cheap and I can be had.

The Frolick - The Social Media Song, apologies to Mr. Arne (subtitled) from Emma Curtis & The Frolick on Vimeo

The Frolick is a group dedicated to breathing life back into the neglected music and entertainments of 17th -and 18th-century London. They made this version of The Subscription Song by Thomas Arne which nicely incorporates the pimping of social media sites.

Ratafia Or, Danger in a Flute?

2011-04-28T21:11:00.010+02:00

A popular drink in the 18th century was ratafia, which is usually described as an almond or fruit cordial. In fact, it was so popular that there were special flute-shaped ratafia glasses (like this, found at the V&A).

Now, ratafia isn't something you'll find at your local pub. In The Complete Confectioner, Or Housekeeper's Guide by Hannah Glasse (from 1800, with "considerable additions and corrections" by Maria Wilson) I found a recipe using brandy, sugar, orangeflower water, wine and lots of apricot stones. Apricot stones have a flavor similar to almonds and are quite often used as a substitute or addition to such in almond flavored treats so I imagine the taste would be a bit like amaretto, with a hint of orange.

However, like bitter almonds, apricot stones contain amygdalin, which produces hydrogen cyanide when digested and must therefore be treated with great care. To quote Wikipedia: "Taken in excess, they may produce symptoms of cyanide poisoning, including nausea, fever, rash, headaches, insomnia, increased thirst, weakness, lethargy, nervousness, various aches and pains in joints and muscles, a drop in blood pressure." And finally; "Ingestion of purified amygdalin or apricot seeds can cause severe toxicity and death due to cyanide poisoning."

Oops. Suddenly the ratafia sounds a little less tempting, wouldn't you say?

That there are potential hazards in using apricot stones this way should have been clear to the 18th century cook as well, since the fact that bitter almonds (and presumably apricot stones as well) were poisonous had been known for centuries. The dosage in this recipe seems far beyond what could cause cyanide poisoning from what I've read so I'm a little puzzled.

Maybe Mrs. Glasse liked to live dangerously?

Quote of the Day: Why I Like the Georgians

2011-04-26T14:30:00.005+02:00

"There were great men, too, in politics, but even they were
rarely honest, and it was thought no disgrace to a leading
statesman if he carried off his friend's wife, appropriated
as much of the public money as he could lay hands on,
threw away his ill-gotten gains at the gaming-table, and
lived in perpetual intoxication."

- J.S. Fletcher, THE MAKING OF MODERN YORKSHIRE 1750-1914 (1918)

An 18th Century Earworm

2011-04-21T15:25:00.007+02:00

During the late 18th century, the song Marlbrough s’en va-t-en guerre was all the rage in France. It was sung to the young dauphin (the son of Louis XVI and Marie Antoinette) by his peasant nurse and was quickly picked up by Marie Antoinette and the rest of the court. Before long, it was a plague on all France and it simply wouldn't go away. Rumor has it Napoleon liked to hum it years later and it is even referred to by Dostoyevski in Crime and Punishment.

The origin of the song is somewhat obscure. I have read some claims of the melody being very old, even going back to the Crusades, while others claim it is most definitely from the 18th century. If you think recognize it upon hearing it, you probably do - it's the same tune used for For He's a Jolly Good Fellow and a whole range of other songs.

The text, however, is definitely 18th century. The 'Marlbrough' is most definitely John Churchill, 1st Duke of Marlborough, who gained a rather formidable reputation as a general during the War of the Spanish Succession. Exactly when the song was written is unclear - I have seen claims of it being from 1722, the year Marlborough died, but most seem to connect it with the Battle of Malplaquet in September 1709. Either way, it would have been over half a century old at the time it soared through the charts.

Interspersed with ejections of mironton, mironton!, it retells how Marlbrough goes off to war and is supposedly to come back at Easter or the Trinity feast. But he doesn't and Madame climbs her tower and spots her page who brings her tidings that Monsieur Marlbrough is dead and that he saw him being buried, cuirass and sabre and all.

It's clearly not a documentary on the demise of the Duke of Marlbrorough as he died in bed of a stroke at the ripe old age of 72, but it may reflect some wishful thinking on the part of the French Army in 1709 if the Malplaquet theory is to be believed. If it is meant to be satirical, it isn't very successful - I'd rate it as cute or possibly a little sad rather than insulting.

Either way, it is a very catchy tune and it has it's own, pretty unique memorial. See, at the Hameau de la reine, which was Marie Antoinette's rustic get-away in the park of Versailles, is a whimsical little tower, named Tour de Marlborough.

I suppose it's meant to be the tower Madame climbs in the song?

Chinoiserie & Sunshine

2011-04-16T18:54:00.010+02:00

I have been gone quite a while, but now I'm back! I fully intend to give this blog the attention it needs, but for now, please be satisfied with a few pictures I snapped today while at Drottningholm (sorry about the poor quality of the pictures; I had to make do with my iPhone).

In 1753, King Adolf Fredrik of Sweden gifted his wife, Queen Lovisa Ulrika, with a Chinese Pavilion. It was later replaced with the current structure in 1769.

The interiors are quite beautiful and there's a large collection of Chinese artifacts; dolls, furniture and lacquerware among others. Alas, it is not yet open for the season so I had to make do with the exteriors.

It is clearly rococo in style with a lot of Chinese details, which were very much in fashion at the time.

It's not the most restrained piece of architecture perhaps. Some might even call it gaudy. Me, I'm reminded of some spectacular sort of marzipan treat.

I wouldn't mind a summer house like this myself, in fact. How about you?

Historical Character of the Day: Vauban

2011-03-30T06:40:00.002+02:00

Why today? Vauban died on March 30, 1707.

Name: Sébastien Le Prestre, Marquis de Vuaban
Class: Architect
Lived: 1633 - 1707
Also known as: Vauban
Special powers: Fortress construction +10
Known affiliates: Le Grand Condé, Colbert, Louis XIV, Louvois

Short bio: Despite belonging to a minor noble family, Vauban grew up in poverty and it was only through sheer luck 8and the Church) that he managed to get an education at all. At 17, he joined the Fronde on the "wrong" side (seen from who won anyway) under Condé, but after he was captured, he devoted his military and architectural genius to serving the King (who was at the time a very young King, in reality governed by Cardinal Mazarin). He then continued to do so, more or less until his death.

In his life, Vauban upgraded over 300 fortifications and constructed 37 new fortresses and fortified harbors. He was first made commissaire-général des fortifications and later Marshal of France (this was as good as any military career could get in 17th and 18th century France).

Time, however was not on Vauban's side. Despite the fact that his fortifications still served a very distinct purpose - just ask Marlborough how he enjoyable he found the siege of Lille, for example - the 18th century would see the end of siege-based warfare and the beginnings of the modern mass battles, the advent of which could be seen already during the War of the Spanish Succession. This meant that towards the end of his life, Vauban's influence waned. His position wasn't helped by the fact that he quite often found himself on a collision course with Louis XIV in matters unrelated to warfare (never mess with absolute monarchs; it's a bad idea). He finally died in 1707 from pneumonia.

Read more: Vauban Under Siege: Engineering Efficiency and Martial Vigor in the War of the Spanish Succession by Jamel Ostwald

All laced up - a brief introduction to corsets

2011-03-27T20:02:00.006+02:00

Today I'm over at Bluestockings & Knickerbockers, giving a short introduction to corsets. Surf by and say hi!

What I Do When Not Blogging

2011-03-26T19:11:00.008+01:00

Long time ago, I blogged about the fact that At Home with the Georgians, the BBC series based on Amanda Vickery's excellent Behind Closed Doors: At Home in Georgian England was coming out on dvd.

I bought it (of course) but I didn't get around to watching it until last week when I was exhausted and good for very little except the TV. I cannot believe I waited this long because OMFGBBQ, it's so good! One of these days mean to write something coherent and analytical and clever about some of the most interesting topics it raised, but that is for later when my brain functions better. Until then, all I'm going to say is: get it if you haven't seen it. It's simply the best, most entertaining historical documentary I've seen.

I do realize this post has done nothing for my reputation as a level-headed and skilled writer, but I promise there will be something more informative soon - I'm pondering a post on 18th century Irish law. You'll just have to wait until then!

An 18th Century Theater

2011-03-21T05:59:00.000+01:00

Being on the subject of Drottningholm, I thought I'd mention Drottningholms Slottsteater - perfectly preserved 18th century theater. It was first built in 1766 at the request of the current Queen Lovisa Ulrika (sister of Frederick the Great of Prussia), but the real golden age began in the 1770s with King Gustav III (the son of Lovisa Ulrika and ) who was passionately interested in theater. After the murder of King Gustav in 1792, the theater closed.

In 1921, literary historian Agne Beijer discovered it, virtually untouched since the 18th century, and he initiated a restoration project. It still has the original wooden stage machinery, operated by hand. It includes wind, thunder and cloud machines, as well as traps and moving waves. About 30 stage sets have been preserved, all decorated with themes from 18th century repertoire.

In the summer, new productions of 17th and 18th century operas are put on and this year it's Don Giovanni and Così fan tutte, both of which I'd like to see (but especially the latter). The tickets are released on march 25 and I'm itching to get some. Unfortunately, I have no one to go with, not having any opera-loving friends who are willing to drop 600 SEK for tickets. It might be worth it to go alone, though...

More on the Murder of King Gustav (but with extra gilt)

2011-03-17T08:34:00.003+01:00

If you thought my retelling of the murder of Swedish King Gustav III yesterday lacked oomph, historical context or simply did not have enough gilt, here is UNESCO's youtube video featuring The Tragic Masquerade & The Royal Domain of Drottningholm:

Exactly what the link between the murder and Drottningholm is supposed to be, I don't know since the murder took place at the Opera House in the center of Stockholm, while Drottningholm is situated about 30 min by car outside of Stockholm, but never mind. It's a nice film!

Not all Masked Balls are Fun

2011-03-16T07:03:00.003+01:00

On the evening of March 16, 1792, the Swedish King Gustav III was having a light supper at the Opera House in Stockholm before planning to attend a masked ball in the same house.

Now, as years go, 1792 wasn't really the best of times for kings. The French Revolution was raging and later that year Louis XVI would be officially arrested and tried, ending with his execution in early 1793. Even in mostly peaceful Sweden there was discontent with the idea of an absolute monarch, something King Gustav had been ever since his coup d'état in 1772. In fact, a group of Swedish noblemen and officials was so displeased with the King that they were planning on murdering him in order to bring about reform.

The night before, on March 15, three of the central figures, Captain Anckarström and the Counts Horn and Ribbing, had dined at Horn's estate outside Stockholm, allegedly planning the details of the murder, which was to take place at the masked ball.

The old guest wing of Huvudsta House, where the dinner is said to have taken place.
The house is now used by the parish for its kindergarten activities. Ironic, isn't it?

However, Lieutenant Colonel Lilliehorn, one of their co-conspirators, had gotten cold feet and decided to rat them out. He composed an anonymous letter which was delivered to the King during the supper. The King's friend Count von Essen immediately begged him to change his plans and not attend the ball. In a magnificent gesture, the King shrugged it off. "Should I have them believe I'm afraid?" he asked. He even refused to wear any sort of armor or protection, settling merely on a hat, a cloak and a mask, his orders fully visible which made it easy for anyone to identify him (you can actually see his original outfit, including mask here at the Royal Armory Museum's website).

Positioning himself in a window overlooking the room, he waited for a good quarter of an hour before saying: "Now would have been ample opportunity to shoot!" However, after entering the ball, he soon found himself surrounded by a group of men in masks and black dominos, greeting him in French (French was the language used at the Swedish court at the time) with the words:

"Bonjour, beau masque."*

Anckarström then fired the gun, loaded with shrapnel, into the King's back.

In the commotion that followed, the conspirators tried to get away by raising the fire alarm, but the doors to the building were shut and the Chief of Police arrived very quickly to unmask and start interrogating everybody. Meanwhile, the King was taken to his room, weakened but conscious and clear enough to tell the surrounding guards to arrest the miscreant, but not to do him any harm.

The police investigation was actually conducted with considerable efficiency and Anckarström was arrested already the next morning, traced through the pistols which had been found on the floor of the Opera House (and which you can see here, again at the Royal Armory), and a long line of others followed.

The King had survived the attack and it seemed the attempted murder would be a complete failure. Unfortunately (or fortunately, depending on your position regarding absolute Swedish monarchs), the wound got infected and the King grew weaker and weaker until he finally died on March 29.

Only Anckarström was executed. Several of his co-conspirators were sentenced to be executed as well, but they were all pardoned and ordered to leave the country. Ribbing even made it to Paris in time to jeer at the execution of Louis XVI.

And that was what happened today, 219 years ago.

*It means 'Good day, beautiful mask' which is a very peculiar way of greeting, I always thought, because 1) it was evening and 2) it just sounds gauche, don't you agree?

The Duchess

2011-03-14T06:45:00.004+01:00

Category: Period costume drama
Year: 2008
Contains the following usual suspects: Aidan McArdle (also in Garrow's Law)
Typical quote: "I love you in the way I understand love."

Summary: Story of the life of Georgiana, Duchess of Devonshire

*** May contain spoilers ***

Few characters from Georgian England are as notorious as Georgiana. I am going to start off by saying that I have not read any biography on her so my knowledge of her isn't extensive and therefore I will not discuss how accurate this movie may be. There are many others well-equipped to do that. Instead, I will limit myself to the film as a work of drama.

We first meet Georgiana when she is still Lady Georgiana Spencer, and full of hope and expectations. Upon marrying the Duke of Devonshire, she expects to find something more under the boring surface of her husband, but alas, there is nothing. He doesn't talk much, he devotes most of his attention to his dogs and apparently he shags with the skill and passion of an automaton, which does not stop him from doing it rather indiscriminately (but then, I doubt he gets honest reviews from his partners).

Georgiana seeks consolation in an active social life and she devotes herself to the cause of the Whigs with great determination. However, her real purpose in life is to provide an heir and the Duke does not let her forget this even for a second. This does little to improve the marriage, which deteriorates further when the Duke starts an affair with Georgiana's best friend Elizabeth Foster, who remains with them in an unhappy little ménage à trois. Meanwhile, Georgiana struggles for her own freedom and is torn between the love for her children and her love for politician and childhood friend Charles Grey.

If I were to sum up this movie, I would say it is all about love. Love, in its many forms, is definitely the recurring theme of this movie.

First and foremost, there is the love of parents for their children. This form of love has a great impact on Georgiana's life and its importance is underlined several times, as in the brief exchange when Georgiana says: "There are limits to the sacrifices one makes for one's children" and Bess replies: "No, there aren't. No limits whatsoever". But there is also the passion between Georgiana and Charles, which also shapes her life, as well as the grudging affection that develops between her and her husband, despite everything. And lastly, there is Georgiana's love for fun and luxury, for clothes and gambling, which while not the noble sort of love we like to harp on, nevertheless is one of her strongest traits. In the end, she has a great love for life, that allows her to rise after losing both Charles and their child. All in all, despite the sadness of the movie, it is a strong tribute to the power of love.

Yeah, so much for analysis. But is it any good?

I'll give you this: it's sumptuous. The costumes and the settings are a pure joy to behold. I don't think there was a single scene in which I didn't go "oh, look at her hair! And the gown!" and therein lies this movies biggest problem. The characters are simply too weak to distract from the costumes. Kiera Knightley does a brave job under all that false hair, but she can't quite carry it off, not when they've given her so little to work with. In fact, this movie depicts Georgiana much like a doe-eyed doormat, which is rather depressing. Dominic Cooper as Grey is very bland and the love scenes between him and Georgiana lack spark. I must say that Ralph Fiennes is pretty brilliant as the socially and emotionally inept Duke, but since his part in the drama mostly consists of all the things he doesn't say, that's not enough to carry this move.

Like many other biographic movies, it also feels a little rhapsodic and it feels like the story has more or less been forced into the traditional three arc dramatic structure. It also feels like I've seen this story before – Sophia Coppola's Marie Antoinette was actually remarkably similar.

So would I see it again? Oh yes. And again and again and again... It's beautiful and it depicts the sheer scale of life at the top in the 18th century rather brilliantly. And Kiera Knightley is extraordinarily beautiful and her wardrobe is simply to die for. I just wish they could have managed that extra spark that would have made the content as splendid as the wrapping.

Beauty 18th century style

2011-03-10T08:53:00.003+01:00

Recently I stumbled over a recommendation for Ageless Artifice, a company specializing in creating historical reproduction body care products from ancient Egypt to the 19th century. Luckily, they're also applying modern knowledge so while the recipes are all authentic, there are no dangerous or poisonous ingredients. By the look of it, they're also mostly eco friendly.

For the 18th century, you can get soaps, body/hair powder, lip salves - and even authentic tooth powder! They also have accessories like horn combs and bone-handled tooth brushes. I'm especially intrigued by the rouge - it comes in a little bottle and consists of brandy, sandalwood, brazilwood, alum and benzoin gum. I'm sure Madame de Pompadour would have liked it - certainly Nattier's ladies always look like they know their way around a bottle of rouge.
I really like the look of the packages too - they'd look lovely in my bathroom. And best of all? Looks like they ship all over the world.

Historical Character of the Day: Queen Anne

2011-03-08T08:27:00.007+01:00

Why today? Anne became Queen of England on March 8, 1702 when her brother-in-law William of Orange died.

Name: Anne Stuart
Class: Queen
Lived: 1665-1714
Also known as: Anne of Denmark; Mrs. Morley
Special powers: Once created more peers in a single day day than Elizabeth I did in 44 years
Known affiliates: the Duke & Duchess of Marlborough; Lady Abigail Masham; Lord Oxford; Lord Bolingbroke

Quote: "As long as I live, it shall be my endeavour to make my country and my friends easy."

Short bio: Anne was the second daughter of James, Duke of York and his first wife Anne Hyde. Partially raised in France, Anne - and her older sister Mary - remained Protestant when her father converted to Catholicism. In 1683, she married Prince George of Denmark who ate too much, drank too much and was inherently faithful (rather like a slightly tipsy spaniel).

When her Uncle Charles II died in 1685, her father became King James II, but not for long. In 1688, he was replaced by Mary and her husband William of Orange. Mary died in 1695 and William in 1702, leaving no issue, which meant that Anne inherited the throne.

Despite having, all in all, 14 children in her life, none of them survived into adulthood. Many had hoped that she would finally give in and recall her half-brother James Francis Edward, but she did not. Instead, when Anne died, the English throne went to Georg Ludwig, Elector of Hanover in accordance of the statures of the Act of Settlement.

Read more: Ungrateful Daughters: The Stuart Princesses Who Stole their Father's Crown by Maureen Waller

Now's the Time for Oyster Loaf!

2011-03-07T08:31:00.003+01:00

Debrett's kindly lists seasonal foods for each month - for March it's cauliflower, salmon and rhubarb among others. And oysters.

In case you've already had an iced dozen or so, you may ask yourself what else you can make with oysters. Well, how about an Oyster Loaf, as described by Sarah Harrison in The House-Keeper's Pocket-Book from 1739?

First, you make "tender Forc'd meat", consisting of oysters, eel, pistachio nuts, mushrooms and the yolks of two hard eggs, all beaten with the yolk of a raw egg. You should also add "spice" but exactly what spice, the recipe does not tell. Then you cut round holes in the tops of French rolls and smear them over the sides with the Forc'd meat and fry them crisp in lard. They should then be filled oysters, the rest of the eel "cut up like lard", more "spice" and mushrooms and, finally anchovies. There should also be white wine and the whole thing should be thickened with eggs and butter rolled in flour.*

Wouldn't that surprise your family, you think?

*No, I'm not sure exactly how this is meant either. Do you cook it and serve the rolls with the stew? It seems logical, but it doesn't exactly say. Nor am I entirely sure what "smearing them over the sides mean" - is it on the inside? Like lining the bread with the paste? And how do you eat the whole thing? I suppose Mrs. Harrison trusted you to figure that out for yourself. Probably people were smarter in 1739.

Friday Links: To have or not to have?

2011-03-03T17:11:00.005+01:00

You know, I'm thinking of giving up my Friday Links post. It's a real struggle and takes eons of time and... Well, frankly, nobody reads this blog anyway. So I'm giving the feature up for now, I'm afraid. Hope you won't mind too much!

The Male Genius vs. the Domestic Female

2011-03-03T08:55:00.003+01:00

Like I stated in my Friday Links post, I visited the Handel museum last week. It was a wonderful experience; small and intimate and very personal and I learned a whole lot of things I never knew, despite Handel being one of my favorite composers. One of them was that he never married – I'd actually never heard that before. And that, in itself, made me think.

How come that when we describe male artists, composers or writers we focus solely on their output, but whenever a female is involved her personal life – and looks – are almost always commented on? And if she never married, the implication that she is to be pitied for not living a full life is always implicit? Just compare the movies Amadeus and Becoming Jane. The fact that one of those is a great movie and the other one most assuredly isn't aside, just compare the focus of them. Mozart lives for his art, sacrifices everything for it, while Jane basically seems to retreat into her writing career as a consolation prize for not getting her TRUE LURVE™.

It irks me. And now I want someone to make the movie Becoming Frideric.

Fagon's Diet or Murder by Melon

2011-03-01T08:16:00.004+01:00

During the last years of Louis XIV, he relied very much on his doctor, Fagon. Among the things prescribed to him by Fagon was a specific diet, described by Saint-Simon in his Memoirs.
Chiefly, the ambition of Fagon seems to have been to get the King to eat as much fruit and veggies as possible. Louis was to start and finish his meals with "many iced fruits, that is to say, mulberries, melons, and figs rotten from ripeness." He also made him drink a lot of water, and made him stay away from wine and spirits.

From a modern standpoint, this sounds rather sensible. Saint-Simon, however, did not see it that way. Instead, he claims that "(s)o much water and so much fruit unconnected by anything spirituous, turned [the King's] blood into gangrene" and seems to implies that Fagon did this in silent coalition with Madame de Maintenon who "had taken good care to provide for her own retreat in the case of his death." It is a very interesting theory, of course. Unfortunately, it is somewhat weakened by the simple fact that the idea that your blood might turn gangrenous from too much fruit is unheard of in modern medicine. Rather, Saint-Simon's idea that an ailing 72-year-old should add more meat and alcohol to his diet appears a little sinister from a modern viewpoint.

All in all, I think Fagon's diet – no alcohol and eating a solid portion of fruit before you can eat anything else – might be a pretty neat trick for losing weight. Like Saint-Simon complains, your appetite is rather limited after munching on a bunch of figs. I might be tempted to try it.

If I suddenly stop posting, you know it's because I got gangrene and died from pear OD.

Things That Make Me Go... Hmmm...

2011-02-28T09:17:00.001+01:00

Today I have a post on Bluestockings & Knickerbockers on Things That Make Me Go... Hmmm. Basically it's a lot about love, marriage and misconceptions in the world of romance (all discussed from the standpoint of an 18th century geek of course).

Come by and say hi!

Friday Links

2011-02-25T20:21:00.003+01:00

So this week's harvest, inspired by my recent visit to London:

On Tuesday, I visited Handel's house on Brook Street and therefore this post on The Homes of Handel and Beethoven from Nooks, Towers and Turrets seemed like a natural choice.

I also gawked at the pretty dress of La Belle Grecque by Nicolas Lancret at The Wallace Collection, making this post from Marie-Antoinette's Gossip Guide a given.

And since I also visited the National Portrait Gallery and would like to do it again, their competition that offers one night at the Savoy and tickets for the forthcoming photographic exhibition Glamour of the Gods: Hollywood Portraits seems like something I need to enter. However, I really think their Flickr based Street Portraits Competition sounds like something I want to check out too.

And that's it, for this week. I promise I will be a better blogger in the future and stay by my computer instead of being flying around the world having beastly FUN.

Slow Week, I Know

2011-02-25T19:33:00.004+01:00

There have been no posts this week, I'm sorry to say. This is because I spent most of the week computer-deprived in a very nice hotel in London and then spent yesterday with what I feared was diphteria. Since I am better today, I think we might rule that one out, along with the plague and malaria.

My view in London - the home of the West London Methodist Mission, I believe. Which I am sorry to say I flashed by mistake. Several times. Next time I swear I will remember to pull the curtains.

Anyway, I am going to dig about and see if I can write up a post with a few Friday links just the same. Better late than never!

Friday Links

2011-02-18T08:04:00.000+01:00

I've been offline quite a lot this week so this Friday's hoard is a little sparse.

First out, a report from the online exhibition Tidens Tøj, the virtual companion to "Body and Disguise," an exhibition at the National Museum of Denmark by A Fashionable Frolick.

Domestically oriented, 18th century enthusiastic Swede that I am, I loved this this post on Hilleström's A Maid Taking Soup from a Cauldron on The Duchess of Devonshire's Gossip Guide.

Since I am immensely intrigued by 18th century automata, I really enjoyed this post by Two Nerdy History Girls, but I have to say the silver swan they wrote about a while back was even more spectacular.

I am also thrilled that the second season of Garrow's Law, one of my favorite series, is now out on DVD. Since I'm not in the UK, I haven't had the opportunity to see it yet. I've also heard that the DVD is supposed to have a mini documentary that sounds fabulous. Really looking forward to that!

Things I Do at 4 am

2011-02-17T20:02:00.005+01:00

Image courtesy of ancestryimages.com

I couldn't sleep the other night and around 4 am I was so bored I got up and fetched Elizabeth Raffald's The Experienced English Housekeeper (because reading about how "To ragoo Pig's Ears and Feet" is the rational thing to do when you can't sleep). For some reason, I decided the reason that my life is not complete is that I have not made venison pie. I therefore resolved to do so, at the earliest possible convenience.

I am currently gathering recipes and making plans, and it made me think - I might start blogging about these explorations in 18th century cooking, including my updated versions of old recipes, in case anyone out there is weird like me and would find it interesting.

About 299 Years Ago...

2011-02-16T17:42:00.014+01:00

In 1712, the heir to the French throne was Louis, Duke of Burgundy and the eldest grandson of Louis XIV. He was at the time 30 years old, pious and surrounded by a party of courtiers interested in reform.

From having been a rather bigoted, daydreaming boy who, according to Saint-Simon was 'born furious' and who liked to kill wasps and smash grapes, the Dauphin was growing into a man who promised to make a decent king – especially since he was supported by his brilliant and charming wife, Marie-Adelaïde of Savoy, who was a great favorite both with King Louis XIV and Madame de Maintenon.

The couple had two sons; the little Duke of Brittany, aged 5, and the Duke of Anjou, barely 2. There was no reason to believe that more would not follow. The line to the throne seemed as secure as it could be.

Then, in early February, Marie-Adelaïde fell suddenly ill. After some spots occurred, it was pronounced to be a case of measles. She deteriorated swiftly, despite the best care the physicians could provide – mostly bloodletting of course – and on February 10, she was already sure she was departing this world. Meanwhile the Duke, who had remained at her side through her illness, was already showing signs of having contracted the same disease. On February 12, Marie-Adelaïde received the last rites and proclaimed herself dying: "Today a princess, tomorrow nothing, in two days forgotten." She did not outlive the day.

The Duke fared no better. Just like the poor Duchess, he rapidly grew worse and died on February 18, less than a week after his wife. Suddenly little Brittany, only 5, was next in line to the throne.

However, he soon fell ill with measles too, just as his little brother Anjou. The new Dauphin was given the best treatments possible (i.e. he was bled mercilessly). On March 8, he too died, even as the doctors were bleeding him again. That settled the matter for Anjou's governess, the stout Duchesse de Ventadour. Blaming the doctors for all three deaths, she simply barricaded herself with her ward and refused to let anyone in, treating him according to her own common sense.

In the end, Louis, the former little Duke of Anjou, survived and became the new heir to the throne – a very small and fragile Dauphin who seemed most unlikely to live long enough to claim the crown. However, little Louis showed surprising tenacity in clinging to life. After a period of regency following the death of Louis XIV in 1715, he would finally be crowned King Louis XV in 1722.

It is tempting under the circumstances to play a little what if, isn't it? Measles is such a random disease, after all. It might very well not have struck, or at least less fatefully. Had Borgougne lived, he would have made a very different ruler than both the Regent Philippe d'Orléans and Louis XV. As for poor little Brittany, he is an entirely unknown entity. What sort of man he would have become is of course impossible to say. Or what if Madame de Ventadour had not acted as swiftly? Would Louis had died too? And if so, then what would have happened?

Safe to assume is that many things would have been different, anyway - for better and worse. When you think about it, how likely is it that the French Revolution would have happened in that exact way at that exact time?

Plain Old Water

2011-02-14T18:09:00.001+01:00

A while back, I tried to quantify the lack of water in big cities in the 18th century by comparing some numbers and illustrating them using my bath tub. I posted the result (including a not-very-enlightening film) on Bluestockings & Knickerbockers.

In case someone finds that interesting, I'm putting the link here.

Friday Links

2011-02-11T07:00:00.000+01:00

A weekly pick-n-mix of interesting links from around the web:

An interview with Julie Flavell regarding her new book When London was the Capital of America from Georgian London.

Apparently Swift used babytalk in his correspondence with his "saucy sluts".

Lovely 18th C riding habits at Démodé.

Get the skinny on Valentine's Day from Oxford Dictionaries.

History as revealed by wallpapers in a Spitalfield house.

Top 10 Unusual British Museums from The Telegraph.

Speaking of which, I recently discovered Dennis Severs' House.

And if you don't travel well, there's always Google. Virtually visit lots of museums here.

Hard Facts

2011-02-10T19:29:00.010+01:00

Continuing this week's topic on children and persevering in the morbid tone of yesterday, I wanted to share this table from the London Magazine 1746/47.

Almost as many dead under 5 years old as ages 20-50 and more than three times as many as ages 60+. Note that half of all dead were under 20 years.

Lullaby For Lost Children

2011-02-09T07:04:00.001+01:00

The other day I posted about Threads of Feeling at the London Foundling Museum and how it inspired me to dedicate this week to the topic of children in the 18th century. One topic I touched on in that post was child mortality and the love and grief of parents. Continuing in that vein, I wanted to share one of the most haunting songs I know.

On Aug 18, 1787, Swedish poet and songwriter C.M. Bellman sat down and wrote a lullaby for his newborn son Carl. He had just lost Carl’s older brother Elias to smallpox and the song reflects his mood – it’s very dark, while still attesting to his love. It would hardly be considered appropriate today – what modern parent would morbidly suggest that his toddler think about the proximity of death when he looks at the flowers in the spring? To the 18th century mind it made sense though – death was always present, in one form or the other.

I found a lovely rendition of it on Youtube (by Elina Järventaus Johansson) and had to share it. For your benefit I have made a very sloppy and approximative translation of the lyrics below that does not convey Bellman's literary genius, but makes the general meaning of the song clear.

Little Carl, sleep in peace
In time you shall awaken
In time you’ll see our evil days
And taste the bitter spleen
All the world’s an isle of grief
Best you breathe you’ll end up dead
And return to ashes

Once, a tiny well ran up
And passed a field of barley
Stood a little pretty boy
And watched his image float by
As he watched himself so sweet
In the water clear and green
There he was no longer

So does our lifetime pass
And so our years will vanish
Best you breathe in happy peace
Next, you will be gone
Little Carl shall think of that
When he sees the tiny blooms
The adorneth spring

Sleep so sweetly, little friend
Your health makes all rejoice
When you wake up we shall play
Make a horse and sleigh
Then cut houses out of card
Build and make them all fall down
And write little rhymes

Mama has for her baby boy
Tiny shoes of gold
And if Carl is dutiful
Papa will come home
Give the baby treats and sweets
Sleep now well and rest your cheek
And your pillow hug.

Don't you just feel the sadness and the love reaching out to you across the centuries? It says what I tried to say in my last post only much more eloquently and beautifully (especially as Elina has such a very lovely voice). Maybe life was different in many ways, but 18th century people shared the same fears and hopes that we do. They just had much less chance of controlling the outcome in life. But they hoped, just the same.

Children's Clothing

2011-02-08T07:27:00.002+01:00

Since I'm talking about the topic of children this week, I am going to take the opportunity to point you to a great post on children's clothing in the 18th century from the Duchess of Devonshire's Gossip Guide to the 18th Century. This post depicts well-to-do children of course. I'll only add that I've read in several places about poorer children being sewn into their clothes for the winter. Seems to have been considered perfectly reasonable in that age of slightly less exacting hygiene standards.

Threads of Feeling at the London Foundling Museum

2011-02-07T06:25:00.001+01:00

If you have an interest in the 18th century and you move about the blogosphere, I'm sure you've come across some reference to Threads of Feeling - an online display from the exhibition of the same name at the London Foundling Museum.

The museum web page states:

In the cases of more than 4,000 babies left between 1741 and 1760, a small object or token, usually a piece of fabric, was kept as an identifying record. The fabric was either provided by the mother or cut from the child’s clothing by the hospital's nurses.

It's a great opportunity for anyone wishing to learn about 18th century textiles, surely. But even more, it's a touching show of the love often displayed by the desperate parents. No one abandons their child lightly and while 18th century parents certainly had some mental preparation for losing their children that the modern Westerner is lucky not to have to have, it certainly did not mean they felt less on an average.

I almost cried when watching this. I wish I knew less of the survival rate of society's unfortunate children in the 18th century than I do, because very few of these children likely survived for very long. Mortality for children was high overall and for poor children it was staggering. Roy Porter in English Society in the 18th Century claims that out of the 2,339 children received into London workhouses in the five years after 1750, only 168 were alive in 1755. Sickening, isn't it?

Children in the 18th century were treated cruelly in many cases, but they were also loved – even many of the unknown, poor children who met with an early demise.

Anyway, this exhibition inspired me to dedicate this week to posts about children in the 18th century.

Friday Links

2011-02-04T07:00:00.003+01:00

A weekly pick-n-mix of interesting links from around the web:

Aphra Behn as a gay icon from Georgian London

Not really 18th century but still interesting - Inside the Fleet

Go look at all the English Heritage London Blue Plaques mapped

If what you've felt your life has always lacked is an app for browsing the British Library, you're in luck - it's now here.

A great post on 18th century shoes from American Duchess

List of Period Films

2011-02-02T10:20:00.002+01:00

I thought I'd make a list of 18th century movies and set the daring goal of reviewing them. Yes, all of them. Not in one go, though. More like a five-year-plan.

Some of these I've already seen, some I have not. Some are really TV series and some only make the 18th century because of my generous definition of it.

Anyway, the idea was to update this post with a link to the review when it's done, and to also update this list with more movies if anyone would be kind enough to point them out to me.

A Harlot's Progress

Master and Commander: The Far Side of the World

The Fortunes and Misfortunes of Moll Flanders

Plunkett and Macleane

The Brotherhood of the Wolf

The Duchess - reviewed here

The History of Tom Jones, a Foundling

The Serpent’s Kiss

Valmont

Getting Dressed 18th Century Style

2011-01-31T14:08:00.003+01:00

I found this cute little video on Youtube that shows how to get dressed in 18th century style.

Enjoy!

Fashion Exhibitions Online and Elseswhere

2011-01-28T19:24:00.002+01:00

A while back I blogged at Bluestockings & Knickerbockers about Fashion Accessories from Head to Toe, an upcoming exhibition at DeWitt Wallace Decorative Arts Museum in Colonial Williamsburg and today I'm talking about the online counterpart Historic Threads: Three Centuries of Clothing which is a great initiative.

If you want to read the whole post, you'll find it here.

Portable Soup - 18th Century Fast Food

2011-01-26T19:20:00.005+01:00

Recently, I came across a reference to 'portable soup' in an 18th century book and never having seen the word before, I was immediately intrigued. Aren't all soups equally portable?

It wouldn't seem so. A portable soup was something quite unlike anything else.

In the days before the freezer and indeed before any effective canning process, preserving and transporting food was a major problem. Portable soup was one of the inventions made to address that problem. You see, a portable soup is a sort of dehydrated soup, a precursor to the modern bouillon cubes and could be stored, brought on travels or used to make cooking simple.

I have seen one source claiming that the origin of the portable soup can be traced back to the Magyar warriors of the 14th century. Certainly Ann Blencowe mentions it in the 17th century and Hannah Glasse gives a recipe for it in her book The Art of Cooking Made Plain and Easy from 1747. I have seen claims that the Navy used it extensively in the 18th century and all seem to agree that Lewis and Clarke enjoyed a good deal of portable soup on their expedition.

So, more exactly, how do you make it and how do you use it? Well, the basic idea is to make a soup, degrease it and reduce it until it's, well, portable. Hard-ish, you know.

Hannah Glasse advices you to use two legs of beef, water, anchovies, cloves, mace, black pepper, onions, thyme and marjoram. It's not made quickly, because she tells you to boil it for about 8-9 hours "till it is a very rich good jelly." Said jelly you then strain and let cool so you can remove the scum and fat. Then you cook the jelly some more until it is "very stiff and thick" and put it into cups. Then you heat water and put the cups in the boiling water until the jelly is "like a stiff glue." The glue is then put in a flannel and kept in a dry warm place for another 8-9 hours until it is "quite hard and dry." You then store these cakes in "tin boxes, with a piece of writing paper between each piece."

Elizabeth Raffald in her The Experienced English Housekeeper (1769) gives a similar recipe for it, adding that "(t)his is a very useful soup to be kept in gentlemen's families, for by pouring a little boiling water on one cake, and a little salt, it will make a very good basin of broth." Hannah Glasse suggests boiling it with a French roll, some vermicelli or barley. If you like, you can also add meat balls or cocks-combs, she says.

Fast food the 18th century way!

Europeana - European Archives and Museums online

2011-01-25T20:17:00.007+01:00

A really cool resource that I found recently is Europeana. It enables you to explore the digital resources of Europe's museums, libraries, archives and audio-visual collections.

The items you can find through it includes paintings, maps, pictures of museum objects, books, newspapers, letters and TV and radio broadcasts. An example of stuff I found playing with it: the Royal Navy barracks general mess menu for one week in 1915 (handwritten), printed records of the interrogation of Louis XVI and Marie Antoinette from 1791 and an map of London from 1801.

The site itself gives you a description and a thumbnail of the object, and then you click through to the actual institution owning it to examine it closely. A nice aspect of it is that since Europeana always connects you to the original source of the material you can always be sure of its authenticity.

The project is funded by the European Commission and is undergoing continual evolution. In time, as more museums and archives hopefully join, it might be a truly excellent resource.

Right now you can only search for items in the language in which the object is stored for example, but that might change in the future. The site allows you to create an account and save searches and finds, which I think is a pretty neat function. And it's so with its time that it's connected to both twitter and Facebook!

At Home with the Georgians soon out on DVD

2011-01-24T19:56:00.001+01:00

I've been reading Amanda Vickery's Behind Closed Doors: At Home in Georgian England lately and I've cursed the fact that I'm not in the UK so I could see the BBC series At Home with the Georgians based on the book.

Well, happy times are here again, because I just saw it's coming out on dvd. Perfect, considering that I've worked through a good deal of my secret stash of dvd boxes over Christmas and then topped it off with a Downton Abbey marathon this weekend when I lay in the throes of what was likely a cross between diphtheria and cholera. Or some other similar, very serious disease.

Awkward First Post (because there must always be one)

2011-01-23T15:15:00.001+01:00

I've long been thinking about starting something like this; a place to collect ideas and finds and chat about history in an irreverent manner.

I'm not a historian; just an interested amateur who happens to write stories set in the 18th century. My interest isn't so much in art and fashion but domestic life, law and warfare. You know; sex, money and politics. The kind of topics that always make for an interesting conversation. I give a brief introduction to the blog and myself here.

Anyway, I have no idea if I will keep this up or not. I hope I will. I'll certainly try.

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