Finding Relief in the Lady's Garden at Vauxhall, 1788

Isabella reporting,

As interesting as all life in the past is to us now, it's the common aspects that our readers seem to find most interesting. Forget riding in a coach or dancing in hoops. Where and how did our heroines answer nature's call before indoor plumbing? This explains why a six-year-old blog post on the necessary bourdaloue remains one of our all-time most popular - and why this 18thc satirical print will probably be both amusing and informative. As always, please click on the image to enlarge it.

The pleasure gardens at Vauxhall were among the most popular entertainment spots in Georgian London. Several generations of Londoners of every rank put on their finery (and the occasional mask) and came to stroll, dance, dine, and flirt beneath the legendary lights. With its tree-shaded paths, Chinese-inspired pavilions, popular music, and statues and paintings by famous artists, there was much to amuse - and plenty of places to find mischief, too.

But even Vauxhall's glamorous settings had a baser side.  It had to, after all that drinking and dining. Or as Christopher Smart observed in a popular journal:

   "In sweet Vaux-hall I love to stray:
    But wish it were completely gay:
    In splendid Scenes we drink and eat:
    In sordid Huts – evacuate."*

Apparently many visitors of both sexes didn't bother to seek out the "sordid Huts", but chose to take advantage of the shadowy paths and bushes to relieve themselves. For ladies who were a fraction more fastidious, there was also the "Lady's Garden", shown in this 1788 print.

Apparently being reserved for the use of ladies didn't mean the facilities had much in the way of amenities or privacy. Along two walls is a bench forming a communal latrine, with four women in various stages of relief and distress, their fashionable skirts gathered up around them. Keep in mind that there would have been no "flushing" mechanism beneath the women, and imagine what the smell must have been by the end of a busy evening.

The towering plumes on the women's hats and in their powdered hairstyles come dangerously close to the open flames of the candles in wall sconces behind them, offering one more hazard. Discarded on the floor are a nosegay, an unmatched glove, and an advertisement sheet - which probably would have been used in place of modern toilet paper - for Dr. Leak's pills, a popular quack venereal remedy and a sly jab at the sexual assignations that often occurred at Vauxhall.

To the right sits one woman ostentatiously retying her garter, perhaps a potential customer for Dr. Leake, while another is freshening her makeup at a looking glass. This tall woman, detail right, is believed to be Lady Sarah Archer, an aristocratic widow famous for her independence, her love of gambling, and her interest in politics and outdoor sports (she drove her own phaeton and rode to the hounds.) In the eyes of misogynistic 18thc caricaturists, however, her greatest sin was being over forty with a fondness for makeup and fashion. She is always cruelly drawn with florid cheeks and an exaggerated hooked nose to accentuate her supposedly unfeminine appearance - and what better way to mock her further than to show her painting her face in a communal outhouse?

* From the wonderful Vauxhall Gardens: A History by David Coke & Alan Borg. See Loretta's post about this book here.

Above: The inside of the lady's garden at Vauxhall Drawing attributed to Henry Kingsbury; published S.W. Fores, 1788. The British Museum.

Breakfast Links: Week of October 24, 2016

Breakfast Links are served - our weekly round-up of fav links to other web sites, articles, blogs, and images via Twitter.
• The ghosts of Old London.
• After World War One: A silk surplus, armistice fashion, and a philanthropic innovator.
• How four young brothers skipped out on digging potatoes and walked sixteen miles to watch the British army march to Cambridge in 1775.
• An 1837 court case over how a woman fought back after an unwanted kiss.
• Bringing the drugstore home: the history of the bathroom medicine cabinet.
• Image: Dr. Townsend's residence was the largest in New York City when it was built in 1853; it only survived until 1868, when it was torn down to build another, larger house.
• Cured by a nightmare.
• How ancient Roman athletes and fans cursed rival teams during the postseason.
• Dr. James Barry: the woman who fooled the Royal College of Surgeons, Queen Victoria, and the world.
• Country house telephones.
• Chasing the sun: Annie Maunder, the 19thc woman forgotten by science.
• Image: Victorian slippers embroidered with floral motifs.
• The halls of the Great Exhibition, 1851.
• Central Park's lost statue to Commerce.
• What do people most get wrong about history?
• Jet and dressed in black in the Victorian era.
• Period pains: how were women's menstrual cramps regarded in the past?
• Image: Rare early color photograph of young Russian peasant women, 1909.
• Stepping back in time at a Parisian fencing club.
• Classical splendor: Painted furniture for a grand Philadelphia house in the early 19thc.
• The early 20thc fashion empire of Lucile - with roots in Guelph, Ontario.
• Which sister made this extravagant, mid-19thc pieced quilt?
• When the world truly stank, tussie-mussies were a breath of fresh air.
• Image: Just for fun: discover your Regency name.
Hungry for more? Follow us on Twitter @2nerdyhistgirls for fresh updates daily.
Above: At Breakfast by Laurits Andersen Ring. Private collection.

Friday Video(s): Fashion Treasures from the Museum of London

Isabella reporting:

Today's post combines the best of Friday Videos and Breakfast Links. Timothy Long, Curator of Fashion and Decorative Arts at the Museum of London, creates wonderful super-short videos highlighting special items from the collection. Most of the videos are largely silent with hand-lettered captioning as guideposts, and only Mr. Long's hands appear (clad in bright blue gloves) as he turns the garments.

So far, however, Mr. Long has yet to post the videos on YouTube or Vimeo, and so I can't embed them here. But this is too much under-a-minute information not to share, so here are links to some of my recent favorites. If you're on Twitter, you can also follow Mr. Long directly @fashion_curator. You never know what he'll uncover next!

• The finer details of a pair of super-skinny men's trousers, c1810, above, including a close look at how the seams split and were mended.

• The curious pocket on a 1940s blouse.

• Epaulettes c1900 in their own velvet-lined carrying case.

• Exploring the interior of a c1805 silk satin dress.

• The Countess of Airlie's ermine-trimmed velvet dress, below, was worn to the coronation in 1911 of George V, and again in 1937 for the coronation of George VI.

• An elaborate 1830s uniform coat that belonged to a Deputy Lieutenant of the City of London.

• Uncovering the sheets of archival tissue paper to reveal a glimpse into London's haberdashers.

• An 18thc embroidered men's coat with a mysterious past.

• Finally, what Mr. Long calls his favorite discovery of 2016 (so far): a collection of Edwardian chokers.

London in October in 1826

Loretta reports:

I discovered Peter George Patmore’s Mirror of the Months through Hone’s Every-day Book, which quoted from the excerpt below. Rather more readable than many writers of the time, Patmore vividly describes the sights and sounds of England, town and country, during each month of the year. He offers some insights into society—with lower case as well as capital S—as well as painting some charming domestic scenes, like this one. Anybody who’s been in London in the autumn will relate, I’m sure.

“But has London no one positive merit in October, then? Yes; one it has, which half redeems all its delinquencies. In October, Fires have fairly gained possession of their places, and even greet us on coming down to breakfast in the morning. Of all the discomforts of that most comfortless period of the London year which is neither winter nor summer, the most unequivocal is that of its being too cold to be without a fire, and not cold enough to have one. At a season of this kind, to enter an English sitting-room, the very ideal of snugness and comfort in all other respects, but with a great gaping hiatus in one side of it, which makes it look like a pleasant face deprived of its best feature, is not to be thought of without feeling chilly. And as to filling up the deficiency by a set of polished fireirons, standing sentry beside a pile of dead coals imprisoned behind a row of glittering bars,—this, instead of mending the matter, makes it worse; inasmuch as it is better to look into an empty coffin, than to see the dead face of a friend in it. At the season in question, especially in the evening, one feels in a perpetual perplexity, whether to go out or stay at home; sit down or walk about; read, write, cast accounts, or call for the candle and go to bed. But let the fire be lighted, and all uncertainty is at an end, and we (or even one) may do any or all of these with equal satisfaction. In short, light but the fire, and you bring the Winter in at once; and what are twenty Summers, with all their sunshine (when they are gone), to one Winter, with its indoor sunshine of a sea-coal fire?”

Images from Ackermann's Repository.
Clicking on the image will enlarge it.  

From the NHG Library: "An Agreeable Tyrant: Fashion After the Revolution"

Isabella reporting,

Loretta and I both have more research books crowding our respective houses than either of us would like to admit. Yet there's always room for one more, especially when that book fills an important gap on the shelf.

I'm currently working on a historical novel set in 18thc America during and after the Revolution. (That's all I'm saying for now - everything will be revealed soon enough, with a publication date of September, 2017.) It's a fascinating period in American history, with the dramatic achievements of the war giving way to the difficult process of not only building a new country from the ground up, but also creating a national identity to go with it.

Part of that new identity was deciding what Americans should wear. Of course, for many people this meant continuing to wear what they'd worn before the Revolution, but for more fashion-conscious Americans, this was a serious question. They wanted to continue to be as stylish as their counterparts in London and Paris, but they didn't want to follow the fashion dictates of the royal courts. Displaying taste and wealth would also be a challenge in homespun. As the subtitle of this new book asks: "What's a patriotic American to wear?"

An Agreeable Tyrant: Fashion After the Revolution, above, is a new companion book to an exhibition currently on display at the Daughters of the American Revolution Museum in Washington, D.C., through April 29, 2017. This beautifully written and designed book is much more than a mere exhibition catalogue, however. It contains dozens of full-color photographs of surviving garments - many shown on mannequins, complete with accessories, right - plus fashion plates, portraits, and other images from the era.

There are also thoughtful, informative essays written by experts in the field of historic fashion and textile, including lengthy footnotes to primary sources (be still my nerdy history heart!) Clothes for men and women of every class are covered, including enslaved people. And for readers who appreciate the "behind the seams" approach to fashion history, detailed, scaled patterns of garments complete the book. Congratulations to Alden O'Brien, Curator of Costumes & Textiles, DAR Museum, and her staff for creating such a wonderful book.

An Agreeable Tyrant deserves a place in every costume-lover's library, and on the shelves of American historians as well. And yes, it's an excellent resource for us fiction-writers. I've already referred to it to "dress" my characters, and I've given it the ultimate endorsement: I didn't receive this for review, but ordered it myself as soon as it was available.

If you're interested in purchasing a copy of An Agreeable Tyrant, you can order it directly from the DAR Museum's site here.

Above (left to right): Silk gauze dress, 1810; Purple silk dress, 1810; Silver brocaded evening dress, 1810s, all from a private collection. Photograph copyright DAR Museum.