Mincing at Versailles (Friday's Video)

Susan reporting:
We Nerdy History Girls are very partial to English humor, and when it's combined with history – whether Monty Python, Blackadder, or Horrible Histories – we're in laugh-riot heaven.

Recently I stumbled across a delicious series on YouTube staring the irrepressible Jennifer Saunders and Dawn French, cutting a hilarious swath through the court at Versailles shortly before the French Revolution. Let Them Eat Cake features Saunders as the immorally dense Colombine, Comtesse de Vache, and French as her far more clever (but equally immoral) maid Lisette, with Adrian Scarborough as the comtesse's ever-conniving hairdresser, stylist, and confidante, Bouffant - an 18th c. caricature brought to life. The series is irreverent and bawdy, full of huge wigs and extravagant gowns, and skewed appearances by everyone from Madame Vigee-Lebrun to the Marquis de Sade.

This clip features a showdown between the comtesse and her arch-rival, Madame de Plonge, both armed with huge skirts and servants. Which one will be forced to reverse down the hall so the other may pass?

If you wish for more, the whole series is on YouTube (though unfortunately each episode is cut into three parts). Here are the three links to the first episode, called "The Pox": Part 1, Part 2, Part 3.

A vicarage house for 1816

Loretta reports:

One doubts that all clergymen’s homes were quite as elegant as this one—although Mr. Collins’s might have been, in order to do Lady Catherine proud.  It's nice to see a floor plan, certainly.

~~~

October 1, 1816.

ARCHITECTURAL HINTS

PLATE 19.—A VICARAGE HOUSE.

The annexed design was intended for the residence of a clergyman, and purposed to be erected in a situation where the scenery is both rural and romantic, and well disposed to accord with the style of building which may be considered as peculiarly ecclesiastic, from the extensive patronage that architecture once received by the munificence of church government. The parts of this design were selected from the church itself to which the vicarage-house belongs, and with which it would correctly assimilate, particularly as the building was intended to be placed in its immediate neighbourhood. The practice of designing the residence of a clergyman with reference to the characteristics of the church to which it belongs, where the style of architecture is favourable to such selections, is desirable, not only as relates to a tasteful advantage, but as it becomes another and visible link of connection between the church itself and the pastor who is devoted to its duties, and also leads the spectator very naturally from contemplating the dwelling, to regard the pious character of its inhabitant. This association has occurred to a poet, whose works indeed are nearly obsolete.
—Ackermann's Repository, 1816.

~~~

The poetry referred to having fully earned its obsolescence, I've taken the liberty of leaving it out.  It's enough work getting through the prose.  Readers have no doubt noticed Regency-era writers' fondness for the passive mood.

Cast On! Victorian & Edwardian Knitting & Needlework Manuals Now On-Line

Susan reporting:

My apologies for the lateness of today's post, the fault of a missing internet connection. Here's a quickie featuring a wonderful on-line resource:

Historians come in many forms. Richard Rutt (1925-2011) was an Anglican bishop, scholar-missionary, and, late in life, a Roman Catholic priest. While his interests ranged from Classical Chinese to Korean history, he was also passionately interested in the craft and history of knitting. He wrote what many consider the definitive book – A History of Hand Knitting – that is fascinating reading even for non-knitters. Armed with careful documentation, he wasn't afraid to debunk well-treasured myths about the craft, including the "legend" of the Irish fisherman sweater.

His extensive collection of early knitting manuals and books is now held at the Winchester School of Art Library, University of Southampton, and has recently been digitized. These early "how-to" books are a treasure not only to adventuresome knitters who wish to make the projects (though be forewarned: terminology has changed over the years, and early patterns often don't make sense to modern knitters), but to costume historians as well. They also show the many ways that needlework is viewed by society: a necessary skill to help clothe a woman's family; a lady-like endeavor; "good works" via charity knitting; patriotic effort during war-time; and artistic expression.

Here's the link to the whole collection.

Above left: Cover, The Seventh Book of "Hows": or How to Knit and Crochet Wools, 1911, London.
Right: Cover, Ladies Work for Sailors, late 19th c. published by the Mission to Seamen, London.
Both images courtesy of The Richard Rutt Collection: Winchester School of Art Library

Motoring across the U.S. in 1903

Loretta reports:

I was interested in seeing Horatio’s Drive, a Ken Burns documentary on PBS, when it came out, but my TV viewing time being extremely limited, I simply didn’t get around to it until last week.  Which means this will be old news to some of you.  But not to all.

The early automobile was viewed as a rich man’s toy.  Many thought it was a passing fad.  There were enthusiasts, however, who saw the motor car as the future of transportation.  Horatio Nelson Jackson was one of them.

In 1903, Dr. Jackson bet some other gentlemen $50 that he could drive from San Francisco to New York City in less than 90 days.

This was plain crazy, and I’ll tell you why.  He barely knew how to drive and he’d never owned a car.  The one thing you could rely on early autos for was breaking down.  Even going short distances, tires blew out, engines blew up, and parts fell off or broke.  Constantly.  And this happened on smooth roads—which existed only in metropolitan areas.  Dr. Jackson was proposing to drive across the country—where, in many places, the roads barely accommodated a horse and wagon--and where rivers and streams didn't always have bridges spanning them. There were no auto parts stores or gas stations.  Broken parts had to be repaired by one’s trusty mechanic, or rebuilt by the local blacksmith (ah, irony) or ordered from the factory and sent on by train.

Horatio's Drive DVD

Bud

Dr. Jackson bought a somewhat used Winton Touring Car and hired a mechanic to go with him.  Everything that could go wrong did, yet Jackson persevered.

The PBS site offers the story summary as well as a map and pictures.  You can also find a story summary on Wikipedia.  The actual car, and other artifacts, are at the Smithsonian, along with info about the trip.  But the film is well worth watching, for a sense of the man's vibrant, optimistic personality, as so wonderfully voiced in his letters to his wife.

Dr. Jackson brought along a camera, and his photos capture the world he, his driving partner Sewall Crocker, and the bulldog Bud traveled through . . . a world their journey changed irrevocably.

Illustrations:
Top left from Motor, 1903
Below right from Amazon
Below left from Wikimedia commons

A Mysterious, Romantic Eye, c. 1790-1830

Susan reporting:

I'm just returned from a glorious day at Winterthur Museum, Garden, & Library, and as is always the case, I've been inspired, awed, and amused. Established by Henry Francis du Pont, Winterthur's vast museum collection contains nearly 90,000 objects, featuring decorative and fine arts made or used in American from 1630-1860.

Obviously, not everything is on display at once, so there's always something new to discover as different pieces are cycled through the galleries or presented as part of special exhibitions.  The collection is wide-ranging and endlessly fascinating, from exquisite needlework to master cabinetry, priceless portraits to elegant chamberpots (a post on 19th c. bourdaloues  at Winterthur remains one of our all-time most popular.)  Over the next few weeks, I'll be sharing some of the most intriguing pieces I saw today.

One of my earliest blog posts was on "lovers' eyes", the small brooches and rings made popular in the late 18th c. by the Prince Regent and his lover Maria Fitzherbert. I've always liked them, and was delighted to spy this one today. Painted in watercolor on elephant ivory, this eye seemed particularly lively, which  makes me guess the rest of the lady was merry as well. That guess is as good as any, since the identity of both the lady and the recipient of this brooch have long been forgotten. The painting is framed by a gold snake swallowing its own tail – a sentimental symbol of eternity, and eternal love. It's a very small brooch,  only about an inch across, making it easy to wear secretly pinned inside a coat, or on the underside of a lapel. A most romantic little love token, isn't it?

Above: Pin/Brooch, England or America; 1790-1830, Winterthur Museum Collections, Gift of Roland E. Jester in memory of Margo Jester.