The History of Underclothes

by C. Willett

  8 Albert Smith : The Adventures of Mr. Ledbury, 1847.

  9 Thackeray : Book of Snobs, 1855.

  10 ‘Mr. Sponge, being more of a two-shirts-and-a-dicky sort of man.’—R. T. Surtees: Mr. Sponge’s Sporting Tour, 1853.

  11 ‘Fancy Regatta Shirts, well made, 29/6 a doz.’

  12 R. T. Surtees: Hillingdon Hall, 1844.

  13 R. T. Surtees: Mr. Sponge’s Sporting Tour, 1853.

  14 Cuthbert Bede: The Adventures of Verdant Green, 1853.

  15 ‘The Templar nightcap for railroad, 6/6 to 18/6’—advertisement of 1844.

  16 Advertisement 1855 : ‘Quilted eiderdown slips for their warmth and lightness, giving that graceful fall and fullness to the dress.’

  17 The Diary, etc., of Mrs. Archer Clive, 1849.

  18 Handbook of the Toilet, 1841.

  19 ‘Bustles of silver hair, from 1/-/ advertised in 1847.

  20 R. T. Surtees, Hillingdon Hall, 1844.

  VIII

  1857—1866

  IN the history of English costume this decade is perhaps more important than any other. A wholly new idea, English in origin, began to make itself felt. The notion that ease and comfort must be sacrificed in order to express social rank, had previously governed the design of fashionable clothing. Now, at last, it seemed too great a price to pay.

  To adapt fashions to physical needs was an innovation indeed. By a strange irony at the very time when the iron grip of ‘fashion’ seemed to have secured an extraordinary hold, its victims of both sexes began to revolt. The well-groomed gentleman, corseted and gasping in the tightest of surtouts and pegtop inexpressibles, and the lady, staggering under the burden of multitudinous petticoats, were the prisoners of etiquette. Outside the confines of society there were the workers in clothes allowing freedom of movement. How simple to borrow from the people the principle that clothes should be the servants of their wearers and not the masters!

  The decade marks a sartorial revolution, and the yielding of Fashion’s Bastille to the encroachments of democracy seemed like the end of an ancien régime. What! Were ladies and gentlemen to wear clothes indistinguishable from those of ordinary folk and to have the free use of their limbs?

  A superficial view of the changes between the beginning and the close of this period observes only the gentleman becoming comfortable at last in a ‘Tweedside’ (the prototype of the ‘lounge suit’), and the lady in ‘walking dress’ gladly displaying a good deal of ankles on the croquet field. It is our business, however, to direct attention to the changes which lay beneath the surface, changes without which those novel costumes would have been impossible. Fundamental changes appear first in man’s costume, as a rule, to be followed presently by a corresponding change in woman’s. We find him discarding his corsets some years before she escaped from her ‘cage.’ Characteristically these relaxations from bondage were at first only to be enjoyed on informal occasions. The Tweedside and the walking dress could only be worn in the country, a practice leading to the curious distinction between ‘town’ and ‘country’ costume for both sexes.

  ‘Ease is now looked upon as the desideratum in all articles of dress, especially when required to be worn in the country; there it reigns paramount. These two qualities (ease and elegance) strongly mark the peculiar character of the fashions of the period.’1 To appreciate this comment on the new modes for men we have to note that not merely was the neck freer but also that the waist ceased to be constricted and the trousers were no longer shaped to the leg. Peg-top trousers disappeared in 1861, and the bottom of the trouser leg expanded to 17 in., presenting a pair of substantial tubes totally devoid of sex appeal. Inexpressible but no longer irresistible, these pillars of society served but to sustain the gentleman’s rank; the pageant of colour centred on the waistcoat blazing like a setting sun.

  Another observer remarked: ‘A garment that fitted a man would be pointed at in the present day as simply ridiculous. Our youths are clothed to please themselves, and so, I presume, are the ladies.’2 These informal styles soon developed into ‘sports costumes,’ with gentlemen in knickerbockers, and ladies in spectacular stockings and shortened skirts.

  Among the alarming phenomena of that exciting epoch was the novelty of coloured undergarments for ladies, shocking the principles of prudery by their liberal exposure. Chemical dyes were introduced in 1860, the first being solferino and magenta, the latter hailed as ‘the queen of colours.’ At the same time the sewing-machine had arrived, which made possible an abundance of ready-made underclothes in exuberant hues. Prudery shuddered; it seemed incompatible with a milk-white mind to wear coloured underclothing. It might lead—in fact it did lead—to wilful exposure of them. And the habit might lead to—who knows what indescribable excesses? Thus, in 1866, we read, ‘the amount of embroidery put upon underclothing nowadays is sinful; a young lady spent a month in hemstitching and embroidering a garment which it was scarcely possible that any other human being, except her laundress, would ever see.’ Such disturbances beneath the social surface were, of course, not effected without strong opposition from authority. It was one of those epochs, not very uncommon, when the younger generation shocks its elders, who foretell the end of civilization.

  Popular attention was concentrated upon the crinoline, that ingenious mechanism which in shape—and almost in size—resembled at first the Albert Hall and later the Great Pyramid. The pages of contemporaries echo with the inconvenience caused by this social obstruction; comic papers rejoiced in such a target while sermons dwelt on its moral dangers. Its physical dangers were certainly real, for many wearers of crinolines were burnt to death by inadvertently approaching a fire.

  The male sex to a man roared in disgust; with three or four of these giantesses in a room a diminished man could not creep in beyond the door, powerless under the domination of this new Colossus. The hoop of the eighteenth century had been just tolerated in a limited society, but in the bustling Victorian world it was intolerable; and the fashion rapidly spread to all classes. ‘Your lady’s maid must now have her crinoline, and it has even become essential to factory girls.’ In 1863 one of the Staffordshire potteries lost in a single year £200 worth of articles swept down by the crinolines of their workwomen. It was said (in 1859) that Sheffield was producing wire for half a million crinolines each week.

  What caused the universal demand for this extraordinary undergarment? For a generation skirts and petticoats had been expanding and the ‘cage’ was the logical result. Mr. Laver, in his Taste and Fashion, has pointed out that the crinoline, as it swung in walking or was lifted when mounting stairs, could be extremely ‘seductive.’ A garment which frequently revealed extensive glimpses of legs and drawers had erotic functions. Hence, no doubt, the moral disapproval it provoked; for English prudery requires that feminine sex attraction should be static and not dynamic.

  We think, however, that the initial form of the ‘cage,’ as it appeared in 1857, was intended to express class distinction. As a contemporary said: ‘Perhaps it is the spirit of exclusiveness which has induced the leaders of fashion to surround themselves with barriers of barège and other similar outworks, to keep the common herd at arm’s length—or rather, at petticoats’ breadth.’ But this ‘exclusive’ device had the fatal defect that it would, in a commercial community, be easily and cheaply copied by the ‘common herd,’ and so it rapidly lost its original significance and became a device of sex attraction. For it is almost a rule of feminine fashions that when a mode, intended to indicate social rank, becomes universally worn, it is then erotic in function. The Colonel’s lady and Judy O’Grady were sisters—under their crinolines.

  As this deterioration of purpose became more apparent the wave of moral disapproval rose, and Victorian prudery discovered that this abominable fashion was of French origin; so we established the curious myth that the crinoline had been introduced by—the Empress Eugénie! As a method of attracting the attention of the other sex the crinoline, at its maximum, afforded its wearer innume
rable opportunities; she was practising on the susceptibilities of a generation to whom the momentary glimpse of a pair of ankles had been, for years, a precious privilege; on such the vision of scarlet drawers must have acted like a red rag on a bull. It is difficult for us to-day to assess the rich possibilities of such garments bursting beyond the bounds of prudish restraint.

  These easy methods of catching the eye have, however, the disadvantage of sometimes attracting unwanted attention. Thus a youthful enquirer (one ‘Peachblossom’) is advised by a magazine editor, in 1858, ‘not to attempt the climbing of stiles in a crinoline for the task is impossible. And if she suffers much from the comments of vulgar little boys it would be better, in a high wind, to remain indoors.’

  It is startling to learn, from the diary of Lady Eleanor Stanley (1859) that at country house parties the latest ‘fast’ fashion was for both sexes to indulge in paper chases. ‘The Duchess of Manchester, in getting too hastily over a stile, caught a hoop of her cage in it and went regularly head over heels lighting on her feet with her cage and whole petticoats remaining above her head. They say there was never such a thing seen—and the other ladies hardly knew whether to be thankful or not that a part of her underclothing consisted in a pair of scarlet tartan knickerbockers (the things Charlie shoots in) —which were revealed to the view of all the world in general and the Duc de Malakoff in particular.’ His subsequent description—‘c’etait diabolique!’ leaves much to the imagination. Yet, in spite of such contretemps, the crinoline fashion persisted. Its advantages, to the wearer, far outweighed its disadvantages. Never before or since has a feminine undergarment exercised such social power, enlarging in every sense woman’s place in the world and the sphere of her physical attractions.

  The crinoline overshadowed the functions of the corset. We have seen how the fashion for tight-lacing subsided in the early 1850’s, so that nothing might detract from the importance of the cage. When this began to shrink, however, in the 1860’s, the small waist once more became a desirable feature and the spotlight of sex attraction concentrated upon it. The corset resumed its former grasp with redoubled force. From that very respectable source The Englishwoman’s Domestic Magazine of 1866 we learn of a girls’ boarding school (the inmates called it ‘Whalebone House Establishment’) where stays were compulsory and were sealed up by the mistress on Monday morning, to be removed on Saturday for one hour ‘for the purposes of ablution.’ By such means a waist of twenty-three inches at the age of fifteen, could be reduced in two years to thirteen inches.

  From the same source we learn of a mother urging that daughters should be made to sleep in their stays, which ‘carries no hardship beyond an occasional fainting fit.’ And an enthusiast declares: “Everyone must admit that a slender waist is a great acquisition; the so-called evil of tight-lacing is so much cant. To me the sensation is superb, and I am never prouder than when I survey the fascinating undulations that Art affords to Nature.’ From which it seems the corset had Narcissus charms. And when other correspondents admit, a little naively, that ‘tight-lacing produces delicious sensations, half pleasure, half pain,’ it was obviously an instrument of auto-eroticism.

  In the short space of these ten years we see an extraordinary variation in the functions of feminine undergarments; the cage, at first a symbol of class distinction, rapidly became a general method of sex attraction. In the hitched-up skirt and petticoats of the ‘walking dress,’ an apparent impulse towards freedom was followed by a reversion to excessive tight-lacing and restriction. Not, of course, that all these diverse inclinations would have been displayed by the same individual; they are evidence, rather, of two widely differing dispositions opposed to each other; and the battle, swinging to and fro with the ultimate victory as yet uncertain, was being fought beneath the surface.

  In the ‘hitch-up’ walking dress over the crinoline (introduced in 1857) freedom and restriction were curiously combined. ‘Next morning they all appeared in looped-up dresses, showing the particoloured petticoats of the prevailing fashion which looked extremely pretty, and were all very well—a great improvement on the draggle-tails—until they came to get into the coach, when it was found that, large as the vehicle was, it was utterly inadequate for their accommodation. Indeed, the door seemed ludicrously insufficient for the ingress, and Miss Clara turned round and round like a peacock contending with the wind, undecided which way to make the attempt. At last she chose a bold sideways dash, and entered with a squeeze of the petticoat, which suddenly expanded into its original size, but when the sisters had followed her example there was no room for the Major. . . .’3

  One thing is evident. The fashions of this period, as shown in pictures of the costumes, are incomprehensible without due appreciation of the underclothing, for they were the weapons that sustained the heat and burden of the fray.

  MEN

  1. THE SHIRT

  (a) Day. For formal wear enough shirt-front was exposed to reveal the uppermost button or stud, but frequently a large folded cravat occupied the space above the waistcoat, or that garment was cut very high, or the coat might be buttoned high, so that very little shirt-front was visible. Though sometimes a good deal more of it was exposed, the tucked panels were disappearing, the front being plain but not stiff.

  The usual type of collar for formal day-wear was upright with a gap between the points; these no longer projected on to the cheek but just touched the jaw. Thus movement of the head and neck was freer. With this collar might be worn the necktie, tied in a flat broad bow, the ends projecting across the top of the waistcoat; or the expansive cravat secured with a pin. (It is convenient from now on to speak of the ‘necktie’ as a band passed round the neck and tied in front either in a bow or a knot with hanging ends. Though in the 1820’s and ’30’s this was called a ‘cravat’ we now shall reserve that name for the massive wide material folded flat and filling the space above the waistcoat and secured by a pin. The true ‘stock’ survived only as a hunting ‘neckcloth’ but the ‘Napoleon’ preserved its traditional form.)

  FIG. 68. (left) man’s EVENING DRESS-SHIRT, 1850–60; (right) man’s evening dress-shirt, c. 1860–70

  For informal wear either a shallow single collar with sloping points meeting in the centre and forming a small inverted V opening, or a shallow double collar similar to that of modern times, was worn. With the Tweedside suit, for example, the coat was buttoned so high that scarcely any of the double collar was visible, and the necktie concealed the small space of the shirt-front above the coat.

  The cuffs were slightly starched and were closed by links, often jewelled.

  A specimen in the City Museum, Hereford, is of fine linen; length 31 in. front, 37 in. back; width 37 in. The neckband, 1 in., is without button or stud-hole at the back. The front, slightly starched, has a double-breasted centre panel closed by three pearl buttons, the neck buttoning across with two buttons. The sleeves, set in without gussets, are of the ‘bishop’ shape, 13 in. wide, with a narrow cuff buttoned at the base and at the border. It is machine lock-stitched throughout. Date about 1860.

  (b) The evening dress-shirt continued to show an expansive front tucked on either side of a centre panel, or the centre panel might be slightly embroidered, the sides being plain (figure 68). There were three, or occasionally only two, studs down the front. A stiff upright collar with the points nearly meeting in front was worn with a white bow.

  (c) While the above types were the standard modes, there was also, for country and sporting occasions, a great variety of coloured shirts. Contemporary descriptions remind us that the mid-Victorian male was far from having become the colourless individual sometimes supposed, though the rich polychromatics of the young man’s fancy may not be to our taste to-day. Thus ‘a dashing looking gent in a red flannel Emperor shirt, a blue satin cravat, a buff vest, and a bright green cutaway coat with fancy buttons,’ or an elderly gentleman’s morning costume which included ‘an elaborately worked ruby-studded shirtfront with stiff wristbands well turn
ed up shewing the magnificence of his imitation India garnet buttons, over a pink flannel vest’ (i.e. under-waistcoat), together with ‘six rings equally distributed between the dirty-nailed fingers of each hand.’4 Not perhaps specimens of the best style. The same author speaks of ‘magnificently embroidered dress shirts, so fine that the fronts almost looked as if you might blow them out,’ worn with diamond studs. He also informs us that a gentleman requires two clean shirts a day.

  The ‘sporting gent’ of 1860 in ‘a gay butterfly costume with a heartsease embroidered blue cravat, a pink striped shirt with carbuncle studs.’5 was common enough, but the coloured shirt was not favoured by the Best People, who clung to the symbol of the white shirt and collar as outward and visible signs that they did not earn their living by the sweat of their necks.

  FIG. 69. EVENING DRESS-SHIRT, COLLAR AND TIE, BY WELCH, MARGETSON AND CO., c. 1860

  Examining a very large number of contemporary photographs, we note that among ‘gentlemen’ there was a considerable diversity in the style of day-shirt and collar. Mr. Disraeli, like most Members of Parliament and the learned professions, retains the upright collar with a gap between the points, which do not reach up above the jaw, and a necktie in a flat bow (often called a ‘once-round’ tie); the elders have collars with points on to the cheeks, worn with a swathing neckband, or ‘Napoleon,’ and these commonly leave the upper two or three buttons of the waistcoat gaping. Artists and writers lean towards the low double collar, which Mr. Dickens wears with a vast satin cravat and a pin, and Mr. Millais wears a hanging necktie knotted through a ring. By such idiosyncrasies a gentleman was able to indicate his personal attitude to life while marking his precise position in the social community. He wore, so to speak, a label round his neck.

  An extract from the 1866 trade catalogue of Messrs. J. & R. Morley Ltd. reminds us that our mid-Victorian ancestors had a very wide choice, if not of design, at least of material; and that evidently they believed in being warmly clad: