This first layer bore up under washings with the most stringent soaps, and chemises were often boiled to achieve a high level of cleanliness as well as to remove any stains or discoloration. The transparent muslins and silks of the era were intended to flow elegantly around a lady’s form, but without the help of a chemise or shift, society might have been granted far too immodest a display of her private “attributes.” In my Regency era novel Lydia, my heroine goes for a swim in a private pond wearing only her chemise.
Once the chemise was in place, a woman slipped into short stays, a corset that extended only a short way below the breasts. Those who hoped to appear thin wore long stays.
Drawers, or underpants, were not in common use at this time, though some did wear them. They buttoned at the knee and were open at the crotch. Quite a drafty bit of nonsense if you ask me! Well, the advent of the modern toilet was yet a way off, so the logistics of squatting over a chamber pot necessitated certain “concessions” in the clothing line.
Our modern day sensibilities and cultural delicacies (if we have any left) make the idea sound rather obscene—but so it was. However, consider: while women were anchored lock, stock, and barrel inside so much fabric, at least they enjoyed the cooling free breezes underneath it all. I cannot quite reconcile their rigid morality with the concept of a completely exposed...but, oh well, a great many things in history make very little sense by today’s standards.
Although I cannot bear the thought of wearing all that rigmarole, I often envy those ladies that they got to wear such wonderfully feminine clothing. Were I to dress in that way today, the local sheriff would most likely offer me a kind escort to the “sanitarium.”
For those who would like the experience of dressing like a lady of the ton, several present-day organizations offer Regency-era balls. How I would love to step back in time and mingle, just once, at a London-season ball with the most illustrious members of the “upper ten thousand”! How fun it might have been to be a Miss Elizabeth Bennet.
The Changes in Ladies’ Fashion from 1780s to 1814: Too Much or Too Little
by Maggi Andersen
In the 1780s and early 1790s, skirts were full and round and slightly puffed out at the back, although the wide panniers had gone. Generous fichus covered the bosom. As France’s Republican and classical styles spread across the Channel, however, the bulk of the skirt gradually diminished; it took ten yards to make a dress in 1796, but only seven yards in 1801. The number of petticoats diminished too, until some women wore only one or even none at all (to the scandal and shock of moralists and the secret delight of the male population).
Petticoats in the past had been highly decorative and visible—a prominent part of the dress itself. Now, if it showed at all, it was an ornamental band at the bottom of a dress. A ball gown found in 1801 Gallery of Fashion is a “robe”, a descendant of the open-fronted gown that exposed the petticoat, in the style of the 18th century.
Like the robe, the frock or gown could be adapted with equal ease to morning or evening wear. One 1807 example of an evening frock, has a square neckline, short sleeves, and a relatively smooth front of sprigged muslin; all the fullness is gathered at the back and allowed to cascade down as a train.
An 1808 walking frock, however, has no train and is worn with long gloves, a jacket-like vest, a shawl, and a straw bonnet. This careful covering of almost all exposed skin would have met with the approval of the author of The Mirror of Graces (1811), who advised the cautious woman that:
Morning robes should be of a length sufficiently circumscribed as not to impede her walking, but on no account must they be too short; for...[when] showing the foot or ankle the idea of beauty is lost....
In addition to the petticoat, many women now took to wearing drawers. These were quite long—long enough that Lady de Clifford pointed out to Princess Charlotte that hers were visible every time she got into or out of a carriage. Unimpressed, the princess replied, “the Duchess of Bedford’s are much longer, and they are bordered with Brussels lace.” There was, as the princess implied, little effort taken to hide the drawers, which came into fashion around 1806.
Above the petticoat, a chemise was worn. This was a knee-length linen or cotton shirt, often with a frill of some kind at the neckline and short sleeves. It was usually, but not always, worn beneath a dress. If it were worn, part of it, for example, the decorative neckline, often peeked from underneath the dress.
As the silhouette slimmed, the waistline rose, until it ended just under the breasts. The dress itself was rather loose and pulled into classical folds of drapery, often by drawstrings at the neckline. Beneath this apparent ease and lightness, many women retained the stays they had worn for centuries. These were corsets made of heavy cotton fabric or silk and stiffened with whalebone. They were sometimes assisted in front with a “divorce,” a triangular piece of padded metal that separated the breasts.
Necklines were very low and revealed a great deal of the bosom, so many women retained the modesty pieces of earlier decades, tucking a gauzy piece of fabric around the back of the neck and into the top of the gown, sometimes crossing at the front. During the day women wore the morning or walking dress with long sleeves, gloves, and bonnets, which covered all of the skin. Morning gowns were often white.
Evening gowns were exclusively short-sleeved until about 1814. The anonymous author of The Mirror of Graces suggested white above all for evening gowns, as “White is becoming to all characters,”—but if a large woman, “a lady of majestic deportment,” chose to wear colors, she should adhere to “the fuller shades of yellow, purple, crimson, scarlet, black and grey.”
After 1814, fichus were discarded and women displayed their low necklines to full advantage.
Source
Olsen, Kirstin. All Things Austen: An Encyclopedia of Austen’s World, Volume I. Greenwood, 2005.
Ladies’ Slippers and Half-Boots in the Regency
by Wanda Luce
How essential to every lady’s wardrobe are the shoes! While today we romp about in every sort of convention for the foot, in early 1800s England, the choices were vastly more limited. Slippers were ill-suited to extensive walking but served well for the pampered lifestyle of the haut ton, the gentry, or the wealthy merchant class.
Call me a muffin-head if you like, but I was quite shocked to discover that the slippers were often fashioned of colored leather. I guess, somehow I doubted their ability to make such beautifully colored leather in that era. As a Regency-era author, I am ashamed to admit I did not know this. I suppose I assumed the slippers were made of any number of available fabrics like sturdy cottons or satins.
The pointed ends look quite dangerous, if you ask me, but I can assure you that they rounded out in the later Regency. Such extreme points on ladies’ shoes have enjoyed a hearty revival at various points in time, but they never seem to last for long.
While some slippers were made of leather, some were composed of silk.
Soon, the high-heeled pumps of the 18th century disappeared, as did the stripes and embellished patterns seen at the turn of the century. Regency era shoes were crafted in a variety of colors and often came with ribbon ties. These flat, delicate shoes were little more than ballet slippers and were mainly worn in the evenings or indoors.
By mid-Regency, women enjoyed the greater utility of half-boots, and by 1810, fashionable women wore these flat-soled half-boots for almost every occasion. Although certainly more durable than slippers, they were often made of kid (goat) leather, nankeen, or a denim-like fabric and were not impervious to soaking up water and mud. The thin, pliable kid could be dyed or embroidered but did not stand up well to rough treatment.
Jane Austen, in her manuscript The Watsons, wrote:
Emma was not inclined to give herself much trouble for his entertainment, and after hard labour of mind, [Lord Osborne] produced the remark of its
being a very fine day, and followed it up with the question of:”Have you been walking this morning?”
“No my lord, we thought it too dirty.” [Unpleasant, stormy]
“You should wear half boots.” After another pause: “Nothing sets off a neat ankle more than a half boot; nankeen galoshed with black looks very well. Do not you like half boots?”
“Yes; but unless they are so stout as to injure their beauty, they are not fit for country walking.”
Although still a minority in women’s footwear at the beginning of the 19th century, ankle boots would become the dominant style of daytime footwear by the 1830s. Let it here be noted, however, that most of the women in Europe—the women of the lower classes—rarely owned more than one pair of shoes. I cannot but think that their half-boots were far sturdier than those of the upper classes.
Well, though hardly a complicated subject, I think it to have been worthy of this short examination. Certainly, though the history of shoes is not a momentous topic, our feet and those of our ancestors have carried us and them into our successes and follies alike.
How different the world’s history would have been if none of us had been born with feet! How much of good and bad alike might never have occurred without shoes on these feet. Thus, how valuable to mankind has been the shoe and no less so in early 1800s England.
I hope you have found my article a little diverting and that you have gained, even if only just a little, more knowledge of our ancestors’ foot-trappings. One can be quite certain my heroines were all properly shod in the shoes of the day.
Mr. Darcy Strips Off...
by M.M. Bennetts
First off, we have a conundrum.
Because, of course, there are two versions of the novel featuring Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy, set in two sartorially different periods. Do I tell you about Mr. Darcy circa 1796-97 when First Impressions was being written? Hmm.
Well, that’s easily solved. In 1797 wealthy young men were wearing cravats in the style of the Prince of Wales, which “were then worn without stiffening of any kind, and bagged out in front, rucking up to the chin in a roll.” Messy. Very messy. Not to say slovenly....
Therefore, a picture of Darcy circa 1813—when the revised novel, Pride and Prejudice as it was now called, was published—is no doubt the better choice.
Gentlemen’s clothing had undergone a radical change during the early years of the 19th century. The long war with France had isolated Britain from the Parisian trend-setters who had dominated the 18th century, along with their preference for brightly coloured silks and satins. In their place, a new, austere, almost monochromatic aesthetic had taken hold, courtesy of one George Brummell, based on the finest of British tailoring, and drawing its inspiration from the military, from English horsemanship, and from a classical standard of masculinity as seen in the ancient Greek and Roman statuary, most notably the Apollo Belvedere.
And this ideal of “unity, simplicity and a continuously flowing movement from one part of the body to the next” is at the core of Regency menswear.
The body beneath must needs be moulded into a figure worthy of the clothes too—hence the daily exercise taken by gentlemen at the many boxing saloons, such as Gentleman Jackson’s, or fencing schools about London. Riding is also known to build strong back and shoulder muscles, as well as those of the thighs and calves. Carriage driving also requires very strong shoulders.
So, there’s the man and the ideal...but what’s he wearing?
Among the essentials of this new neo-classical look were breeches or pantaloons for the day, made either of doeskin or chamois leather or a soft stocking-like fabric. (If made of soft leather, often the wearer first wore them dampened, allowing them to dry to his physique so that they more closely resembled a second skin—they weren’t called bum-clingers for nothing.) Both had corset lacing at the back, a fall front fastened by side buttons over the stomach, and were held up with braces to maintain the severe and fitted line over the thigh.
They were also cut wider on one side at the top of the thigh, and higher on the other, to accommodate the family jewels, in a custom known as dressing to one side. Beneath the knee, button fastenings kept the fabric taut down the length of the leg.
Evening breeches or pantaloons were made of sheer black silk jersey, knitted cashmere, or a stretchy silk-stockinette imported from India, made with only one seam per leg and that along the outside—though this was sometimes embroidered or “clocked” down the length of it—all of which was intended to frame the muscles of the thigh.
For summer, the breeches would be cut the same, but made of stout pale or white linen or nankeen, a heavy twilled cotton.
Just as important was a gentleman’s fitted waistcoat, which would have been made of white or skin-toned fabric—the idea being that if a gentleman were to remove his coat, in his shirtsleeves and from a distance, he would resemble nothing so much as a naked Greek god, muscular, beautiful, carved from marble or stone.
Coats were now made of dark matte fabrics such as wool Bath cloth or “superfine”, sculpted through the back and shoulders, with a high collar to provide a contrasting frame to the whiteness of the starched cravats. Our Mr. Darcy has several specialist tailors from whose work to choose: John Weston’s at No. 34 Old Bond Street, or even Mr. Brummell’s favourite, Schweitzer & Davidson on Cork Street.
Beneath it all, the shirt of white linen, plain and lightly starched, with collars “so large that, before being folded down, it completely hid [the] head and face...” with tiny buttons at the neck and cuffs. Cuffs were worn long—a good inch or two longer than the coat sleeve to emphasise the fact that the gentleman did not work.
About Mr. Darcy’s neck was his starched cravat.
Made of fine Irish muslin, a triangle was cut on the diagonal from a square yard of fabric, with its edges plainly stitched. This triangle was then folded twice and wrapped carefully about the neck, with the ends tied in one of several manners before the wearer lowered his chin to create a neat series of folds which were either rubbed into place by a day-old shirt or pressed with a hot iron. (I favour the day-old shirt method myself...less danger of frying the larynx.)
Footwear? Highly polished Hessian boots with spurs by day and thinly-soled black pumps for evening.
Underwear? Very little was worn and then only rarely—it being pretty much a thing of the 18th century, although it was still in use (in cold weather, for example) and referred to as “summer trousers”. In this look of careless, casual, sensual arrogance, there was no room for lumpy knickers or rucked up shirt tails. However, due to the transparency and cut of the tight kneebreeches and pantaloons, a lining of either flannel or cotton was sometimes incorporated into the garments.
Mr. Darcy would have dressed some three or four times during the course of a normal day.
He would also have required, per week, in addition to the usual “20 shirts, 24 pocket handkerchiefs, 9 or 10 summer trousers, 30 neck handkerchiefs, a dozen waistcoats, and stockings at discretion”, a chintz dressing gown and Turkish slippers for taking his breakfast.
He would also have several driving coats and/or greatcoats, caped, and made of a heavier wool worsted or “Norwich stuff” for colder, rainier weather (every day from September to May and most of June).
Like Brummell and other gentlemen of his class and station, Darcy would have bathed every part of his body every day, and in hot water. He would have used no perfumes (they were considered very 18th century!) but would have smelled instead of very fine linen and country washing.
So there he is—drab greatcoat emphasising the width of his shoulders, thigh-hugging doeskin breeches, pale waistcoat, dark coat (navy, grey, or black being the preferred colours), and pristine white cravat and collarpoints outlining the strength of his jaw. Polished Hessians are on his feet.
Does he not look fine? Every inch a god?
So now...let’s take it off.
His high-crowned bevor, his cane, his gloves, and his greatcoat he has, fortunately, left with the footman belowstairs. The door is shut.
His boots (with or without horse muck on them) have been left at the door or really anywhere but in the bedchamber, if at all possible. There are two reasons for this. One, this may be a good idea at a time when there are no Dysons or Hoovers. But also, the method of removing one’s boots generally required the backside of another person, and gentlemen didn’t much care for bootjacks as it was said to break down the back of the boot. Equally, the reason a gentleman did not “sit down in all his dirt” was a pungent one.
So shoes are a better bet. Easier to slip off.
And it all starts this way: with the the kissing...this could go on for a long time. A very long time. Because the most important thing is always that his Eliza feels and knows that her wishes and desires are paramount to his.
Then, the coat comes off. It’s easier, I’ll be frank, if she’ll slips her hands upward from his chest toward his shoulders and lifts it away from him. But assuming she’s not forward and that he doesn’t have his coats cut so as to make removing them akin to peeling an obstreperous orange, he shrugs the thing off, first one shoulder, then the other, all the while still kissing her.
Then, the waistcoat. Button by tiny button. All eleven or so of the things. More than that if the waistcoat is double-breasted. And with each button, a sensation of incremental yet greater sensual liberty is attained.
The waistcoat now on the floor with the coat, Darcy slides his index finger into the front of that knot of white linen at the base of the throat and pulls. An index finger into the remaining tied-bit and pulls. And freedom. And the end of the cravat is yanked and pulled off and discarded onto the floor.
Castles, Customs, and Kings: True Tales by English Historical Fiction Authors Page 55
