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Archive for the ‘Regency Life’ Category

Caroline Norton 1833

Until the mid 1800s, married women in England had no legal rights. By law a husband could prevent his wife from seeing their children. He also had control over all her income, including any earnings she might make. Caroline Norton (1808-1877), who was married to an abusive man and who had been barred from seeing her three sons after they divorced, successfully challenged these laws.

Caroline was the granddaughter of a playwright Richard Brinsley Sheridan and the daughter of novelist Caroline Henrietta Sheridan. Caroline’s father died when she was eight years old, which left the family in financial straits. When Caroline had turned 16, George Norton, a Tory member of parliament for Guildford,  spotted her and asked for her hand in marriage. But she was too young to marry. Though a renowned beauty, Caroline had no dowry. Still, she hesitated to marry George Norton, but her mother eventually supported the match and thus she wed him at 19.

George Norton turned out to be a violent and unfaithful husband. He beat Caroline repeatedly, even in her third trimester of pregnancy. The marriage, though a failure, lasted long enough for Caroline to bear three sons. There were repeated estrangements and reunions, but the marriage finally ended in 1836. Caroline’s travails had just begun. Her reputation was in tatters as a divorced woman, and she was not allowed to see her sons. She was to write:

What I suffered on my children’s account, none will ever know or measure. “The heart knoweth its own bitterness,” and God knew mine! The days and nights of tears and anguish, that grew into the struggle of yearsit is even now a pain to me to look back upon; even now, the hot agony of resentment and grief rises in my mind, when I think of the needless tyranny I endured in this respect. Mr Norton held my children as hostages; he felt that while he had them, he still had a power over me that nothing could control. Baffled in the matter of the trial and damages, he still had the power to do more than punishto torturethe wife who had been so anxious to part from him – Caroline Norton, English Laws for Women in the 19th Century

Caroline’s story is more convoluted and complicated than presented here, and well worth reading. Suffice it to say that Caroline challenged the law that favored men over women, and her writing was instrumental in having The Child Custody Act of 1839 passed. Sadly for Caroline, her husband still denied her access to her children. Her youngest boy fell from a horse and died, and only after this tragedy were her two other boys allowed to live with her.

His cruel carelessness was afterwards proved, on a most miserable occasion. My youngest child, then a boy of eight years old, left without care or overlooking, rode out with a brother but little older than himself, was thrown, carried to the house of a country neighbor, and died there of lock jaw, consequent on the accident. Mr Norton allowed the child to lie ill for a week,–indeed to be at death’s door,–before he sent to inform me. Sir Fitzroy and Lady Kelly were staying with Mr Norton in the country. Lady Kelly (who was an utter stranger to me) met me at the railway station. I said–”I am here,–is my boy better?” “No,” she said–”he is not better,–he is dead.” And I found, instead of my child, a corpse already coffined.
Mr Norton asked my forgiveness then, as he had asked it often before; he sent his elder child to plead for him,–for well he knew what my children were to me; he humbled himself, and grieved for an hour, till he changed into pity the horror and repugnance I had expressed at the idea of seeing him;–and then he buried our child, and forgot both his sorrow and his penitence.

Caroline Norton

When George Norton caught wind that Caroline had been left a small legacy by her friend, Lord Melbourne and a small sum that her mother had left her, he stopped support payments for her and the children. Caroline fought him in court but lost. She campaigned to have the laws changed, and her victory resulted in the Matrimonial Act of 1857. Caroline remarried just months before her death in 1877, but not before two more crucial laws were passed that protected the rights of women and children, the Infant Custody Acts of 1873 (and 1886) and The Married Women’s Property Acts of 1870 (and 1882).

More on the topic:

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Gentle Reader, Those of us who have read The Scarlet Pimpernel by Baroness Emmuska Orczy know that Sir Percy Blakeney pretends to be an effete dandy. Unbeknownst to his wife, who cannot conceal her disappointment in her foppish husband, he smuggles people out of  France during the French Revolution and away from danger. Sir Percy, despite his heroics, is a bit of a clothes horse. Here, then, is his opinion of cravats after he accidentally on purpose spills wine on Monsieur Chauvelin, for whom the public admiration for the Scarlet Pimpernel was a source of bitter hatred.

Sir Percy Blakeney, Richard E. Grant as the Scarlet Pimpernel

Sir Percy Blakeney to Monsieur Chauvelin: “Sir, my most abject and humble apologies. I’ve completely drowned your cravat! How can I possibley make amends for such clumsiness?”

Martin Shaw as Monsieur Chauvelin

Monsieur Chauvelin, Ministry of Justice: “It’s of no consequence. It’s only a cravat.”

Richard E. Grant as Sir Percy aka The Scarlet Pimpernel

Sir Percy: “Only a cravat! Oh, my dear sir! A cravat is the apotheosis of all neckwear! A cravat distinguishes a man of refinement from the merely ordinary. It sneers at the severity of the stock. It is the only item of dress that expresses true individuality. And whether it be made of lace or silk or the finest lawn it thrives on ingenuity, on originality, and above all, on personality down to the last skilled twist of bow or knot.”

Jonathan Coy as the Prince of Wales

Prince Regent: “Bravo, Percy! Bravo!”

Bravo, indeed! More on the topic

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I love puffed and gathered sleeves on regency gowns. The Probert Encyclopedia defines a mamaluke sleeve as “a long full sleeve partitioned into five sections, each section being drawn and seamed to fit around the arm.” Romantic Fashion Plates defines Marie Sleeves as full to the wrist but tied at intervals. Which source accurately names the sleeves on these gowns?  The three dresses shown in this post show sleeves with more than the five sections. Could the number of sections determine what the sleeve is called?

Muslin dress with mamaluke sleeves

The first dress (1816) was featured in the Jane Austen Fashion Exhibit last fall in Melbourne. Note that in the second dress (1819-1820) the waist is beginning to creep down. The skirt during this time is conical in shape and stiffened at the bottom, whereas the earlier dress has a columnar-shaped skirt that drapes in soft folds from the high waist.

The dress below is described as having Marie sleeves. Adding another wrinkle to identifying these sleeves is this description found in a glossary from Nineteenth Century Fashions: A Compendium: “sleeve with multitude of puffs top to bottom” (romance).  I’m not sure how these differ from Marie sleeves.” In a description for Marie Sleeves, the site states:

“long gauzy sleeves gathered at intervals to make a series of puffs down the arm. I think I have also heard these referred to as “Juliet sleeves”; may also be synonymous with Gabrielle sleeves, the point being, I think, that they were perceived as vaguely Latinate and Renaissancy in origin.”

So, now we have these sleeves described as Mameluke, Marie, Juliet, or Gabrielle.

1820 dress with marie sleeves, V&A museum

I’ve scoured images of Mamelukes, none of which feature these segmented sleeves. Mamelukes are members of a former military caste originally composed of slaves from Turkey, that held the Egyptian throne from the mid thirteenth century to the early 1500s. They remained strong until 1811. Regency fashion took inspiration from Mameluke clothing, so it wouldn’t be surprising if the sleeves were also inspired by this group of warriors – if only I could find a painting of a Mameluke wearing a shirt with partitioned puffy sleeves.

Mameluke, early 19th c.

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During the 18th and early 19th century, social satire prints were engraved and sold separately in print shops. By 1750, the term ‘caricature’ was applied to almost any comic cartoon or satiric illustration.

The ‘golden age’ when James Gillray (1756-1815), Thomas Rowlandson (1756-1827) and George Cruikshank (1792-1878) were active, occurred between 1780 and 1830. Most satirical prints were produced in London and were sold singly by publishers and booksellers, such as S. W. Fores and William Holland, who also put together collections for clients and even hired them out. A wide range of prices reflected the very different sizes and degrees of sophistication of satirical prints. In 1807 the publisher Thomas Tegg started a business selling cheap, crudely coloured prints aimed at a wide market. – British Museum

“The Fashions of the Day, or Time Past and Present”, an 1807 caricature engraved by Charles Williams after a drawing by Woodward. It presents a contrast between “The Year 1740: A Lady’s full dress of Bombazeen (i.e. bombazine or bombasine, a heavy corded fabric. Black bombazine was worn by widows during heavy mourning) and “The year 1807: A Lady’s undress of Bum-be-seen.”  There are some fascinating details to observe about the fashionable regency lady, whose decolletage is so low that her breasts are practically popping out of their restraints. One can see her drawers under her thin muslin dress, and her stockings come up over her knee. They were held up by garters. (Click on this link to read a fascinating article about stockings and to see a pair of 1820 stockings and garters.  This link also leads to an article about 18th & 19th century hose.) Regency ladies as a rule did not wear drawers for the first 20 years of the 19th century. Those who did wore a modified version of men’s drawers, which tied at the waist and split in the middle. Chances were that, if she did not wear a petticoat or a chemise, her bum would have shown through the thin fabric!


The following comment about Williams’ caricature is from Wikimedia Commons:

Note that “undress” didn’t mean anything naughty — there’s a definition of it here.[1] In pursuing his goal of satirizing certain features of contemporary 1807 fashions, the caricaturist did not really draw a fair comparison between the styles of 1740 and 1807, since a young Regency fashionable is juxtaposed here to a sedate middle-aged pre-Regency lady (perhaps in mourning), and such features of mid-18th century dress as tight stiff stays with extremely low necklines were not included (also, the “1740” costume actually seems to be somewhat of a pastiche with 17th century styles).
(Women’s fashions of the Empire/Regency weren’t always “sensible”, but their excesses do seem to be more in accord overall with the spirit of the 21st century than the fashion excesses of most other periods between the 16th century and World War I, which tended to go in for such things as huge hoopskirts and tight corsets…)

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Inquiring Reader: Mansfield Park and Mummies by Vera Nazarian is another monster mash-up of the work of our estimable Jane Austen. The book has been quietly invading all sections of this earth with its parody of an ancient Egyptian pharaoh who seeks Fanny Price above all women. Author Vera Nazarian was kind enough to sit down for an interview:

1. It is obvious that you have a gift for writing parody. Why did you decide to write a mashup of Mansfield Park, one of Jane Austen’s longer novels and how did you go about deciding that mummies were the perfect ghouls of choice?

Thank you kindly. I admit this was my first foray into parody (and into the uncharted and highly peculiar land of literary “mashups”), and I had no idea I was even capable of such a thing.  Apparently I am. The fact that I made hyena noises and regularly broke out into hoots of hysterical laughter while writing the passages does hint at a certain level of personal connection — nay, entanglement — with the material.

Now, why Mansfield Park, you ask? It has always been one of my favorite Austen novels, and I adore the heroine Fanny Price, (second only to Elinor Dashwood, my favorite) for her combination of astute wisdom and a genuine loyal heart. I believe Fanny has been sadly misunderstood and wrongfully disdained as too weak and submissive — overlooking the profoundly quiet nature of true fortitude.

Modern readers tend to prefer a more clear-cut example of female strength.  Indeed, we have come to expect a more sassy, outgoing, aggressive, and assertive female — commonly summed up by a single term: “feisty.” In many ways this has become a post-twentieth century feminist cliché, with few of us willing to admit it, or vary our expectations. Indeed, in the last couple of decades, the notion of “feisty” has morphed even further into an outright kick-ass sword-fighting brass-and-balls day-job-and-family-juggling female super hero, so that every protagonist heroine must be inordinately “extraordinary” in order to be a heroine at all. But, to quote The Incredibles, “When everyone is Super, no one is.”

Going back to Austen, an example of “feisty” is everyone’s favorite Elizabeth Bennet. Fanny Price on the other hand seems to be mousy and passive and rather “uptight,” at first acquaintance. In reality, Fanny is a rock of strength and constancy.  She’s steadfast, honorable, enduring, loyal, and true to the moral standards of both her heart and her time (indeed, Elizabeth Bennet is far more of a futurism-anachronism in Jane Austen’s day — back then she might have been a thoroughly incomprehensible “modern” girl with liberated sensibilities and rather odd notions of personal independence).

Fanny is not flashy, and her strength is quiet, humble, unpresuming. She is not so much prissy or prudish (another misconception) as simply unwilling to compromise her beliefs, and in that sense she’s just as “willful” as Elizabeth Bennet.  It’s just that her cause is not as “trendy” or appealing to our modern standards. Fanny stands up for spiritual and moral integrity, while Elizabeth for personal freedom and choices; contemporary culture venerates individualism over standards.

Additionally, Fanny is genuinely perceptive, and able to “read” the true character and motives of others — a quality which I personally admire in heroines regardless of historical context. So, in my “mummy-infused” version I decided to enhance Fanny’s true instincts and her ability to cut through the falsity and illusion, with a bit of supernatural “sixth sense,” and made her impervious to all influences of evil — be it vampires, werewolves or… seductive ancient mummies.

The mummies? Why, they came about naturally, an outgrowth of the time period and the story.  Mummies are so versatile — romantic and funny and poignant and terrifying, all in one. Really, think about it: what other monster can be said to be all these things in the same story without switching genres? Firmly etched in my mind was the classic Hollywood silliness of Abbott and Costello Meet the Mummy, combined with the more recent wacky adventure major motion picture franchise The Mummy starring Brendan Fraser and Rachel Weisz — and it all clicked together.

During the nineteenth century, Egyptology was “all the rage,” and archeology was just taking off in Britain and Europe. Unlike the more anachronistic and jarring silliness of other “creature” monsters, mummies actually made perfect historical sense and fit right in. (Zombies, on the other hand, despite their true traditional island origins and rich history, somehow seem more post-industrial, even apocalyptic, and are just not romantic, no matter how you slice — or explode — them.)

In addition, there’s this incredible rich, multi-layered ancient world mystique and period romanticism that is evoked by all that Egypt stands for; all the depth of thousands of years of history.  The glamour of Royal Egyptian dynasties and grand treasure, of monolithic pyramids and pharaohs preserved via the arcane and priestly process of mummification for eternity with the promise of ultimate resurrection — this is unparalleled fuel for the imagination.  In my mind it easily crowds out the relatively recent erotic interpretation of the gory vampire legend. Enough with vampires, I say (in particular, the sparkling kind), time to focus on other supernatural beings to fire our literary canon.

The notion of the Mummy as an ancient haunted lover came together to shape Lord Eastwind, my tragic-comic, elegant and profoundly romantic Ancient Pharaoh and Regency gentleman character.

Lord Eastwind is the potential third love interest — he’s Edmund Bertram’s true rival, and he courts Fanny Price alongside Henry Crawford, and does a far better job of it, I might say.  Plus, he holds his own in matters of philosophical discourse, and makes Fanny not only feel but think — possibly not something one would expect to find in a mere “silly” mash-up.

2. Could you give us just a little back story about the mummies to whet readers’ appetites (just in case they haven’t picked up your book.)

In a nutshell — the mummies ended up at Mansfield Park because Lady Bertram attended a lecture by a famous Egyptologist at the British Museum in London. Her ladyship got interested in the subject, and started to collect various memorabilia and artifacts — admittedly out of boredom and ennui and lukewarm curiosity, but also in a manner true to her bland character.

This went on in mild and harmless form until she accidentally came upon a cursed amulet and fell under the magnetic spell of the grandest mummy of all — a Pharaoh’s Mummy in its splendid sarcophagus (which ended up stashed in her secret attic).  The Mummy immediately began to control Lady Bertram’s mind and actions to great comedic effect, and made her acquire even more Egyptian items including endless crates filled with servant mummies, until the estate was filled to overflowing with grave-robbed treasure and general archeological stuff, and caused much hilarious discomfort to the whole Bertram family.

A side-effect of the same Curse also affected the potentially wolfish Mrs. Norris with real lycanthropy.  And that was just the beginning of the fun!

3. You leave much of Jane Austen’s plot and words in this novel. How hard was it to use her plot and words as opposed to writing a novel from scratch, and deciding where to put in new scenes and dialog?

At first, it was excruciating.  Far easier to write a completely new book from scratch than modify an existing one AND do it proper justice. After all, here’s a self-contained masterpiece, and you are faced with the bizarre task of somehow expanding and merging it with a whole new unrelated plotline. Where to even begin?

I started doing what I told myself was a gentle “edit.” Soon, I realized that merely inserting sentences or paragraphs here and there in “period” style, and hoping it will make sense, was NOT the way to go about it.  That’s how you get crummy blatant patchwork and sloppy Frankenstein-like segments that are glaringly out of place.  Sure, it might be easy to throw in every scene something to the effect of: “and then the door opened, a bunch of mummies lumbered in, and they all screamed and started to fight,” but that’s a one-joke wonder.  First time around it’s amusing, but grows old very fast. A solitary running gag certainly does not justify a whole book (the mistake that some of the other mash-ups make).

The monsters still have to make eventual sense as an integral part of the story, without being idiotic. That’s the first thing the author has to figure out — the logical and entertaining explanation for their being.

Also, the new inserted storyline must enhance the development of the existing characters. Otherwise, things will fall apart, as with application of poor glue. To properly work on a deeper cohesion level, every appearance of these new elements has to be a logical and organic extension of the main plot, relevant, evocative. In short, the additions need to seamlessly advance the ORIGINAL story.  I think that’s the secret of both a genuinely successful mash-up and a good parody.

My writing process ended up being multi-pass. I realized that first it was necessary to cut and streamline the original text.  Yes, the notion of mangling Jane Austen is terrifying, but I had to make an edit pass for two reasons: a) to slightly condense an already very long book (just my luck, Mansfield Park is the longest Jane Austen novel, twice the length of Pride and Prejudice) in order to make room for my additions and b) just to streamline and generally update the style in terms of modern brevity.

As a result, I left almost no sentence unturned — cutting down the subordinate clauses, deleting a lot of the verbosity and some of the longer speeches and descriptive passages (in particular the marvelous nagging of Mrs. Norris). If you want to see for yourself, compare the original text of Mansfield Park with any passages in Mansfield Park and Mummies that “seem” to be original Austen — in other words, parts of the story sans mummies or Egyptology — and you will see how many transparent changes are in fact implemented at sentence level everywhere. An excruciating task indeed, considering that I was “mangling” delightful rich prose that was just fine as is, only making it a bit more spare, smooth and “up to modern standards” of readability.

Only after this painstaking edit was I able to go in and add in the mummies storyline — my own original story that expanded upon Austen’s characters without changing their fundamental nature, only heightening the already present tendencies.

My own Fanny is more proactive, energetic, inventive, and witty; Edmund is more of a caricature, loveable but overtly “blind” to the truth of things. Mary Crawford is an actual blood-sucking vampire, but with suave Regency manners. Henry Crawford is charming, eloquent, and perfectly attractive but lacking in the ultimate “heroic intensity” department — lacking in that true unselfish depth and sincerity needed to win Fanny over. And my own character addition is Lord Eastwind — mysterious, haunting, elegant, romantic, superbly attractive — well, you’ll just have to see for yourself.

4. How has the book been received by Jane Austen fans? Has there been a difference in the attitude between the die-hard Janeite and the mashup fan? As you wrote the book, who, in your mind, would be your readers?

A great question.  It appears so far, the book has been received very well by those who have actually read it.

I notice that many Janeites are initially reluctant to give Mansfield Park and Mummies a try because they are unwilling to give any mash-up a try (in most cases for good reason; I don’t blame them).

That’s been the biggest hurdle so far. There is little I can do or say to reassure them as to the difference in quality of this book except to admit upfront that I am a genuine fan of Jane Austen, and to offer a free reading sample — the first three chapters of the book.

As far as mash-up fans, or better yet, general readers, the reception has been uniformly positive. They give it a chance, have no expectations, and end up pleasantly surprised.

In my mind, the perfect audience for Mansfield Park and Mummies is both a true Janeite and a general well-read fan of classic period literature, with a well-developed appreciation of satire coupled with a modern silly streak.

5. Tell us a little about yourself and your writing background. What are your personal preferences in reading literature. Are you a Jane Austen fan?

In some ways I have an unfair advantage as a modern writer emulating a nineteenth century author, because my own work is stylistically old-fashioned, even stodgy, and my English is naturally bookish and archaic.  Indeed, I am steeped in classics of world literature, initially in my native language (Russian), and yes, I do come from a rather different cultural perspective. And there’s that baggage of other languages rattling around in my cranium (Russian, Armenian, Spanish, Mandarin Chinese, a smattering of German and Arabic).  Born and raised in the USSR, a cold-war refugee to the West, having lived in war-torn Lebanon, and being half-Armenian half-Russian by ethnicity, I am not exactly your typical modern American author.

My reading background is eclectic, grounded in world classics and ancient mythology, legends and fairytales. Some of my favorite authors are George Sand, Victor Hugo, Stendhal, Homer, Zola, Thackeray, various great Russians such as Goncharov, Tolstoy, Dostoyevsky, Pushkin, Lermontov, and a host of others. Modern genre favorites are Tanith Lee, Marion Zimmer Bradley, Gene Wolfe, Charles de Lint, Catherine Asaro, and Catherynne M. Valente.

As far as my writing background, I am a two-time Nebula Award Nominee, write fantasy and science fiction, running the gamut from literary to low-brow, and popular non-fiction. My two better-known novel-length works are the “collage” arabesque novel Dreams of the Compass Rose (with each chapter being a “dream” and a standalone story, which together form a connected sequence of stories of a mythic ancient world in the vein of “The One Thousand and One Nights”) and Lords of Rainbow, an epic fantasy about a strange world without color, a silver sun, and an intense love story.

And yes, I am a passionate lover of Jane Austen’s whole oeuvre, ever since being assigned Pride and Prejudice in high school, and then encountering the wonderful BBC miniseries starring David Rintoul (my favorite and still best Mr. Darcy) and Elizabeth Garvie (also my favorite and best Lizzie.)

6. Anything else you would like to share with us?

As a result of doing this book, I have fallen in love with writing the Jane Austen mash-up.  Hence, I am currently at work on Northanger Abbey and Angels and Dragons, which is due in May.

And then, later this fall, I shall do the unimaginable and attempt my very own Pride and Prejudice mash-up, sans zombies.  It will be very Kafkaesque, a frightening awe-inspiring figment of your deepest satiric nightmare, titled Pride and Platypus: Mr. Darcy’s Dreadful Secret.

Both of these books will feature my own interior illustrations, and, as with the mummies book, have similar “Scholarly Footnotes” that harangue the reader, inane and guffaw-inducing “Appendices” and hilarious faux back cover blurbs from Regency ladies and gentlemen. And yes, making yet another appearance, will be everyone’s terrifying favorite, a true rival of the Hound of Baskervilles — the monstrosity known only as The Brighton Duck!

More about the book:

If I may humbly add – my reviews of other Jane Austen mashups

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