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A Deadly Fashion: Beauty and Cosmetics 1550-1950 – A Review

Posted in 18th Century England, 19th Century England, Book review, Fashions, Georgian Life, jane austen, Jane Austen's World, Napoleonic Wars, Regency Life, Regency style, Regency World, Upper Class, tagged , , , on February 29, 2012| 13 Comments »

Beauty and Cosmetics 1550-1950 by Sarah Jane Downing was published this month by Shire Library.  Small and compact, as Shire publications tend to be, this wonderfully illustrated book describes the standards of beauty popular in each era, from 1550 when alabaster brows were highly prized, to the black eyebrows that were favored by 18th century women.  As with her best-selling Fashion in the Time of Jane Austen, Ms. Downing provides the reader with a comprehensive overview of the topic. She begins with the Tudor Court and ends with the delightful cosmetic advertisements of the first half of the 20th century.

Marriage à-la-mode: The Countess's Morning Levee, William Hogarth, c. 1745

Because my blog’s theme centers on the Georgian and Regency eras, I will confine much of my recap to those years.

A woman applying beauty patches, Boucher

Mirrors, once only possessed by the rich, became so popular in London in the mid-16th century that British manufacturers petitioned Parliament to ban foreign imports. The ritual of the dressing table became quite elaborate and ladies began to entertain guests as they prepared themselves for the day.

French mop gold boite a mouche patch box with brush, 1730. Images @ Etsy

Decorative patches covered skin blemishes and blotches, sometimes to such an extent that a face could be covered with a variety of dots, half-moon crescents, stars and even a coach and horses! The popularity of using patches began in the mid-17th century and did not wane until the end of the 18th century.

Woman with patches, pale skin and rouged cheeks. Thomas Gainsborough

Porcelain skin was highly prized and created with white lead-based skin cream. Blush was then applied to create a doll-like look. Cosmetics were created in a variety of ways. Here are the ingredients for one recipe for lead face powder that did not come from this book: several thin plates of lead, a big pot of vinegar, a bed of horse manure, water, perfume & tinting agent. Once can only guess how this concoction was put together and at its smell.

Marquise the Pompadour applying face powder with a brush. Boucher, 1758.

Ms. Downing describes in her book:

lead sheets were unrolled and beaten with battledores until all the flakes of white lead came off. These were gathered and ground into a very fine powder… p. 24

Gainsboroughs portrait of Grace Dalrymple Elliot in 1782 shows the craze for dark eyebrows.

For a while during the third quarter of the 18th century, dark eyebrows became all the rage. Lead-based cosmetics, used over time, caused hair-loss at the forehead and over the brows, resulting in a receding hair-line and a bare brow. For those who lost their eyebrows, it became the custom as early as 1703  to trap mice and use their fur for artificial eyebrows. Sadly, the glue did not always adhere well, and a lady could be caught with her brows out of kilter. This hilarious poem was written by Matthew Prior in 1718:

On little things, as sages write,

Depends our human joy or sorrow;

If we don’t catch a mouse to-night,

Alas! no eyebrows for to-morrow. – p.28

Aging beauties staved off the ravages of time with sponge fillers and rouge (sound familiar?), while many women risked poisonous side effects from using their deadly cosmetics. Maria, one of the Gunning sisters who went on to become Lady Coventry, was so addicted to her lead-based paints that she died in 1760 at the age of 27 knowing full well that she was at risk.

Maria, Countess of Coventry

The French Revolution swept away the widespread use of makeup, which was associated with the aristocracy. Defiantly, some aristocratic ladies went to their doom wearing a  full complement of make-up: pale skin, patches, rouged cheeks and rosy lips.

The more natural look of the regency woman. Note that the cheeks are still rouged.

Rousseau influenced the concept of nature and a more natural Romantic look took hold, aided by the blockade of cosmetics during the Napoleonic Wars. The death of many soldiers resulted in widespread melancholia and the affectation of a consumptive look. Ladies, nevertheless, were never far from their rouge pot.

Another Regency portrait with subtle makeup. The flower basket adds to the natural look.

As with all Shire books, Sarah Jane Downing’s trip through time provides us with brilliant insights, in this instance it is via cosmetics and how society viewed beauty in each era. By the 1950s, the success of a marriage was defined by how well a woman took care of herself. This included makeup. Beauty, as Ms. Downing wrote, “was switched from a pleasure to an obligation.”  Oh, my. I give the delightful Beauty and Cosmetics 1550-1950 four out of five Regency tea cups.


Product Details

Paperback: 64 pages
Publisher: Shire (February 21, 2012)
Language: English
ISBN-10: 0747808392
ISBN-13: 978-0747808398
Product Dimensions: 5.8 x 0.2 x 8.2 inches

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Review: The Victorian Fern Craze by Sarah Whittingham

Posted in 19th Century England, Book review, jane austen, Victorian Era, tagged , , , on January 2, 2011| 2 Comments »

Copyright @Jane Austen’s World. From the desk of Shelley DeWees, The Uprising

Jane Austen's WorldEvery once in a while, it seems, I stumble upon something I had absolutely no idea existed. I remember discovering something called a “thumb drive” stashed in my friend’s pen, on which she’d stored everything she’d ever written, and I distinctly recall the first time I tried a roasted beet (why didn’t anybody tell me about the most delicious vegetable in the world?). Reading The Victorian Fern Craze by the highly-qualified writer and lecturer Sarah Whittingham was one of these moments, one of these special blips that caused a true case of head scratching and verbal claims of “WOW! I had no idea about this!”

This slender little book is aptly named. People really were crazy for ferns during the Victorian years, its gradual growth a perfect example of cultural snowball effect. Passion for gardening was filtering down from the rich into the middle classes of people, who wished to beautify their houses and back yards with small, precious plots. “They were assisted by technical and chemical advances,” explains Whittingham, “together with endless advice and instruction in a proliferation of new gardening literature.”

 

Jane Austen's World

Pressed fern, 1840

Passions combined with literature, then support from the church emerged, touting fern collecting as a moral, healthy, educational activity that might “lead through nature to nature’s God.” Young people loved to have a reason to go somewhere, anywhere, especially with the mind of digging under rocks and climbing into caves to reach a fern, and women found themselves with a special opportunity to mix with the opposite sex. This, on top of major strides in transport and housing of these special plants, brought ferns into the hearts and homes of Victorian England with abandon.

 

Jane Austen's World

Gathering Ferns, Illustrated London News, 1871

Whittingham spends a great deal of time speaking about the nature of the fern and its particular needs, and focuses particularly on the creation of a controlled environment meant to support their delicate constitutions. Invented by Nathaniel Bagshaw Ward (1791-1868), the Wardian Case was the result of years of experimentation and trial-and-error research into how one might keep a fern alive in a world of pollution, variable temperatures, and low lighting. The sealed, glazed glass boxes became very popular and grew in size and splendor, eventually turning into hothouses, plant conservatories, shadehouses, glasshouses that could be built into the side of existing homes. Some of the fancier tabletop Wardian cases might even include aquarium space, aviaries, or terrariums, and it became fashionable to keep animals alongside ferns in general (Henry Boyle kept alligators in his Lake District hothouse). These Wardian cases were a huge part of the fern craze, and Whittingham gives them the ample page space they deserve without boring the reading to death. In fact, the images and illustrations of the cases are quite extraordinary, and I found myself in another moment of, “Wow! Look how cool that is!” A Wardian case…who knew?

Jane Austen's World

Victorian wardian case

The book is, in general, expertly researched and chock full of inspiring photographs. While the writing can be a bit dry at times, the material is engaging and interesting, positively brimming with opportunities to absorb some out-of-the-ordinary knowledge. If you’ve ever wondered why every fashionable house in England has space for plants, or why ferns keep popping up in décor from all across the 19th century, this book is for you. One warning though: you’ll start to see ferns everywhere and you’ll want to talk about them when you do. Your friends may think you’re crazy, but you can just say, “Nope. I’m just crazy for ferns!”

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Life in the Victorian Country House by Pamela Horn, a video review

Posted in Historic Publications, History, Victorian Era, Working class, tagged , , , , , , on October 13, 2010| 4 Comments »

Life in the Victorian Country House is a beautifully illustrated book that is best described visually (See my video below). Filled with historical details and archived photographs of Britain’s landed families and their day-to-day lives, which depended on the work of their household servants and outdoor staff, this book considers the relationships between those who live above stairs and those who meet their needs and live below stairs.

The table of contents:

  • The Country House and its Occupants
  • Victorian and Edwardian Households
  • Growing Up in the Country House
  • Out of Doors
  • The London Season and Other Pelasures
  • The End of an Era

About the author: Pamela Horn formerly lectured on economic and social history at Oxford Poyltechnic, now Oxford Brookes University, for over twenty years. She has written a number of books on Victorian social history, including The Rise and fall of the Victorian Servant and Ladies of the Manor.

The relationship between master and servant, and wealth and land are outlined so well that it was hard to put the book down. I give it a strong recommendation. Three out of three regency fans.

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Privies and Water Closets by David J. Eveleigh: A Review

Posted in Georgian Life, jane austen, Jane Austen's World, Regency Customs, Regency Life, Regency Period, Regency society, Regency style, Regency World, tagged , , , , , , , , on August 3, 2010| 12 Comments »

I have reviewed several Shire Library books this past year and have yet to be disappointed. Case in point, Privies and Water Closets by David J. Eveleigh, an excellent small book on the history of fixed and portable sanitation and waste management. I have discovered that this topic is of everlasting curiosity and many of my readers have asked questions similar to the following: How well  did our ancestors manage without indoor bathrooms or running water? This book largely answers the question.

Starting with the 17th and 18th centuries, Mr. Everleigh traces the history of sanitation and the problems our ancestors had in handling waste sewage. While the topic may not seem glamorous, it is hugely fascinating, for sanitation management was intricately connected to the safety of a community’s water supply and the populace’s overall health and well-being. He classified the earliest sanitation methods as either portable or fixed.

Portable Solutions

Chamber pots were the easiest method of sanitation. Placed under beds, or a commode or closet stool, the contents could be easily emptied into a covered slop pail and carried outside. In the 17th and 18th century small rooms or closets were introduced that adjoined the bedrooms. These areas were outfitted with a comfortable commode, under which a pan would be placed.

16th century water closet

The wealthy did not handle the chamber pots, leaving the servants to clean up after them.  Chamber pots were not always so well situated, as the image below shows (p. 8).

L'apres Dinee des Anglais

English gentlemen, known for their prodigious drinking habits, were wont to relieve themselves where they were – in the dining room, for instance, or in a common room of a public inn – where they did not always aim straight and true (as the young man at left), much to the chagrin and disbelief of French travelers, some of whom wrote about this unsanitary habit.

Fixed Solutions

The privy was a fixed out house (or necessary house or house of office), with no water supply or drain and usually located some distance away from the house. A fixed wooden seat with a rounded hole was placed directly over the cesspit or “void.” Occasionally privies were attached to the side of a building, projecting out from a top floor, or reached through on outdoor entry on the ground floor of a service wing. More often than not they were placed at some distance from the main house at the far end of a garden or yard, where its contents could be used to “enrich” flower and vegetable beds.

Earth closet contents were put on the garden, Chawton Cottage. Photo courtesy Tony Grant**

In cities, neighboring privies were placed side by side in yards and drained into a common cesspool located under an alley that ran between the row of cottages or townhouses. In rich to middle class households, nightsoilmen would be paid to cart the waste away when the household was sleeping. This service was quite expensive, and quite often neglected in poorer districts where the lower classes could not (and landlords would not) hire these men until the cesspools were filled to overflowing.

A woman obtains water from a well situated near garbage cans and outdoor privies, which can be seen through the opening in the wall. (Image taken in 1931!)***

Lack of sanitation led to diseases like typhoid, dysentery, and cholera. It was common in the slum districts for cess pools to be left unlined or partially finished, allowing liquid sewage to seep into and contaminate a nearby well, cistern, or other common form of water supply. In cities the public privy was often the only “necessary” available and was shared by a number of households, sometimes as many as sixty-five. The crowding and lack of maintenance and emptying of wastes led to disease and death.

Alley with open sewer drain and privies for the surrounding houses

In Privies and Waterclosets, Mr. Eveleigh traces the improvements in street sewers, indoor plumbing and running water, and sanitary habits throughout the nineteenth century, especially after the second great cholera epidemic in Bermondsey, London in 1849, which killed 13,000 and was the result of water contaminated by raw sewage.

While the book consists of only 64 pages, authors of historical novels will find it a fascinating and welcome addition to their research library. I give this book three out of three Regency fans.

Pages: 64
Published: 2008, Shire Library 479, Shire Publications, UK
150mm x 210mm, soft cover, indexed, new
ISBN 978-0-7478-0702-5

Additional links:

*Image of water closet: Abertillery and District Museum

**Image of Chawton Cottage garden, Tony Grant, London Calling – Personal Hygiene in Jane Austen’s Day

***Image of woman at well, North East Midland Photographic Record, The University of Nottingham, 1931 (This is a correction.)

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The Victorian Domestic Servant by Trevor May: A Review

Posted in jane austen, Servants, Victorian Era, Working class, tagged , , , , on April 29, 2010| 2 Comments »

This book from Shire Classics describes the 19th-Century servant class in Great Britain in satisfying detail. Combined with another book I purchased at the National Portrait Gallery of portraits taken of the servant class, my DVDs of Gosford Park and Upstairs/Downstairs, and my recent viewing of Edwardian House and Regency House, I think that I am getting a fairly good idea about how a great house operated in days of yore.

The Victorian Domestic Servant reveals that the Duke of Bedford (died 1839) employed 300 servants and the Duke of Portland employed 320. These were excessive amounts to be sure, but most respectable Victorian households employed servants. An income of 250 a year allowed a family to employ a maid of all work, but an income of 100 would barely pay the rent, much less pay for help. As an aside, Jane Austen, her mother and sister were able to afford a maid of all work and a male servant on their modest income. After moving to Barton Cottage, the Dashwood women employed two servants as well. Yet both the Austen and Dashwood women, while not destitute, had to count every penny. People like Mrs. Smith from Persuasion and the Bates women in Emma could afford no help at all.

In 1851 domestic service represented the second largest occupation in England after agriculture, although the servant class was in constant flux. People frequently moved positions looking for higher pay or for promotions or for a way out. Although many servants felt professional pride towards their work, they often left service because the deference their employers expected wore them down. For the lower servants, the constant need for showing respect was even worse. The servant hierarchy Below Stairs showed as many distinctions as Above Stairs, with lower and upper servants rarely commingling. Lower servants were expected to remain silent unless spoken to at the table when dining, for example. They were expected neither to be seen nor heard as they worked.

Most of the work that servants performed had to be done out of sight of the family that employed them. This meant they had to rise early to do their tasks, stopping when the family arose and restarting late in the evening. Tasks were repetitive and laborious, such as filling a tub with water, which meant heating pails and pails of water and trudging up and down the stairs, or bringing coal to fireplaces and stoves and removing ashes. Much time was spent removing coal ash from fireplaces, and then dusting rooms and sweeping floors clear of the substance.

The preferred servant was raised in the country, for these people tended to show more respect and deference than their urban counterparts. A symbol of status was the footman, who wore livery and had actually not much work to do other than to look handsome and open and close doors, help the butler serve food at table, and sleep in the Butler’s Pantry to protect the family plate and silver from thieves.

While The Victorian Domestic Servant is only 32 pages long, I found so much information packed in its pages that I will have to read it again soon. For those who are curious about the servant class, or for writers of the Victorian Era, I cannot recommend this book enough. If this were a regency book, I would give it three regency fans. In this instance, I think I shall give it five out of five dust bins, broom sticks, and wash cloths.

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Paperback: 32 pages
Publisher: Shire; illustrated edition edition (March 4, 2008)
Language: English
ISBN-10: 0747803684
ISBN-13: 978-0747803683

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