Tuesday, July 14, 2015

A Walk through 18th Century Paris

Musicologist Mylène Pardoen has brought us back in time with what she thinks the Grand Châtelet district of Paris sounded like.  We forget how much of our environment and memories consists of sounds and that is perhaps why few letters from the period document them.  The video above (start around the 2 minute mark) seeks to transport the viewer into Paris, with a 3D reconstruction of what it would have looked  and sounded like. Sigh, c'est merveilleux.

Thursday, July 2, 2015

'The Fashionable Bosom'

I'm not sure which I like more: the title of this print (A Nest for Puppies or the Fashionable Bosom) or its content.   Either way it's in my favourite file along with The breeches in the Fiera Maschereta.

The 1786 print critiques women's frivolous love of cute little lap dogs and expanding bustlines.  Why not combine the two?

Why not indeed.

Tuesday, December 23, 2014

A Royal Joke

Poor Mrs Fitzherbert.  Aside from the pain of being attached to the Prince of Wales, the unfortunate woman also seemed to suffer from a deficiency in brains by most accounts...which is likely how she got stuck with the prince to begin with.

Even though the Prince refused to socialise with people who refused to invite his illegal wife to their events, he and his family weren't entirely kind to Maria Fitzherbert Hanover.  Court gossip, Lady Mary Coke's letter tellsof one such occasion that left Maria publicly mortified.  While taking a walk with some of her friends and her husband in Windsor, enjoying the fresh air by the water's edge.  The Duke of Cumberland (the prince's uncle) approached Maria, and making polite conversation, asked her if she could swim.  When she responded that she 'thought she could,' he swiftly pushed her into the water.  Being that this was 1789, you can only imagine the layers upon layers of soaking wet muslin and delicate little shoes that were ruined in this display of 'humour.'  While poor Maria cried, the Duchess of Cumberland (and presumably, her hilarious husband) burst into laughter.  Mrs Fitzherbert wasn't injured, but I am sure her ego surely was.  Lady Mary Coke seemed to have little sympathy for her story's subject either, stating the whole thing was brought about 'by the company she is so desirous of keeping.'

Sunday, November 30, 2014

Bookspotting: Jane Austen's First Love, Blog Tour and Giveaway

I just want to direct the novel-consuming readers out there to the attention of a new Jane Austen inspired novel that may be of interest: Syrie James’ latest book, Jane Austen’s First Love.  Little is known about Austen's  love-interest, Edward Taylor, who may have inspired some of her admired male protagonists, however James has unearthed some new information about him in the process of writing her book.  From the publishers:

In the summer of 1791, fifteen-year-old Miss Jane Austen is determined to accomplish three things: to do something useful, write something worthy, and fall madly in love. While visiting at Goodnestone Park in Kent for a month of festivities in honor of her brother's engagement to Miss Elizabeth Bridges, Jane meets the boy-next-door—the wealthy, worldly, and devilishly handsome Edward Taylor, heir to Bifrons Park, and hopefully her heart! Like many of Jane’s future heroes and heroines, she soon realizes that there are obstacles—social, financial, and otherwise—blocking her path to love and marriage, one of them personified by her beautiful and sweet tempered rival, Charlotte Payler.

Unsure of her own budding romance, but confident in her powers of observation, Jane distracts herself by attempting to maneuver the affections of three other young couples. But when her well-intentioned matchmaking efforts turn into blundering misalliance, Jane must choose between following her own happily-ever-after, or repairing those relationships which, based on erroneous first impressions, she has misaligned.

The book has been receiving great reviews and is currently making the rounds on its blog tour.  There is also an amazing giveaway where you can get all sorts of Austen prizes just by leaving a comment here or on other stops along the tour.  

In the meantime we are lucky enough to have an excerpt from the book on a subject close to my heart: hair powdering:

It is June 1791, and Jane Austen is at Goodnestone Park in Kent visiting the Bridges family. Jane, age fifteen, is not yet “out,” but her mother has allowed her to attend her first ball that evening to celebrate her brother’s engagement to Elizabeth Bridges. Jane is all dressed in her best gown and filled with excitement, her only regret that her mother will not allow her to powder her hair, as her older sister Cassandra and the preponderance of the company is expected to do.

As I emerged into the passage, Louisa and Harriot appeared, attired in their new gowns, their hair elegantly styled with supplementary hair pieces, and fully powdered in bluish gray—the very image of all the fashionable ladies of the age whom I had so long admired.
I had never seen girls so young attired in such a manner except in old paintings, and the picture they presented was very striking. The young girls skipped up to me.
“Do not we look magnificent?” cried Harriot, beaming, as she paused to twirl in all her finery.
“You both look fit to be presented to the queen,” replied I sincerely, to which the girls broke out into giggles and ran off.
I stood still for half a minute, steeped in misery, listening to the laughter from behind the closed doors along the passage, wherein the other young ladies were dressing. Lining the corridor were various ancestral pictures of regal men and ladies, all of them wearing wigs or with powdered hair. I yearned with all my heart to look just like them. My melancholy and despair grew to such a height, that I could no longer bear it. Tears started in my eyes; and, sobbing, I ran down the hall to the bedroom which I knew to be newly occupied by my mother. I rapped urgently on the door, identifying myself; she bid me to come in.
“What is the matter, Jane?” exclaimed my mother from the chair where she was reading. She was fully dressed in her best russet gown and white fichu, her curly hair already powdered beneath her white cap. “What do these tears signify?”
“Oh! Mamma! You cannot mean to humiliate me like this!” I flew to her side and knelt before her, taking one of her hands in mine, as my tears flowed.
She set down her book. “How have I humiliated you?”
In between sobs, I told her about Louisa and Harriot. My mother looked surprised.
“I have wanted this for such a long time, Mamma. It is my only opportunity to feel what it is to be truly grown-up. Will not you consider and relent? Otherwise, I am to be the only person at the ball to-night with natural hair! I will be laughed at!”
My mother was silent for a moment; then she patted my back distractedly. “Well, well, we cannot have that, can we? We are not at Steventon now. If those are the rules of this house—if little Harriot Bridges, at age ten, is to have powdered hair—well!”
I glanced up at her, hope rising. “Do you mean—”
“I have been here but a few hours, Jane, but already I have sized up Lady Bridges. That woman has her nose so high up in the air, it is a wonder she can take a step without falling on her face! We cannot have her looking down on us! Why, her daughters are all so beautiful and accomplished, nobody else’s daughters can hope to hold a candle to them! Even her strawberries are the best in the land, or so she claims, and her precious roses won a prize at some fair or other; well! My own roses are equally as fine, I assure you, for all that they have not been judged and won ribbons! You are a young lady now, Jane! Even if you are not yet out, we cannot have Lady Bridges or any of her ilk looking at you like a child!”
“Oh! Thank you, Mamma!” I threw my arms around her, so filled with relief and happiness that I thought I might burst.
“There, there, Jane,” said my mother, “you will ruin my ensemble. Now dry your tears, and go get your hair powdered. Mind you, this indulgence will apply this one night only.”
“I understand.”
“One thing further: remember what I said, you are not to dance to-night with any strange men, only your brothers or your cousins.”
“Only brothers and cousins?” cried I, distressed once again. “But Mamma, there are but a handful of young men who meet that description! I have been here some days already. I have become good friends with some of the Bridgeses’s friends, and in particular with their cousin, Edward Taylor. He is a remarkable young man, Mamma. I would give anything to dance with him.”
“Edward Taylor?” She pursed her lips. “Is he the young man just come back from abroad, who is heir to that big house down the road, what is it called?”
“Bifrons. Yes. That is he.”
“Well, Lady Bridges has her cap in a twist about that young gentleman; she seems to perceive anyone who is musical, well-educated, or well-travelled as a threat to her own precious progeny. Let us give her something else to fret about, Jane! He is, in any case, soon to be our cousin through marriage, is not he? You have my permission, my dear; you may dance with him—and I suppose with anyone else you call a friend. But I still say: no strangers.”
“Thank you!” cried I again, kissing her cheek with relief; and I flew from the chamber.
I returned to my own room, where the scent of lavender hung heavy in the air, and I found that my sister had been transformed into a regal beauty.
“You look stunning,” cried I, and without pausing added, “and you will never guess what has happened! Mamma has just given her consent for me to powder my hair! And to dance with any friends I like!”
“Has she?” replied Cassandra. “I am happy for you, Jane.”
“Well done, miss,” said Sally, beaming.
I resumed my seat at the dressing-table, my heart drumming with anticipation, as Sally covered my shoulders and upper body with a protective drape; she then applied pomatum to my hair, and liberally added the fragrant, bluish gray starch with a puff. Very quickly, powder filled the air and got up my nose and into my mouth, causing me to choke and sneeze. When she had finished and removed the drape, I was so enveloped by the flowery aroma, I felt slightly ill.
Cassandra, who had been watching from a chair by the hearth, said:
“There, you have achieved your goal. Are you content?”
“I am not sure.” Coughing and brushing off the excess powder from my gown, I added, “I did not realise it was such a messy business.”
“I tried to tell you.” She smiled. “You look very elegant, Jane.”
“Do I?” Turning and glancing in the mirror again, I viewed my reflection with a start. “I hope so. For in truth, I do not recognise myself.”

Jane Austen's First Love is out now where all good books are sold.