Rachael Miles's Blog, page 2
June 7, 2016
19thC Games! The Querist's Album
In Chasing the Heiress, the hero Colin amuses Lucy by describing a clever match-making game he suffered through at a dinner. As I explain in the historical notes at the back of Chasing, I took the questions themselves from the Querist's Album, an immensely popular gift book published by David Bryce, from the 1860s to the end of the century.
But why would I use a set of questions from a Victorian book for a novel set in 1819?
To answer that, we have to look just a little bit at the history of a publishing trend: the Querist book. The most notable querist book is probably George Berkeley's 1735 The Querist. As the Bishop of Coloyne, Berkeley posed moral questions like these: "whether some way might not be found for making criminals useful in public works, instead of sending them either to American, or to the other world?" (Question 53).
But not content with only addressing politics or religion, Berkeley extended his questions into fashion and gender. Question 102 asks "how far the vanity of our ladies in dressing, and of our gentlemen in drinking, contributes to the general misery of the people?" and Question 140 considers "whether we are not undone by fashions made for other people? and whether it be not madness in a poor nation to imitate a rich one?"
Berkeley's book and its questioning format spawned others. Thomas Bradley Chandler's 1774 American Querist quoted Berkeley on the title-page and questioned the nature of the 'present disputes between great Britain and her American Colonies."
But how did the moral and political questions of these early 'querists' become the frivolous questions in Bryce's Querist's Album?
By the end of the 18thC,, Querist columns in periodicals indicated games (questions to be answered for a prize) as in the 1791 Astrologer's Magazine and Philosophical Miscellany and the 1819 Fireside Magazine. We also see the Querist become the title of a sort of advice column, like those in the 1830 Female's Encyclopedia. Though the first installment of the Female Encyclopedia's Querist asks questions like *"what is happiness?" and "What is anger?," by the middle of the series, we find a focus on romantic love.
Query 3: Is absence best for love?
Query 4: Is it better to live single or to marry?
Query 12: is it reasonable or prudent for a young lady to keep by her, after she is married, any letters or pictures from any of her former admirers?
Query 14: Can a tender friendship between two persons of different sexes be innocent?
Query 17: Whether or not a woman, being in love, may make it known without any breach of modesty? if she were not rather to be commended for speaking her mind, than dying like a fool?"
Query 18: Are all marriages made in Heaven?
Periodically a question is surprising, like this one:
Query 28: Whether two women can affectionately love one another, as a man and woman may?
The querist became a stereotype of a particular kind of inquisitive know-it-all, as we see in the July 1831 American Monthly Magazine . There the Querist is a figure of ridicule: "No matter on what subject you may be employed, whether speculative or actual, if the Querist is present, you must either join issue with him on the positiveness of your assertion, or be compelled to an awkward and mortifying silence" (227).
So, though the specific questions I quote in Chasing the Heiress come from a book published in the 1860s, those kinds of questions were already being asked in the popular press well before.
Here's a question for you...from Bryce's book: "briefly describe your ideal man or woman."
Answer in the comments if you wish...
But why would I use a set of questions from a Victorian book for a novel set in 1819?
To answer that, we have to look just a little bit at the history of a publishing trend: the Querist book. The most notable querist book is probably George Berkeley's 1735 The Querist. As the Bishop of Coloyne, Berkeley posed moral questions like these: "whether some way might not be found for making criminals useful in public works, instead of sending them either to American, or to the other world?" (Question 53).
But not content with only addressing politics or religion, Berkeley extended his questions into fashion and gender. Question 102 asks "how far the vanity of our ladies in dressing, and of our gentlemen in drinking, contributes to the general misery of the people?" and Question 140 considers "whether we are not undone by fashions made for other people? and whether it be not madness in a poor nation to imitate a rich one?"
Berkeley's book and its questioning format spawned others. Thomas Bradley Chandler's 1774 American Querist quoted Berkeley on the title-page and questioned the nature of the 'present disputes between great Britain and her American Colonies."
But how did the moral and political questions of these early 'querists' become the frivolous questions in Bryce's Querist's Album?
By the end of the 18thC,, Querist columns in periodicals indicated games (questions to be answered for a prize) as in the 1791 Astrologer's Magazine and Philosophical Miscellany and the 1819 Fireside Magazine. We also see the Querist become the title of a sort of advice column, like those in the 1830 Female's Encyclopedia. Though the first installment of the Female Encyclopedia's Querist asks questions like *"what is happiness?" and "What is anger?," by the middle of the series, we find a focus on romantic love.
Query 3: Is absence best for love?
Query 4: Is it better to live single or to marry?
Query 12: is it reasonable or prudent for a young lady to keep by her, after she is married, any letters or pictures from any of her former admirers?
Query 14: Can a tender friendship between two persons of different sexes be innocent?
Query 17: Whether or not a woman, being in love, may make it known without any breach of modesty? if she were not rather to be commended for speaking her mind, than dying like a fool?"
Query 18: Are all marriages made in Heaven?
Periodically a question is surprising, like this one:
Query 28: Whether two women can affectionately love one another, as a man and woman may?
The querist became a stereotype of a particular kind of inquisitive know-it-all, as we see in the July 1831 American Monthly Magazine . There the Querist is a figure of ridicule: "No matter on what subject you may be employed, whether speculative or actual, if the Querist is present, you must either join issue with him on the positiveness of your assertion, or be compelled to an awkward and mortifying silence" (227).
So, though the specific questions I quote in Chasing the Heiress come from a book published in the 1860s, those kinds of questions were already being asked in the popular press well before.
Here's a question for you...from Bryce's book: "briefly describe your ideal man or woman."
Answer in the comments if you wish...
May 31, 2016
19thC Games! Can you solve the puzzles?
In Chasing the Heiress,
games act as a backdrop to the emerging affection between Colin and Lucy.
The word games Colin and Lucy play in the carriage with Jennie were called rebusses.
In a rebuss, the player answers a series of questions. Each answer is a word or a part of a word. When the player has all of the individual answers, the initial letter of each word spells the answer to the final question. Many rebusses would be too difficult for us today, being closely tied to 19thC culture, but some--like the ones I've chosen--aren't impossible.
Here's an example of a typical rebuss, taken from a 19thC book of puzzles:
A creature that's known of amphibious nature;
A beast that's remarkably bulky in stature;
A bird that's rapacious and others does scare;
A beast for its strength used often in war;
A bird that for singing excels in the night;
A beast that returns from its prey ere 'tis light;
A bird that the prophet Elijah did feed;
A tree used by archers in history we read:
By their letters initial there plainly is shown
The name of a city in England well known.
But if you need something a little less ... robust ... here are some simple rebusses on the names of birds. Here you often need to find only single words or in some cases, combine parts of several words (#4, 7, and 10).
1. A child's plaything
2. What we all do at every meal.
3. A disorder common to people and horses
4. An animal which a Jew must not eat, a vowel, and a preposition
5. To cut off, and a vowel
6. A distant country
7. Three-eights of a monthly periodical and a baked dish
8. A lever
9. An instrument for raising weights
10. Equality and decay
Share your answers in the comments!
games act as a backdrop to the emerging affection between Colin and Lucy. The word games Colin and Lucy play in the carriage with Jennie were called rebusses.
In a rebuss, the player answers a series of questions. Each answer is a word or a part of a word. When the player has all of the individual answers, the initial letter of each word spells the answer to the final question. Many rebusses would be too difficult for us today, being closely tied to 19thC culture, but some--like the ones I've chosen--aren't impossible.
Here's an example of a typical rebuss, taken from a 19thC book of puzzles:
A creature that's known of amphibious nature;
A beast that's remarkably bulky in stature;
A bird that's rapacious and others does scare;
A beast for its strength used often in war;
A bird that for singing excels in the night;
A beast that returns from its prey ere 'tis light;
A bird that the prophet Elijah did feed;
A tree used by archers in history we read:
By their letters initial there plainly is shown
The name of a city in England well known.
But if you need something a little less ... robust ... here are some simple rebusses on the names of birds. Here you often need to find only single words or in some cases, combine parts of several words (#4, 7, and 10).
1. A child's plaything
2. What we all do at every meal.
3. A disorder common to people and horses
4. An animal which a Jew must not eat, a vowel, and a preposition
5. To cut off, and a vowel
6. A distant country
7. Three-eights of a monthly periodical and a baked dish
8. A lever
9. An instrument for raising weights
10. Equality and decay
Share your answers in the comments!
May 22, 2016
Want a preview of Chasing the Heiress?
When we have 500 shelf adds here on Goodreads, I'll release exclusive content on my website.
Tell your friends!
It will be fun!
Tell your friends!
It will be fun!
May 9, 2016
Cool Inventions in 1819: the Patent Accelerator, or Walking Expedition
Ever heard of the ‘Patent Accelerator; or the Walking Expedition’?
In 1819, the new invention was all the rage. Using it on London streets was even prohibited by law.
But what was the Accelerator? And what did it do?
Articles describing the new invention appeared in several 1819 magazines, including the Belle Assemblee (p. 193-94) and European Magazine (March, p. 245-6).
The Accelerator’s inventor—Baron Charles de Drais, master of the woods and forests of the Grand Duke of Baden—hoped to create quick horseless travel. His previous attempt was for a horseless carriage (it required two servants to operate). But his attention moved to a machine that a single operator could manage on his own, and in 1817 he patented his design.
What did ‘this truly original’ machine look like? Well, just imagine a modern bicycle, but stretch it out in the middle between the two wheels. Put a saddle in the stretched-out middle (not on top of the back wheel as today). Then take away all the gears and chains, leaving just the wheels, the saddle and a pivoting front wheel.
Riding the Accelerator differed from the bicycle as well: the rider leaned forward over the front wheel, placing his forearms on a cushion. The front wheel was guided by the rider’s fingers. The rider would use his feet to propel (or stop) the machine, then raise them when he had reached a good speed.
And it was comparably fast. On wet roads through the plain, the machine could go 6-7 miles an hour. On dry plain roads, it ran ‘equal to a horse’s gallop’—or 8-9 miles an hour. Down hill, it ‘equals a horse at full speed.” And to prove the machine’s velocity, the Accelerator competed against the four-horse coach to Brighton and won by half an hour. On pavement (rather than fields or country roads), the Accelerator could reach ‘great velocity’—and the Metropolitan Paving Act sponsored by London magistrate Michael Angelo Taylor interdicted its use. Those who violated the Act were fined, in one instance, two pounds.
The Spirit of the English Magazines (volume 5, p. 120-121) reprints the article included in the Belle Assemblee and the European Magazine, but with two changes. It adds a running head renaming the article as the Patent Velocipede, or Swift-Walker, and includes a footnote indicating the Mr. Johnson, a coach-man in Long-acre, held the English patent and improved the design in terms of ‘lightness and strength.’ It also provides the following quotation from a paper in Bury:
“The road from Ipswich to Whitton is travelled every evening by several pedestrian hobby-horses; no less than six are seen at a time, and the distance, which is 3 miles, is performed in 15 minutes.”
At a cost of 8-10 pounds, the Accelerator, or Walking Expedition was out of reach of all but the most wealthy Englishmen. In today’s currency, the Accelerator would cost between 800-1000 dollars.
We usually associate the bicycle with Victorian culture, but in 1819 the Walking Expedition—or Velocipede—or Accelerator—or hobby-horse—was already part of the English imagination!
Note on currency: Currency conversions across time are notoriously tricky, so it's typically best to compare what one thing cost to what another thing cost at the time.. in 1800, the annual farmer’s income was 15-20 pounds a year. So, at 8-10 pounds, the Patent Accelerator was pretty pricey. But to give a sense of the expense of this new means of locomotion, I used Stephen Morley’s Historical UK Inflation Rates and Calculator (http://inflation.stephenmorley.org), 1 pound in 1819 would equal 77.30 pounds in 2016—then translating pounds to dollars.
In 1819, the new invention was all the rage. Using it on London streets was even prohibited by law.
But what was the Accelerator? And what did it do?
Articles describing the new invention appeared in several 1819 magazines, including the Belle Assemblee (p. 193-94) and European Magazine (March, p. 245-6).
The Accelerator’s inventor—Baron Charles de Drais, master of the woods and forests of the Grand Duke of Baden—hoped to create quick horseless travel. His previous attempt was for a horseless carriage (it required two servants to operate). But his attention moved to a machine that a single operator could manage on his own, and in 1817 he patented his design.
What did ‘this truly original’ machine look like? Well, just imagine a modern bicycle, but stretch it out in the middle between the two wheels. Put a saddle in the stretched-out middle (not on top of the back wheel as today). Then take away all the gears and chains, leaving just the wheels, the saddle and a pivoting front wheel.
Riding the Accelerator differed from the bicycle as well: the rider leaned forward over the front wheel, placing his forearms on a cushion. The front wheel was guided by the rider’s fingers. The rider would use his feet to propel (or stop) the machine, then raise them when he had reached a good speed.
And it was comparably fast. On wet roads through the plain, the machine could go 6-7 miles an hour. On dry plain roads, it ran ‘equal to a horse’s gallop’—or 8-9 miles an hour. Down hill, it ‘equals a horse at full speed.” And to prove the machine’s velocity, the Accelerator competed against the four-horse coach to Brighton and won by half an hour. On pavement (rather than fields or country roads), the Accelerator could reach ‘great velocity’—and the Metropolitan Paving Act sponsored by London magistrate Michael Angelo Taylor interdicted its use. Those who violated the Act were fined, in one instance, two pounds.
The Spirit of the English Magazines (volume 5, p. 120-121) reprints the article included in the Belle Assemblee and the European Magazine, but with two changes. It adds a running head renaming the article as the Patent Velocipede, or Swift-Walker, and includes a footnote indicating the Mr. Johnson, a coach-man in Long-acre, held the English patent and improved the design in terms of ‘lightness and strength.’ It also provides the following quotation from a paper in Bury:
“The road from Ipswich to Whitton is travelled every evening by several pedestrian hobby-horses; no less than six are seen at a time, and the distance, which is 3 miles, is performed in 15 minutes.”
At a cost of 8-10 pounds, the Accelerator, or Walking Expedition was out of reach of all but the most wealthy Englishmen. In today’s currency, the Accelerator would cost between 800-1000 dollars.
We usually associate the bicycle with Victorian culture, but in 1819 the Walking Expedition—or Velocipede—or Accelerator—or hobby-horse—was already part of the English imagination!
Note on currency: Currency conversions across time are notoriously tricky, so it's typically best to compare what one thing cost to what another thing cost at the time.. in 1800, the annual farmer’s income was 15-20 pounds a year. So, at 8-10 pounds, the Patent Accelerator was pretty pricey. But to give a sense of the expense of this new means of locomotion, I used Stephen Morley’s Historical UK Inflation Rates and Calculator (http://inflation.stephenmorley.org), 1 pound in 1819 would equal 77.30 pounds in 2016—then translating pounds to dollars.
March 24, 2016
Words in their Historical Context: "Ducking out" in 1819
If you've ever spoken another language, you know that sometimes in the middle of an otherwise perfectly grammatical sentence, you switch languages. In linguistic circles, this is called code-switching. Often speakers never hear the switch--and that makes sense: both languages exist together simultaneously.
Lately, as I look up words to see if they were in use in England in 1819 (my setting for the Muses' Salon), I find that my ear is tuned to early 19thC English phrases (from all those years of reading and teaching British 'Romantic' lit). But if I'm going to code-switch, I do it to words associated with the American West, where I was reared.
Tonight I wanted my hero to hide from someone--so I had him 'duck' out of the way. I hit bold--my signal to look something up later--but of course, I have to notice a word sounds off before I can know to look it up.
As for duck...
It's perfectly acceptable in England in 1819 to use the word 'duck' to indicate a 'plunge or dive' (under water or not) as well as a 'stoop or a cringe.'
But if you want to "back out, withdraw; to make off, abscond; to default" or "avoid [or] dodge," well, you need a different word.
Plunging, lowering, and diving behaviors can be described by 'duck' as early as the 1500s in England. But in the US, using 'duck' to signify backing out, avoiding, and absconding seems to originate around the end of the 19thC.
So, my hero no longer ducks. He simply steps out of sight.
Lately, as I look up words to see if they were in use in England in 1819 (my setting for the Muses' Salon), I find that my ear is tuned to early 19thC English phrases (from all those years of reading and teaching British 'Romantic' lit). But if I'm going to code-switch, I do it to words associated with the American West, where I was reared.
Tonight I wanted my hero to hide from someone--so I had him 'duck' out of the way. I hit bold--my signal to look something up later--but of course, I have to notice a word sounds off before I can know to look it up.
As for duck...
It's perfectly acceptable in England in 1819 to use the word 'duck' to indicate a 'plunge or dive' (under water or not) as well as a 'stoop or a cringe.'
But if you want to "back out, withdraw; to make off, abscond; to default" or "avoid [or] dodge," well, you need a different word.
Plunging, lowering, and diving behaviors can be described by 'duck' as early as the 1500s in England. But in the US, using 'duck' to signify backing out, avoiding, and absconding seems to originate around the end of the 19thC.
So, my hero no longer ducks. He simply steps out of sight.
March 22, 2016
Words in their Historical Context: Analysts in 1819
Today the word analyst conjures two images.
The first image is popular culture's take on Freudian psychology. The psychoanalyst sits in a chair notebook in hand, while the patient lies on a couch, relating concerns. We see it in cartoons, movies, sit-coms, but not in 1819.
The second image takes its clue from government intelligence gathering: the lonely analyst surrounded by books, and papers, staring at a computer screen, searching for patterns in discrete bits of data.
And strangely, this second image (minus the computer) is appropriate for 1819.
The word analyst grew out of 17th-century mathematical publications addressing algebraic geometry. In 1656, Thomas Hobbes in his Elements of philosophy the first section, concerning body, to which are added Six lessons to the professors of mathematicks of the Institution of Sr. Henry Savile, in the University of Oxford wrote that "The Analyst [who] can solve these Problemes without knowing first the length of the arch...shall do more than ordinary Geometry is able to perform" (OED). And this sense continues today.
But within a century, the word's meaning broadens to include any person who approaches a subject or situation, analytically. In 1753 A supplement to Mr. Chambers's Cyclopædia defines an analyst as "a person who analyzes a thing, or makes use of the analytical method" (OED). Coleridge uses the word in this sense in 1809 essay The Friend: "Some pleasant Analyst of Taste" (OED). And by 1851, Herbert Spencer in his work on social theory, Social Statics uses the term to describe the special observational capacity of the analyst: "Unobserved, perhaps, by the many, but sufficiently visible to the analyst" (OED).
By the mid-1850s, the term becomes frequently associated with adjectives like 'military analyst,' 'political analyst,' etc (OED).
So, in 1819, you can't recline on a couch and tell your troubles to your analyst, but you can think long and hard about a subject until you see all its secrets laid bare.
The first image is popular culture's take on Freudian psychology. The psychoanalyst sits in a chair notebook in hand, while the patient lies on a couch, relating concerns. We see it in cartoons, movies, sit-coms, but not in 1819.
The second image takes its clue from government intelligence gathering: the lonely analyst surrounded by books, and papers, staring at a computer screen, searching for patterns in discrete bits of data.
And strangely, this second image (minus the computer) is appropriate for 1819.
The word analyst grew out of 17th-century mathematical publications addressing algebraic geometry. In 1656, Thomas Hobbes in his Elements of philosophy the first section, concerning body, to which are added Six lessons to the professors of mathematicks of the Institution of Sr. Henry Savile, in the University of Oxford wrote that "The Analyst [who] can solve these Problemes without knowing first the length of the arch...shall do more than ordinary Geometry is able to perform" (OED). And this sense continues today.
But within a century, the word's meaning broadens to include any person who approaches a subject or situation, analytically. In 1753 A supplement to Mr. Chambers's Cyclopædia defines an analyst as "a person who analyzes a thing, or makes use of the analytical method" (OED). Coleridge uses the word in this sense in 1809 essay The Friend: "Some pleasant Analyst of Taste" (OED). And by 1851, Herbert Spencer in his work on social theory, Social Statics uses the term to describe the special observational capacity of the analyst: "Unobserved, perhaps, by the many, but sufficiently visible to the analyst" (OED).
By the mid-1850s, the term becomes frequently associated with adjectives like 'military analyst,' 'political analyst,' etc (OED).
So, in 1819, you can't recline on a couch and tell your troubles to your analyst, but you can think long and hard about a subject until you see all its secrets laid bare.
March 1, 2016
Pulverized bones, chalk, and fuller’s earth: Regency food additives.
Ever wondered what else might be in Regency foods?
While the Board of Excise would prosecute persons selling adulterated foods, the sorts of things that Regency profiteers put in the foods they produced ranged from dirts to acids to wood pulp or bone,
Those who altered food or drink did so for a number of reasons:
* to pass off one substance for another (as in the case of items that weren’t tea or coffee but were sold as such);
* to make a weak or unappealing product stronger (as in the case of alcohols) or more attractive; or
* to extend the quantity of the foodstuff that the maker was able to produce.
According to the May 1818 New Annual Register the following foods were especially liable to adulteration:
I've added * to make the items in the quotation easier to see.
The article also offers a method for testing whether one’s tea is real or an imitation.
“Lay the tea on wetted paper, and rub it; it will easily discharge the color it receives from logwood, Dutch pink, or verdegris [sic]" (46).
Here’s more information on some of them.
Aquafortis: A corrosive used to etch engraving plates, aquafortis (or strong water) was the common name of a diluted nitrous acid. Aqua fortis is the condensation of the gas created when one heats a combination of alum and vitriol with either sand or saltpeter.
Dutch Pink: This one is a bit harder to track down. Several plants appear to have been used to make ‘dutch pink.’ The OED points to the low-growing white or pink flowers of the Dianthus (family Caryophyllaceae). According to G. Fields’ 1835 Chromatography, “Dutch Pink, English, and Italian Pinks, are sufficiently absurd names of yellow colors prepared by dyeing, whitening, &c. with vegetal yellow tinctures, in the manner of rose pink, from which they borrow their name.” However A Pratt’s 1861 Flowering Plants and Ferns of Great Britain identifies the plant as the Reseda Luteola —commonly known as dyer’s weed, weld, woold, etc.
Fuller’s earth: From the sixteenth century at least, Fuller’s earth referred to a clay formed by a ‘hydrous silicate of alumina’ (OED). Because it was absorbent, Fuller’s earth would remove impurities, such as lanolin, from the wool after it was processed. Today fuller’s earth is used to clean marble, to fill litter boxes, to create better special effects, etc.
Logwood: According to Andrew Duncan’s 1803 The Edinburgh New Dispensatory, logwood “was introduced from the Honduras into Jamaica, where it is now very common. The wood is firm, heavy, and of a dark red colour. Its taste is astringent, with a perceptible degree of sweetness. It is principally used as a dye-wood, but also with considerable advantage in medicine. Its extract is a very powerful astringent, combined with mucilage, and perhaps sugar; and thus, therefore, useful in obstinate diarrhoeas, and in chronic dystentery” (231). Logwood was also called blockwood or bloodwood.
Long-pepper: Piper Longum, today called the Indian Long Pepper, or pippali, is used in ayurvedic medicine. Again from Duncan’s The Edinburgh New Dispensatory, “The plant which bears the long pepper is also a farmentaceous climber. The berries are small round grains, disposed spirally in a long cylindrical head. They are gathered before they are ripe and dried, and are the hottest of all the peppers. The warmth and pungency of these spices reside entirely in a resin; their aromatic odor in an essential oil. In medicine they are sometimes employed as acrid stimulants; but their chief use is in cookery as condiments” (281).
Sloe-juice: The juice made from the fruit of the Sloe-tree (Prunus Spinosa), which grew wild in Britain. According to Duncan's The Edinburgh New Dispensatory, “The fruit has a very astringent sourish taste. It contains malic acid. The inspissated [thickened] juice of the unripe fruit is very astringent, and is called Acacia Germanica. An infusion of a handful of the flowers is a safe and easy purge. The powdered bark will sometimes cure agues.” (287-88)
Verdigris: The greenish blue rust that appears on the surface of copper or brass when it oxidizes, verdigris was used as a pigment, both in dyeing and in painting. It could be artificially created by applying a diluted acetic acid onto copper.
Yum.
While the Board of Excise would prosecute persons selling adulterated foods, the sorts of things that Regency profiteers put in the foods they produced ranged from dirts to acids to wood pulp or bone,
Those who altered food or drink did so for a number of reasons:
* to pass off one substance for another (as in the case of items that weren’t tea or coffee but were sold as such);
* to make a weak or unappealing product stronger (as in the case of alcohols) or more attractive; or
* to extend the quantity of the foodstuff that the maker was able to produce.
According to the May 1818 New Annual Register the following foods were especially liable to adulteration:
* Porter and ale, it has been frequently proved, have been mixed with drugs of the most pernicious quality.
* Port wine, as it is called, and especially that sold at very low prices, it is known, has been manufactured from sloe-juice, British brandy, and logwood.
* Gin, in order that it might have the grip, or have the appearance of being particularly strong, is known to be adulterated with a decoction of long pepper, or a small quantity of aquafortis.
* Bread, from public convictions, is known to have been made of a mixture of flour, ground stone, chalk, and pulverized bones.
* Milk to have been adulterated with whitening and water.
* Sugar to have been mixed with sand,
* Pepper with fuller’s earth, and other earths.
* Mustard with cheap pungent seeds.
* Tobacco with various common British herbs. (46)
I've added * to make the items in the quotation easier to see.
The article also offers a method for testing whether one’s tea is real or an imitation.
“Lay the tea on wetted paper, and rub it; it will easily discharge the color it receives from logwood, Dutch pink, or verdegris [sic]" (46).
Here’s more information on some of them.
Aquafortis: A corrosive used to etch engraving plates, aquafortis (or strong water) was the common name of a diluted nitrous acid. Aqua fortis is the condensation of the gas created when one heats a combination of alum and vitriol with either sand or saltpeter.
Dutch Pink: This one is a bit harder to track down. Several plants appear to have been used to make ‘dutch pink.’ The OED points to the low-growing white or pink flowers of the Dianthus (family Caryophyllaceae). According to G. Fields’ 1835 Chromatography, “Dutch Pink, English, and Italian Pinks, are sufficiently absurd names of yellow colors prepared by dyeing, whitening, &c. with vegetal yellow tinctures, in the manner of rose pink, from which they borrow their name.” However A Pratt’s 1861 Flowering Plants and Ferns of Great Britain identifies the plant as the Reseda Luteola —commonly known as dyer’s weed, weld, woold, etc.
Fuller’s earth: From the sixteenth century at least, Fuller’s earth referred to a clay formed by a ‘hydrous silicate of alumina’ (OED). Because it was absorbent, Fuller’s earth would remove impurities, such as lanolin, from the wool after it was processed. Today fuller’s earth is used to clean marble, to fill litter boxes, to create better special effects, etc.
Logwood: According to Andrew Duncan’s 1803 The Edinburgh New Dispensatory, logwood “was introduced from the Honduras into Jamaica, where it is now very common. The wood is firm, heavy, and of a dark red colour. Its taste is astringent, with a perceptible degree of sweetness. It is principally used as a dye-wood, but also with considerable advantage in medicine. Its extract is a very powerful astringent, combined with mucilage, and perhaps sugar; and thus, therefore, useful in obstinate diarrhoeas, and in chronic dystentery” (231). Logwood was also called blockwood or bloodwood.
Long-pepper: Piper Longum, today called the Indian Long Pepper, or pippali, is used in ayurvedic medicine. Again from Duncan’s The Edinburgh New Dispensatory, “The plant which bears the long pepper is also a farmentaceous climber. The berries are small round grains, disposed spirally in a long cylindrical head. They are gathered before they are ripe and dried, and are the hottest of all the peppers. The warmth and pungency of these spices reside entirely in a resin; their aromatic odor in an essential oil. In medicine they are sometimes employed as acrid stimulants; but their chief use is in cookery as condiments” (281).
Sloe-juice: The juice made from the fruit of the Sloe-tree (Prunus Spinosa), which grew wild in Britain. According to Duncan's The Edinburgh New Dispensatory, “The fruit has a very astringent sourish taste. It contains malic acid. The inspissated [thickened] juice of the unripe fruit is very astringent, and is called Acacia Germanica. An infusion of a handful of the flowers is a safe and easy purge. The powdered bark will sometimes cure agues.” (287-88)
Verdigris: The greenish blue rust that appears on the surface of copper or brass when it oxidizes, verdigris was used as a pigment, both in dyeing and in painting. It could be artificially created by applying a diluted acetic acid onto copper.
Yum.
February 25, 2016
Regency color, a royal marriage, and york flame
In my last blog post, I identified nakara as a dark red poppy color. But its history is somewhat more interesting than I suggested. Here's the story of a royal marriage and a color, drawn from some rather disparate pieces of evidence.
First the marriage....
In 1791, Princess Frederica Charlotte of Prussia (1767-1820) married Prince Frederick Augustus, Duke of York (1763-1827). Rather she married him twice, once on September 29 in Berlin and the second time on November 23 at Buckingham Palace.
The Duchess first appeared at a court birthday (the Queen's) on January 18, 1791. The description of her dress in the European Magazine ran for almost a full column, more than any other lady's clothing received--in fact, more than the description of all the other ladies' clothing combined.
"Her Royal Highness's petticoat was of white crape, interspersed with jewels in the form of stripes, trimmed round the bottom with a wreath of pine-apples set in brilliants, and richly festooned with mosaic crape, edged with small wreaths of the same. It was fastened on the left side with a superb diamond bow; the train was of crape in gold, and the body Nakara satin richly spangled."
At the ball that night, lady's caps were made of a variety of materials: "Crape, satin, and ribbands, formed the lower part; and feathers, white, or white tinged at the tips and edges with York flame, or coquelicot [a muddy brown], or light blue, were generally worn.--Some feathers were also ornamented with spots of coquelicot ribband."
Frederica Charlotte was by all accounts a tiny woman. A number of satirical prints from late 1791 through early 1792 show large British women trying to put on the Duchess' clothes or her shoes, and many prints of the day focus on her tiny feet, including one provocative one where the Duchess' tiny feet lie in-between and under the large feet of her husband. (You can see that at her entry on wikipedia).
The color.
In a December 6, 1791 print entitled "The Duchess Blush or York Flame," three objects are placed one above the other. The first, is a ribbon, stiffened by a spring, making it a garter, and labelled as Vanbuchel's Spring Garter. Under the garter are two views of the Duchess's shoe, top down, and sole up. The shoes are clearly no longer than a garter. You can see that print at the British Museum: bit.ly/1SY9ZDpb
The garter here carries multiple meanings. In the Catalogue of Political and Personal Satires in the British Museum(VI, 1938), M. Dorothy George indicates that "the 'spring garter' (30s. a pair) was seen as an emblem of 'alluring coquetry and fashion.' In addition, the Duke of York was a member of the Order of the Royal Garter, so it becomes a signifier of the recent royal marriage. The garter itself--in this particular engraving--is handpainted a dark red, to highlight the blush of the Duchess indicated in the title.
Other engravings use the image of the flame in association with the Duke and Duchess's marriage, particularly one published on the day of the Queen's birthday. Called "The Contrast," the engraving juxtaposes the Duke of York's marriage to his Duchess to the very public affair his brother, the Prince of Clarence was then conducting with Dora Jordan (who bore him 10 children). The York marriage is described as "A virtuous Flame, or Nuptial Glory" while Clarence's 'romp' with Jordan is labelled "A burning shame, or, adulterous Disgrace.'
Nakara then becomes associated with the Duchess of York and the flame of her marriage to the Duke. Sadly that marriage produced no heirs, and within five years the couple separated to their own residences and their own lives.
Note.
George's catalogue with her detailed descriptions is available via archive.org. The volume that contains the engravings discussed above is available at this link: http://bit.ly/1OyefSj
First the marriage....
In 1791, Princess Frederica Charlotte of Prussia (1767-1820) married Prince Frederick Augustus, Duke of York (1763-1827). Rather she married him twice, once on September 29 in Berlin and the second time on November 23 at Buckingham Palace.
The Duchess first appeared at a court birthday (the Queen's) on January 18, 1791. The description of her dress in the European Magazine ran for almost a full column, more than any other lady's clothing received--in fact, more than the description of all the other ladies' clothing combined.
"Her Royal Highness's petticoat was of white crape, interspersed with jewels in the form of stripes, trimmed round the bottom with a wreath of pine-apples set in brilliants, and richly festooned with mosaic crape, edged with small wreaths of the same. It was fastened on the left side with a superb diamond bow; the train was of crape in gold, and the body Nakara satin richly spangled."
At the ball that night, lady's caps were made of a variety of materials: "Crape, satin, and ribbands, formed the lower part; and feathers, white, or white tinged at the tips and edges with York flame, or coquelicot [a muddy brown], or light blue, were generally worn.--Some feathers were also ornamented with spots of coquelicot ribband."
Frederica Charlotte was by all accounts a tiny woman. A number of satirical prints from late 1791 through early 1792 show large British women trying to put on the Duchess' clothes or her shoes, and many prints of the day focus on her tiny feet, including one provocative one where the Duchess' tiny feet lie in-between and under the large feet of her husband. (You can see that at her entry on wikipedia).
The color.
In a December 6, 1791 print entitled "The Duchess Blush or York Flame," three objects are placed one above the other. The first, is a ribbon, stiffened by a spring, making it a garter, and labelled as Vanbuchel's Spring Garter. Under the garter are two views of the Duchess's shoe, top down, and sole up. The shoes are clearly no longer than a garter. You can see that print at the British Museum: bit.ly/1SY9ZDpb
The garter here carries multiple meanings. In the Catalogue of Political and Personal Satires in the British Museum(VI, 1938), M. Dorothy George indicates that "the 'spring garter' (30s. a pair) was seen as an emblem of 'alluring coquetry and fashion.' In addition, the Duke of York was a member of the Order of the Royal Garter, so it becomes a signifier of the recent royal marriage. The garter itself--in this particular engraving--is handpainted a dark red, to highlight the blush of the Duchess indicated in the title.
Other engravings use the image of the flame in association with the Duke and Duchess's marriage, particularly one published on the day of the Queen's birthday. Called "The Contrast," the engraving juxtaposes the Duke of York's marriage to his Duchess to the very public affair his brother, the Prince of Clarence was then conducting with Dora Jordan (who bore him 10 children). The York marriage is described as "A virtuous Flame, or Nuptial Glory" while Clarence's 'romp' with Jordan is labelled "A burning shame, or, adulterous Disgrace.'
Nakara then becomes associated with the Duchess of York and the flame of her marriage to the Duke. Sadly that marriage produced no heirs, and within five years the couple separated to their own residences and their own lives.
Note.
George's catalogue with her detailed descriptions is available via archive.org. The volume that contains the engravings discussed above is available at this link: http://bit.ly/1OyefSj
February 23, 2016
Fashionable Colors in 1819: Nakara
I’m fascinated by what colors women (and men) had available to them in the early part of the 19thC. Even more so, I'm interested in how they described the colors. For a modern example, here’s a clip from Mr. Blanding builds his Dream House: http://bit.ly/1TDVip6
Today's color: nakara.
The 1819 Belle Assemblee uses nakara in connection with the color of the field poppy several times. In the article on fashions for October, 1819, we see a description of a white dress ‘with narrow stripes of Nakara, or wild poppy colour; and the trimming is embroidered with the same color to correspond.” The Lady’s Monthly Museum for March 1821 lists nakara as a ‘bright scarlet poppy.’
But the OED doesn’t list Nakara at all, so I wondered about the word's origins. Henry Forster's 1810 An Essay on the Principles of Sanskrit Grammar uses the nakara several times to show how a particular sound should be made, but didn't provide a definition. At least, I thought, I know that nakara is a real word outside of its use as a color name! Several sources, including the 1848 A Romanized Hindústání and English Dictionary: Designed for the Use of Schools, identifies the noun nakara as a giant tambour or kettledrum. But that didn't seem to connect coherently to poppies! Then I found this… John Richardson’s 1829 Dictionary. Persian, Arabic, and English, lists nakara as a defamation, and nakra or a nakara as a slanderous woman. The word also carries promiscuous associations. Yeah. Right. Of course.
I decided to go back to colors. By this point, I'd run across a couple of regency-oriented blogs that identified nakara as a pearly white [see second note below]. So of course I had to keep digging.
I ended up in France. The January 1786 issue of the Magasin des Modes Nouvelles Françaises et Anglaises, describes nakara as ‘espèce de gros rouge tirant sur le ponceau’—or a species of dense/thick red near the poppy [my translation—for good or ill]. [See note at bottom] The December 1788 of that same magazine indicates that the combination of white and nakara was a bit of a fad—but doesn’t describe the color. Then back in England, the 1792 Walker’s Hibernian Magazine lists 'a simple ribband of nakara (York flame). There! Flame... poppy. I'm convinced.
But wait! What do they mean by york flame?
Note. For side-by-side page images and translations of the Cabinet des Modes, go to http://mimic-of-modes.blogspot.com/20... . It’s a lovely site, with lots of fashion information.
Also note: I believe I’ve found the source of the error in identifying nakara as a white. In the Edinburgh Annual Register for January 30. 1812, a mention of nakara appears above a description of a different white gown. Here’s how it looks: the first bit reads “half boots of Clarence blue kid, faced with Nakara.” Then the next paragraph begins with “Evening Costume.—A white or pearl color gossamer satin gown.” An easy eye-skip explains the mistake.
Today's color: nakara.
The 1819 Belle Assemblee uses nakara in connection with the color of the field poppy several times. In the article on fashions for October, 1819, we see a description of a white dress ‘with narrow stripes of Nakara, or wild poppy colour; and the trimming is embroidered with the same color to correspond.” The Lady’s Monthly Museum for March 1821 lists nakara as a ‘bright scarlet poppy.’
But the OED doesn’t list Nakara at all, so I wondered about the word's origins. Henry Forster's 1810 An Essay on the Principles of Sanskrit Grammar uses the nakara several times to show how a particular sound should be made, but didn't provide a definition. At least, I thought, I know that nakara is a real word outside of its use as a color name! Several sources, including the 1848 A Romanized Hindústání and English Dictionary: Designed for the Use of Schools, identifies the noun nakara as a giant tambour or kettledrum. But that didn't seem to connect coherently to poppies! Then I found this… John Richardson’s 1829 Dictionary. Persian, Arabic, and English, lists nakara as a defamation, and nakra or a nakara as a slanderous woman. The word also carries promiscuous associations. Yeah. Right. Of course.
I decided to go back to colors. By this point, I'd run across a couple of regency-oriented blogs that identified nakara as a pearly white [see second note below]. So of course I had to keep digging.
I ended up in France. The January 1786 issue of the Magasin des Modes Nouvelles Françaises et Anglaises, describes nakara as ‘espèce de gros rouge tirant sur le ponceau’—or a species of dense/thick red near the poppy [my translation—for good or ill]. [See note at bottom] The December 1788 of that same magazine indicates that the combination of white and nakara was a bit of a fad—but doesn’t describe the color. Then back in England, the 1792 Walker’s Hibernian Magazine lists 'a simple ribband of nakara (York flame). There! Flame... poppy. I'm convinced.
But wait! What do they mean by york flame?
Note. For side-by-side page images and translations of the Cabinet des Modes, go to http://mimic-of-modes.blogspot.com/20... . It’s a lovely site, with lots of fashion information.
Also note: I believe I’ve found the source of the error in identifying nakara as a white. In the Edinburgh Annual Register for January 30. 1812, a mention of nakara appears above a description of a different white gown. Here’s how it looks: the first bit reads “half boots of Clarence blue kid, faced with Nakara.” Then the next paragraph begins with “Evening Costume.—A white or pearl color gossamer satin gown.” An easy eye-skip explains the mistake.
February 22, 2016
What's on your 'keeper' shelf?
What books do you keep on your 'keeper' shelf? You know, those books you can't seem to put in the pile for the Friends of the Library sale--or the ones that if you give a copy to a friend, you find yourself buying another one...because you missed having it.
My keeper shelf for romance is really a small closet under the stairs lined with shelves. Since I'm short, I can curl up there on the floor, surrounded by stories I love.
This summer, I had to weed my books. It wasn't easy, but I was able to reduce my romance novels by 10 boxes--leaving only 14 boxes to move. Luckily my husband is very indulgent. He calls my collection 'research'--and it really is. When I'm stuck, it's where I go to refresh or regroup or see how someone else did it.
But going through the books made me realize which stories worked for me, and which didn't, and why. You can read about three books I love at the USAToday Happily Ever After blog.
But what novels do you keep on your keeper shelf? And why?
My keeper shelf for romance is really a small closet under the stairs lined with shelves. Since I'm short, I can curl up there on the floor, surrounded by stories I love.
This summer, I had to weed my books. It wasn't easy, but I was able to reduce my romance novels by 10 boxes--leaving only 14 boxes to move. Luckily my husband is very indulgent. He calls my collection 'research'--and it really is. When I'm stuck, it's where I go to refresh or regroup or see how someone else did it.
But going through the books made me realize which stories worked for me, and which didn't, and why. You can read about three books I love at the USAToday Happily Ever After blog.
But what novels do you keep on your keeper shelf? And why?
