Kathleen Marple Kalb's Blog, page 24
February 18, 2021
EN GARDE
Sword fighting isn’t just an adventure for Ella Shane. It’s her job.
As a woman who plays heroic male roles in opera, she has to be able to duel with the best of them. If it happens to come in handy when trying to catch a killer, or discourage an overly enthusiastic admirer, well, that’s just a fringe benefit.
While Ella, as a woman who sings roles originally written for men with artificially high voices (another story for another #ThrowbackThursday!) is a relatively new thing, she’s part of a very long tradition of stage combat. Actors have been simulating battles onstage pretty much since we’ve had stages, and they’ve been training to fight convincingly and safely almost as long.
By Shakespeare’s time, when sword fights were pretty much a requirement for a good show, they’d mastered the convincing part, as audiences could attest. They were still working on the safety, though – several actors were seriously hurt in stage or rehearsal mishaps in the period, and at least one lost an eye.
That, obviously, wasn’t good for anyone, and as the acting profession evolved, so did the training for the stage, with the understanding that what works in a real duel might not work in a show. After all, a real duelist is trying to kill their opponent, not please an audience.
So stage fighters focus on what looks and sounds good, while still keeping the performers and audience safe. The look and style evolved over time, and by the late-19th century there were even widely-known set fights called “standard combats.”A director could call for the “Round Eights” in a scene and the company would know exactly what was desired.
While it was usually male actors who did the actual fighting in front of an audience, women were often trained in the art. Stage fencing was part of the curriculum in some top theatre academies into the 20th century; so it’s entirely possible that many Juliets not only knew the choreography of Romeo’s duel…they could have done it better!
When the young Ella started her training as an opera singer, her mentor Madame Lentini quickly steered her into lessons in fencing and stage combat as well as French and Italian. Later, when it became clear that trouser roles were her gift, she was already on the path.
Ella has another advantage that a lot of women performers don’t; she was a street fighter. During their tenement childhood, Ella and her cousin Tommy had to take care of themselves in a rough neighborhood, and she sometimes threw in on his side. Madame Lentini put a stop to that pretty quickly, but Ella can still land a punch.
By the time of A FATAL FIRST NIGHT, Ella is both the star and the co-owner of her opera company, so she has both a good show and a safe one in her mind when she approaches the climactic duel. In the fictional opera, “The Princes in the Tower,” Ella as Henry Tudor will vanquish the evil King Richard III – every night of the run, to the great pleasure of the paying customers. Of course she wants to send her Richard home with applause…and without a scratch!
So Ella and her partner have practiced the duel dozens of times, and when the curtain rises, they’re polished and ready to put on quite a show. And it may turn out to be more of a show than anyone’s expecting, even Ella…
Got a Throwback Thursday idea? Drop it in the comments!
As a woman who plays heroic male roles in opera, she has to be able to duel with the best of them. If it happens to come in handy when trying to catch a killer, or discourage an overly enthusiastic admirer, well, that’s just a fringe benefit.
While Ella, as a woman who sings roles originally written for men with artificially high voices (another story for another #ThrowbackThursday!) is a relatively new thing, she’s part of a very long tradition of stage combat. Actors have been simulating battles onstage pretty much since we’ve had stages, and they’ve been training to fight convincingly and safely almost as long.
By Shakespeare’s time, when sword fights were pretty much a requirement for a good show, they’d mastered the convincing part, as audiences could attest. They were still working on the safety, though – several actors were seriously hurt in stage or rehearsal mishaps in the period, and at least one lost an eye.
That, obviously, wasn’t good for anyone, and as the acting profession evolved, so did the training for the stage, with the understanding that what works in a real duel might not work in a show. After all, a real duelist is trying to kill their opponent, not please an audience.
So stage fighters focus on what looks and sounds good, while still keeping the performers and audience safe. The look and style evolved over time, and by the late-19th century there were even widely-known set fights called “standard combats.”A director could call for the “Round Eights” in a scene and the company would know exactly what was desired.
While it was usually male actors who did the actual fighting in front of an audience, women were often trained in the art. Stage fencing was part of the curriculum in some top theatre academies into the 20th century; so it’s entirely possible that many Juliets not only knew the choreography of Romeo’s duel…they could have done it better!
When the young Ella started her training as an opera singer, her mentor Madame Lentini quickly steered her into lessons in fencing and stage combat as well as French and Italian. Later, when it became clear that trouser roles were her gift, she was already on the path.
Ella has another advantage that a lot of women performers don’t; she was a street fighter. During their tenement childhood, Ella and her cousin Tommy had to take care of themselves in a rough neighborhood, and she sometimes threw in on his side. Madame Lentini put a stop to that pretty quickly, but Ella can still land a punch.
By the time of A FATAL FIRST NIGHT, Ella is both the star and the co-owner of her opera company, so she has both a good show and a safe one in her mind when she approaches the climactic duel. In the fictional opera, “The Princes in the Tower,” Ella as Henry Tudor will vanquish the evil King Richard III – every night of the run, to the great pleasure of the paying customers. Of course she wants to send her Richard home with applause…and without a scratch!
So Ella and her partner have practiced the duel dozens of times, and when the curtain rises, they’re polished and ready to put on quite a show. And it may turn out to be more of a show than anyone’s expecting, even Ella…
Got a Throwback Thursday idea? Drop it in the comments!
February 11, 2021
MAKE IT GO AWAY
If you live in much of the United States, you’ve spent much of this week moving snow. Sweeping it, blowing it, plowing it if you have the equipment…and of course, shoveling it.
In the 19th century, though, snow removal was a lot more basic.
Early snowplows were patented in the 1840s, and they were in wide use (with horse-drawn wagons) by the 1860s. The problem was, the snow still had to go somewhere once the plow pushed it off the road. Residents and merchants on side streets were much less than thrilled to discover that they were snowed under while the main drag was clear.
So they called in the shovel brigade. And that’s exactly what it was: crews of men who shoveled the drifts into carts or wagons, which were then dumped in whatever river or bay was available. Sometimes, in big cities, the shovel brigade followed the plows, cleaning up whatever was left as they went. It was brutal work, and not much different from the way people had been moving snow since the first humans realized they couldn’t just stay in the cave for the winter.
Worse, it didn’t make much sense in a city like New York, which was trying to move into the modern age, with all of the modern accoutrements, like – say – electricity and trains. The Blizzard of 1888 knocked out everything for days and convinced city leaders to make some major changes.
So how do you get around snow on the ground? You go under it – or over it.
New Yorkers did both.
They buried a lot of their power lines. It doesn’t prevent all outages, of course, but it’s a lot easier than going wire by wire through Manhattan. And it worked; many large cities have underground power lines to this day.
More, in parts of the City, you can still look up and see another relic from the 1888 storm: elevated train lines. Steam trains often had their own plows, but the blizzard was too much for them, leading the city to look for other ideas. Elevated lines were one.
Another would become an iconic fixture of the City: underground trains. The subway was still most of 20 years away, but 1888 was a good hard shove in that direction. Underground trains definitely worked: the one thing everyone knows in New York is that the subways ALWAYS run.
Then, as now, though, that did not mean everything was easy, normal or comfortable. The snow wagons and shovel brigades survived long into the 20th century. Even now, there’s not much to do with all of that snow but cart it away and leave it to melt somewhere. Dumping it in the water often isn’t an option any more because of the road salt and other chemicals.
So yes, people across the Northern Hemisphere have been fighting a wretched daily battle with snow this week (And what do we expect, really? It’s FEBRUARY!) But it could be a lot worse.
At least I’ll keep telling myself that as I pick up the shovel…again!
Got a Throwback Thursday idea? Drop it in the comments!
In the 19th century, though, snow removal was a lot more basic.
Early snowplows were patented in the 1840s, and they were in wide use (with horse-drawn wagons) by the 1860s. The problem was, the snow still had to go somewhere once the plow pushed it off the road. Residents and merchants on side streets were much less than thrilled to discover that they were snowed under while the main drag was clear.
So they called in the shovel brigade. And that’s exactly what it was: crews of men who shoveled the drifts into carts or wagons, which were then dumped in whatever river or bay was available. Sometimes, in big cities, the shovel brigade followed the plows, cleaning up whatever was left as they went. It was brutal work, and not much different from the way people had been moving snow since the first humans realized they couldn’t just stay in the cave for the winter.
Worse, it didn’t make much sense in a city like New York, which was trying to move into the modern age, with all of the modern accoutrements, like – say – electricity and trains. The Blizzard of 1888 knocked out everything for days and convinced city leaders to make some major changes.
So how do you get around snow on the ground? You go under it – or over it.
New Yorkers did both.
They buried a lot of their power lines. It doesn’t prevent all outages, of course, but it’s a lot easier than going wire by wire through Manhattan. And it worked; many large cities have underground power lines to this day.
More, in parts of the City, you can still look up and see another relic from the 1888 storm: elevated train lines. Steam trains often had their own plows, but the blizzard was too much for them, leading the city to look for other ideas. Elevated lines were one.
Another would become an iconic fixture of the City: underground trains. The subway was still most of 20 years away, but 1888 was a good hard shove in that direction. Underground trains definitely worked: the one thing everyone knows in New York is that the subways ALWAYS run.
Then, as now, though, that did not mean everything was easy, normal or comfortable. The snow wagons and shovel brigades survived long into the 20th century. Even now, there’s not much to do with all of that snow but cart it away and leave it to melt somewhere. Dumping it in the water often isn’t an option any more because of the road salt and other chemicals.
So yes, people across the Northern Hemisphere have been fighting a wretched daily battle with snow this week (And what do we expect, really? It’s FEBRUARY!) But it could be a lot worse.
At least I’ll keep telling myself that as I pick up the shovel…again!
Got a Throwback Thursday idea? Drop it in the comments!
February 4, 2021
GLOVE UP
A lot of us started wearing gloves in the last year for pandemic safety, but our great-great grandmothers would probably just be happy that we were finally covering ourselves decently…even if in purple nitrile.
Until the middle of the 20th Century, a good woman -- oh, that concept again! -- never left the house without a hat and gloves. The particulars changed, depending on fashion and resources, but no female person with any pretention to respectability would go without gloves. Most women without any such pretentions did too. Really, most people did.
You just put on gloves when you left the house. It wasn’t necessarily a female thing, though the rules were – as so often – more elaborate for women. But the menfolk had to keep track of their gloves too. And just as a lady was expected to know what to wear and how to wear it at every occasion, so too was a gentleman.
By the late 19th century, there was a huge range of gloves and an entire library of advice on how and when to wear them. Anything that could be seen as a marker of “respectability,” or “nice people” (the expression still in use in my Western Pennsylvania youth) carried plenty of rules for its proper use. Gloves were certainly in that category.
The “when” part of glove wearing was easy: every time you left the house, and sometimes when you were home, too. Everyone wore some kind of gloves in the street, whether it was tiny wrist-length ones that went up to the sleeve of an office girl’s suit, or pretty forearm-length ones to fill in the shorter sleeves of a society matron’s shopping outfit…or a man’s very simple pair.
You could usually take off your gloves if you were home, or visiting a friend. But if you were at a dinner party and the long kid gloves were part of your evening wear, you’d unbutton them at the wrist and free just your hands so you could eat without dirtying the fine leather. Also so you didn’t have to struggle into and out of those huge long gloves in front of everyone.
Getting into gloves was a thing. Advice manuals remind women to put them on before leaving the house, because a lady should not be seen doing that. And that’s the wisdom about short day gloves; one can only imagine what people would think of a woman who was seen putting on the full arm-length gloves that completed an evening costume.
If you’ve seen surviving gloves in museums, you’ve probably been amazed by how small they are. Yes, people were smaller, but not that much smaller. Some of it is simply that the gloves were extremely tight-fitting and stretched to fit the wearer – just further evidence of how hard it was to put on a pair.
All of this also goes a long way toward explaining why taking off long gloves was a key part of a burlesque artist’s act well into the 20th Century…the sight of a woman peeling away a snug high glove to reveal some skin clearly had an effect on the fellas!
That, however, was not the effect most women had in mind when they struggled into their gloves. It was an announcement: I am a lady, and you will treat me as such.
Not bad for a few square inches of leather.
Got a Throwback Thursday idea? Drop it in the comments!
Until the middle of the 20th Century, a good woman -- oh, that concept again! -- never left the house without a hat and gloves. The particulars changed, depending on fashion and resources, but no female person with any pretention to respectability would go without gloves. Most women without any such pretentions did too. Really, most people did.
You just put on gloves when you left the house. It wasn’t necessarily a female thing, though the rules were – as so often – more elaborate for women. But the menfolk had to keep track of their gloves too. And just as a lady was expected to know what to wear and how to wear it at every occasion, so too was a gentleman.
By the late 19th century, there was a huge range of gloves and an entire library of advice on how and when to wear them. Anything that could be seen as a marker of “respectability,” or “nice people” (the expression still in use in my Western Pennsylvania youth) carried plenty of rules for its proper use. Gloves were certainly in that category.
The “when” part of glove wearing was easy: every time you left the house, and sometimes when you were home, too. Everyone wore some kind of gloves in the street, whether it was tiny wrist-length ones that went up to the sleeve of an office girl’s suit, or pretty forearm-length ones to fill in the shorter sleeves of a society matron’s shopping outfit…or a man’s very simple pair.
You could usually take off your gloves if you were home, or visiting a friend. But if you were at a dinner party and the long kid gloves were part of your evening wear, you’d unbutton them at the wrist and free just your hands so you could eat without dirtying the fine leather. Also so you didn’t have to struggle into and out of those huge long gloves in front of everyone.
Getting into gloves was a thing. Advice manuals remind women to put them on before leaving the house, because a lady should not be seen doing that. And that’s the wisdom about short day gloves; one can only imagine what people would think of a woman who was seen putting on the full arm-length gloves that completed an evening costume.
If you’ve seen surviving gloves in museums, you’ve probably been amazed by how small they are. Yes, people were smaller, but not that much smaller. Some of it is simply that the gloves were extremely tight-fitting and stretched to fit the wearer – just further evidence of how hard it was to put on a pair.
All of this also goes a long way toward explaining why taking off long gloves was a key part of a burlesque artist’s act well into the 20th Century…the sight of a woman peeling away a snug high glove to reveal some skin clearly had an effect on the fellas!
That, however, was not the effect most women had in mind when they struggled into their gloves. It was an announcement: I am a lady, and you will treat me as such.
Not bad for a few square inches of leather.
Got a Throwback Thursday idea? Drop it in the comments!
January 28, 2021
JOHNNIE ON THE SPOT
“Like any artist of note, I have a few unusually dedicated followers.”
That’s how Ella Shane introduces her stage-door Johnnies. For Ella, the fellows who come to visit after the show are a minor annoyance, if one that she chronicles in her usual colorful fashion. For less exalted, and well-protected, artists they might be anything from potential partners…to a very real danger.
By the late 19th Century, as Ella would be happy to tell you, there is no automatic assumption that a woman who makes her living on the stage is a person of questionable virtue. In fact, a certain kind of chorus girl might even be singing and dancing in hopes of finding a suitable match, with the well-born and better-financed gents in the audience keeping a close eye for a potential spouse.
Those very high-end chorus girls, the Gaiety Girls in Britain, and a little later, the cast of of FLORADORA in the States, were an entirely different art form (and an entirely different #ThrowbackThursday post) than most female performers. While it was certainly possible to make an honorable career in the theatre, it wasn’t easy, and it definitely wasn’t always safe and pretty.
The stage-door Johnnies were both an occupational hazard – and a potential perk. Of course, in the 19th Century, no one had ever heard of stalking, but performers, and whatever protectors they had, were very familiar with the overly enthusiastic admirer. Then, as now, it could take any form from the annoying to the actively dangerous; there are plenty of lurid tales of men coming after women they knew only from the stage.
Despite that, most stage-door admirers were harmless, if annoying. There’s no need for a deep dive into the male gaze here, but you don’t have to be a performer to know that it can be pretty creepy to have a man you don’t especially want looking at you in a certain way. And if pleasing the patrons is your job, you just have to tolerate that look – and hope that it never goes any further. A century-and-a-half before MeToo, even the most enlightened employer would figure that if you’re putting yourself on stage to be looked at, you don’t have a right to complain about a little staring off stage.
Every once in a while, though, you might actually get lucky enough to have someone you wanted to look at you. It’s not something that anybody kept stats on, but there were basically two possibilities for a decent marriage if you were a performer: you could marry a man in the business or you could meet someone outside. In a theatre company, where there are no secrets, a lot of women knew much too much about the habits of their colleagues to want one as a husband.
Which left the fellows at the door.
It wasn’t the approved way to make a match, of course, but nice people had to meet somewhere, and sometimes, women actually did find a husband among the stage-door Johnnies – without living to regret it.
That, however, is not very likely for Ella Shane. Her admirers are very definitely in the
“annoying at best” category, though they’re good for plenty of fun in A FATAL FIRST NIGHT. And as for potential partners, let’s just say the Johnnies aren’t the only ones who send flowers for the premiere.
Got a #ThrowbackThursday idea? Drop it in the comments.
That’s how Ella Shane introduces her stage-door Johnnies. For Ella, the fellows who come to visit after the show are a minor annoyance, if one that she chronicles in her usual colorful fashion. For less exalted, and well-protected, artists they might be anything from potential partners…to a very real danger.
By the late 19th Century, as Ella would be happy to tell you, there is no automatic assumption that a woman who makes her living on the stage is a person of questionable virtue. In fact, a certain kind of chorus girl might even be singing and dancing in hopes of finding a suitable match, with the well-born and better-financed gents in the audience keeping a close eye for a potential spouse.
Those very high-end chorus girls, the Gaiety Girls in Britain, and a little later, the cast of of FLORADORA in the States, were an entirely different art form (and an entirely different #ThrowbackThursday post) than most female performers. While it was certainly possible to make an honorable career in the theatre, it wasn’t easy, and it definitely wasn’t always safe and pretty.
The stage-door Johnnies were both an occupational hazard – and a potential perk. Of course, in the 19th Century, no one had ever heard of stalking, but performers, and whatever protectors they had, were very familiar with the overly enthusiastic admirer. Then, as now, it could take any form from the annoying to the actively dangerous; there are plenty of lurid tales of men coming after women they knew only from the stage.
Despite that, most stage-door admirers were harmless, if annoying. There’s no need for a deep dive into the male gaze here, but you don’t have to be a performer to know that it can be pretty creepy to have a man you don’t especially want looking at you in a certain way. And if pleasing the patrons is your job, you just have to tolerate that look – and hope that it never goes any further. A century-and-a-half before MeToo, even the most enlightened employer would figure that if you’re putting yourself on stage to be looked at, you don’t have a right to complain about a little staring off stage.
Every once in a while, though, you might actually get lucky enough to have someone you wanted to look at you. It’s not something that anybody kept stats on, but there were basically two possibilities for a decent marriage if you were a performer: you could marry a man in the business or you could meet someone outside. In a theatre company, where there are no secrets, a lot of women knew much too much about the habits of their colleagues to want one as a husband.
Which left the fellows at the door.
It wasn’t the approved way to make a match, of course, but nice people had to meet somewhere, and sometimes, women actually did find a husband among the stage-door Johnnies – without living to regret it.
That, however, is not very likely for Ella Shane. Her admirers are very definitely in the
“annoying at best” category, though they’re good for plenty of fun in A FATAL FIRST NIGHT. And as for potential partners, let’s just say the Johnnies aren’t the only ones who send flowers for the premiere.
Got a #ThrowbackThursday idea? Drop it in the comments.
January 21, 2021
STAY HOME AND WASH MY HAIR
We’ve all had those bad hair days where you know it’s only going to look better after you wash it again and start over.
But what if you had to wait for a month?
In the 19th century (and before) people washed their hair a lot less often than we do, and when they did, it was a much more elaborate project.
Well, at least for female people.
Men could always just stick their head into the tub or basin, rub it off and shake it out…maybe throwing in a little soap.
One more way life was easier for guys back then.
When a woman wanted to wash her long and lovely locks, it was an hours- or even day long production. The advice books suggest someone with oily hair should undertake it every week or two…with most ladies able to wait a month between washes. To many modern folks used to frequent shampoos, it sounds pretty nasty. But remember, these ladies weren’t wearing their hair short, or loose in springy curls.
No decent woman ran around with her hair down. At the very least, she would twist it back into a quick knot with whatever pins or sticks she could find. If she had the time, energy and resources for more, it might be elaborately braided and swirled into some kind of fancy do.
However she wore it, a woman would brush or comb out her hair daily. Great-Grandma’s “one-hundred strokes” weren’t just some kind of fetish, though there were plenty of men who enjoyed watching their wives brush their hair or helping them with the task. There was real science at work: it helped re-distribute the natural oils and keep the hair sleek and in good shape. If it happened to provide a little private spice, too, so be it.
But when hair washing day came, it was time to clear the schedule. Anything that we would recognize as shampoo was still decades away, so the hair got the same soap as the body – and sometimes the clothes! Women would shave off little flakes from the bar, add it to water, then work the mess through their hair, and rinse as best they could. Remember, most folks didn’t have showers then, either. Once the hair was clean, it was time to detangle it and let it dry.
Of course, that was almost as big a project as the washing. Imagine trying to work a comb through knee-length wavy hair that’s just been washed in hard water and harsh soap! Women used all manner of oils and potions to smooth the process, but it still had to hurt.
And then, finally, once combed out, you get to sit there with wet hair.
Hopefully you had a good hot fire and the time to enjoy it. The modern hair dryer wasn’t coming anytime soon, either!
Very few women would be able to take hours to let their hair dry fully. Most probably braided it up as soon as it was manageable and got back to whatever work was waiting. That wasn’t necessarily a bad thing, of course; damp, well-conditioned hair can dry into lovely smooth waves.
No wonder, though, that women only washed their hair every few weeks…or that frequent shampoos only became part of basic cleanliness in the late 20th century. A lot of basic cleanliness is determined by what most people can do on most days.
Got a Throwback Thursday idea? Drop it in the comments!
But what if you had to wait for a month?
In the 19th century (and before) people washed their hair a lot less often than we do, and when they did, it was a much more elaborate project.
Well, at least for female people.
Men could always just stick their head into the tub or basin, rub it off and shake it out…maybe throwing in a little soap.
One more way life was easier for guys back then.
When a woman wanted to wash her long and lovely locks, it was an hours- or even day long production. The advice books suggest someone with oily hair should undertake it every week or two…with most ladies able to wait a month between washes. To many modern folks used to frequent shampoos, it sounds pretty nasty. But remember, these ladies weren’t wearing their hair short, or loose in springy curls.
No decent woman ran around with her hair down. At the very least, she would twist it back into a quick knot with whatever pins or sticks she could find. If she had the time, energy and resources for more, it might be elaborately braided and swirled into some kind of fancy do.
However she wore it, a woman would brush or comb out her hair daily. Great-Grandma’s “one-hundred strokes” weren’t just some kind of fetish, though there were plenty of men who enjoyed watching their wives brush their hair or helping them with the task. There was real science at work: it helped re-distribute the natural oils and keep the hair sleek and in good shape. If it happened to provide a little private spice, too, so be it.
But when hair washing day came, it was time to clear the schedule. Anything that we would recognize as shampoo was still decades away, so the hair got the same soap as the body – and sometimes the clothes! Women would shave off little flakes from the bar, add it to water, then work the mess through their hair, and rinse as best they could. Remember, most folks didn’t have showers then, either. Once the hair was clean, it was time to detangle it and let it dry.
Of course, that was almost as big a project as the washing. Imagine trying to work a comb through knee-length wavy hair that’s just been washed in hard water and harsh soap! Women used all manner of oils and potions to smooth the process, but it still had to hurt.
And then, finally, once combed out, you get to sit there with wet hair.
Hopefully you had a good hot fire and the time to enjoy it. The modern hair dryer wasn’t coming anytime soon, either!
Very few women would be able to take hours to let their hair dry fully. Most probably braided it up as soon as it was manageable and got back to whatever work was waiting. That wasn’t necessarily a bad thing, of course; damp, well-conditioned hair can dry into lovely smooth waves.
No wonder, though, that women only washed their hair every few weeks…or that frequent shampoos only became part of basic cleanliness in the late 20th century. A lot of basic cleanliness is determined by what most people can do on most days.
Got a Throwback Thursday idea? Drop it in the comments!
January 14, 2021
AN IMPROVING LECTURE
Before dating, before hooking up, and LONG before Netflix and chill, there was the “improving lecture.”
By the late 19th century, most parents weren’t arranging marriages for their children, and people had some expectation of a love match. But the rules for proper behavior, especially for unmarried females, were even stricter than when the Pilgrim farmer handed over his fifteen-year-old daughter to the neighbor’s son. So how on earth did people get together?
If you were a member of the 400, you’d hang around the family ballroom and hope that a likely-looking Marquess wandered through in search of a well-dowered bride. For most folks, the options were a bit more limited.
You might meet a good prospect at church; all denominations had a vested interest in pairing off the flock, so there were plenty of formal and informal opportunities to mix. If you were a shopgirl, a clerk or a secretary, you might meet someone at work, or nearby. Or there just might be an attractive new person in the neighborhood.
That’s often the start of a marriage plot in a book, after all!
But however you meet them, you now have to get to know them…and that’s more of a challenge, considering all of the chaperonage associated with “honorable intentions.”
A well-supervised night at the opera (provided it wasn’t an overly romantic production) might be acceptable on occasion, but for most people that was still too pricey for a frequent outing. Walking-out was always good, if rather dull. Eventually, you would get pretty sick of traipsing around the park, no matter how interesting the company.
Which brings us to the “Improving Lecture.” The Victorians loved all things “improving.” Usually that meant something with a moral or spiritual lesson intended to make you a better person.
Also to bore you silly.
And indeed, many Improving Lectures were just that. Not to mention entirely public and very appropriate. So it was a perfect venue for a courting couple. You could sit together, exchange meaningful glances, and even perhaps surreptitiously touch hands if no one was looking. Not bad.
Occasionally, some Improving Lectures might even be interesting. When explorers returned from their thrilling expeditions, they would often give talks about what they’d seen, perhaps with some of their finds on display. It was still a very appropriate event, but unlike a discussion of temperance or Bible verses, it was actual entertainment. Almost a fun night out.
Attending an Improving Lecture together served another important purpose: it was a public announcement of courtship. Not enough to damage anyone’s reputation, of course, but enough to make it clear that there was an interest and it was being mutually pursued.
That’s all in play when two of my favorite characters in A FATAL FIRST NIGHT go to an Improving Lecture on the Arctic. They have a wonderful evening out…and come home talking about polar bears and penguins. It’s more than enough to convince us that these two belong together…and that we may soon need to buy them a book on the Frozen North as a wedding present!
No more…and no spoilers here!
Got a Throwback Thursday idea? Drop it in the comments!
By the late 19th century, most parents weren’t arranging marriages for their children, and people had some expectation of a love match. But the rules for proper behavior, especially for unmarried females, were even stricter than when the Pilgrim farmer handed over his fifteen-year-old daughter to the neighbor’s son. So how on earth did people get together?
If you were a member of the 400, you’d hang around the family ballroom and hope that a likely-looking Marquess wandered through in search of a well-dowered bride. For most folks, the options were a bit more limited.
You might meet a good prospect at church; all denominations had a vested interest in pairing off the flock, so there were plenty of formal and informal opportunities to mix. If you were a shopgirl, a clerk or a secretary, you might meet someone at work, or nearby. Or there just might be an attractive new person in the neighborhood.
That’s often the start of a marriage plot in a book, after all!
But however you meet them, you now have to get to know them…and that’s more of a challenge, considering all of the chaperonage associated with “honorable intentions.”
A well-supervised night at the opera (provided it wasn’t an overly romantic production) might be acceptable on occasion, but for most people that was still too pricey for a frequent outing. Walking-out was always good, if rather dull. Eventually, you would get pretty sick of traipsing around the park, no matter how interesting the company.
Which brings us to the “Improving Lecture.” The Victorians loved all things “improving.” Usually that meant something with a moral or spiritual lesson intended to make you a better person.
Also to bore you silly.
And indeed, many Improving Lectures were just that. Not to mention entirely public and very appropriate. So it was a perfect venue for a courting couple. You could sit together, exchange meaningful glances, and even perhaps surreptitiously touch hands if no one was looking. Not bad.
Occasionally, some Improving Lectures might even be interesting. When explorers returned from their thrilling expeditions, they would often give talks about what they’d seen, perhaps with some of their finds on display. It was still a very appropriate event, but unlike a discussion of temperance or Bible verses, it was actual entertainment. Almost a fun night out.
Attending an Improving Lecture together served another important purpose: it was a public announcement of courtship. Not enough to damage anyone’s reputation, of course, but enough to make it clear that there was an interest and it was being mutually pursued.
That’s all in play when two of my favorite characters in A FATAL FIRST NIGHT go to an Improving Lecture on the Arctic. They have a wonderful evening out…and come home talking about polar bears and penguins. It’s more than enough to convince us that these two belong together…and that we may soon need to buy them a book on the Frozen North as a wedding present!
No more…and no spoilers here!
Got a Throwback Thursday idea? Drop it in the comments!
January 7, 2021
READ TO ME, BABY
When you think of reading out loud, it probably brings up the mental picture of a parent or other caring adult reading to a child. Or perhaps the child proudly turning the tables and showing the grownups what they’ve learned.
In the 19th century, though, reading out loud came up in all kinds of different contexts. Often, it was background noise, the way we now leave the TV on so we’re not in a silent room. Think of the scenes in LITTLE WOMEN and other novels where one woman reads while the others sew. The book is usually what the Victorians called an “improving” one, meaning moral and probably at least a little boring.
That wasn’t really the point, if you were sitting at home sewing or hanging around the hearth with your family. There were only two possible ways to fill the silence, music or reading. If you didn’t want to spend all your time banging away on the upright…or couldn’t afford one, reading out loud was a very good way to supply some interest to your time.
The sewing March sisters were following a very elegant tradition, though they probably didn’t know it. Queens and upper-class women had readers for at least a century before the idea came to the Victorian home. Even Marie Antoinette had one…and I’d love to see that reading list, wouldn’t you?
Reading was also a way to distract the sick. If you called on a relative who was fighting one of the many nasty things that could ruin your life before antibiotics, you probably read to them. It might have been the Bible, to offer spiritual comfort. But could just as easily have been the latest adventure book, for a fun distraction.
You probably wouldn’t read the a sensational romantic novel to a sick relative. Well, depends on the relative.
In any case, the reading wasn’t just a good deed. It was actually a small performance. The average middle-class 19th century person probably did a lot more performing on a daily basis than all but professionals do in our world. Reading out loud, reciting poetry, playing or singing a song, all were little accomplishments you might bring out to amuse your family and friends…and all were performing in ways that we simply don’t have to do now.
Reading out loud wasn’t all putting on a show for your sick auntie, though. Sometimes it was part of a courtship. Couples were always looking for intimate, but not physical, things they could do together, and reading fit the bill nicely. Even better if it was love poetry, like some classic Shakespeare or Donne, but even the grim old King James Bible will do if your partner is reading it to you with the right look in their eyes and note in their voice.
In fact, in A FATAL FIRST NIGHT, Ella discovers that she very much enjoys having someone read to her. I can’t tell you who because that would spoil a surprise, but let’s just say that she discovers that it is an awful lot of fun to be an audience of one for a certain gentleman with excellent performance skills. In much the same way as for other couples of the time, the reading turns out to be far more romantic than “improving.” Though of course it’s an improving book!
Got an idea for a Throwback Thursday post? Drop it in the comments!
In the 19th century, though, reading out loud came up in all kinds of different contexts. Often, it was background noise, the way we now leave the TV on so we’re not in a silent room. Think of the scenes in LITTLE WOMEN and other novels where one woman reads while the others sew. The book is usually what the Victorians called an “improving” one, meaning moral and probably at least a little boring.
That wasn’t really the point, if you were sitting at home sewing or hanging around the hearth with your family. There were only two possible ways to fill the silence, music or reading. If you didn’t want to spend all your time banging away on the upright…or couldn’t afford one, reading out loud was a very good way to supply some interest to your time.
The sewing March sisters were following a very elegant tradition, though they probably didn’t know it. Queens and upper-class women had readers for at least a century before the idea came to the Victorian home. Even Marie Antoinette had one…and I’d love to see that reading list, wouldn’t you?
Reading was also a way to distract the sick. If you called on a relative who was fighting one of the many nasty things that could ruin your life before antibiotics, you probably read to them. It might have been the Bible, to offer spiritual comfort. But could just as easily have been the latest adventure book, for a fun distraction.
You probably wouldn’t read the a sensational romantic novel to a sick relative. Well, depends on the relative.
In any case, the reading wasn’t just a good deed. It was actually a small performance. The average middle-class 19th century person probably did a lot more performing on a daily basis than all but professionals do in our world. Reading out loud, reciting poetry, playing or singing a song, all were little accomplishments you might bring out to amuse your family and friends…and all were performing in ways that we simply don’t have to do now.
Reading out loud wasn’t all putting on a show for your sick auntie, though. Sometimes it was part of a courtship. Couples were always looking for intimate, but not physical, things they could do together, and reading fit the bill nicely. Even better if it was love poetry, like some classic Shakespeare or Donne, but even the grim old King James Bible will do if your partner is reading it to you with the right look in their eyes and note in their voice.
In fact, in A FATAL FIRST NIGHT, Ella discovers that she very much enjoys having someone read to her. I can’t tell you who because that would spoil a surprise, but let’s just say that she discovers that it is an awful lot of fun to be an audience of one for a certain gentleman with excellent performance skills. In much the same way as for other couples of the time, the reading turns out to be far more romantic than “improving.” Though of course it’s an improving book!
Got an idea for a Throwback Thursday post? Drop it in the comments!
December 30, 2020
RING IN THE NEW
New Year’s Eve has always been a cause for a big celebration in New York, but it hasn’t always looked or sounded the way you might expect. (Never mind the way it’s going to look this year, when most of the world greets the end of 2020 with a hearty “GOOD RIDDANCE!”)
The massive Times Square party started in 1904, when the newspaper decided to celebrate its new building with fireworks, and the ball was added in 1907. Midtown was just taking off as the center of “New York, the Wonder City,” as one of my favorite vintage postcards puts it, and the party just became part of the legend.
But the party started long before the Wonder City.
As early as 1698, New Yorkers were literally ringing in the new with the help of the bells at Trinity Church. By the late nineteenth century, Trinity Church was the magnificent Lower Manhattan edifice we know, and the ringing was the center of the festivities.
Not that the church fathers were especially pleased to be the belle of the ball. The huge crowds of New Yorkers who filled the streets around the Wall Street sanctuary did not stand in decorous silence whilst listening to the sweet peal of the bells. Not even a little. The “ragamuffins” and their older counterparts enjoyed much the same sort of raucous street party that we associate with New Year’s – only with loud tin horns instead of smartphones. It was a classic New York celebration: loud, joyful, and not especially concerned with what anyone else thought.
So it’s not really a surprise that the rector cancelled the ringing in 1893.
It’s also no surprise that the ragamuffins brought their horns to his house that night and rang in the New Year near his stoop. Amazingly enough, the Reverend Dr. Morgan Dix, who looks like a real party-pooper in the surviving pictures, decided it was better idea have the ruffians hold their festivities in the usual spot the next year.
New Year’s Eve, then, has a long record of being a big party night, one way or another, and New York Times owner Adolph Ochs just took it and ran with it.
New Year’s Day, though, was a much quieter affair, and not just because folks were nursing hangovers. It’s a Holy Day of Obligation for Catholics, and an important day for many African-American churches. And New Yorkers of every race and creed enjoyed taking part in the custom that started with the Knickerbockers, the City’s first settlers, and the true old-school gentry: New Year visits. Sometimes it was a formal open house, other times just a stop to say hello to friends, but the visit was definitely a good way to start the year.
It certainly is for Ella Shane and her cousin Tommy. When they’re not on tour, they enjoy both ends of the party, taking their horns and heading down to Trinity Church, then dragging out of bed next morning for Mass at Holy Innocents and the round of visits.
I’m thinking of spending New Year’s with them myself!
Whatever your celebration brings, may it be safe and joyful – with best wishes for a better 2021!
Got a Throwback Thursday idea? Drop it in the comments!
The massive Times Square party started in 1904, when the newspaper decided to celebrate its new building with fireworks, and the ball was added in 1907. Midtown was just taking off as the center of “New York, the Wonder City,” as one of my favorite vintage postcards puts it, and the party just became part of the legend.
But the party started long before the Wonder City.
As early as 1698, New Yorkers were literally ringing in the new with the help of the bells at Trinity Church. By the late nineteenth century, Trinity Church was the magnificent Lower Manhattan edifice we know, and the ringing was the center of the festivities.
Not that the church fathers were especially pleased to be the belle of the ball. The huge crowds of New Yorkers who filled the streets around the Wall Street sanctuary did not stand in decorous silence whilst listening to the sweet peal of the bells. Not even a little. The “ragamuffins” and their older counterparts enjoyed much the same sort of raucous street party that we associate with New Year’s – only with loud tin horns instead of smartphones. It was a classic New York celebration: loud, joyful, and not especially concerned with what anyone else thought.
So it’s not really a surprise that the rector cancelled the ringing in 1893.
It’s also no surprise that the ragamuffins brought their horns to his house that night and rang in the New Year near his stoop. Amazingly enough, the Reverend Dr. Morgan Dix, who looks like a real party-pooper in the surviving pictures, decided it was better idea have the ruffians hold their festivities in the usual spot the next year.
New Year’s Eve, then, has a long record of being a big party night, one way or another, and New York Times owner Adolph Ochs just took it and ran with it.
New Year’s Day, though, was a much quieter affair, and not just because folks were nursing hangovers. It’s a Holy Day of Obligation for Catholics, and an important day for many African-American churches. And New Yorkers of every race and creed enjoyed taking part in the custom that started with the Knickerbockers, the City’s first settlers, and the true old-school gentry: New Year visits. Sometimes it was a formal open house, other times just a stop to say hello to friends, but the visit was definitely a good way to start the year.
It certainly is for Ella Shane and her cousin Tommy. When they’re not on tour, they enjoy both ends of the party, taking their horns and heading down to Trinity Church, then dragging out of bed next morning for Mass at Holy Innocents and the round of visits.
I’m thinking of spending New Year’s with them myself!
Whatever your celebration brings, may it be safe and joyful – with best wishes for a better 2021!
Got a Throwback Thursday idea? Drop it in the comments!
December 24, 2020
YES, VIRGINIA...IT'S CHRISTMAS IN NYC!
New Yorkers didn’t invent Christmas…but they sure had a lot to do with how it looks in America.
The first New Yorkers brought us Santa Claus, though at the time it was New Amsterdam and he answered to Sinterklaas. It was Clement Clark Moore, who lived in what’s now Chelsea, who moved the jolly old elf from Saint Nicholas Day in early December to “The Night Before Christmas” in 1823. Pretty soon, Christmas Eve was the one night of the year that New Yorkers didn’t mind the idea of some strange old guy showing up in their houses. (Only because he was bringing presents, of course.)
Santa also gets his “look” from a New Yorker. Harper’s Weekly cartoonist Thomas Nast popularized the portly bearded guy in the fur-trimmed suit riding around in a sleigh from the 1860s to 1880s. Those illustrations made Santa a very American character, jolly and fun and open-handed, as opposed to the rather solemn and distant European Father Christmas in his robes. That one is still around in much of the world, but he doesn’t get invited to the party around here very often!
Christmas trees didn’t start in New York, either. Queen Victoria popularized them with her German Prince Albert. And the City quickly jumped on the bandwagon. The first Christmas trees were sold at a downtown stand in 1851, and they were selling by the hundreds of thousands by the 1880s. And of course New Yorkers trimmed them up their way.
New York, and particularly Gilded Age New York, also led the charge on the whole idea of holiday excess. Now, the idea of going a little wild, whether in spending or eating, is part of the fun for us. Holiday gifting and partying were just getting off the ground in the late 1800s, and the robber barons and their families did their bit to urge it along.
And, yes, Virginia, New York also gave the world…Virginia! It was the New York Sun, and editor Francis Pharcellus Church whose answer to a little girl who wasn’t too sure about Santa that set off generations of stories in just about every available medium.
Probably the only Christmas-season icon that New York didn’t influence is Scrooge. Charles Dickens’ reformed villain is an entirely British invention, just like his creator. New Yorkers had plenty of Scrooge-alikes, but they didn’t touch the original.
Which is fine, by the way, for one Ella Shane. Neither she, nor her cousin Tommy, wants to hear the heartrending tale of Tiny Tim – those tenement kids made good saw too much real-life tragedy. But sign them up for “The Night Before Christmas!”
They’ll happily read it to friends’ children, or the kids at the Holy Innocents Church School. Of course they have a great big tree at their Washington Square townhouse, and they go to Aunt Ellen’s on Christmas Day with plenty of presents for the cousins.
If you’re wondering how it’s possible that Ella takes every bit as much joy in her Christmas celebrations as the Hanukkah festivities of her Jewish heritage, I’ll let her clarify it for you: “God knows what I am, and He’ll figure it out when the time comes. In the meantime, I do no harm celebrating everything.”
Whatever you’re celebrating – may you have much joy! Merry Christmas!
Got a Throwback Thursday idea? Drop it in the comments!
The first New Yorkers brought us Santa Claus, though at the time it was New Amsterdam and he answered to Sinterklaas. It was Clement Clark Moore, who lived in what’s now Chelsea, who moved the jolly old elf from Saint Nicholas Day in early December to “The Night Before Christmas” in 1823. Pretty soon, Christmas Eve was the one night of the year that New Yorkers didn’t mind the idea of some strange old guy showing up in their houses. (Only because he was bringing presents, of course.)
Santa also gets his “look” from a New Yorker. Harper’s Weekly cartoonist Thomas Nast popularized the portly bearded guy in the fur-trimmed suit riding around in a sleigh from the 1860s to 1880s. Those illustrations made Santa a very American character, jolly and fun and open-handed, as opposed to the rather solemn and distant European Father Christmas in his robes. That one is still around in much of the world, but he doesn’t get invited to the party around here very often!
Christmas trees didn’t start in New York, either. Queen Victoria popularized them with her German Prince Albert. And the City quickly jumped on the bandwagon. The first Christmas trees were sold at a downtown stand in 1851, and they were selling by the hundreds of thousands by the 1880s. And of course New Yorkers trimmed them up their way.
New York, and particularly Gilded Age New York, also led the charge on the whole idea of holiday excess. Now, the idea of going a little wild, whether in spending or eating, is part of the fun for us. Holiday gifting and partying were just getting off the ground in the late 1800s, and the robber barons and their families did their bit to urge it along.
And, yes, Virginia, New York also gave the world…Virginia! It was the New York Sun, and editor Francis Pharcellus Church whose answer to a little girl who wasn’t too sure about Santa that set off generations of stories in just about every available medium.
Probably the only Christmas-season icon that New York didn’t influence is Scrooge. Charles Dickens’ reformed villain is an entirely British invention, just like his creator. New Yorkers had plenty of Scrooge-alikes, but they didn’t touch the original.
Which is fine, by the way, for one Ella Shane. Neither she, nor her cousin Tommy, wants to hear the heartrending tale of Tiny Tim – those tenement kids made good saw too much real-life tragedy. But sign them up for “The Night Before Christmas!”
They’ll happily read it to friends’ children, or the kids at the Holy Innocents Church School. Of course they have a great big tree at their Washington Square townhouse, and they go to Aunt Ellen’s on Christmas Day with plenty of presents for the cousins.
If you’re wondering how it’s possible that Ella takes every bit as much joy in her Christmas celebrations as the Hanukkah festivities of her Jewish heritage, I’ll let her clarify it for you: “God knows what I am, and He’ll figure it out when the time comes. In the meantime, I do no harm celebrating everything.”
Whatever you’re celebrating – may you have much joy! Merry Christmas!
Got a Throwback Thursday idea? Drop it in the comments!
December 17, 2020
NOT HER GRANDMA'S HANUKKAH
At the end of A FATAL FIRST NIGHT, Ella Shane is lighting her menorah and enjoying an unexpected present from a friend. (Can’t tell you who because – spoiler!) The note points out that Hanukkah is not nearly as important a holiday to Jews as Christmas is to Christians…and that’s true, from a religious standpoint. By 1899, though, Hanukkah is taking on considerable cultural importance for American Jews, and that would only grow in the 20th century.
For Ella, and real people who came up from the tenements, Hanukkah was a marker of how far they’ve progressed. Poor new immigrants like Ella’s Jewish mother would not have brought, or spent limited family money to buy, a menorah. It just wasn’t that important an event to tie up precious resources. The High Holy Days in the autumn, and Passover in the spring were the holidays that mattered.
Hanukkah was a relatively minor spot on the Jewish calendar for centuries. But things changed in America.
As the 19th century went on, there was a deliberate drive among Jewish leaders to encourage immigrants to celebrate the holiday. Part of it was the way the Hanukkah story speaks to self-determination and religious freedom in a new country founded on those very ideals. Also, at least part of it, as immigrants wanted to assimilate, was the desire to have a December holiday too. Not that community leaders meant to encourage that – the whole point of the Hanukkah celebrations was to foster Jewish identity, not copying Christmas.
Someone like Ella, a tenement orphan made good, is exactly the sort of person who would start a more elaborate Hanukkah observance than what, if anything, she had as a kid. Prosperous families would send their children to special events, and light beautiful menorahs, putting them in the window in the Jewish tradition. Of course, people probably didn’t feel comfortable putting them in the window in every neighborhood…but the menorah in the window isn’t just a universal symbol of light against darkness – it’s also a very Jewish statement: We are here, we are still here, and we are bringing our light to help heal the world.
For Ella, and likely many others, it’s also at least partially an act of defiance. While her specific situation was unusual, there were plenty of people who were determined to hang onto whatever bits of their heritage they could, even while becoming and remaining wholly American. Hanukkah became one way to do that.
And about Ella. As the daughter of an extremely rare interfaith marriage, raised by her Irish Catholic father’s family after the death of her Jewish mother, she sees honoring and celebrating her Jewish identity as a way to keep her mother’s memory alive. So Hanukkah has a much more personal meaning to her, in addition to the religious and cultural one.
One more little note about Ella. While her friend imagines her lighting her candles to celebrate, that’s not what she’s doing. She’s actually lighting an oil menorah, popular in the 19th century…and a callback to the Hanukkah miracle of one day’s oil burning for eight. It’s also a callback to my family: my husband has his grandmother’s oil menorah.
Whatever you celebrate this season, may it be joyful and blessed! Throwback Thursday idea? Drop it in the comments!
For Ella, and real people who came up from the tenements, Hanukkah was a marker of how far they’ve progressed. Poor new immigrants like Ella’s Jewish mother would not have brought, or spent limited family money to buy, a menorah. It just wasn’t that important an event to tie up precious resources. The High Holy Days in the autumn, and Passover in the spring were the holidays that mattered.
Hanukkah was a relatively minor spot on the Jewish calendar for centuries. But things changed in America.
As the 19th century went on, there was a deliberate drive among Jewish leaders to encourage immigrants to celebrate the holiday. Part of it was the way the Hanukkah story speaks to self-determination and religious freedom in a new country founded on those very ideals. Also, at least part of it, as immigrants wanted to assimilate, was the desire to have a December holiday too. Not that community leaders meant to encourage that – the whole point of the Hanukkah celebrations was to foster Jewish identity, not copying Christmas.
Someone like Ella, a tenement orphan made good, is exactly the sort of person who would start a more elaborate Hanukkah observance than what, if anything, she had as a kid. Prosperous families would send their children to special events, and light beautiful menorahs, putting them in the window in the Jewish tradition. Of course, people probably didn’t feel comfortable putting them in the window in every neighborhood…but the menorah in the window isn’t just a universal symbol of light against darkness – it’s also a very Jewish statement: We are here, we are still here, and we are bringing our light to help heal the world.
For Ella, and likely many others, it’s also at least partially an act of defiance. While her specific situation was unusual, there were plenty of people who were determined to hang onto whatever bits of their heritage they could, even while becoming and remaining wholly American. Hanukkah became one way to do that.
And about Ella. As the daughter of an extremely rare interfaith marriage, raised by her Irish Catholic father’s family after the death of her Jewish mother, she sees honoring and celebrating her Jewish identity as a way to keep her mother’s memory alive. So Hanukkah has a much more personal meaning to her, in addition to the religious and cultural one.
One more little note about Ella. While her friend imagines her lighting her candles to celebrate, that’s not what she’s doing. She’s actually lighting an oil menorah, popular in the 19th century…and a callback to the Hanukkah miracle of one day’s oil burning for eight. It’s also a callback to my family: my husband has his grandmother’s oil menorah.
Whatever you celebrate this season, may it be joyful and blessed! Throwback Thursday idea? Drop it in the comments!
