Monday, 7 April 2014

The (un)wired cap

My cap is done and though it turned out OK, it did not turn out the way I wanted it. It doesn't matter much, though, because I need several caps and the way this one turned out, it works very well for some of my clothes. I was aiming to make a small wired cap, suitable for the period 1740-60, the research can be found here and here but as you can see it isn't that small and more suitable for a lter period where a wired brim doesn't seem to have been popular anymore. So I decided to just starch the brim and leave it as that. My original plan was to make the wired cap with a lace brim, but decided on linen because I found that I had no leftover lace at home, so I'm not sad, now I can make it the way I wanted it to begin with. As I starched the brim, it did stand up a little on its own anyway.



I based my pattern on the shape of this cap on Duran Textiles, but made it smaller. Not small enough as it turned out, though. The band was cut out from what remained of my fabric, it got to be about 80 cm long, and when hemmed, 6 cm wide. Both cap and brim were then hemmed as narrowly as I could, which turned out to be about 3 mm. When I made my 17th century shirt I got the tip to lightly starch the fabric before hemming it and that made the process much easier.
The edge of the crown was gathered down to 36 cm and the brim pleated to the same measurement. Then I arranged it on my ironing board, roughly mimicking the shapr of the crown, you can see the pins holding it down.

Then I ironed it so all the pleats got flat, removing the pins as I went. After that I starched the brim as heavily as I could.

The last moments were to whipstitch crown and brim together and pleat the back. I wore it for the first time last Saturday when I held a lecture on 18th century makeup at Kristinehovs malmgård, an 18th century manor house in Stockholm. I paired it with b´my blue and white striped 1790's gown. The lecture was held in the Animal room, which holds an owl on the clock, a parrot on the lamp, mice on the floor and butterflies and birds on the walls. Here I am pointing at the bird's nest.



Close up on the bird's nest. The wall paper is a copy of an 18th century one found in the theatre at Drottningholm's castle.


The Challenge: #7 Tops and toes
Fabric: Lightweight linen
Pattern: Self-drafted but heavily influenced by one of the patterns found at Duran Textiles.
Year: Last half of the 18th century.
Notions: White sewing thread in silk, starch.
How historically accurate is it? Pretty accurate. The pattern isn't original, but it is hand-sewn and constructed in a similar manner to extant caps.
Hours to complete: 14
First worn: April 5 when I held a lecture on 18th century makeup.
Total cost: Don't know as I used linen scraps.


Friday, 4 April 2014

Extant 18th century caps

The actual sewing on my cap is done, now I have to sew in the wire and see if my idea on how to do actually work when it is applied. Very exiting... You can see a previous post on the subject here. I have also found an article on just earlier 18th century caps at A Most Beguiling Accomplishment. Here is also a few extant caps. None of them are wired, but wire must have been easy to remove so you could wash the cap and perhaps it was also removed to change the look of the cap.

Three lace caps. The first is just dated to the 18th century, but I think it is quite correct to assume that it should be dated to around 1750.

Flemish cap, 18th century

French cap ca. 1750
 
Belgian cap ca. 1740
Cap, probably American, 1750-1799


Cap, 1751-1800


Cap, 1750-1800

Cap, 1775-1800
Cap, 1775-1799
 
 

Mourning cap in pleated silk and black crape
Cap, 1785–98




Saturday, 29 March 2014

18th century wired caps

Detail from a portrait of an unknown lady by Ulrika Fredrica Pasch, 1770
All my sewing projects have been on hold for the past couple of weeks as I have had another bout of bronchitis coupled with a tummy bug. I really, really don't recommend that! I'm basically well now, but still weak and tired and it says something that I haven't even done the tiniest amount of sewing whatsoever. And as I still don't feel up to do anything big, I have decided to make an 18th century cap. Small, needed and quite fast. Perfect.

Actually, I need more than one, a small one that goes for the earlier 18th century and a big one for the later decades. However, I will make a small one now. I have had my eyes on a style that seems to have been popular 1740-1770, or so, where the ruffle is standing out like a halo around the face and is often called wired caps. After looking at ever cap of that kind I realized that even if they have the halo effect, there are several styles to this kind of cap. It is never easy, is it? I strongly suspect that caps were never ever a set style, but rather something you made up as you went, borrowing style elements from where it pleased you. Of course, geography and current fashion trend are influences that lay heavy on you.

A basic cap has a rather simple construction, there is the crown and the band at the very minimum and very often a ruffle. Some also have lace lappets that hang down the back. Extant examples show that the whole cap could be made of linen or lace, or a combination of materials. As crown, band and ruffle could have a variety of shapes, which must have been a very easy way to obtain different looks. For some useful information and free patterns, see links at the end of the post.

I'm uncertain if all caps that stand out from the face are wired. Some may very well be just heavily starched. The first picture at the post and the ones just below here, are clearly wired. At first I thought that the lace was pleated, but thought that may be the case on some, I also think that it is mounted on a wire framework. It looks like pleating at the first glance, but the lace pattern would be broken if there were pleats.
 

This cap looks like it is pleated, on the other hand. You can also see what looks like wire running through the middle and top.




Detail from a painting of an unknown woman by Benjamin Branting Nilsson
Detail from a portrait of Countess Maria Eustachia Porporato by Maria Giovanna Clementi La Clementina
Detail from a portrait of Annushka, a serf from Siberia by Ivan Argunov, 1767
In the company of a lot of fake pearls.



Many caps have this little dip in front, which is probably a lot easier to maintain if the edge is wired than just starched and shaped.

Detail from a portrait of a noblewoman by Donat Nonotte, 1760
Detail from a portrait of Madame François Buron by Jacques Louis David, 1769
This one doesn't look so stiff, so perhaps it is just heavily starched, but I also thik that it may be a wire encased inside the white ribbon.




Detail from a portrait of Dorothea Sopia Thiele by Anton Raphael Mengs, 1744
Detail from a portrait by Pietro Rotari

A few black lace caps. I assume that this is a widows mark as the women wearing black caps seems to be middle aged.


Detail from a portrait of Empress Maria Theresia of Austria by Jean-Étienne Liotard
Detail from a portrait of Madame Sophie by Franz Bernhard Frey, 1766
Detail of a portrait of an unknown lady by Louis Tocque

Caps that I think are just starched and not wired. Perhaps.
Detail from a portrait of Portrait of Madame Restout by Maurice Quentin de La Tour, 1738
Detail from a portrait of the child Nicole Ricard by Maurice Quentin de La Tour
Detail of a portrait of Kristina Sofia Sack by Gustaf Lundberg

Caps that are tied under the chin.
Detail from a portrait of Theresa Concordia Mengs by Anton Raphael Mengs, 1745
Detail from a portrait of Rosamund Sargent by Allan Ramsey, 1749
Detail from a portrait of Madame Lenoir by Joseph Siffred Duplessis, 1764
Detail from a portrait of Mademoiselle Salle by Maurice Quentin de La Tour

Detail from a portrait of Countess de Rieux by Maurice Quentin de La Tour, 1742
Generally these caps seems to be made of lace and not plain linen. The front are sometimes cut into two separate halves, sometimes in one piece. The nes tied under the chin looks softer and may not be wired at all and they are more often pleated. I haven't decided if I'm going for a cap with a lace front or one on plain linen, but I will make it pleated and just reinforce it. Duran Textiles has several free cap patterns, so I will use one of them as a template.


Several links to extant caps collected by The 18th Century Notebook can be found here.


Commercial cap patterns:

Wired cap pattern

Cap patterns from Nehelenia Patterns

I haven't found anyone who has made a wired cap, but here are a few other cap tutorials of interest:

A Frolic Through Time has made an adorable dormeuse cap, part 1 and part 2 and part 3.

A Fashionable Frolic's round eared cap.

Couture Maya has made several caps.

Art, Beauty and A Well-ordered Chaos has a step by step tutorial for making a cap.









Saturday, 15 March 2014

The Swedish national gown in the 18th century



Sophia Magdalena, Queen consort of Sweden by Nicholas Lafrensen
This is the year of the Swedish national gown for me, so I thought it wouldn't be amiss with a more throughout post about it than I have done before. I am leaving the men's suit out of it, but I can tell you that though the ladies weren't that keen on their gown, the suit was rather a success. The idea of a national suit was something that cropped up all around Europe in the 18th century, but it was only in Sweden that it was actualized. Gustaf III felt strongly about the subject and there are very strong indications that he designed them himself. If he didn't, he sure did have a lot of influence over the process, because the suit was certainly made to fit his preferences for clothes that weren’t too tight and with the handy cape that hid some slight deformities in his body. His interest in history and historical fashion is also evident.
The women's gown consisted of three parts, a sleeveless bodice, a petticoat worn over pocket hoops and a robe. They were all trimmed with a pleated trim in the same fabric and there were also a belt and bows in a contrasting fabric. The fabric could be of various colours, but even if the fabric had a pattern, the colour should be solid, i.e. woven into the fabric like the extant gown. The robe was originally cut like a polonaise, but both pictures and the remaining extant gown are cut like an anglaise. The poufy sleeves and a standing collar were the largest deviation from the fashion of the day, but even from the start, ladies could opt for a small white collar instead. There were also numerous rules for how a gown should look, depending on the wearer’s status and when it was to be worn.
 
The court gown
The big difference between the court gowns and the common gown was the sleeves. A lady who had been presented to the king wore white gauze sleeves with a lattice work of the robes fabric over. The trail was also longer and looped up a bit differently than the common version. For everyday court business the gown was black, apart from the sleeves and the bows and belt were in a colour that indicated which court the wearer belonged to. Red for the King, although it seems that pink could be worn as well, if one looks at portraits, blue for the Queen and yellow for the Dowager queen.
Another lady attached to the King's court.
Gundborg Charlotta Ehrencreutz by Johan von Rosenheim, 1779-1790, Nordiska museet
For grand balls the gown were originally meant to be bright red with white belt and bows, to honour the Queen's Danish heritage, but it must have been clear very early on that bright red wouldn't be the best shade to put a whole court in and there are no evidence that the red version were ever made. Instead the gala version became white with pale blue bows and belt, nicely complimenting the men's suit which was pale blue with white details.
 
Lady in the national gown, c. 1780, Nordiska museet
There are no paintings of the gala version as it is described; this portrait of Queen Sophia Magdalena seems to be the closest. The lattice sleeves are decorated with gold and so it the robe, which seems to be in a patterned fabric and is not trimmed with pleated fabric. The bodice is blue, and not white.
  
Sophia Magdalena, Queen consort of Sweden by Pehr Krafft, 1782, Nordiska museet
There was also a third version meant for the countryside, known as the Eksolsund's gown. It was in a pale yellow with blue details and for young ladies it deviated from the standard cut as it was supposed to be made like a riding habit. Older ladies wore the ordinary bodice/petticoat/robe combo. There are stories on the problems the court had when they were residing at Drottningholm castle as the castle itself demanded the back version, but if they were to go to the Chinese pavilion in the park, the Ekoldsund's version were to be worn. The king advertised the clothes of the day by putting a card on the door to his room, but he often changed his mind several times, so the court had to keep a vigilant eye on the door so to not show up in the wrong clothes.
 
I have never seen a portrait of a lady wearing the Ekolsund’s gown, but here is Gustaf III’s son, Gustaf IV Adolf with his wife Fredrika in the early 19th century in the male version, just to give you a sense of the colours.
Source

The common gown
With sold sleeves and a shorter train, it was very easy to spot the common gown. In theory it could be made in any colour, as the male suit seems to have, but there are only records of black, blue and grey ones. The one remaining gown is just in the common version and was made as a wedding gown for Sofia Lovisa Brüch in 1780. The bows and belt are reconstructions.
 
Nordiska museet

Front view of the common gown by Jacob Gillberg, 1778

Back view of the national gown by Jacob Gillgren, 1778, Nordiska museet
 
 Lady in the common gown with striped bows.

Unknown lady by an unknown painter, c. 1780, Nordiska museet
 A common gown in self-striped grey fabric and pale pink stroped bows.

Unknown lady by an unknown painter, c. 1780, Nordiska museet
A china figurins of a lady in the common gown, Marieberg, 1779-1782
There were also gowns that, even if they weren't strictly cut after the national gown, still took their inspiration from it, like this charming one it patterned white/yellow silk/cotton.

Gown, petticoat and stomacher, 1780-1790, Nordiska museet


 
Or this black one. The bodice in those gowns are discarded and the pouffy sleeves changed for more fashionale slim ones.

Gown and petticoat in black taffeta, late 18th century, Göteborgs stadsmuseum

Perh Hilleström paintied several paintings with peole dressed in the national suit and gowns. On the first you can see a seated lady belonging to the King's court and a lady in a grey common version. The lady arriving is also wearing a black national gown, though you can't tell if it is the court or common version.


Card Party in the Home of Elis Schröderheim by Pehr Hilleström, c. 1779, Nationalmuseum
 

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