Antique Edwardian 1900-1903 Summer Gown, Part 3: Fashion Documentation

I have a very early Edwardian dress that I've been examining since 2024. Based on stylistic elements, it was most likely made between 1900-1902. In two 2024 posts, we took a highly detailed tour of its cut and construction. If you haven't already, do read Antique Edwardian 1900-1903 Summer Gown, Part 1: Intro and Shirtwaist Construction, and Antique Edwardian 1900-1903 Summer Gown: Part 2, the Skirt.

This post is all about documenting the fashion to put the dress into context.

To repeat, I believe that this summer dress was made between 1900 and 1902, possibly but not likely 1903. The long-waisted, willowy, sinuous look in a soft and flowing fabric puts it for sure after 1897, when fashion moved from stiff or crisp fabrics to all fabrics soft and flowing, and after 1898 and even 1899, when residual shoulder puffs could be seen in the sleeves. By 1900 sleeves were skin tight, as were bodices, and skirts clung like any mermaid dress. Dresses loosened ever so slightly in 1901; and by 1902 fashion was on its way to piling on the fabric in every looser sleeves, ever blousier fronts, and skirts with ever more fabric until the willowy cut was no more. My dress is of the earlier fashion. 

Around mid-1900 the truly pigeon-breast bodice front made its appearance, after several years of playing with bloused fronts, and this dress, as you can tell, has the modest blousing of the turn of the century. The waistline shifted around September 1900, according to magazines of the day, such as The Delineator and Wiener Mode, such that the bodice and skirt were cut lower in front than in back, a feature The Delineator called "the dip". These lines followed the new straight-front corset, which makes the lower abdomen flat and pushes the hips backwards and therefore up a little.

Then there is the lovely flowing shape of the skirt, in full flower, which flows over the ground at the feet, even in the front, and in this dress, continues into a short train in the back. At the time this was called a “sweep” length, as opposed to a “round”, even-around-the-bottom length, or a short instep length. Each length was suited for different activities. A writer of the time compared the skirt shape to the calyx of a bell-shaped flower. We had moved into a whole different look than just a few short years before.

Putting the Dress in Context: What the Media and Fashion Industry Said

So, shall we put this dress in a fashion context? This will be a long post, I warn you, because I am including some of the scads of research I’ve put together over the years about this era, along with examples of dress features that were recommended by the media and by advertising.

The Ladies Home Journal (hereinafter LHJ) recommended just such light, flowey fabric for summer wear, prioritizing the color white: “(w)hite holds first rank this summer, as it did last, for children, young girls and young women and for older ones also when combined with black”, wrote Emma M. Hooper in her May 1901 column “To Dress Well on a Small Income” (p.32).

She had this to say about the overall cut: 

LHJ May 1901, p. 32

I love Mrs. Hooper's direction for remembering to wear a tiny bustle, at this point often just a pad for everyday wear. It really gives the silhouette oomph.

Further, “The All-White Gown”, an article in the same issue, p. 30, suggests that an unlined gown is an especially good idea because it may easily be washed. My dress is certainly unlined. No drop skirt, no lining for the bodice.

Here is how such a dress, which is often referred to as a gown in this magazine, tends to look. Note the slender, clinging cut at the hip, the skirt opening into a trumpet or upside-down flower shape at the feet, and so long that the fabric puddles on the ground. Also the narrow sleeves and the “pointed”, dropped front of the bodice or shirtwaist at the waistline. It is hard to tell, but the neckline includes a very high collar — that is not an open neck.

LHJ, May 1901, p30

Here are two unlined gowns from the May 1901 Delineator, p. 706, described as “Shirtwaist or House Toilettes”. Note that neither is especially frilly: there is no party at the bottom hem frilling, for instance, and the young lady on the right sports a mannish, probably stiff collar and bow tie. The dress on the left would be perfect for house wear in which someone might come to sit on the front porch or to share an afternoon: the model is wearing a long necklace and her dress has lace; her added velvet ribbon neckwear, was very popular—1901 was mad, mad!—for narrow black velvet ribbons, but more in another post sometime: I even have a darling pink shirtwaist whose lace has been interlaced with it. You'll meet it later in this post.

The unlined gown, or “shirtwaist toilette”, also featured in other seasons. Here is a model from The Delineator, February 1901, picture on p. 196, text p. 208. 

Belts

The model in the LHJ 1901 illustration wears the recommended belt. Narrow belts, often with buckles or its ends crossed in front, were quite fashionable in this year, although the fabric “dip belts” could come in wider widths, some even cummerbund size. They could be separate accessories or made of fabric and slip-stitched on to the garment:

LHJ May 1901, p. 30

Here’s an ad from The Dry Goods Review (Canada), Spring 1901 collected issues, p. 211, on the Internet Archive:

While we are on belts—and no, my dress did not come with one—The Dry Goods Review has what amounts to an extended ad, or puff piece, for a crossed belt with a loop near one end through which the other is inserted. From The Dry Goods Review (Canada), Spring 1901 collected issues, p. 92:

Now you know a bit more about a few, though not all, early Edwardian belt options. I rather like the cross-front option and would choose that one, although women of larger size were often advised to avoid belts. (Certainly wish I had citations for that, but cannot put my hands on them.) I haven’t mentioned, on purpose, the wider “Marie Antoinette girdles”, which, except for the front dip, look like their 1890s predecessors, and which recall the sashes worn in the 1780s, such as with chemise dresses. There is much to figure out about them and on which occasions, and with what cuts of gown, they were worn with. Nor have I mentioned wearing a ribbon sash, although that was very popular.

Tucks

Here is another example of a spring/summer gown, this one from the Austrian magazine Wiener Mode, on its cover for June 1901. A similar line, but with very high-fashion bracelet-length sleeves, rather dressy. American magazines like The Delineator would wait to recommend shorter sleeves widely until about 1902 or so. Do you notice that the gown has a good deal in common with the gown in my collection? Mine has those sleeves and the abundance of narrow vertical tucks.

Wiener Mode cover, June 1901

The Dry Goods Review (Canadian) wrote that vertical tucks were in fashion in its Spring 1901 collected volume of issue (Internet Archive), p. 46:

You will find tucks wide and narrow throughout fashion plates and fashion advice during 1901 and later. They rapidly become a prominent Edwardian theme, in the way that self trim (ruffles and bias bands) is a prevalent theme during the 1870s, and asymmetric draping is in the 1880s. Trims like all of these are more or less present in lots of fashion eras, but they do break out all over every once in a while :}

“Waists”, an Earlier Term for Bodice, and their Pouching

Let’s talk bodice features, or as I’ll call them, “waist” features. “Waist” referred to either a lined bodice or, you guessed it, a shirtwaist, often written “shirt waist”. Back in the aughts, my first readings of fashion columns were really confused, as I thought the writers were referring to just the waistline. No, they’re referring to the bodice. Early shirtwaists were masculine, with high stock collars attached often with buttons, just like men’s, to the shirtwaist’s band collar, and buttoned in front. 

By 1900 and 1901, writers and manufacturers and retailers and people at large could refer to a back-buttoning, lacy, unlined waist as a shirtwaist, too, and sometimes even shirtwaists were lined. The lining was usually tight and boned, and often featured a waist stay, being direct descendants of 1890s bodices. This way the fashion fabric could be draped and gathered, then sewn into position. Whether time has obscured some details or whether people threw around design terminology they way they threw around Madame de Pompadour’s and Marie Antoinette's names, I haven’t a clue.

To make things more of a mess, the word “blouse” is increasingly common, and pretty generally refers to those waists which are blousy—those that have that pigeon-front effect, what The Delineator called the “Juno bust” during the very early years of the century. Why not just say “mature” or “the girls have moved south” and be done with it, but it’s much more chic and nicer euphemistically to refer to famous French women and goddesses.

Pouching of the bodice had been increasingly popular in the late 1890s, so that is not a surefire sign of a mid-1900 and into the ‘00’s date, though you can see minute changes in how it is handled, from an extension of the gathered top-to-bottom front plastron, to fullness confined to the lower part of the bust…the pigeon-front look. 

However, the pouching, when accompanied by a pouch position lower in front and rising towards the back of the shirtwaist/waist, what The Delineator called the “Marie Antoinette dip” in mid-1900, signals a date after the 1890s. This gown has that effect, and features the very early Edwardian long, low waist, pouching confined just to the center front, and especially the little band at the high waistline in back with two eyelet holes for affixing tiny hooks from the skirt to hold the set of the skirt in back and to keep it from gaping away from the bodice. 

The waistline slowly rises during the ‘00 and pouching is less confined to center front. The allover pouching is especially likely to happen with shirtwaists that don’t control the pouch with tuck-in peplum or sewn-down gathering and instead rely on tapes that are attached at the sides and tie in front. The Delineator talks about this as a benefit in its June 1900 dressmaker advice column, although it nearly assures that the wearer must adjust her shirtwaist several times a day as the pouching pulls and migrates. Not so different, really, from blouses the rest of the 20th century into now, which will un-tuck after any reaching or deep leaning, the silly things.

The Cut of the "Waist"

How about the cut of the waist? The divided front is very popular into 1901, though it fades afterwards. In many cases, this cut mimics the uber-popular bolero or Eton jacket, with each side looking a bit jacketish, while the center front mimics a blouse underneath. This was a fashion theme from the mid-1870s on, that of creating some sort of contrast in the center of the bodice: a plastron. By the 1890s plastrons tended to be poofy with stirring or gathering top and bottom. Some were removable and could be used on different outfits.

My dress has a plastron, although it’s built into the waist and not separate. The vertically tucked side fronts appear jacket-ish, edged with applied flat lace. In the center, the eyelet fabric of the plastron is a pretty contrast, without it shouting at the viewer.

Here are several similar effects. First, the LHJ May 1901, p. 30 dress pictured earlier has this effect and the article copy says it’s meant to feel like a jacket and under-vest. 

Here below is another example from The Delineator, a color plate from May 1901; look at the model wearing blue.

Yet another is illustrated in The Dry Goods Review, Spring 1901. I have included the entire page so that you can understand how these were conceived and marketed by readymade clothing manufacturers. (Do you see the little comment in black over the picture? The magazine's owner, evidently a store buyer or owner, wanted to make an order.)

Sleeves

Let’s talk sleeves, because they are such obvious markers during the Edwardian period. Sleeves we’ve seen so far are quite narrow, but they aren’t skin tight they way they tended to be in 1899 or 1900. Here’s a sample, from Vogue, May 3, 1900. Three of the models sport sleeves as tight as possible, while another features very slightly “fuller” sleeves, if you can call them so, and the first sprouting of a bishop cut.

Vogue is not alone in showing this—it’s all over, whatever the illustrator or photographer. I recommend looking at Les Modes photographs.

By 1901 sleeves are a little less tight and probably a good bit more comfortable, especially on humid days. They’ll keep getting bigger in different spots for a few more years.

So, my dress is right on trend as regards sleeve tightness in 1901, and we even see the same sleeve-end frill design as in the Wiener Mode illustration. And of course, my dress, with its train, is not appropriate for working or chores.

About that bracelet length, though: it only appears on rather elegant “toilettes”, to use a Delineator term for an outfit. The dresses may be of cotton, but they’re for gatherings and parties, not the street. In some American magazines, anything other than full-length sleeves was not considered appropriate for daytime, until about 1902. Am I thinking Ladies Home Journal?

Here’s Vogue again, in April 1901, with a very tight sleeve and a delightful lettuce frill, perhaps made by cutting a circle of fabric in a spiral and then hemming the length and attaching it in closely set rows so that it fluffs.

Shorter sleeve acceptability changes in 1902, when The Delineator and all kinds of magazines make a point of illustrating elbow sleeves. As The Delineator’s Paris columnist noted in July 1902, p. 53, in America elbow-length sleeves are “correct” for the street and other situations, but necks are high, while in France, sleeves remain long.

Necklines and Collars

We haven’t mentioned necklines and collars yet. A neckline at the throat and standing collars had been de rigeur for daytime dress since the 1880s and for the early Edwardian period they remain standard wear. Some shirtwaists were made with already-attached high collars made of self fabric, especially the lacy kind; the more masculine styles made use of the separate, heavily starched collars men wore, either strictly plain or with often self-colored embroidery or a touch of lace. The dress or shirtwaist neckline would have a simple neckband and the stiff collar would sit over it.

In other cases, women made pretty, tight standing separate collars, as they had been doing in the 1890s, or found gorgeous ones made of all different kinds of laces. Such collars tended to come in high and very high—to the top of the throat. They were usually set inside with narrow vertical bones or wavy wires to hold them up, with hooks and bars in back to close them. The collars could be worn with several dresses. This is probably the situation with my dress, for there is the little plain band collar. The woman wearing the dress would not have worn that alone. The outfit would have looked unfinished. The collar, like the belt, has gone missing, alas.

Here is LHJ in May 1901 talking about how to make collars in the p.32 article titled “To Dress Well on a Small Income”.

The Delineator calls them "stocks" in August 1901 and discusses at length how to make unlined ones on pp 194-195. Here is a portion of the information.

Here is an example of a low, attached collar on a c1901-1903 fancy unlined shirtwaist in my collection. The copious use of black narrow velvet ribbon and even the little compound bow, now somewhat droopy, that was so popular in 1901 tempt me to date it to that year, but one cannot be sure. The shirtwaist is dressmaker or homemade, and very nicely, too, but there is no label. Oh, and no, the shirtwaist was not cut from a dress. Often they were left unhemmed. That wasn't necessarily laziness. Tucked under a skirt, who wanted to see the outline of a hem on a skirt so closely fitted at the top?

Here's a closer look at the tiny compound ribbon. An example of that compound bow illustrated in Delineator. I believe a similar effect appears on a young lady modeling a score of them on a dressy toilette in Les Modes, May 1901.

By 1902 the “Dutch” jewel neckline sans high collar and shorter sleeves arrive as a much cooler summer option; see The Delineator in June, 1902, for example, but these necklines have lacy effects, and our dress’ little band collar is not the same thing.

Skirts

Many skirts were trained at this time, for house wear in non-work situations, for afternoon promenades or carriage rides, get-togethers, events such as races or expositions, or even dressy street wear, so the train doesn’t date the outfit. A street outfit or working outfit, by contrast, had a "round" hem (no train), whether that almost puddled the floor, brushed the shoe or boot tops, or hiked up a bit for rainy days or sports.

Trains appeared from the end of the 1890s until almost mid-19-aughts, in a way they hadn't been since the later 1870s. Commentary on trailing skirts appeared in a New Zealand paper in January 1901, it was called “The Trail of the Skirt: Expert Opinions in Favor of Trailing Fashions”. Here is a portion, showing that some trailing skirts were designed to be held when walking. I have cited this snippet before, but its discussion of the different types of gowns and their skirt lengths is helpful.

We talked of the skirt's cut and how it reflected the current fashion for puddling, trailing skirts so much in the posts Antique Edwardian 1900-1903 Summer Gown: Part 2, the Skirt, and in A Construction Tour of Four Antique Edwardian Skirts in My Collection, that I won't repeat all that evidence here. 

What to Wear Under the Dress? A Colored "Slip"

Naturally, white could be worn under a translucent dress, but so could a colored slip. We read of these often, but the slips are not common in antique dress shops.  In "Mrs. Ralston Answers", the advice column in LHJ, she recommends colored slips as still being in fashion in 1902. She suggests a two-piece slip. My dress, being perhaps a little more opaque than some summer dresses, probably didn't have one, but then, I haven't tested a color under it.

Well, I hope by this point you have a fair sense of the fashion and construction behind this lovely, simple summer gown currently in my keeping. It was a joy, if a prolonged effort, to put it into context.

Three Antique Ladies' Necessaires, or Sewing Boxes Plus, Have Found Their Way Here

Do I have your attention, yet?

Now?

How about now?

Three different, but very similar, antique boxes, two in my stewardship, the last in my mother's.

WARNING: IMAGE-HEAVY POST AHEAD

So, have you ever had the experience, when finding something special you had never seen before and, keen to learn more about it, been stymied in finding information about it or its history? Have you then, primed by the long researches, suddenly discovered more of these objects, while their source or sources are still a mystery? We all know that human eyes and ears are designed to seek patterns, so really, this experience shouldn't be a marvel, but it is a marvel when three apparent hens' teeth land in your hands.

I have loved antique sewing boxes and lap desks since I was a little girl of maybe eight, awed at the sight of a little antique lap desk with the silhouette of a swan inlaid on its top, that lay piled with many other boxes in an enormous New York state barn-turned-antique-shop. As a teenager, I found a local young girl's lap desk and it came home with me, and later an Englishman's campaign desk with secret compartments, and a sturdy late Victorian or Edwardian sewing box that I use all the time. 

It would be nifty to round out the collection with a dressing box piled with bottles and brushes and combs, but that is probably gilding the lily, a notion that didn't afflict affluent Victorians, but does me. Yet like any person of a collecting mentality, an awful lot of hours have been spent examining boxes, looking them up online, reading about them, just for the pleasure of getting a sense of the inside of other eras through the objects they made. 

But these boxes were almost all of them English, American, or French. Never once in all the shops or in all the Englishl-anguage online markets I had I come across any like these three, with their pewter trim and pewter containers, their tiny identical bone lid knobs, and the other features that all three share.

Those of you reading from continental Europe may often have seen these before, or own one, but I thought to share them for those of us who love antique boxes but haven't seen any like these.

A Lady's Necessaire Box

These boxes appear to be the very definition of a lady's ncecessaire box, a handsome container to hold the important implements of a lady's life: sewing implements and supplies and pin cushion for dressing and mending and embroidery, ink and pounce or sand for writing, room for storing letters and documents, space for personal hygiene implements.

A combination box then, not a sewing box, or a dressing box or a lap desk/writing box, but a compact mix of all of these.

From all I can find out or suspect, all three boxes may have been made by the same maker on the Continent, and that maker may have been located in Germany or Austria. Two I believe, on the evidence of similar boxes I have since seen in European antiques houses, date to the Biedermeier period, and the third may be a little later; its wreath of flowers feels mid-nineteenth century or perhaps Edwardian, but that is merely based on the nature of the floral design and of course I may be off by decades.

What's in the Boxes? Let's Take a Tour

First, the largest box 

It's of mahogany or perhaps a very dark cherry, neatly veneered. If you look carefully at the front right edge, you can just about make out the dovetailed joints of the underlying wood.

The lid features inlaid pewter trim, to protect the sides of the lid and at the bottom, though it has come off on the ends, alas. The depression for the finger to lift the lid is a nice touch. The key is still with the box. How often that does not happen! The styling is restrained but handsome, and the use of pewter rather than brass reveals a different metalworking tradition.

11" long by 7.25" wide by 4" deep, approximately

Note the wood grain is matched. Sigh: the pewter bottom trim is gone.

The cartouche on the lid, ready for engraving
or just to leave as restrained decoration

Now, for the inside.

The top contains a mirror and a swiveling catch. You cannot see it, but the remnant of a little silk loop pull sits near the catch. Originally, the mirrored piece laid almost flush with the inside of the lid, and could be opened to reveal a place for letters or whatnot. The silk has long disintegrated. On the evidence of one of the smaller boxes, this panel may have been held in place by two tiny hinges made of fabric bands nailed into place with tiny nails.

The interior, with natural wood-grain on the comparment lids

The body of the box has two layers, with the top section, consisting of compartments, nesting tightly, but removeable, also by little silk bands. The remnants are here too, on the sides, and are barely visible. Underneath is less than an inch of space for more storage.

Let's look at the compartments and their accoutrements. In this box there are two pewter canisters with close-fitting lids. They do not screw on, but fit perfectly. The beading decoration is fine and offers just enough rich contrast. Anything but liquid might have been stored in here.

Next to the top of the lid you see one of the little bone knobs. It is rubbed from use, but intact, as are all the others in this particular box. The compartment with the hole for the container is covered with a faded cream or perhaps yellow velvet. You can also see the stamped red leather cover to the central compartment.

This box, like one of the two others, has a small compartment with notches cut in two sides to hold thread winders. Each bone bobbin can hold two threads. I was so happy to see these still intact.

The pewter pounce pot has the same decoration as the canisters, but in slightly higher relief. The seed-shaped holes are hand-cut and are for pouring out pounce or sand. After a letter was written in ink, the sand was poured over to help blot it. If the container held pounce, which usually had a color to it, it could be shaken over piece of paper pricked with holes which sat on top of fabric or another piece of paper, in order to transfer the design created by the pricks. In this way, you could create a pattern for embroidering or possibly drawing or painting.

Here's the little pounce pot on its side.

The little piece of wood covered in velvet comes out of the box, so that you can see its underside...the velvet was simply folded under, and two tiny panels were glued to the side of the compartment to hold it.

Here is the inkwell, with the lid in it. Same design, nicely executed. While the lid is tight, I'd still worry that the ink could escape if the box accidentally was tipped. Other boxes I have or have seen use other materials for the bottles, and cork or screw tops for the lids.

The inkwell on its side, with its lid. You also have a clear view of the central leather panel. Those loops are not pulls: pens and scissors and personal implements could go there. As for the narrow velvet-lined compartment, was that for rings or something else?

Here is one of the thread winders, just over an inch long. The tiny protrusions on the ends fit perfectly into the notches in the compartment that holds them.

The box with the compartments opened. At the top, the heavy-ish solid wood block, with velvet pincushion glued on, and those little silk pulls rather more intact. There is just the smallest space left under there for storage. As you will find out, the bottom of the pincushion is a bit of a surprise.

In the left middle compartment I found a key and a handsome bone threadwinder with very, very fine thread indeed, one good for extra-fine sewing or whitework embroidery. It's either linen or a fine cotton, though its stiffness leads me to think linen. In the bottom middle, a later pincushion, marked "Sterling" in English for the silver content.

The pincushion, the silver slightly tarnished, the interesting berry-like fabric, and the lining fabric underneath, which holds the emery, a finely ground metallic rock. Needles and pins stuck into it would have the rust rubbed off, in the days before stainless steel sewing implements.

The box key, the thread winder and an "extra" tiny knob in full. The latter is most interesting because you can see that the bottom was pointed. A hole would be made into the compartment lid, and then the little end stuck in, perhaps with a bit of glue, or perhaps just with friction. I learned more about that in another box.

Up close.

Here is pincushion bottom. How I wish I could date the paper design glued onto it! It's an ombre with dots. In the top center is a metal pieces carefully screw in place, and with a screwhole in the center. I think this was for mounting the pincushion to something else for use, but what?

Finally, we see the inside of the box at the bottom. At each corner was glued a rounded piece of wood on which the nesting section sat. Two have come unglued and one is gone. The entire bottom of the box has split. This often happens with age, as the wood shrinks.

Originally I found this little slip of paper in the bottom of the box. It's a recipe for wrinkles. It's no doubt later, but is a nifty bit of ephemera.

Lastly, and this is an odd image: I am showing the bottom of the nesting portion of the box. The number "10" is pencilled in two spots. Americans rarely shape the number "1" like that.

The second box, smaller box, a mix of elements

The second box was the first I found, through someone here in Kentucky with Philadelphia, Pennsylvania connections. He had bought the box years ago in that area. 

Gee, the box looks familiar, doesn't it? The wood is a little lighter and may be fruitwood. I am not knowledgeable in that area. You can see the trim is similar: the pewter edging (though on the top only), the inlaid cartouche in the lid, the similar treatment of the keyhole, although the trim in the side of the lid is just flat, without a depression. I do not have the dimensions of this box, but they are very similar to the last and latest box.

Now for the inside. Since my mother owns this box, I only have these two pictures at the moment. Here you see a familiar set of compartments, don't you? The compartments with the inkwell and pounce pot, which are very similar to those in the mahogany box, down to the hand-cut seed-shaped holes in the pounce pot, but they are smaller, and the inkwell's lid went a-wandering. The space for threadholders is there, but it lacks the bobbins: I gave Mom some threadwinders and mounted a wooden spool on a tiny dowel. The leather lid in the middle is plainer, and the knobs are smaller (two are replacements), but the original one at bottom is an exact match to the "extra" in the mahogany box. 

The comparment lids are painted with faux bois mahogany or rosewood patterning, a less-expensive treatment, but still an art to achieve. The pincushion appears to be fixed.

There is a mirrored panel that belongs to the box lid, and that has a similar catch. The frame is of light wood panels with square faux bois dark panels at each corner, all of it veneer over basic wood. It is not shown here.

You can see tiny nail holes in two spots on that panel, and matching holes in the box lid corresponding to it, making me think that silk or leather hinges were used to open and close that panel. Behind it was storage. The main body of the box does not appear to come out, but appears glued in place, and after all, the body of the box isn't deep.

This particular box is labeled on the underside of the mirror panel with "Grandmother Owing's sewing box". The mirror is a replacement, and is nailed in place. You can see the number "14" pencilled in on the edge, rather like the "1" was pencilled on the mahogany box.

This box came with several things in it: an Edwardian crochet dress bobble and another bone bobble of unknown use, a bar of what smells like balsam soap, a homemade pincushion made of a bottle cork nested in a crochet flower, a pair of tiny metal eyeglasses with an earpiece missing. The key, alas, was missing.

The last box: similar but different

The last box came from California. It's in rough shape, rather, and is a far less expensively made article, and undoutably later in construction. but it's still nifty. It was sold to me, not surprisingly, as a trinket box. It was musty when opened, and you could smell the old wood, so it had sat a while somewhere. 

Yet necessaire it is.

This box measures roughly 9.5: long, 6.5" wide, and about 3" deep. It appears to be made of, well, I am not sure, but it's warm. It too has metal decor on top, but just nailed with little roughly faceted domed nails in each corner. I can't help but think the design to be Art Nouveau-ish, but I could be miles off. It doesn't fit well with the inlay, which is prettily enough done, if damaged, though the inset work on that panel is a bit rought. The inlay design feels very Victorian, or even 1910s or 1920s. In all cases, bows and foliage were popular, as were oval designs. I haven't any experience in inlay to speak of, so do not know how such design elements changed over time. I do know it's likely not Orientalist from the late 19th century :}

Here is a closeup of the inlay, which is beginning to shrink. I am not sure what the holes, which appear to be filled with something dark are. Was there a handle there at one point? But no. There's no evidence of that from inside. 

The sides of the box are faux bois painted, like the lids on the Owings box. There is the little pewter inlaid keyhole, with a familar design to it.

Now for the inside.

When you open the lid, you realize that the panel that on the other two boxes was simply hinged, has become a fold-out dressing mirror, turning on little metal dowels. The mirror is heavily corroded, and the black-painted frame

When lifted up from the back, you can see that the mirror and its wood backing are nailed roughly in place, and in this case are truly roughly made.

The underside of the box lid looks like pine, and the sides are painted an ochre yellow.

The inside of the body of the box should look very familiar to you by this point.

There are the faux bois painted compartment lids, the pincushion lid in the same place, the velvet the same, and tiny bone knobs too, but there is no ring holder. There are the pounce pot and the inkwell sans lid, but we will be noticing something different about these in a moment. The insides of the compartments are painted in that cheery ochre yellow. The whole interior feels provincially styled, full of contrast and rich tones.

If you are wondering about the metal hinges, they are similar on all of three boxes, but also on the American and English pieces of known provenance in in one case and with the original Regency-era maker's label in the other. 

Look what was inside. Clues to where it came from.

An old mother-of-pearl button. A nicely shaped pair of embroidery scissors. A sewing needle with completely round shank, so not an antique Singer or Wilcox and Gibbs. The only round-shanked sewing needle I have is from my Warwick, a British make from the Victorian era, but it's longer. Sewing needles with flat-shaped heads, not rounded ones, so older. And, ooh! A lovely little needle packet.

The scissors. I cannot read the name for the life of me. The letters include "VERKIN".

The Leo Lammertz of Aachen, German needle packet.

Open it up, and hooray, a location! These needles were sold by a store, perhaps named by the owner, Brodrene Sorensen, in Norway, in Kristiana, now Oslo. My apologies for not having the characters available to type the name correctly.

So, did this box live much of its life in Norway? How did it get to California? 

The needles are beautiful and such quality, a joy for a sewist. I will not use them, because this is a bit of history.

Here are the other needles, the pin, and the sewing machine needle shank (second from right). The rightmost needle has been bent...but was kept. I use bent needles, too, and that's a nice thin one, good for detail sewing.

A wee comparison of the mahogany box and Norwegian box pounce pots and inkwells

I am thinking that the boxes come from a maker who was active for a long time. Why? The pounce pots, in particular, tell the tale. The photos below are a little hard to interpret, but you can see some changes in the pots, although the overall design remains the same.

I am going to have to redo these photos, because it's not clear now which is pounce and which is inkwell in most of them, but you will notice a few differences.

In this photo, the pot from the Norway box has a more prominent, less finely made beading around the edge. It's a little smaller when held.

The same pot's on the left. Can you see the machining on the bottom? Whereas the one from the mahogany box is smooth and merely has a faint dot at center.

In this photo, the mahogany box other pot...inkwell?...is also smooth. The Norway box pot on the right is clearly machined and there's a flaw in the metal at lower right.

Here are the inkwells side by side, the mahogany box to the left, the Norway box to the right. The mahogany box inkwell is more finely made, larger, and less tapered.

The real "tell", if I can venture that, is in the tops of the pots. The pounce pots are on the left. The Norway pot is to the left. The holes are circular and appear to be drilled and the details are rougher, while that of the mahogany box is hand-cut, and the details smaller and finer. 

The inkwells are to the right, and frustratingly, the mahogany inkwell is up top, and the Norway inkwell on bottom. Oh, consistency! Anyhow, details here are rougher on the Norway inkwell. It, like its pounce pot, is also a bit smaller.

What're the pots telling us? Likely that the mahogany pots' work is older. Hand-cutting takes more time, but it wouldn't be acceptable later in the century, especially on an object in which the maker took the time to create a fine-quality beading. One would expect a later piece to have fine beading perhaps, for a higher price point, but not the uneven cutting of the pounce pot holes.

The difference in quality between the pots is also interesting. The Norway pots are less polished, and the metal bottom has a flaw.

What about the pots in the Owing's box? They are like those of the mahogany box, but perhaps smaller, although I have not had them in hand at once to compare.

In the end, I think that the mahogany box, and the Owings box are older, while the Norway box is newer model, made at a lower price point.

The difference in age is unclear. In European markets, similar pieces to the mahogany and Owings boxes are sold as Biedermeier period up to the 1850s. The details in these pieces point to the same maker. They're just too alike in construction...it's not just stylistic similarity, in my opinion. As for the other box, well, I need to keep looking.

Here are some screen captures of other pieces I have found.

The below are from RSA Wiesbaden Antiquitaten (https://www.google.com/search?q=rsa+wiesbaden+beidermeier+sewing+table&ie=UTF-8&oe=UTF-8&hl=en-us&client=safari)

 

This from Antiques Boutique:

The description reads: "Beautiful original antique Biedermeier Sewing Box in Walnut Veneer from Austria circa 1820. Walnut veneered. Ebony inlays. Brass button. Inside with complete original sewing equipment."

Do you see all the same equipment, with small differences? Do you note the differences in bobbin winders? I am wondering if in the smaller box the bone ones that likely came with it, as elegant bits, were replaced. In most sewing boxes, little bone or mother of pearl fittings were part of the cachet.

If I can, I'd like to find the maker. I am thinking that the RSA folks might know and so I plan to contact them. Or look in magazines. How long did Luxus und der Moden run, I wonder?

I am hoping that you have enjoyed the tour and that it piques your interest. For more about Biedermeier furniture, here are a few articles:

"Biedermeier", from Antik Haus Insam

"Birth of the Modern, from Art & Antiques Magazine

Why the Hiatus?

A year and some change has slipped into the past since I last wrote. That period was, on and off, a difficult time. It was no time for writing, anyhow. So much loss, so much illness.

On the up side, the boys graduated high school and are happily and heartily at college, I've started weaving again, and we've had some lovely times with family and friends. I am grateful, while praying for our suffering world, and try to do what I can to make the load of those around me lighter, as ant-small as that is. What else can we do, but help as we are able?

In any case, am back for the moment.

Here is something I am working on. After experimenting with a Louet table loom I'd had for years, I moved to an Oxaback Lilla countermarche loom. Now there's a learning curve for you...