A Regency Picnic and Testing Out the Embroidered Sleeveless Spencer

Last Saturday some of our little sewing group/tea society met at Waveland Estate at the edge of town for a Regency-themed picnic.

It was a morning of mixed promise, hazy blue skies and sunshine in one direction, and a cobalt blue enhanced with gray in the other. Rainstorm, I thought, that's what that is, rain in the making.

Sure enough, mountains of clouds moved somewhat overhead, pinches of blue above their enormous lumpy sides, but they just spat sprinkles on us while we lingered over the picnic. Jane remarked that we wouldn't melt, so there was no mad pick-up and dash for safety. I had forgotten, of course, about how my sleeveless spencer and water don't mix, so it's lucky the sprinkles were scant because while I might not dissolve into a puddle, the spencer surely would have been ruined.

Oh, how we feasted. We paid as much attention as we could to creating the atmosphere: luncheon dishes and teacups and wineglasses, and a block print tablecloth for a colorful background like the skirts of an early Regency dress.

Then there was the food...oh, the food. Why did such dishes ever lose their way in history, and become lost and foreign?

Autumn Jane, and Jane, as we set up for the picnic. Do you see the lovely raised pie in the center? That's Jenni's
onion pye.

Chicken pudding, onion pye (with potato and apple), Salmagundi, a solid whip't syllabub, lavender cheesecake, good bread with Seville orange marmalade, tea piping hot -- Maryanne's Wild Abandon (Bingley's Teas) and Jasmine Darjeeling (Montea), real honest-to-goodness Mount Rainier cherries.

Salmagundi: a composed salad with the scents of lemon and herbs.

Whip't syllabub: light, cold, and creamy all at once.

All eaten to the tune of a breeze and birdsong and lots and lots of conversation and chatter, under welcoming old trees and the shadow of Waveland. We sat so long that plans to tour the home were tossed aside, so we strolled around the grounds and gardens.

Polly identifying flowers. The garden is maintained by a garden club my mother's a member of.
They use lots of native and heirloom species, drought resistant, perennial.

Polly and Autumn Jane consider the afternoon.

Jenni and Autumn on the estate's massive portico.

Jenni wrote about the picnic too: she has much better picnic pictures, since my camera chose to hiccup and then go dead. That's also why she and Laura are not in any of the pictures just yet.

So How Did the Spencer and Ensemble Do? Fine, with a Tweak or Two

This was the spencer's first step into the world, a beta test to see how it, and the rest of the ensemble, performed. Now refinements can be made for the Jane Austen Festival in July.

On the portico. Perhaps the bodice mixed with white and the end of the bandeau flying,
but this picture reminds me of some Eastern European dress.
I suspect those massive columns are brick underneath, stuccoed. They are
magnificent, aren't they? The steps are native limestone, worn with rain and feet.

The spencer itself turned out to be comfortable. Yes, it's another layer over the dress -- two, counting the lining -- so perhaps it was a little warmer than I anticipated. However, the natural fabrics did what they were supposed to: they wicked away the ladylike "glow", leaving me, if not cool, at least upright. Despite years in Atlanta's jungle-like humidity, I've always wilted in the heat, so knowing if I can even stand the garment on a hot day is useful information.

The spencer, laced. Nice sneaker laces, eh?

Once laced, the spencer front lies smoothly, without wrinkles. Oh, how I love the
spangles twinkling as the spencer moves.

The spencer's interior lacing worked beautifully to set the garment in place. It didn't shift and wrinkles were minimal and natural. The fronts are pinned from inside. I do need three pins, top, middle, and bottom...this wearing I only had two, and the middle of the overlapped front pulls a little.

The back is where I am concerned. Remember how the back is lower than originally designed, and how I built up a high ruche to mitigate this? Well, not high enough. Plus, my chemise is showing. Our house has no full-length mirror, if you don't count the 1920s mirror set into a door that's so de-silvered the view is obscured with dots and splots and scratches. Therefore, I left the house gaily unaware. The solution? Add a ruffle to the dress neckline, to match that on the hem. It will fluff over the ruche, obscure any wardrobe malfunctions, and in the front provide some welcome screening.

Plus, the ruche bows out a little in back. I will take two tiny pleats in the top of the back to pull it all inward.

Bowing on the back ruche, peekaboo chemise, but still a pleasant, fresh effect.

Oh, one last note. It's impossible to tie arm ribbons onesself. I've tried it. Many times. So we tied them at the picnic, and I failed to notice that the sleeves are poofed out shorter in back than in front. They should be the reverse with longer ends in the back, to get the nicest drape. A memo to file for the festival: examine your sleeves! I was just going to say, "Can you imagine all the items a woman would have to think about before stepping outside?" Then I remembered that I check for bra strap peekaboo, skirt hang, zipper condition, muffin top, hair muss, and make-up smear before I go outside today. Different era, same concern.

Now, About That Hair, Missie...It Was Supposed to Be Curly, Not Mussy! Tsk, Tsk

All my livelong life, I've warred with my curls. For decades, I endured frizzhead, bobble-curl, and the electric-socket look. Until the Flatiron Age. Now I sport straight hair with flipped ends. Ahhh.

Now, here I was trying to make the hair hold ringlets, especially in front and it did...but only in the back. Even the humid air didn't help. It wasn't the beach humidity that creates Greek ringlets, just Kentucky humidity that pulls individual hairs into a Mrs. Frizzle bob. Fine for 1780s, not for 1794-6.

Yes, I hear you, and no, I didn't put Lottabody on it, that fantastic setting lotion. I reserved that for the artificial pin-in curls that I tried that morning, and gave up on because they looked flat ridiculous. Hrrmph.

So we had that morning hair au naturel, with a silk gauze bandeau. Cute, but not the Master plan.

So, between now and the festival, it's hair play time! We'll set it with Lottabody in foam curlers, we'll test the famous papillote curls, we'll "turn up" chignons at the ends per Gallery of Fashion, and we'll twist and tie turbans a la Festive Attyre (thank you!) until we have something a little more of the date. I'm looking forward to this.

Embroidered Sleeveless Spencer: Finished at Last!

Pinch yourselves all you want, but it remains real: I am truly done with the sleeveless spencer. The first post, Spenceration, is dated October 26, 2011. Well, well.

So how does it look? Here are the first shots, after I completed the last stitches at Noah's table by his sunny windows. I am pretty happy with it.

The sleeveless spencer from the front. It closes inside via stays-style lacing, and pins shut on the exterior. When wearing it, I'll use plain straight pins top and bottom and hide them as much as possible in the fabric.

As you know, the spencer is made of light purple silk shantung that I dyed myself. I embroidered it in flat silk (Soie Ovale from Au Ver a Soie), all-silk chenille from Hand Dyed Fibers, real 4 mm gold plate spangles, and real 2 mm gold plate spangles. The top-stitching and point a rabattre sous la main hemming work is done in Au Ver a Soie, gold color. The ruche is tacked down in French blue flat silk, the closest I could come to the purple with the threads I have. The stitches barely show at all, as I hoped.

Inside, the spencer is lined in white linen, with lacing pieces in a heavier linen. Part of the seams are sewn in Gutermann cotton thread (because I forgot to use linen), and the rest in natural linen thread left over from a stays project.

Christopher was excited about the finish, too.

Noah and Christopher show off the back of the spencer. Yes, the ruche on the back is incrementally wider than the ruche on the front. Ruches could be shaped, and I thought this looked extra nice, besides raising the back neckline a bit. More on the reason for that anon.

The Finishing Touches

Front Closure

Following a Swedish or Danish example, which I can no longer find, the spencer actually closes by lacing together two interior panels whipped to the lining. The original was a dress; the two flaps underneath, so common in early Regency dresses, laced shut rather than pinned shut.

I cut a rectangle of heavy-ish linen, hemmed three sides, and turned a wide hem on the fourth. Then I added a row of eyelet holes. Finally I attached it to the spencer lining; it's attached on the end closest to the spencer's side seam, and on the top and bottom up to the wide hem. That should hold it flat, without pulling, and leaves a flap with the eyelets for lacing. The flap's mate is on the other front piece of the spencer.

I decided that I wanted the close fit the lacing allows; the idea is that it should take the strain off the pins used to shut the garment itself and produce a smoother line, sans many horizontal wrinkles. My Metropolitan Museum inspiration garment laces shut, too. I decided that on my spencer, the lacing would complicate the visual impact of the spencer, since there is a ruche too, as on some early Regency spencers.

Spangling

You know already about the embroidery, and how it was all an experiment in using the flat, almost untwisted filament silk normally used in 18th century and early 18th century silk embroidery, as well as in couching down chenille thread, another common embroidery element.

Yet there are spangles, too. How did I add those? The same way de Saint Aubin, in L'Art du Brodeur, suggests, with two stitches run through the same hole. Sometime I will show you in a mini tutorial.

By the way, because the spangles were thought of after the garment was sewn up, when adding them I slid the needle between lining and fashion fabric rather than sewing through both fashion fabric and lining, so as to keep the inside of the garment as free as possible of embroidery thread stitches.

Ruche and Neckline Shape

You also know already about my 2012 plans for a neckline ruche, and how I felt that the bodice straps would have to be curved, hollowed out at the neckline. In the event, it turned out no hollowing was needed, and my strap pieces were so wide anyhow that I had to cut them narrow and straight anyhow, so that all curve was lost.

I was so silly during the design and fitting phase: the ruche can create the curved shaping to the neckline! Just curve the ruche as you sew it down, and glide it over the corners where the straps meet the bodice fronts and backs, and there you have it, a pleasant round curve. Straightforward. No silly fancy cutting needed. The trim creates the curve. Sigh...lesson learned. Hey, that's what this is all about. Many failures can lead to a success :}

Pinning the ruche to the spencer.

Anyhow, why is the ruche so flattish? Because so many extant garments show ruches to be scant, and laid quite smooth. To make the shantung behave and not fray, I was going to use gum arabic, which had been used in the 18th century to stop fraying. However, this proved unnecessary. Why? Because I pressed the ruche silk, and starched it stiff. That made pleating fairly easy, produced the flat box pleats, and prevented fraying on its own. Yes, the shantung takes starch just fine; I soaked the fabric with it. So we'll experiment with gum arabic some other time.

Oh, you ask, won't the starch come out if the garment gets wet? Yes, of course, but this is a luxury garment, and it's fragile all the way around, and entirely unwashable. I wouldn't wear a hand-embroidered silk garment anywhere near the weather. Should the pleating lose its freshness, I can remove it and redo it -- that would be an entirely expected 18th century move -- or carefully re-starch and re-press it in place.

Why the Ruche Is Wider in Back

I liked a wide ruche in back; it gives extra oomph, and reminds me a bit of a collar. Ruching could be graduated during the period.

Yet there's a practical reason for it. It arises out of a fitting and sewing error.

Way back when I fitted the spencer, in 2012, the neckline wasn't all that deep, and the spencer came just above the natural waist. For safety, too, I made very wide seam allowances.

When I cut out the actual pieces in January 2013, somehow the straps got longer, and I thought, wait, this is so long-waisted! So I trimmed the bottom of the spencer shorter.

Once sewn up, the back neckline was very low indeed. Sure, there is at least one example of this, at the Met.

Spencer, Metropolitan Museum of Art, circa 1800. 11-60-295F

Yet the spencer would look strange with the dress neckline projecting above it. No neckline projects below.

Detail from plate in Gallery of Fashion, Bunka Gakuen Library.

Or here, either.

Detail of bodice (as it was described in the text), April 1794,
Gallery of Fashion, Bunka Gakuen Library.

Nuts. That's what you get for spreading a project over such a long period of time! Another lesson learned, maybe. Sometimes time just gets in the way.

So the, ahem, brilliant idea occurred to me of faking a higher back neckline with a wide ruche. Thus it is that on my spencer, in the back only the lower part of the ruche is actually sewn to the garment. The top line of stitching serves only as a stay, to keep the pleats in place and to match the rest of the stitching. I worry not at all about it. My inspiration spencer is a wildly homemade thing, the spencer above is roughly constructed, garments of the period are often pieced...one did what was needed. The same applies here. I did what was needed to make the garment work, and to recover from an error.

Below you can see the fabric for the ruche, cut with a graduated thickness. Given that the ruche is scant, the fabric making it being about 1.5 times as long as the finished trim, I totally eyeballed how much of the fabric needed to be wide and how much not, and when the trim was tacked on, used the pinker to graduate the curve a bit in some places.

Ruche trim pinned in place. The pinning process is straightforward. Eyeball each box pleat to about an inch wide, press the fabric with your fingers, pin it down. Leave about 1/4" space, and do it again. The starch ensures the pleat stays fixed.

So there we are. I'll wear it to a Regency-themed picnic this Saturday, and see how it does. Next up, photoshoot!

Embroidered Sleeveless Spencer: Almost Done!

Just a little sneak peek --

Excepting the front closure and the neckline ruche, it's all put together. For extra color, I am adding tiny gold spangles; think they're 4mm in size; one front side is done, so I have the other side and the back to go. The metal spangles are plated with real gold so they have that extra richness.

A closeup of the spangling. I learned a valuable lesson about the embroidery. The flower petals are in silk filament and the leaves in silk chenille. The embroidery is quite fragile, especially the chenille. I'd read this was so in the 18th century embroidery manual by de Saint Aubin, but now really believe it :} I found that the ends of some pieces of chenille had come loose from their couching. I'll have to reattach them.

Here's a back view. The spencer is constructed like most 1790s bodices: the silk is lined with linen, the seams are lapped and backstitched. The edges are all sewn with le point a rabattre sous la main, but for fun, all in yellow spun silk thread; you see this on some Regency-era garments and it adds a really nice effect.

One little construction picture: here is the shoulder strap lining being sewn to the back's lining with linen thread. Nothing really exciting :}

Until next time, ciao!

Making a Fichu-Collar: Tutorial for a Useful Early Bustle-Era Whatsit

Fichu-collar or collarette with bow
pinned in place

Several of you -- Laura and Marion and Caroline, I am looking at you:} -- have commented about the removable fichu-collar that I added to the 1870 bustle dress. You're right, Marion, costumers don't seem to use them much for bustle dresses, and I am not sure why, because they're so useful.

Removable collars were common throughout the 19th century, or at least from the Romantic era forward. At their base they were a functional item meant to protect a dress neckline from inevitable oils and perspiration. Yet if you had only a few dresses, by changing out your collars you could vary the look of your ensemble, and show off your needlework skills into the bargain. Pretty good deal, I say.

Collars fluffed up and complexified themselves with multiple layers of lace and ribbon by the late 1860s, a part of the general elaboration of women's dress. In some photographs you see women wearing, all at once:

• lace tacked inside the dress collar, rather like a tucker
• fancy large collar at the edge of the neckline
• ribbon bow at the collar bottom
• brooch or other closure aid
• one or more necklaces
• long dangly earrings
• curls dangling down from the hairdo, and probably entangling with the jewelry: ow!

Here are a few examples. There are literally hundreds of them on Flickr and other photo sites, if you have a look around.

Hungarian lady, around 1870. Huge collar. From valtertorjay

Ida M. Hamlin around 1870. From ilgunmkr/ Fichu style, having
crossed tails.

How fluffy and large collars could be, in Europe, anyhow. Ladies in Pilzen,
Czech Republic.  From josefnovak33

Here's a squared collar.  Photo taken in Kansas, early 1870s. From ilgunmkr.

Gah, that's a lot going on around the neck. If you're at least my age, do you remember the sixties and seventies, when some elderly ladies sported multiple link necklaces, earrings, worn with a fur or other elaborated collar, and if outdoors, a hat? I could hear them coming, and was rather in awe of them :}

By the way, there were plenty of other collar-y sorts of decor one could adorn one's neckline with. Some women preferred dress trim for the large effect, confining lacey trim to lace tucked inside the neckline, lightly gathered. This could be the case when ruching was used heavily on the bodice, or a collar with revers.

Lappets, if that's the right name for them, were also popular, and you see them on Etsy now and again, and also in the magazines. They're just long lengths of lace, with rounded ends, run round the neck and pinned shut with brooch or brooch and bow.

In this case, the collar is probably actually a lappet brought round the neck,
and held, with an added bow, by what appears to be an articulated brooch.
From ookami-dou.

Then there was just wearing a little old collar, or the tried-and-true bow, or a jabot. Lots of options.

Small collar and bow. I wonder if that ribbon is made of a piece of
fabric pinked with a curved pinker? Notice her drop earrings and snood.
From Dan around town.

Designs

If you're looking for designs, ladies' magazines of the era are happy hunting grounds, and some contain directions for making them up, that is, sewing them. Here are a few examples:

Bodices, some with applied collars. De Gracieuse, Feb. 1870



Fichu-collar and fichus, extra fluffy.  Harper's Bazar , August 1871

Designs, and their names, varied quite a bit as much as dress designs did. Fichu-collar was a name that turned up quite frequently, at least in Harper's Bazar. The name referred to the partial resemblance of the collar to a fichu, that is, a very long scarf or neckerchief hung round the neck, crossed in front, and sent back behind the waist, where it was often tied in a bow and the tails left to flutter. (N.B. Such items were known as cloaks in the very late 18th century. I wrote three posts on them in 2011, when I made one for a 1790s ensemble.)

Now for embarassment: whence the name collarette? I have lost my citation! When I find it, will amend this post. Ah, documentation fails sometimes. That's why I am calling this a fichu-collar throughout this post.

The fichu-collar often formed a vee-neck, as in the examples above. Why do we not see more vee necks among costumers for bustle dresses? They were probably more common than the perennial costumer favorite, the square open neck, attractive though that is. An open, low neckline was, to my understanding, more an evening thing; during the day one would fill that in! Ribbon bows were very commonly worn with these collars. They finish the effect, of course, and are another 18th century reference, but had been also favorite collar decorations for the past decades, so why give them up?

Sometimes these collars were just called fichus, and might have short tails (as in the Harper's page above), but not really be actual long fichus, although those had existed as well, in lace or net, to be swathed around the lucky wearer, particularly at the end of the 1860s. I refer you to Harper' s Bazar for those, and especially to Frances Grimble's Reconstruction Era Fashions, since she includes scaled patterns for them. By the 1870s, there was so much going on around the skirt, what with the bustle and all, that throwing a fichu into the back ornamentation was too much for even that ueber-decorated period.

Anyhow, as you can see if you squint at the pictures or go look at De Gracieuse or Harper's, Godey's or Peterson's, etc. etc.  lace or eyelet embroidery, was a primary feature of these collars. Frequently multiple laces were layered together, sometimes integrated with ribbon. Tulle was another favored material for making them.  (By the way, if you're interested in finding full-text magazines, check the Full Text Fashion Magazines page on this blog. When I find new issues of interest, I list them there.)

Here are three from Harper's, March 4, 1871. Here they're all called fichus, even the one on the right that actually mimics a squared dress neckline. Nomenclature, it's so specific when it comes to fashion, isn't it? The first uses puffed tulle and lace, the second lace insertion, Swiss muslin and lace, and the last white pleated tulle and lace.

The Inspiration Fichu-Collar from Der Bazar

Let's dig into the version that made it onto my dress. The basic design comes from Der Bazar, the German magazine from which Harper's obtained a good bit of its content, in the January 9, 1871 issue. Yes, much of my research dates from 1871, or from 1868-1869.

Like many designs, this one comes with instructions on how to make it. My amateurish translation:

"Bodice Trims of Satin Ribbons cut in the form of a heart shaped or with corners, fitting differing clothing" 

A four to six centimeter wide black velvet* ribbon, trimmed with a little wider black lace or "Seidenfranze", arranged in many folds as bodice trim, designed, so that it imitates a heart-shaped or cornered shape, and also like bretelles. The figures numbers 26 through 29 show of these trims in four different arrangements,so that they can be worn with several dresses, insomuch that one does not sew it to the bodice, but instead fastens it with small pins.

[Figure number 26 is not translated]

Figure number 27. Black satin ribbon with lace is arranged in a heart-shaped cut. The velvet ribbon is 100 centimeters long, 4 centimeters wide, bordered with black "Lueftrinefutter"  and on one of the long sides with 5 centimeters wider, bounded by pleated rows of black lace. In order to achieve the rounding around the neckline, the ribbon is laid into two pleats. The ends of the ribbons are put in a pleat, then sewn together; the joint covered by a velvet bow."

*Sammet is an old term for velvet, not for satin, as I had translated originally. Thank you most kindly, Sabine of Kleidung um 1800, for the correction. Sabine further reports that because the old velvet was smooth and shiny, it could look like satin when drawn.

Whoo. That translation took a while, since it's hard to see the text very clearly, and the language is a wee antiquated. I had to resort to Beolingus, a favorite online dictionary, a good bit. "Seidenfranze" remains impenetrable: it's something silk. "Lueftrinefutter" really got me: it's some sort of airy lining fabric, perhaps? Yeowp.

My Interpretation

What did I do? My dress is some sort of broadcloth trimmed with plain weave black cotton, you know, the inexpensive, nay, cheap, type sold around Halloween for $2 a yard.

Given the matte effect of the cotton, and a non-existent budget, I used more of that black cotton instead of black satin ribbon.

I took a two-three inch-ish wide strip of the cotton, cut on the straight, long enough to fit around my neckline plus some extra for ooomph. Remember that the collar is wide, so if it's longer than your neck opening that doesn't matter too much, because the lace hides the dress fabric.

I folded it longways, then turned in each long edge again to hide the raw edges, and starched it stiff as stiff.

Fold in the long raw edges, and press.

Then I folded the strip in half, and starched it again. Now I had a nice strong base to work with, that reminds me in looks of bias tape, but cut on the straight.

Fold the strip in half longways and press again.

Then from my stash of antique lace, I found a long, beautiful piece that had been sewn to what seems like fine starched muslin, and cut from a dress...probably it had been a collar, too, since it had a natural curve. It wasn't long enough to pleat as in the Der Bazar example, but not all collars featured pleating, and as the lace curves, it waves a bit, as you would expect. It was a little longer than the collar base strip, so I folded the excess underneath at the ends. It doesn't show underneath the ribbon bow.

I put the bodice on my mannequin, placed the black cotton strip around the existing collar line, and pinned it there. The doubled edge was to the inside, the clean fold next to the lace, where it might be seen.

Then I tacked the the lace to the cotton strip base, using a combination stitch, with very tiny stitches on the outside, so small they can't easily be seen. As I went, I shaped both the cotton strip and the lace to follow the neckline. At each end the cotton strip is turned under and sewn in place.

The lace sewn to the cotton strip base.

You can see the long side of the stitches holding the slace down.

Seamstresses did the same thing in the nineteenth and early 20th centuries, at times. Here is either a small stand collar or a cuff, of satin lined with a stiff cotton or linen. The front:

The back. The lace is simply tacked on.  Mmm, I'd hate the feeling of bits of lace hugging my neck, chafe, chafe, chafe. Bet this is a wide cuff. Well, who knows? The closures are missing. Do you notice how the lace is narrowed in the middle not by trimming it, but just by bringing it further towards the top of the lining? Clever, and it saves the lace in case it's needed again.

The final step? I'd forgotten about pinning the collar to the bodice, but since the existing neckline trim is a band of plain cotton placed just outside the neckline, it was natural to just tack it into place, again, right on the mannequin to assure the best fit.

Now I had a collar, but it didn't join it at the bottom. Instead of sewing the bottom ends permanently at this juncture, and thus be forced to cut my precious lace, I chose to overlap the two pieces, and pin them together with a velvet (alas, not cotton or silk velvet) bow: one pin holds both bow on and collar closed. Lace may have been less expensive in the nineteenth century than in previous centuries, but I treat mine as if it were gold. After all, who knows what life it may lead in the future?

Oh, N.B. The lace inside the collar is just tacked in place, raw. I need to affix the lace to a little band so that I can sew the band instead of the lace. I was careful, but still, that's better practice. I might also make it a little shorter, although you do see some very fluffy inside-the-neckline treatments in some antique photos.

There you are. Here is the fichu-collar, before the bow is pinned to it to close it.

Here it is with the bow added. You can't tell the ends are folded over one another, can you?

Here is the view from the back.

Now you know what these whatsits are, where to find examples and directions, and how you can make them. There are directions galore in the magazines, and my little experiment to work from, too.

So what are you waiting for? Go forth and collar yourself some neckline adornment!

Happy May Day

Here, let's share the May Day bouquet Noah and Christopher picked for me this afternoon.

A Flock of Flamingos

Sometimes it's the little things in life that bring the most pleasure, such as flamingos in your yard...

Kissing their new friends. Tagging them with little labels that read "I love you".

They're a bit sad that the flock takes off later this evening to grace another yard.

The sudden flocking of our yard is part of a fundraiser for a Habitat for Humanity house our church is building. Neat idea: people have been slowing, stopping, gawking, asking, and chatting to us about all the pink hoopla on the green all day.