Je Dors, Tu Dors, Elle Dort...Dormeuse! A Dormeuse Cap, Part 1

You just might be able to tell from this post that there's another project from another century in the offing, although its progress will depend on health. For the last month or so I've been having stomach woes and have been in and out of the hospital twice. More tests loom and I sure hope afterwards the dinner plate will contain more than the beige mush I've been downing recently, when eating at all, for I am really craving asparagus, Bosc pears, and a good burger, or something that tastes like one!

Used as I am to chronic health issues, this year 2013 has been a whopper, with major surgery for a stomach issue, followed up by an appallingly painful bout with an healthcare-related infection, then blood pressure woes, and now recalcitrancy in another region of the tummy. Pppfffff. 

So if this summer and fall are slow on the costuming front, just think of me as conserving energy for things of obsessive immediate importance, besides family and work, of course -- namely, tucking into an ueber-large salad and a burger with swiss cheese, followed by cake.

Now, Let's Talk Caps, Not Tummies

Several Saturdays ago I visited Jenni and sat on a colorful hassock, splat in a warm, bright pool of sunshine brought in through one of her enormously tall -- 10 feet? -- windows. We examined dormeuse caps worn by the talented mantua makers of the Margaret Hunter Millinery shop, as shown on their Facebook page. Cap-wearing specialists, the women sport a broad of headwear, and over time their needles have played lots of handsome variations on the dormeuse.

[Blast: If Blogger insists on writing "dormouse" for "dormeuse" one more time I am going to howl and scare the cats and the neighbors.]

After looking closely at a favorite cap, Jenni penciled out the basic pattern pieces for a large dormeuse cap on scraps of cotton, and I cut them out and basted them up. It's so neat to watch Jenni at work: she gets proportions right on the mark, something I do not do without a lot of trouble.

Before refining the toile, it seemed prudent to examine drawings, paintings, and prints of the second and third quarters of the 18th century, plus the few photos of extant caps I've been able to locate. After all, a cap sits up next to your face, and may one of the first things that a person looking at you notices -- other than spinach in the teeth, perhaps -- so your choice of cap had better suit you.

Considering these images carefully

• what year they date to
• how they are worn
• by whom they are worn
• and for what situation

the cap silhouette has been trimmed and rethought until I am happy with it, the embellishments are in the planning, and the cap itself is in progress.

Okay, yes, there's a late 1760s-early 1770s ensemble coming up. I've been wanting to tackle a period pre-1790s for years now. So why not go top to bottom, and start with a cap?

Herewith, the dormeuse-y imagery and commentary.

What's a Dormeuse?

cap-kikiepa-109422-m186520

Neither dormouse, nor sleeping woman. No, a cap with a specific frontal silhouette: two curved flaps or ruffles, like the waxing moon not yet grown to the half, framed the face to either side. The cap tended to be worn with its top set back quite far on the head. If it were worn forward, the flaps would operate like blinkers on a horse and cut off peripheral vision. Not a helpful style at home.

The cap usually had three parts: the wings -- those flaps -- the "band", for lack of a better term, in the middle of the head, and at the back, the "caul", which was usually shaped like an arch, and was gathered at the bottom. The flaps were usually gathered or pleated into the band, and the caul gathered or pleated, sometimes just at the top, into the band too. The caul could be big and puffy or close and tight.

Here, a plain European dormeuse, this one with two ruffles making up each wing. This example clearly shows the main design and construction features of this style of cap. Fetching! It's the central project inspiration cap.


The Dormeuse and Its Nature, as Worn by Women, Not Dormice

Wouldn't a dormeuse look apt on a napping dormouse? Mouseborg, would you care to draw one?

I am not entirely clear on when dormeuse caps first made their appearance, but the images I have found include some from the 1750s. They are quite a popular style of cap, and were worn by persons of all states and stations of life. As the years passed, they tended to grow larger in size so as to enfold the increasingly tall, and later, wide, hairstyles. Sometimes they were as plain as plain, but in pictures they tend to be embellished, even those worn by domestic help. Whether that 's due to artists' fancies or reflects the truth, I am certainly not one to know. I collected images no later than 1780, but understand that the style continued for some time in favor.

Here are a few, gathered mostly from the British Museum, which is rich in drawings and prints. Interestingly, many times drawings later became prints...but that's another story.

Caps Worn by Women at Work

Peasant Scours a Cauldron. 1780. British Museum, 1877 1013 519

This dormeuse has wings edged with lace. The caul is gathered on top, and the cap does not stand out on the head, but falls backward and down, a little limply. The wings are wide and cover half the ear. There appears to be a band between wings and caul.

The Laundry Maid. 1770s. British Museum 1867-0112-156

This dormeuse has two pairs of wings pleated into the band, and the caul is gathered at the top, creating a high puff in back, perhaps to make room for a tallish hairdo. The cap is modest though, since it covers almost all of the young woman's hair; can't tell about her ears. It's decorated with a wide ribbon brought round from the bottom, tied in a bow on top, and the ends left sticking up towards the caul. The relative stiffness of both cap and ribbon lead me to believe that the cap is starched and the ribbon thick, or starched too. It looks fresh and crisp and new put on, and perhaps it smelled like lavender. Very nice.

Head of a Maid. British Museum, 1838-0509-53

Here is a plain cap indeed, very covering...the ears are competely hidden. The wings are barely gathered, the caul apparently barely so, yet it's loose enough in back to droop. Whether it's the darkness of the print or the intent of the artist, but this cap feels like it could do with good starch.

Caps Worn By Women of Undetermined Station/Situation

Lady Knitting, 1776, by Ozias Humphrey. British Museum, 1856-0712-932 

The older women in this sketch is wearing a dormeuse with pleated or frilled wings. It is fairly close to her head: no floppiness, little excess fabric, and her hairdo is not large or tall. She wears a handkerchief over the cap.

Departure of La Fleur. 1770s. British Museum 1890-0512-7. 

A bevy of young women bewails the departure of a young soldier, from the front of what appears to an inn; note the hanging sign with three fleur de lis...the flower of France off to war? This drawing is an illustration for a book. We should find out who La Fleur is! In any case, the stylish countrywomen wear very large dormeuse caps, and their hair appears to fill them well; note their chignons sticking out of the backs of the caps. The puffiness of some of the fabric makes me think it's starched.

Caps Worn by Ladies or Fashionables

Ann Darlow Smith and Mrs. Prothero, by John Raphael Smith. British Museum,1876-0708-6

J'adore this drawing, filled in with watercolor. It was later turned into a series of prints titled Les Deux Amis, or The Two Friends, all of which lack the delicacy of the original. Mrs. Prothero wears indoor wear, a definitely undressy morning jacket, handkerchief tied in a bow in the front, and a very large, very frilly dormeuse. Puffy up and towards the top and back, it's embellished on the gathered wings with what I take to be lace, and adorned with pink ribbon puffed and finished into a bow or decorative knot. Mrs. Prothero numbers definitely among fashionable women.

Not that personally I could or would want to pull off something like this. Mrs. Prothero's hair is too big, and her trimmings too ruffly; she's altogether too fluffy and youthful for me.

Miss Croney of Killarney, by William Parr. 1770s. British Museum 1870-0514-1215

Our young Miss Croney of Ireland wears a hard-to-see dormeuse, but it appears to be rather plain. It does have a bow on top, though.

These are friends of the artist. British Museum 1879-0510-378

The lady at lower left in this set of sketches wears a tightly pleated or frilled dormeuse, possibly with a dark-colored ribbon embellishing it. The caul is large and rounded, filled with her hair, I suppose, and not floppy. It appears to be trimmed with lace or something, and there appear to be ribbons or lappets on the back.

Mrs. Worlidge, 1775. British Museum, 1838-0509-53

Mrs. Worlidge wears a very close-fitting, very close-covering, very modest dormeuse, which may possibly be largely of lace. Portions of it appear to be frilled, and it is trimmed with at least two rows of very narrow ribbon, set in puffs. Her hairdo is not particularly high for the year 1775.

This cap unavoidably reminds me of 1960s bathing caps covered with 3-d applied flowers and frills, which yes, I did wear when swimming with my grandmother and Great Aunts in Philadelphia as a child. I felt silly in them, and the rubber caps, which covered most of my ears, made it hard to hear.

Mrs. Izard, by Copley, MFA.

Mrs. Izard, an American dressed fashionably, if soberly, is most decked out in her cap. Her handkerchief is striped silk, her sleeve ruffles probably silk gauze, unadorned, although high quality, but her cap? Wow. The wings are tightly box pleated, there appearing to be several rows of pleats. Next follows white ribbon, which appears to be set into shaped puffs. There appears to be at least one row of what looks like silk ruching, and the band or caul is circumnavigated with a gorgeous sheer silk striped ribbon, the ends of which hang down the cap's sides a bit. The cap fits closely, nonetheless, to her high puffed hair, there is little loose fabric and no apparent floppiness behind. The cap is not overlarge: it shows half of her ears.

Detail of Mrs. Izard's cap

Portrait of 'Miss Smith' as Grisette, from Sterne's 'A Sentimental Journey', from a drawing
by John Raphael Smith. 1776. British Museum, 1902,1011.5051

Here, Miss Smith, an actress and therefore more likely to be of the demimonde than polite society, plays a grisette, that is to say, a young French woman of the working class. Her cap is trimmed with no fewer than four rows of tight pleats, followed by puffs. The upper part of the cap is obscured by what I am fairly sure separate gauzy printed fabric, which has been wound around the cap, and a tail left to hang...is that tail closed with a buckle or something?

Woman sewing, by Nicolas Bernard Lépicié.
British Museum

This last drawing is particularly evocative, not so much for the cap, as for the entire moment it memorializes. A woman sits sewing in a ladderback chair, legs crossed, work bag slung over a knob at the top of the chair back. More work is spread on a handsome curvilinear table beside her. A dog with the narrow, intelligent head of a grayhound sits beside her. Her handkerchief is capacious, drawn all the way to her neck, and her dress rather plain -- notice the long sleeves and plain cuffs. Is this a redingote? Anyhow, her cap covers relatively little hair, has frilled wings, is drawn way back on her head, is trimmed with a colored ribbon, and may have lappets in back. Her hair is not dressed high, is pulled plainly back on the sides, and her chignon appears to be curled towards her neck and pinned there. Oh, to know more about her!

Toile-ing a Dormeuse Cap: 

Hair to go under the cap...barely put up.

From Jenni's I took home the pieced-together cap and proceeded to refine it. It felt too big to me, and since I want to create an ensemble dating to the very late 1760s or early 1770s, the cap should be relatively small, compared to the full and rounded perched caps atop late '70s high hair dos or the generous cream puffs of the 1780s.

Further, I plan to make the outfit of a middle-aged member of the minor gentry or merchant class, so an all-covering cap might be too modest. Something pretty but leaving lots of hair to shine seems best, like the cap of the "woman sewing", or of Mrs. Izard, would be ideal.

The Second Toile

I lack pictures of the very first toile, but here are some from the second toile. I used scissors to cut away portions of the wings and to make the caul shorter.

First, I put my hair up. In a real event, the front would be heightened with a hair rat into small pouf, and a chignon turned at the nape of the neck.

As you can see, the side view of the cap shows it totally covering the ears, and ending further down on the neck than the caps of any of the women pictured in the first part of the post. A side note: gee, I'd never seen how my aging neck looks. No wonder women like to cover them up.

The back of the cap. The band, which you can barely see sewn to the wings, is too long for the caul. On some caps the wings overhang a little, but this is too much. Both band and wings are too long for my taste.

The Third Toile

Out came the scissors again.  I cut the wings back far more, and shortened wings, band, and caul.

From the front, you can see the cap a little, and because the pieces are smaller, it doesn't just hang on the head like a hat on a hatrack, but hugs it a bit, the effect I was looking for.

The side view. Ah! The cap hugs the hair, even perches a little, and the wings are far curvier. They curve up noticeably towards the back, an effect I really like. The "chignon" appears at the back of my head, which is more attractive in my eyes. The front poof of hair will show more, too. A much better size and shape.

The back view is also nice. No longer do the wings hang down.

Note for the future. In the final pattern I will have widened the caul on both long sides so that it will form more of a poufed shape; like many of the caps worn by women in the pictures in the first part of the post, I will gather the center top of the caul into the band, to help raise and hold the pouf tall.

Next time, making the real cap.

Before I leave you, here's early fall at our house. The boys are farming, they say, and they want to pick crabapples. Nota bene: I moved those rakes before they climbed down, so they wouldn't step on one and have an accident.

A Pleasant Interlude, Drawing and Painting

Has it been over a month already, since the last post? Checking the calendar, apparently so. It doesn't seem that long.

Late summer has a way of contracting and stretching at the same time, doesn't it? Contracting, in that there's a last urge to enjoy summertime, before school begins. For us, that was some three weeks ago. Stretching, in that outdoors the days are still long, still dreamy, still inviting you to watch the ripening world. When I've been able to, that's just what I've done.

Things that grow seemed to be asking me to draw and paint them, so I've switched gears and have pulled out the pencils. Long in love with eighteenth century floral drawings, especially those on textiles, and especially those that were more demotic, calligraphic, impressionistic, than naturalistic, it seemed right to draw that way. Carnations grafted to bachelor's buttons, daisies to roses, ivy leaves and bamboo leaves feeding the same stems.

I've looked at images of textiles on museum sites all over the world, choosing the Chinese designs since they have appealed the most. I've compared the styles, varying by unnamed artist and by time period, compared reedy wiggly designs with those whose flowers burst in sprays, those with narrow wandering stems, those with fat brown stems, those with more naturalistic flowers, those with imaginative takes on flowers that never were.

Common to them all: inked drawings at base, white under flowers, and washes of color from a limited palette, rapidly, loosely, almost poster-ishly applied when you look at a little more than brush-length distance. This was decorative art, not fine art, made for use, not for a frame, but its brush freedom is just beautiful to me, its disregard of staying within the lines as much intentional as hurried and with an eye to maximum dollar return, at least to my eye.

Then I read up on pigments and paints used during the period, and which were used on what, and about the exchange and mixing of designs and colors among the West, South Asia, and East Asia. Complicated, but oh, so much fun! You could study color for a lifetime.

Finally, itching just to draw, out came plain No. 2 pencil and bond paper, and later, watercolor pencil and brush, and a slightly higher grade of paper. First, straight copying, to get the muscles understanding the shape and muscle of the designs, then freehand drawing and finally, as comfort increases, a slow development of my own style in the genre.

Here below, an unfinished watercolor pencil drawing. When done, the wandering stem will launch flowers and leaves to every reach of that paper.

The two views earlier are very close up, this one is at about a normal distance the eye might be from the work.

Looking at the drawing critically, there should be more yellow: cadmium yellow has replaced the orpiment (a rich lemon yellow) that was used then but is, as so many of their paints were, toxic. There should also be a red, too, a vermilion. Vermilion is still available, thank goodness. Many of the colors here are fudged, since the colors originally used are either no longer available at all, even by natural pigment companies, due to their toxicity or lack of color fastness, or even if still made for oil paints, for instance, aren't sold by Prismacolor or the other company whose black pencil I bought.

I've been drawing flowers seemingly forever, at least since junior high, when Medieval manuscript illumination was all I could think about after school. Later it was bell flowers and acanthus leaves, after 1780s wall paintings and applied plaster decorations. Still later, Rapidograph ink drawings, colored in with pencil in one or two spots, of flowers in windowsills. Take-offs, I guess, of mid-century illustrators. Who knows? It was back in the '80s. Finally, for some twenty-plus years, impressions of just-picked flowers, drawn in a limited palette on cards to friends and family, drawn from the head, hardly from nature. Now, I'm more than ready for a new foray, but back into an older style.

What a blast. Let's see where this leads over time.

Before we go, here's what the boys have been doing, or one boy, in particular: making sure his brother's animals have their lunch.

I Conquered 1796-ish Hair...After the Jane Austen Festival. Plus a Tutorial

Good evening there, everyone! The cicadas are busy outside, sounding like an ambient orchestra of power saws winding down, but there's something odd about it. Namely that our windows are wide open, so that the insect noise is very loud, and there are cool zephyrs whispering in, trying to raise goosebumps. You read that aright. Cool, as in almost long-sleeve weather, in midsummer Bluegrass Kentucky. It's sheer delight.

Meanwhile, in our upstairs hall, next to the settee from the early 19th century, my boys and I have been playing with the camera and tripod. They've been pirates and I've donned the half dress combination of spencer and matching petticoat, with the muslin wrap-front dress. You see, today at lunch I decided to work on 1790s hair once again, this time sans switches or additions. Today, after all the tries of the past months, Fortune's wheel turned in my favor and it came together fairly well. After the Jane Austen Festival, natch-and-wouldn't-you-know, but still, the effects are rather as hoped.

1790s Hair Effects, Pretty Well Effected
The blog title says "conquered". Well, not entirely. Let's say, pretty well effected, given constraints.

The very long locks of the portraits I so admire turned out to be more than I could manage these days. In 2011, I built a fuller look via a very long, very heavy hair switch plus a few pinned-in curled wefts. Now that this head is plagued with migraines, that's just not smart.

The 2011 hair-do. There's a chignon behind
that's built of a 22-24" switch. Heavy.

A shorter 'do was in order, and I ended up during the afternoon with the below. What were the sources, and what happened to it as it was worn? Let's see.

Day version, curlier: this was before the hair was
squished into a bun for the afternoon.
More of the side curls should have been lifted
and wound into the bandeau.

For hairdressing models I turned to a handsome portrait miniature of an English lady in a gray dress, by Richard Cosway, and offered at Bonhams some time ago, along with a series of other plates (see below), for help.

Our first model sports hair she has dressed above shoulder length. It's softly curled but not intensely curly or frizzy, and dressed fairly close to her head, parted in the middle, and finished with a narrow, thin, bandeau (with bow) and ostrich plume. I am fairly sure it's mostly her natural hair, and there is no visible evidence of a long chignon turned up and caught with a comb, in back, though there likely may be a short one. Usually, when present such chignons show at least a bit.

Whatever the actual date of the miniature, the slightly shorter hair reminds me of the trend in 1796 towards shorter hair that was to lead to the upswept styles of the 1800s.

Note: many miniatures and paintings of the period show women with the hair left loose, but most seem quite young. I would hazard that a married woman would sport a chignon, and usually an older woman covered her head with a larger turban or a cap.

Note the chignon loop to the bottom right of
her hair. Lady Hester Bellingham, Bonham's. 

Anyhow, this headdress, methought, was more doable, and would require no extra lockage, and thus be cooler and lighter. If it didn't fully take, no matter. Some fashion plates show tresses looser and snakier, some more tightly curled, some even rather smoothly, barely waved. Witness the below!

British Museum, No. C,4.1-468, detail.

British Museum, No. C,4.1-468, detail.

Bunka Gakuen Digital Library of Rare Materials

A Lady, by Alexandre Rocher. Dated 1796. French. Bonham's.

Models in hand, it was testing time. During lunch hour I created the curls and tested the headdress. The tools? A regular, small-barreled curling iron and heavy-duty hair goo, pins, silk gauze, and hair comb.

Lunch break over, I stuffed the poor hair back up in a bun, and went back to work. After dinner and cleanup, while the boys played some game with their stuffed animals that involved a party, I unpinned it, and the curls had held decently, if not as tightly as before they were unceremoniously pulled back and squished. Good hair goo, to have held at all.

Then it was dash together the headdress (how-tos below), rush into the ensemble, and take some pictures with the boys, before their bedtime arrived.

Here we are. Goofball smiles? Sure, it was a goofy, fun evening, playtime for all three of us.

Mama and her protecting pirate.

The third image shows the back of the headdress. Note that the back hair is lightly, barely looped at the bottom. That's the chignon. Had I longer hair, the loop would be longer, and the ends would be left a bit longer too, to wave and curl downwards.

Noah and his piggy. She is wearing a coat with a velvet collar: Noah gets concerned
his animals will take a chill, so I've made a few clothes.

I'd like to try this headdress again, with curls made on curlers. Why? Because then I can get smoother curls that will create larger ringlets, and that can poof and frizz a little for a softer effect.

What fun this was! The boys took the pictures, and did they like working the camera. Operating a real camera was almost a first for them, and it was heady, heady stuff. On a tripod, too. Noah insisted on holding the tripod aiming handle, or whatever you call it, while operating the camera with his other hand, his stuffed piggy sitting underneath, offering advice. Christopher put on his pirate hat and his weskit, and protected his mama with his wooden sword.

The twinkle in the twins' eyes means "Okay, our turn with that camera!"

After the photo taking, we ran into the guest room and uploaded them, critiqued the results, and then wandered to another folder on the computer to look at live-action shots of them jumping into the Spindletop pool yesterday: the pencil leap, the cannonball, all the jump-in-the-pool tricks. I have the distinct feeling that now they know how to press a shutter button, we've opened a Pandora's box :}

1790s Shorter Locks: A Tutorial

Those of you who have 1790s outfits and don't want to don a wig or wiglet to get the curls of a latter-day follower of Bacchus, here's how I did it. I have hair just about shoulder length, but bobbed hair at chin length, I suspect, will also work. Much shorter and you'll have a late 1790s or 1800s cropped look.

Curl Hair into Ringlets

First, curl your entire head into ringlets. How you do this is up to you: pin curls, papillote curls, curlers-and-setting-lotion, or curling iron. The key is to curl your hair as close to your head around your face as possible, but start the ringlets a little lower down the hair shaft on the rest of your head. Since I wasn't able to get really tight curls at my face, I employed a trick, which I'll show you.

Tools used to create the curls. What's missing: the big
curved bridal comb to hold the chignon.

I used a small-barreled curling iron. I curled the hair dry. I separated the hair into sections, holding the rest out of the way with hair-dresser's clips while I worked with each section. I'd take a small hank of hair, enough to heat all the way through on a small iron, rub a wee bit of hair goo in it, and use the iron. I'd unwind it carefully and move to the next one.

Create High, Curly Crown

After all the hair was curled, I parted the hair, and then gathered a sizeable hank off the top back, plus some from the sides, into a group. I tucked a hair rat under it, right at the back of the crown of the head, to lift the curls I was going to put on top, so they'd look more abundant. Note that there was still plenty of back hair left hanging down.

Individual hanks of hair off the top and sides curled over a hair rat at the back of the crown of the head.
Each curl gets a pin. You can see one in front. It will be covered by a bandeau.

Note the ringlets: they are all one length, because my hair is. The curls start about halfway
down the hair shafts. You will wrap the bandeau around your head just in front of the crown.

Then I split out a hank from this group, looped it to the back of the head and then forward again, creating a fold with curly ends facing forward. I bobby pinned it in place. I did this over and over with the rest, placing each bit so that it built out a bit of a crown. I took a few extra pieces from the sides, pulled them up and wrapped them around the base to hide any rat that might be showing, and to add some top-side curls. Each hank got one pin.

Next I shifted the front hair forwards. I took a yard or so of silk gauze, laid it flat, and rolled it corner to corner to create a long bandeau shape, which I twisted to give some texture. I pinned one end to the side of my head in front of the crown, tucking the end underneath, and wrapped the rest around the back of my head, underneath the back hair, up over the top of my head again, and then wrapped the free end under what was already there, and tried to pin that without the pin showing. I wove the side hair in and out and let some ringlets hang as love locks, more so in the evening's version of the hairdo than the day version, which lets more locks hang.

The bandeau, added. This was at lunchtime. The curls were fuller and rounder, and I had not
fluffed them out at all.

Ta-da: narrow bandeau. It worked out to two trips around my head: if you like, you can divide it into two wraps, one set behind the other, for a very Classical look. If you had longer fabric, you could go for three wraps. In any case, notice the bandeau, or turban, is narrow, and rather scant. Most portrait miniatures seem to show this, perhaps because it was easy to wind and didn't look over-big on the head. As you will see in the Festival pictures below, my original turban was quite large, and, having no super-big hair, it overwhelmed my head and face in what is to my mind a less attractive way.

Now, to deal with the long curls of front hair. Take a ringlet, and a few inches out from the scalp, run it between the tines of a bobby pin. Then pull the curl back under the bandeau and pin it to the hair under there. Arrange the curly hair at the hairline. Still too long? Loop it back a second time with another bobby pin. Use the loops of hair as extra curls at the hairline, but make sure the ends hang and can be seen. Do this with all of the front hair.

Last step: take the back hair and hold it in a ponytail, but kind of flattened, very low on the head, and leaving a bit of a loop of hair beneath. Plaster the tail up against the top of the ponytail, against your head, leaving some curly tips in your hand hanging downwards. This is your small chignon, the traditional finish at the back of women's heads since the 1770s or perhaps even the late 1760s.

Here's an example of a short chignon, from 1796.

Detail from an album of largely
fashion prints. Fashion headdresses,
1796. British Museum, No. C, 4.1-468.

Now take a large hair comb (I have a large metal curved one for bridal use), and plunge it down into where the ponytail and the loop are held together. This holds the loop in place and allows the ends to fall over the top. This loop is what The Gallery of Fashion terms "the chignon turned up plain". Surprisingly, the hair holds well this way.

The chignon at the low back, held by a large, wide, bridal comb. Note that the chignon is supposed to be wide and flattened, nota narrow tube like a ponytail. Also note the curls at the back of the crown, dangling. This was at lunchtime, and in that
test I was able to create a fuller effect there than later that evening, after the curls had been squashed in a bun for hours.

Pull a few ringlets from the side back of the head down, as love locks, and you are done. You have a shortish 1790s hairdo.

To follow the picture a bit more exactly, take a curled ostrich plume (a doubled-and-sewn plume looks better), and spear it straight into the mass of hair at the side of your head, and underneath the bandeau. Pin it with a lightweight brooch to the bandeau. Lacking the brooch, pin the plume to the bandeau with a bobby pin, then add two wide-ended pins, one sunk horizontally into the hair pointing to the front of the head, and the other sunk horizontally into the hair but pointing towards the back of the head. The rounded end of each pin should encase the plume.

To be really en point, you should lightly powder your hair. In England, anyhow, this was common among a certain gentle set. I was going to, but realized it was 7:30 and I was out of time...the boys needed to get to bed!

About the Ensemble

The ensemble is half dress, for afternoon. I am wearing the "muslin" (Indian cotton voile) cross-front dress, to which I added a gathered and whipped neckline frill a few weeks ago to soften the neckline. The sleeves are also gathered in four places with thread to create a group of narrow puffs. This is seen occasionally around 1794-1796. I should have used doubled buttonhole twist for the gathering. Plain thread cannot take the strain and broke in a few spots. The sleeve ends were supposed to be lightly tied with yellow ribbon to leave small cuffs, but I cannot tie them myself, so I left them plain this time.

Under the dress is the lilac silk petticoat: it tints the dress skirt lightly.

Above the dress is the embroidered and spangled sleeveless spencer, which matches the petticoat. The two could be worn as a pair by themselves, if sleeves are added to the spencer.

Jewelry: a partial coral parure: necklace with yellow ties and coral hoop earrings.

The shawl is a matching red silk antique obi. Gloves are vintage tan kid and are the requisite elbow length.

The mix of lilac, red, and yellow accents would have been seen at that period: a coordinating mix of colors was appreciated.

The ensemble is fun to wear: it's full of life and color and sparkle. Worth the two-three years needed to bring it all together.

Papillote Curls Trial Run Number One

Practically sans makeup, and sunburned, to boot.

Forty-five minutes, a cut-up sheet of bright green tissue paper, a flat-iron, my turban silk and a few pins, and I have this very simple hairdo, or headdress, as it was known, to show you.

The spiral curls are made in the papillote, or butterfly fashion. It's a little tricky to learn, and this is only a first effort, but it's the method used in the 18th and early 19th centuries to create both spiral curls and frizzed curls, and I am surprised, but it's working for me :}

As a test, I made tiny spirals and big, fat spirals, to see how they would compare. Check. Tiny and big resulting curls. Well, at least I got what I expected! That doesn't always happen when it comes to my hair. The June picnic is a good example of a hair experiment that decidedly failed to produce the effect aimed for.

The curl-winding needs to be a little neater, so that the curls are more even, but still, the effect is pretty. The curls should sit and cool a bit longer, too.

Excepting one curl, there's no setting lotion, goo, or pomade, or spray in my hair. Am sure I'll have to use at least one of them for the real curling process next Friday evening. That and a night-cap (ye gods), to protect the hair until Saturday's Jane Austen Festival.

Because I have shoulder-length hair and these spirals don't easily go right to the scalp, there are pins shortening the curls in front. The back hair is straight and is turned up plain for the "chignon", as was often done. I'll need a bit of added hair for the chignon: that's the next trial, along with playing with the front curls to make them tighter, shorter, and more regular, and adding fat long curls on the sides and top. Once those lessons are learned, add hair décor appropriate to the occasion, and we have a usable headdress.

Of course, if these curls fall out overnight, Isis' standing pin curls are my backup. Thank you, Isis, for your research and tutorial!

This is what we're aiming for: a mix of Hortense de Beauharnais' style (I even have the cross-front dress!) on Pinterest, and the second young lady's fluffier 'do (Circle of Jean-Baptiste Soyer, circa 1790/1795, at Christie's).

Gee, the more I look at Madame de Beauharnais' portrait, the more I like it. Sensitive, well painted, calm, atmospheric.

This young lady looks fun, doesn't she? Her smile is real, and I can imagine that she was a treat to be around.

You know what's ironic? I have curly hair. It ringlets on its own, once washed. The issue is that the ringlets won't stay more than a few minutes before they fall out and frizz starts to take over. The amount of curly-hair goo added makes no difference. Hence all this craziness, getting 1790s curls that will hold up.

On to the next trial...

Addendum, two mornings later: yesterday, I just bunched it all in a ponytail bun, without brushing, and they held. No ponytail the second night, just plain hair. This morning, the curls are holding together -- still. I brushed my hair at last, and now I have fluff. Not frizzy, just fluffy waves. Interesting.