The History of Underclothes

by C. Willett

  7. POCKETS

  The former device of a detached pocket hung round the waist under the skirt became impracticable with the scanty dresses of the period, and so they became replaced by the handbag or ‘reticule,’ commonly called a ‘ridicule.’ An observer in 1805 remarked that it was out of the question for ladies to wear pockets. When in a novel of 1817 a countrified lady admits to having a pocket, it provoked the comment: ‘Your pocket, Madam! Do you wear a pocket?’ ‘Absolutely,’ tittered a lady behind her chair, ‘she confesses to wearing pockets.’34

  8. NIGHTCLOTHES

  That these remain more or less unchanged is suggested by a letter from Susan Ferrier, 1814: ‘I must have been tying my nightcap or buttoning the collar of my nightgown’ (figure 53).

  FIG. 53. ‘DAMP SHEETS, SHOWING NIGHTCLOTHES AND CORSET. AFTER ROWLANDSON, 1791

  * * *

  1 Jesse: Life of Brummell, 1844.

  2 Wraxall’s Memoirs.

  3 Francis Paget Hett: Memoirs of Susan Sibbald, 1927.

  4 Jesse : Life of Brummell, 1844.

  5 The English Spy, 1826.

  6 Jane Adeane : The Early Married Life of Maria Josepha, Lady Stanley, 1899.

  7 The effigy of Lord Nelson in Westminster Abbey is dressed in thc clothes belonging to him at the time of his death in 1805. They were described by L. E. Tanner and J. L. Nevinson in 1934 and their account (see Archeologia, Vol. 85, 1936) states:

  ‘Shirt. Linen. Collar 5 in. Neck 15 in. Front slit 10 in. Left sleeve 22 in. Rightstump 6 in.

  ‘High standing collar with three buttons (linen thread over a metal ring). The slit in front is edged with a linen frill ; the body is full, tail slits at sides, marked with “HN. 24” in blue cross-stitch. There is a gusset on each shoulder towards the neck, and again under the arms. The left sleeve is long and full, gathercd at shoulder and wrist, the centre part ironed into pleats; at the wrist there is a band, with slits for links. The right arm is only a stump, the fullness caught in with a draw-string.’

  8 Beau Monde, 1806.

  9 Ibid., 1807.

  10 A. Fremantle: The Wynne Diaries, III.

  11 Cf. ‘I must have a cambric chemise with the collar highly starched for dressing time—one of those that look like winkers.’—The Hermit in London, 1819.

  ‘Winkers’ was the popular name for the collars whose points projected almost into the eyes.

  12 The Hermit in London, 1819.

  13 From domestic bills (at the Hollytree Museum, Colchester):—

  ‘1811. Flannel drawers 6/6.’ (Presumably the long variety).

  ‘1813. Pair of drawers 4/6.’ (Presumably the short variety).

  14 1811. Accounts at the Hollytree Museum, Colchester.

  15 ‘He was dressed in the ultra pitch of fashion, collared like the leader of a four-horse team, and pinched in the middle like an hourglass, with a neck as long as a goose, and a cravat as ample as a tablecloth.’ The Hermit in London, 1819.

  16 We are indebted for this to Messrs. Drew & Son, of Bath, from whose brochure on corsets it is taken.

  17 That the urge to discard superfluous clothing extended far beyond the world of fashion is evidenced in the lament of a Yorkshire farmer, whose daughter, he declared, had died as a result. The poem also shows how rapidly new fashions were able to spread at that date, about 1800:

  And when she fust cam yam tae me

  She had nae petticoats ye see,

  At fust Ah fund she’d but a smock

  An’ ower that her tawdry frock.

  Her shoon had soles so verra thin

  They’d naught keep out but let wet in.

  Besides, thou sees, she had nae stays,

  An’ scarce enuf by heaf o’ claies !

  Her naked arms, she liked to show

  E’en when t’cawd bitter wind did blow,

  An’ noo i’toon as each yan passes

  You can’t tell ladies fra bad lassies !

  (Quoted by permission of the authorities of the Castle Museum, York.)

  18 Letters of Maria Josepha, Lady Stanley, 1899.

  19 The Times, 1796.

  20 Ibid., 1799.

  21 The Mirror of the Graces, 1811.

  22 Mrs. Hudson : Almacks, 1825.

  23 1796.

  24 Glenbervie Journals, 1811. Ed. F. Bickley, 1928.

  25 Chester Chronicle, 1793.

  26 Ibid., 1794, quoted in ‘Browns and Chester.’

  27 The Mirror of the Graces, 1811.

  28 Chester Chronicle, 1803.

  29 The Beau Monde.

  30 Memoirs of Susan Sibbald.

  31 Letters of Maria Josepha, Lady Stanley.

  32 Mrs. Earle: Two Centuries of Costume in America.

  33 The Times, 1795.

  34 E. S. Barrett: Six Weeks at Longs, 1817.

  VI

  1821—1840

  THE twenty years of war had seen some bizarre experiments in the clothing of both sexes. There had been violent efforts at novelty signalized, in the main, by a conspicuous distortion—even abandonment—of class distinction, and in consequence a notable crudity in sex appeal. By 1820 or so order was restored to chaos, and costume settled down steadily to emphasizing and developing the expression of class. The age of the genteel had begun in grim earnest.

  This entailed a careful regulation of the forms of sex attraction permissible, especially in the apparel of the lady. Thanks to the increasing social importance of the middle class the spirit of prudery recovered from its war-time set-back, and became the dominating influence over the costume of both men and women. The ‘high priestess’ of this moral cult was the mythical figure known as ‘Mrs. Grundy.’ The name of that eminent Victorian is now almost forgotten, yet she reigned as a totalitarian dictator for nearly a century. This is curious and yet curiously English. She had never had a corporeal existence; being merely a character mentioned, though never seen, in an obscure comedy (Thomas Morton: Speed the Plough, 1800). Yet from about 1830 onwards her name became the convenient censor of social morals and dress, the personification of the spirit of prudery; this soon began to regulate polite speech. In 1818, Lady Susan O’Brien had noted that the language of society was becoming ‘more refined. No one can now say “breeding,” or “with child,” or “lying in,” without being thought indelicate. “Colic” and “bowels” are exploded words. “Stomach” signifies everything.’

  This psychological ‘black-out’ began to affect various parts of the body; ‘legs’ became ‘limbs,’ ‘breasts’ became ‘bosom,’ and as a substitute for a more precise term, ‘the lower back’ served to indicate a region that has baffled the descriptive fashion writer ever since. When a gentleman’s trousers masqueraded as his ‘inexpressibles’ (a term appearing first in 1805) and, later, as his ‘nether integuments,’ his underclothes could only be described as his ‘linen.’ With the ladies the rule was more discriminating; in polite society one might mention only such feminine undergarments as were in part exposed to view. It was permissible, therefore, to use the word ‘petticoats,’ and, with circumspection, ‘stockings’; the rest was silence. Happily the abundance of fashion journals, designed for the female eye only, are available for the social historian who does not shrink from playing Peeping Tom.

  We cannot properly appreciate the growing importance of feminine underclothes in this and subsequent periods unless we realize the atmosphere of secrecy which gave them at the time an attraction which has not survived in the museum cases where they may hang to-day. Yet they were endowed with the charm of mystery, not hitherto possessed by such inanimate objects. It was not surprising that so convenient a means of appeal should have multiplied. If a glimpse of one petticoat could produce agitation, what effect might not be obtained by half a dozen?

  From the beginning of this period for nearly a century petticoats and prudery combined as a gigantic force; the steadily expanding skirt—concealing Heaven knows what—dominated the social scene and marked the growing importance of the lady; her underclothing had become,
as it were, an integral part of her personality. It expressed, even more truly than the outward dress, a statement of the higher morality. Instilled with the principle that ugliness is next to Godliness, she was careful to avoid any suggestion of aesthetic beauty in such garments as were wholly invisible. A concession was allowed in those of which an occasional glimpse was permitted; the border of a petticoat might be exquisitely embroidered, but this concession was corrected by austerity elsewhere, with the body itself in the bleak embrace of plain white longcloth. The notion of wearing coloured undergarments would have caused her a moral shudder. The policy was to obliterate all recollections of those indecorous habits which had disfigured the past.

  The eighteenth century had regarded woman as a creature of the chase, and the garments which concealed her person as a frivolous affectation of false modesty. The advance of prudery altered all that. Feminine underclothing became a serious, even a solemn subject, expressive of a conscious rectitude of outlook. Yet human nature and the basic instincts could not be smothered even by longcloth, and so a new and more subtle method of attraction developed out of the very materials intended to obliterate the old. Prudery was found to have, in itself, an erotic appeal. Effective underclothing developed into an art, serving sometimes as an accessory to nature’s gifts and sometimes as a substitute for their lack. It is true that this art did not arrive at its sublime apotheosis till Edwardian days, but we see the process in its initial stages during the period now under consideration. The lesson which those pioneers surely teach is how profound and irresistible is the attraction which prudery exerts when skilfully practised by one sex on the other. The old saying that ‘what the eye doesn’t see the heart doesn’t grieve over’ applies specially to the defects of the human form, which it becomes the function of underclothes to conceal.

  They also serve not merely to accentuate the real differences of physique between the sexes, but even to create illusory ones. For to the masculine mind, a creature so exquisitely delicate that she needs to swathe herself in such a multitude of wrappings must be of a peculiar fragility remotely unlike his own substance. How could natural curiosity resist such an enigma? We must not give all the credit to the dressmaker; her handiwork, admirable though it might be, was sustained and given its alluring outlines by the invisible but essential foundations. These too, then, were instrumental in creating the great illusion.

  Nor are the underclothes of this period to be ignored as a method of displaying social rank. The vast circumference of the crinoline skirt, or the trailing train of its successors, were not—in spite of the common saying—garments which ‘stood by themselves.’ They owed their impressive form to their substructure. In fact, to build up the framework of the fine lady, and to add to her importance, a host of ingenious implements were required. We are to witness, in this epoch, the initial stages of that ingenious structure, and in the spirit of the archaeologist we have to explore the depths of its foundations.

  By comparison, man’s underclothes in this period present an infinitely less ambitious aim. Only the visible portions of his shirt seem to be purposive; there is still stamped the insignia of the gentleman.1

  MEN

  I. THE SHIRT

  The differences between day and evening styles came to be accentuated. Although the frilled front persisted for many as day wear (figure 54) all through this period, the man of fashion tended more and more to reserve that ornament for his evening shirt, wearing by day the tucked front; but inasmuch as the immense day cravat often concealed almost the whole of the shirt-front, it is impossible, in such cases, to judge of its nature. ‘Some of our dashers wear cravats of red Merino, the ends of which entirely cover the bosom.’2 The same source informed its readers of a dandy, staying at a country house, who came down to breakfast ‘in a redingote vest of plain velvet, waistcoat of flowered marcella, shirt of embroidered muslin, cravat of foulard, and—satin pantaloons.’ A sceptic in a rival magazine declared that he would give fifty pounds to see a man in such a dress, and fifty more to shoot the beast. When contemporary authorities differ, how shall we, at this distance decide? But we must always remember that a fashion journal is not a scientific work but a branch of romantic fiction tinged with truth.

  As formerly, the collar was usually attached, and sufficiently high to be folded down over the cravat. The stock, previously intended to be worn only by the military, came into civilian use in 1822. There is some evidence, however, that the detached collar was not unknown. It was tied round the neck, and not fastened with a back stud. ‘When travelling take three dozen cravats and at least three dozen shirt collars.’3

  FIG. 54. (left to right) MAN’S SHIRT, MARKED AND DATED 1827, WORN BY GEORGE IV; MAN’S SHIRT, DATED 1823; MAN’S DAY-SHIRT, c. 1815–25

  For the evening ‘the bosoms of dress-fronts are invariably composed of lawn or worked cambric which is puckered and furbelowed with a variety of ruffled shapes.’ ‘Nothing can be more handsome, manly, and unassuming than a plain cambric muslin frill.’ ‘The wristbands, which should only be turned down the last thing on going to a party or ball, should be made of a considerable depth, collars the reverse.’ ‘The wristbands, collar and front are the only parts displayed’; so that ‘the body and sleeves may be made of fine India longcloth instead of linen.’ (The Whole Art of Dress, 1830.)

  Illustrations in contemporary novels, however, show a considerable variation from these rules; elderly gentlemen and professional men, and those of the middle class, commonly wear frilled shirts by day; by the end of this period the frilled shirt is often worn by butlers and upper men-servants by day, as part of their uniform, much as they subsequently wore ‘dress suits.’

  An important novelty was introduced, a primitive form of ‘sports shirt,’ known as an ‘aquatic shirt,’ intended for the river but soon adopted by the unfashionable young man, in the 1830’s.4 The correct form had narrow blue and white, or red and white stripes or checks of cotton, and the collar and wristbands were not visible.

  Notes on Museum Specimens.

  Men’s Shirts in the City Museum, Hereford.

  1. Day. Of homespun linen, buttoning at the neck. Attached 5-in. collar to fold over neckcloth, with two buttons. Cambric frill 11 in. deep down the centre of front. Sleeves 7 in. wide at the middle, with gussets at shoulder and armpit. Unstarched cuff with link holes at the base. Dated 1824.

  2. Day. Of linen, length 37 in., width 30 in. Attached collar 6 in. deep, with two buttons (linen covered on brass rings). Cambric frill 11 in. deep. Sleeves 11 in. wide at the middle, with gussets at the shoulders. Unstarched cuff with one button at the base. Probable date about 1830.

  3. Day. Of linen, length 25 in. front, 35 in. back; width 35 in. Square cut. Collar 5 in. deep, with two pearl buttons. Cambric frill 12 in. deep. Sleeves 8 in. wide at the middle, with gussets at shoulder and armpit. Cuff 2 in. wide, buttoned at base. The garment back-stitched throughout. Worn by a banker, 1830–40. The centre front opening of the frilled shirt is unfastened except for the single button at the neck; the aperture is prevented from gaping by having the frill turned to one side and kept in that position by the waistcoat.

  The link holes in the shirt dated 1824 are unusual; in all other specimens there is a button at the base of the cuff, the border being left open, links not being usual until the 1840’s. Cuff links appear to have been in occasional use in the seventeenth century—they may be seen in the portrait by Lely of Admiral Jeremy Smith at Greenwich Hospital—but during the period of wrist ruffles in the eighteenth century they would have been invisible. The early nineteenth-century cuff, shorn of its ruffle, remained gaping at the border until the cuff was stiffened with starch when it could more easily be closed by links than by a button.

  The shirt of George IV (Castle Museum, York) dated 1827 (figure 54), has the front opening closed by three small pearl buttons, the earliest example we know of the use of mother-of-pearl buttons on underclothing.

  It seems that the protruding jabot of that period excited som
e derision. Washington Irving (in Whim- Whams of Lancelot Langstaff,1823) comments: ‘They had exuberant chitterlings; which puffed out at the neck and bosom like unto the beard of an ancient he- turkey,’ and he is equally scornful of ‘his silver-sprigged dickey which he assures me is all the rage.’

  A dress shirt of the period 1830–40 (Sanderson collection, City Art Gallery, Leeds) is of linen, the front 41 in., the back 42 in. Width below armpits 27 in. Attached collar 2 in. high; 16 in. round, with two buttonholes in front, one above the other. The front opening, 10 in. deep, has a jabot of frilled starched muslin 4 in. wide. The square-cut starched cuffs, buttoned at the base, are 1 in. deep.

  The shoulder has both types of reinforcing bands described in the previous chapter (horizontal along the top and vertical down the front and back). This transition from the older method of construction to the newer seems to suggest the date we have given to it. The extreme width of the jabot frill, at such a date, almost certainly indicates that it was an evening dress-shirt, not a day, though we might be misled by such a specimen as

  ‘A fine, false, four-frilled front to his shirt, embroidered, pleated, and puckered like a lady’s habit-shirt. Down the front were three or four different sorts of studs, and a butterfly brooch, made of various coloured glasses, sat in the centre’—and worn by James Green on a boat excursion to Margate. (Surtees: Jorrocks’s Jaunts and Jollities, 1838–9.) And when he turns back the wrists of his coat he exhibits ‘his beautiful sparkling paste shirt buttons’ (i.e. links). From such descriptions we learn to appreciate the difficulty in dating Victorian specimens of shirts, unless we know for certain whether they had been worn by a gentleman or by a—gent.

  2. DRAWERS

  Tnese appear to have been both long and short, the long variety often being called ‘trouser drawers.’ This distinction is apparent in a bill of John Disney, tailor and draper, 1831:5