Providence, After Dark

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Yes, I like to burn my candle at both ends: let’s get that out of the way up front, as I admit that yes, I am recovering from strep throat contracted a mere week before the evening program, and that immediately after said program, I hopped on the night train to Virginia for a quick vacation.

I walked to the train station, and was struck by the contrast between the closeness of the house lit only by [LED] candlelight and the openness of a city incandescently bright. I’ve walked Providence streets at night for decades, and never appreciated street lights so well until I knew the city didn’t have oil street lights until 1820.*

The LED candles aren’t as bright as real candles, but they’re safer and come remote-equipped.** In the end, I ordered a total four dozen, forgot I’d ordered four dozen, and requested only six dozen AA batteries (each candle takes two), so spent the late afternoon scrounging power sources. With this many candles, we were able to put eight in the Waterford crystal chandelier in the formal parlor, and watch the light play upon the ceiling, even if the room wasn’t fully illuminated.

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We kept the hallways and central stair lit for safety, and gave guests or groups of guests battery-powered candles to carry as they made their way through the house. (All sixty-plus spots on the two tour slots were fully booked.) Downstairs, each of the three docents from our study group interpreted a room: Mrs JF in the dining room, talking about dining and entertaining; Mrs MF in the formal parlor talking about sin, crime, and control; and Mrs AB in the informal parlor talking about novels, music, and family gatherings.

Upstairs, the Director of Education, Ms T, took over one bedroom where she talked about sex and I took another to talk about bedtime, bedding, bedbugs, vermin, chamber pots, and hygiene. Of all sixty-plus visitors, only one, a young man, asked about menstruation. Perhaps the rest were too overcome by the thought of Hannah Glasse’s bug bomb (ignite a pound of brimstone and a Indian pepper in a tightly closed room, exit quickly, and leave it for five to six hours) to ask more intimate questions.

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It was a popular program, and I can imagine doing it again. It does make me wonder about a What Cheer Night, and what that could be like; how far can we push the ways we use a historic house and its contents, when it’s only one day a year?

*It took until 1822 to get a sidewalk committee to concern itself with smoothing the rough patches and straightening the paths; we could use a reconstitution of that committee, thank you.

**Yes, I believe the site manager feels like Dumbledore every time she uses the remote, though she is not yet saying “Nox” as she wields it.

Small Obsessions

IMG_5625Some of you may recall that I am a recovering artist with a fairly constant need to keep my hands busy. To encourage industry and the domestic arts, and to keep me out of trouble generally, a thoughtful friend provided me with a start to furnishing an early nineteenth century-style paint box. They’re hard to come by, these paint boxes, and extant examples fetch far more than we can afford chez Calash, being in somewhat reduced circumstances of late.

Thomas Reeves & Son Artists watercolor paint box c. 1784 to 1794. Whimsie Virtual Museum of Watercolor Materials
Thomas Reeves & Son
Artists watercolor paint box c. 1784 to 1794. Whimsie Virtual Museum of Watercolor Materials

Researching paint boxes and miniature painting in the early Federal era has been a happy fall down a deep rabbit hole. It’s clear that Reeves watercolors were being sold in Providence in the early 19th century; Peter Grinnell & Sons include “Reeves watercolor boxes” among the extensive list of items for sale in an 1809 newspaper ad. Frames and cases were also to be had; John Jenckes, gold and silver-smith and jeweler, advertised gold miniature cases in 1800.

Distraction is always easy to come by, tunnels leading from main entrance to the warren. Painting manuals, scholarly articles, and extant examples, which prove most distracting of all. SO shiny.

George Catlin Artist: John Wood Dodge (1807–1893) Date: 1835 Medium: Watercolor on ivory Dimensions: 2 3/16 x 1 13/16 in. (5.6 x 4.6 cm) Classification: Paintings Credit Line: Rogers Fund, 1926 Accession Number: 26.47
George Catlin byJohn Wood Dodge, 1835, MMA 26.47

Searching the Met’s collection, I found a portrait of George Catlin, remarkably similar in pose to an image of a friend I considered copying, but had thought too modern. My assumption has been proved wrong, and I am delighted. And then I found the HIDEOUS checked neck wear, always distracting. Historic New England provided super-tiny-bowtie man, and then I really had to focus, since I’m only enabling, not making, neck wear.

My real focus, of course, is on female miniaturists, especially in Rhode Island (gallery of RI miniatures can be found here.) From the scant number of women I’ve found advertising in the local papers, (okay, two: Miss Mary R. Smith, in 1820, and Mrs Partridge in 1829) I’ll have to expand my search geographically. Nantucket Historical Association had an image attributed to Anna Swain, and ten attributed to Sally Gardner.

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The Met, repository of so many wonders, has works by six women miniaturists, including Sarah “Wowza” Goodridge and Anna Claypoole Peale. For all we know, some of the works by unidentified makers might be the work of female painters. The extant miniatures in all collections, range in quality from excellent to amateur, giving hope to those of us unpracticed in portraiture, and regaining our hand.

Mr Hiwell Chased by a Chihuahua, and Other Minor Disasters

Of course we can read maps. GPS has not spoilt us at all.
Of course we can read maps. GPS has not spoilt us at all.

Bored over the Thanksgiving holiday weekend and possibly jealous of images we might have seen on social media, Mr HiWell, Low Spark, and I concocted a plan. Or perhaps I made a suggestion that seemed like a good idea at the time. Screen caps of message threads indicate that I probably was the root of the evil of getting up early Saturday morning to put on historical clothing and take a multi-mile walk.

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We know it was at least seven miles, and may have been nine…we went off the trail in a couple of places. But the lads are going to Trenton, and need to get in some walking time, and now that it’s shotgun deer season, the number of places we can safely hike are fewer. There’s no blaze orange in broadcloth– yet.

And this wasn't the squeeziest photo op.
And this wasn’t the squeeziest photo op.

The walk began harmlessly enough, through corn fields and brush. We forded a stream the easy way (I suggested fording a la the 40th but the lads opted for the bridge.) The Sakonnet Greenway Trail maintained by the Aquidneck Land Trust is pretty mellow. Flat (unusual here), relatively free of traffic noises, and used by dogwalkers, it seemed safe. Then we met the golfers as the trail skirts the edge of the Newport National Golf Course. We were too nice and said yes, they could have photos with us. Of course, they had clubs and we didn’t.

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We could have ridden in style.

When we went off trail to loop up to East Main Road, we encountered many homeowners and many barking dogs. When we told one woman we were off to a Paul Revere and the Raiders tribute band concert, she noted that “the kicks get harder to come by.” Further on up the road, two boxers charged the fence that enclosed their yard, startling us– but the real danger came from the chihuahua that charged up the road after us, barking madly. The children’s rhyme about “the beggars have come to town” seemed all to relevant.

The Kitty Who Walked Alone
The Kitty Who Walked Alone

By the end of the walk, there were many references to Captain Sobel and Currrahee, though I thought more of Rudyard Kipling’s The Cat That Walked By Himself.

But when he has done that, and between times, and when the moon gets up and night comes, he is the Cat that walks by himself, and all places are alike to him. Then he goes out to the Wet Wild Woods or up the Wet Wild Trees or on the Wet Wild Roofs, waving his wild tail and walking by his wild lone.

Checked Linen Aprons post-1800

Not that this is an exhaustive or final chronicle, but Jackie asked about the apron.

Spring Cleaning, 2012
Spring Cleaning, 2012

I first encountered this form of apron at Old Sturbridge Village, on display in the Firearms and Textiles exhibit space, which I think of as “Muskets and Muslins.” The accession number given on the exhibit label was 26.39.4, but the object does not appear in the OSV online collections database (they do warn that it contains just a selection of their total 60K-plus object holdings). The original at OSV, as sketched and described by me in April 2012 has a drawstring at the neck, straps that button, string at the back opening, and is slim, without gathers. That means the bodice is very similar to the gown bodices of the early part of the 19th century.

Smock, Checked cotton, Pocumtuck Valley Memorial Association. #2000.01.869.
Smock, 2000.01.869 PVMA

There is another original checked bodiced apron in the Pocumtuck Valley Memorial Association collection in Deerfield, MA. This original appears in color in The Needle’s Eye by Marla Miller. As you can see in the images of my apron, I mashed the two styles together to suit the amount of material I had on hand, the skills I had three years ago, and the amount of time I had between seeing the apron and the day of the program, which was probably two days during which time I had pleurisy.*

This is also wrong, but funny.
This is also wrong, but funny.

To refocus: I chose to wear this apron at Whitehorse House in 1820 for a really wrong reason: it was what I had.

Prints in the British Museum show a maid in a yellow gown with a black apron, no bib; there is another, with a maid in a green gown, in a wikigallery, that I could not fully track down; a London Market scene; and a French print from 1818 that does show a bibbed black apron on a shop assistant. The visual research I’d done for the 1820 program suggested that black aprons were the height of fashion, and that they did not always have bibs.

Papering the Saloon at Tickford Hall, watercolor by Diana Sperling, 1816.
Papering the Saloon at Tickford Hall, watercolor by Diana Sperling, 1816.

Since we deal in confessions here, I will tell you that I did buy material for a black apron, and I planned to make a strapped or bibbed one, much like the one Sabine made. The appearance of the dark apron in Diana Sperliing’s watercolor of the ladies papering the saloon at Tickford Park put the dark strapped and sometimes bibbed apron the in English-speaking world. And still I did not manage to make one. If I were to do an 1820 program again, or even an 1813 or later millinery shop again, I like to think I would find the time to make a black strapped and possibly bibbed apron. I do think they were the height of fashion, and are likely to have been worn by women in shops, and by maids.

Do I think the checked apron is wrong? Given that I can rationalize anything, of course not! I think a checked apron is probably reasonably appropriate within the context of a kitchen, even in 1820, especially in New England. Since we did not cook on Saturday, the black apron would have been ideal, but I think the checked apron passes. To make it pass with a higher grade, I will freely admit it requires button and tape upgrades. Since the next dates on the horizon are 1775 and 1780, chances are good those upgrades won’t happen anytime soon. * Do not attend an all-day outdoor event in the cold when you are not well. Do not attend said event without your cloak, or in stays you have laced up a little too firmly. Do not deny that the cold you have might actually be the start of something bigger, when it includes a productive cough. Lo, the lessons of living history are many.