Category: Regency

Lady Cordelia Takes Tea

Updated on February 27, 2013 by Amanda McCabe/Laurel McKee

On Saturday, I partook of your charming American custom of “Mother’s Day” by attending tea at a lovely little tea shop with my hostess, her mother, and various other ladies. (My own dear, departed mother would have loved this holiday, I think–she was always in need of more face paint and bottles of scent!). It was not the same as the tea I served in my house, which my friends always declared to be superlative, but it was adequate. They had an extensive selection of fine teas (which surprised me, I must say. I deplore this “Lipton” business!), some nice little sandwiches, and a few iced cakes. In honor of this occasion, I will pass on some of my own tea wisdom, mostly gained from my own mother (who adored a lapsang souchong).

Tea was introduced to Europe during Elizabethan times, but as people then had no sense of what was good for them, it did not reach England until 1657-60. Even the barbaric Russians had it before us, and it was a Venetian named Gian Battista Ramusio who was the first European to write about the drink. (Very surprising, if you know the Venetians at all). It was at first a hard sell, until that most deplorable of monarchs (lovely taste, though) Charles II took up the habit of drinking tea all day long. It was among the least objectionable of his many habits, I fear. It was also very popular here in your own country until that unfortunate occurence called the Boston Tea Party in 1773.

Afternoon tea was not a fixed tradition in my own time (though I enjoy cakes and a refreshing sip at four o’clock as much as anyone!). Slightly later than that, or so I read now on this Intra-Net compooter, the Duchess of Bedford started ordering a tray of bread-and-butter in the afternoons, as she could not wait for the fashionable dining hour before getting a bit peckish. It worked out well for her, and she began inviting friends to join her. The bread-and-butter was soon supplemented by pastries, sandwiches, and scones. “High tea” is a different thing altogther, a full meal served around six for the lower classes, consisting of meats, fish, cheese, bread and butter, cakes (and tea!).

Here are a few of my favorite recipes, which I experimented with while my hostess was away at her “work.” Her food cooling apparatus is always quite low on the staples of life, so I made do with what little I could find.

Cucumber Sandwiches:
1 large cuccumber
White wine vinegar
Butter (soft)

Peel and slice cucumber. Sprinkle the slices with vinegar and let sit for half an hour, drain and pat dry. Make the sandwich with 1 or 2 layers of cucumber slices, on thin bread spread with butter. Slice neatly into quarters (remove crusts!) and serve.

Devonshire Clotted Cream (warning! This is not a true clotted cream. I devised this with the use of that wondrous blender)

8 oz cream cheese
12 oz sour cream
Juice from 1 lemon
2 tsp vanilla
2 cups powdered sugar
(Blend all until smooth)

Rose Butter (a most elegant spread for toast, sandwiches, scones)

4 oz butter
Fresh rose petals (pink is lovely)

Line the bottom of a covered dish with a thick layer of petals. Wrap butter with waxed paper and place in dish. Cover with more petals. Put lid on dish and let sit in cool space overnight.

Posted in Frivolity, Regency, Research | Tagged Lady Cordelia, Recipes, tea | 3 Replies

Poppy’s Coin by Mary Blayney – Gold in Bump in the Night

Updated on February 26, 2013 by Diane Gaston

Did you know there is Regency gold in J. D. Robb’s world? In the paranormal anthology Bump in the Night, Mary Blayney’s novella is just that!

It’s fitting that I talk about Poppy’s Coin right after Mother’s Day, because Lindsay, the hero of the story, is both “mother” and “father” to two orphaned children, dealing with such crises as a “pea up the nose” that can only resonate with any mom. He’s really terrific at it, too.

Lindsay, unfortunately, is nearly destitute and desperate to find some means of supporting his two children. A Waterloo hero, he pins all his hopes on selling his commission, not an easy task in peacetime. Then his daughter Poppy hands him a magic coin. He makes a wish for work that is satisfying and pays an impressive wage. Shortly thereafter, Lady Grace Anderson, a beautiful young widow, hires him to be her escort for the season. This scheme works very well for both of them–until love interferes.

I’m a great fan of Mary’s Regencies – Captain’s Mermaid, His Last Lover, His Heart’s Delight, The Pleasure of His Company, A Husband for Mama – all have delighted me. Her characters ring true as “real” people, with both flaws and strengths and their love stories always shine with a quiet gentle grace.

Mary does a particularly wonderful job writing children and I am certain you will be charmed by little Poppy. In a few delicate strokes of the pen, Mary is able to convey the magical hopes and internal anxieties of a little girl who has lost her mother and never knew her real father. I loved her! Her innocent belief in Poppy’s Coin starts a timeless run of good luck!

Enjoy all the stories in Bump in the Night, but prepare for gold in Poppy’s Coin.

(He should be reading Poppy’s Coin!)

Cheers!
Diane

Posted in Reading, Regency | Tagged Bump in the Night, Mary Blayney, Nora Roberts, Poppy's Coin | 2 Replies

Visiting Erddig

Updated on February 26, 2013 by Janet Mullany

I blogged a few months ago about servants and mentioned then Erddig in North Wales, one of the most-visited National Trust properties. The Yorke family, the Squires of Erddig, while not overpaying their staff were certainly fond enough of them to commission portraits or photographs of them, and write (mediocre) poetry about them.
What makes Erddig (pronounced Er-thick–it’s Welsh) unique is that all of the outbuildings, dairies, laundries, stables, dogyards etc., are intact and restored. You can see before and after photographs showing what an enormous, and daunting task this was for the National Trust, as mostof the buildings, including the house itself, were derelict. In his final months in the house the last squire camped out in the drawing room by candlelight, with bowls set out to catch the drips from the leaking roof.

The gardens and grounds are gorgeous–tulips, primroses and bluebells were in bloom, and there’s a lovely (and rare) eighteenth century walled garden. Rare historic varieties of fruit trees, espaliered against the brick walls, were also flowering.

As for the house, it’s crammed full of amazing furniture and artwork, but all very dark and oppressive. The Yorkes, a rather eccentric family, didn’t believe in throwing anything away, or unnecessary plumbing or electricity. One of the nicest rooms is the late eighteenth-century kitchen, well-lit, by tall, elegant windows, and with its original tiled floor–not much changed other than by the addition of two Victorian ranges. It was frustrating to see features of the house–like particular pieces of art–and not be able to see the details you know from photographs.

Final word: definitely worth a visit. You could spend hours exploring the gardens and grounds, and the restaurant does great food (excellent cakes and a good cup of tea). But buy a guidebook so you can really see what things should look like!

Posted in Regency, Research | Tagged Erddig, servants | 3 Replies

Mental health, Regency-style

Updated on February 26, 2013 by Amanda McCabe/Laurel McKee

I had to have some minor surgery last week, which has it’s low points, but also has the plus-side that people in my family feel sorry for me and thus buy me books. I’ve been on a non-fiction binge lately, and just finished Mad Mary Lamb: Lunacy and Murder in Literary London by Susan Tyler Hitchcock. (Mary Lamb was the sister of poet Charles Lamb, who eventually went on to do some writing, mostly tales from Shakespeare for children, of her own. Her other claim to fame was she murdered her mother in a psychotic fit, and was in and out of hospitals for the rest of her life). This was a very interesting book, encompassing many aspects of Regency life, including the habits of the non-Ton classes, poetry and literary sorts (the Lambs were friends with Wordsworth and Coleridge), and medical care for the mentally ill.

There were two large mental hospitals in London at this time, at least sixteen private madhouses (where the wealthy could be discreetly stashed away), and numerous smaller, unlicensed places. One of the large hospitals was the famous Bethlehem (Bedlam). A family member could put forth a petition to the governor of the hospital certifying that the candidate was indeed a lunatic. Other info required was the age of the patient, how long their senses had been “disordered”, the first instance of such disorder, whether or not “mischief” had been attempted, and the general state of their physical health. The subcomittee met every Saturday at eleven to consider that week’s petitioners.

The building itself was built in 1676, designed by Robert Hooke (who sometimes worked with Wren) on a grand scale. It was 550 feet end to end, located just outside London’s city wall, facing Moorfields (a public green). The entry was flanked by massive statues of Melancholy and Mania. Wings were added in the 1730s for male and female quarters. By 1796, though, it was falling into disrepair, with its foundations sinking.

Another hospital was St. Luke’s, founded in 1751 on the north edge of Moorfields, facing Bethlehem. Its founding physician was William Battie, who believed the treatment of the insane should be guided by knowledge and study (not just tying them up and leaving them to their own devices). He wrote “Treatise on Madness” in 1758, defining madness as “the too lively or too languid perception of things” (I suffer from the second, I think). Battie said that treatment should begin with “the patient’s being removed from all objects that act forcibly upon the nerves.” He was against bleeding, blistering, purges, vomiting, and opium.

James Munro was the Bedlam physician from 1728-52 (and was then succeeded by his son and grandson). In his “Remarks on Dr. Battie’s Treatise” he argued FOR evacuation, vomiting, bleeding, blistering–“why should we endeavor to give the world a shocking opinion of a remedy, that is not only safe but greatly useful?”

Some private hospitals included Whitmore House, “the madhouse for aristocrats,” which cost 1500 pounds a year. Hoxton House, which was one of the largest (486 patients in 1815), and seemed to be a sort of dumping ground for the Admiralty to send their officers and sailors who were “mad.” There was Fisher House in Islington (where Mary Lamb was first sent). It was quiet, in country surroundings, run by a mother and daughter who were more housekeepers than nurses. (Government licensing only required an annual visit by the attending physician, so staff only had to watch over the residentsand rein in their behavior. If the patient needed a doctor or apothecary, the family arranged for it).

This is just a small taste of the information in this book, which I recommend for a different slant on the Regency period (and a does of gratitude for not being in a Regency madhouse!!!).

p.s. Blogger won’t let me post pics today, so just enjoy the wealth of images Cara gave us yesterday. 🙂

Posted in Regency, Research | Tagged insanity, lunacy, Mad Mary Lamb, madhouses, mental health, Susan Tyler Hitchcock | 9 Replies

Eye of the Beholder

Updated on February 25, 2013 by Amanda McCabe/Laurel McKee

A few days ago, I was having dinner with some friends who are also Janeites, and we talked about the Jane Austen movies. Specifically, the Pride and Prejudices–1995 and 2005. One of my male friends made the comment that the ’95 Lizzy was obviously much prettier than Jane, thereby making the fact that everyone considered Jane the “famous local beauty” puzzling (an argument I’ve heard before). To modern eyes this is probably true–Jennifer Ehle is quite lovely, maybe more obviously so than Susannah Harker. But I do think Ms. Harker was a good choice for the part. She has very “classical” looks that would have appealed in the Regency period (she looks almost like a Grecian statue). Plus I thought she captured Jane’s serenity and sweetness (and slight dimwitedness) well.

In the 2005 P&P, it is more obvious. Rosamund Pike is so angelically pretty that it’s clear why she was so acclaimed in the neighborhood. Keira Knightley is also stunning (she was recently on the cover of Vogue twice within four months!), but in a more contemporary, angular way. It’s easy to see why she would capture Darcy’s fascination, but also why she was slightly overshadowed by her sister.

It’s so fascinating how each period has its own concept of “beauty,” and how and why those ideas change and evolve. I recently read a thesis that said “beautiful” equates with whatever is high maintenance. I.e., in the Renaissance, when food was scare and most people worked outdoors, “zaftig” and pale was In. Now, very slender and tan is in, when it costs money and time to join a gym and buy bronzer to combat our office-bred pallor and softness. Of course, there are always a few women who transcend whatever the fashion is and make their own style of beauty. And there are many (like myself) who will never be happy with their looks, and yet always will be searching the cosmetics counters for that “miracle in a jar.”

Here are a few quotes I found concerning women of the Regency who were renowned, in one way or another, for their style:

Lord Byron on Lady Caroline Lamb (who had a very “modern”, Keira Knightley-style beauty, being very slim and elfin): “The lady had scarcely any personal attractions to recommend her” and her figure “was too thin to be good” (from Benita Eisler’s “Byron: Child of Passion, Fool of Fame”

A Swedish diplomat on Emma Hamilton (seen in the portrait above): “she was the fattest woman I’ve ever laid eyes on, but with the most beautiful head”
And Lord Fitzharris: she is “without exception the most coarse, ill-mannered, disagreeable woman I’ve ever met”
An Anonymous observer: “She is indeed a Whapper: and I think her manner very vulgar”
(from David Howarth’s “Lord Nelson: The Immortal Memory”)

Madame de Remusant on Josephine Bonaparte: “her limbs were supple and delicate, all her movements easy and elegant”
Another Anonymous: “young and charming face, surrounded by a profusion of light hair, with a pair of large dark-blue eyes, and exhibiting altogether the image of the most graceful of sylphs”
(from “Josephine: A Life of the Empress” by Carolly Erickson)
Napoleon about Josephine: “…full of graceful charm–a woman in the fullest meaning of the term” (from Evangeline Bruce’s “Napoleon and Josephine: An Improbable Marriage”)

Mary Tickell (Sheridan’s sister-in-law) on Dora Jordan: “little she is and yet not insignificant in her figure, which, though short, has a certain roundness…which is very graceful”
Harriet Bessborough: “she is terribly Large, but her voice and acting still delightful”
And Leigh Hunt: “she was neither beautiful, nor handsome, nor even pretty, nor accomplished, nor a lady, yet was so pleasant, cordial, so natural…had such a shapely leg withal..that she appeared something superior to all those requirements of acceptability”

And Lady Spencer, her mother, on Georgiana Duchess of Devonshire, one of the most famous beauties of her day: “Without being very handsome or having a single good feature in her face, she is one of the most showy girls I ever saw” (thanks, Mom)
Horace Walpole: “without being a beauty; but her youth, figure, flowing good nature, sense and lively modesty make her a phenomenon.”
(from Amada Foreman’s “Georgiana, Duchess of Devonshire”)