From the TNHG: Stitching Mrs. Newton's Gown: Finale

This post originally appeared on my other blog,The Two Nerdy History Girls. Because of a software glitch, the original photos didn't enlarge when clicked. These should!

These are the last in the series of photographs showing the mantua-makers of Colonial Williamsburg making a replica 1770s gown. (Click here andhere for the earlier posts.)  Often called called a robe a la Francaise or a Watteau gown, to an 18th c. English lady, it would have been simply (if inelegantly) a sack or sacque.  It's actually three pieces: a stomacher, a petticoat, and a robe, which features a loose back with flowing pleats and a closely fitted front, pinned in place over the stomacher and stays.

These pictures show the fitting of the robe, the last and most complicated part of the gown. In the first picture, top row, mantua-maker Doris displays the sleeves that have been constructed separately, including three rows of silk ruffles finished with another deep ruffle of lace.  The next two pictures shows mantua-maker Janea helping apprentice Sarah into the half-finished robe.  The silk is adjusted and pinned for later stitching onto the lining -- the yellow linen visible in the back. A tuck here, a gather there, and slowly the robe is fitted perfectly to Sarah. It's an intuitive process based on a good deal of training and experience.  Finally the sleeves are set into place, and the gown is ready for final stitching in the first picture, second row.

A day later, and everything is stitched in place and ready for the final fitting (and yes, Janea has changed her clothes.) The second picture, second row, shows Sarah arranging the sides of the robe over her petticoats; the sides will be pinned in place over the stomacher.  The other two photographs show the final adjustments to the back pleats and the robing (the trim along the neckline.)  Later everything would receive a final pressing, but much of the beauty of a changeable silk like this was in how the light would play across all those folds and puffs: undeniably a most stylish and airy confection.

Since we NHG do indulge in the occasional de-bunking, I'll add another here.  After watching these ladies make this gown over several days, I realized that the much-loved plot device of a down-at-heels lady deciding to turn her excellent fashion taste into a dressmaking career overnight just wouldn't have happened.  A girl was apprenticed to the trade at eleven or twelve, and it took many, many years of training before she possessed the skills to create anything like this gown.  As Janea said, it's not just a trade: it's an art, and like the best art, an expert mantua-maker makes it look easy.

Many thanks again to Janea Whitacre, Doris Warren, and Sarah Woodyard of the Margaret Hunter shop in Colonial Williamsburg!  For more information about 18th c. clothing, including patterns for a sack gown like this one, check out CW's excellent Costume Close-Up: Clothing Construction & Pattern 1750-1790.

From the TNHG: Stitching Mrs. Newton's Gown: Part II

This post originally appeared on my other blog,The Two Nerdy History Girls. Because of a software glitch, the original photos didn't enlarge when clicked. These should!

Susan reports:

As promised, here's more about how the mantua-makers of Colonial Williamsburg recreated a 1770gown belonging to Mrs. Thomas Newton.

A lady's gown was custom-made for her.  It was created by draping, cutting, and pinning directly on her, and before any of that could take place, she needed to be wearing the proper underwear to give her a fashionable conical shape.  In the first picture above, Sarah (apprentice mantua-maker, here standing in for Mrs. Newton) is wearing her shift, stays (corset), and pocket hoops, tied to her waist to support her gown at the hips. She's also wearing a kerchief at her neck that will be removed in later pictures.

In the second picture above, Sarah has pinned the first "piece" of the gown, the stomacher, into place onto her stays.  Most 18th c. gowns were constructed of components like this, and pinned together with straight pins rather than permanently stitched.  Not only did this allow for changing sizes (you know, fat days), but like modern separates, the different pieces could be swapped around for a variety of "looks."

In the third picture above, Sarah has tied on the gown's petticoats – what we'd think of as skirts - that will form the lower part of the gown. Now you can see how the pocket hoops give the petticoats structure, and that stylish wide-hipped look.  

The last picture right, shows Sarah from behind, with the petticoats tied in place.  Note that she's wearing her stays over her shift, not bare skin.  Note, too, that the stays are spiral-laced in a zig-zag rather than criss-crossing, and fasten at the top with a knot rather than a bow.

That's two-thirds of the gown - more to come tomorrow!

From the TNHG: Stitching Mrs. Newton's Gown: Part I

This post originally appeared on my other blog, The Two Nerdy History Girls. Because of a software glitch, the original photos didn't enlarge when clicked. These should!

Susan reports:

The tradespeople of Colonial Williamsburg don't simply lecture to visitors. They are master craftsmen/women in their own right, with many years of study and experience.  They practice their crafts in exactly the same way as their 18th c. counterparts once did, and it's fascinating to watch.  

While we NHG were visiting this fall, the mantua-makers – the term used for the most skilled dressmakers in the 17th c.-mid-19th c. –were recreating a 1770 gown worn by a wealthy Virginian lady for her portrait. That's the portrait, right (Mrs. Thomas Newton, by 

John Durand; collection of Colonial Williamsburg, gift of M. Knoedler.) The new gown was fashioned of 18th c.-style fabric, a pink changeable silk taffeta, using only 18th c. techniques and tools.  Everything was cut and stitched by hand and by natural light, no cheating. Nothing was done by machine.

Here are the details: approximately 18 yards of silk, 27" wide, were used in the gown.  In the past, labor was cheap, and it would have been the fabric that would have been the primary cost of any clothing. In 1770, comparable silk in a fashionable London shop would have cost about five shillings a yard, but a Virginian lady could expect to pay about twice as much because of the expense of importation. On account of the delicate white trim applied along so many edgings, this gown took about 80 hours for the CW shop to produce, or about three work-days, with allowance for explanations to visitors.  Over the next two days of blogging, I'll post photographs showing the gown's construction and fitting, as well as the undergarments (stays, shift, and pocket-hoops) that were worn beneath it.

Above are the three CW mantua-makers working on the gown, spread on the table before them.  Left to right, Doris Warren works on the sleeves while Janea Whitacre stitches the petticoat, and in the window, apprentice Sarah Woodyard applies trim to the robings.  Many thanks to them all for so graciously putting up with our incessant NHG questions and camera flashes!