Part 12 (2/2)
In early days calicoes were not common, but every one had woollen garments and pieces, and the quilts made of these were of grateful warmth in bleak New England. All kinds of commonplace garments and remnants of decayed gentility were pressed into service in these quilts: portions of the moth-eaten and discarded uniforms of militia-men, worn-out flannel sheets dyed with some brilliant home-dye, old coat and cloak linings, well-worn petticoats. A magnificent scarlet cloak worn by a lord mayor of London and brought to America by a member of the Merritt family of Salisbury, Ma.s.sachusetts, went through a series of adventures and migrations, and ended its days as small bits of vivid color casting a grateful glory and variety on a patchwork quilt in the Saco valley of Maine. To this day at vendues or sales of old country households in New England, there will be handed out great rolls of woollen pieces to be used for patchwork quilts or rag carpets, and they find purchasers.
These woollen quilts had a thin wadding, and were usually very closely quilted, so they were quite flat. They were called ”pressed quilts.” An old farm wife said to me in New Hamps.h.i.+re, ”Girls won't take the trouble to make pressed quilts nowadays, it's as much as they'll do to tack a puff,” that is, make a light quilt with thick wadding only tacked together from front to back, at regular intervals. A pressed quilt which I saw was quilted in inch squares. Another had a fan-pattern with sunflower leaf border; another was quilted in the elaborate pattern known as ”feather-work.”
As much ingenuity was exercised in the design of the quilting as in the pattern of the patchwork, and the marking for the quilt design was exceedingly tedious, since, of course, no drawings could be used. I remember seeing one quilt marked by chalking strings which were stretched tightly across at the desired intervals, and held up and snapped smartly down on the quilt, leaving a faint chalky line to guide the eye and needle. Another simple design was to quilt in rounds, using a saucer or plate to form a perfect circle.
The most elaborate quilt I know of is of silk containing portions of the wedding-dress of Esther Powel, granddaughter of Gabriel Bernon; she was married to James Helme in 1738. When her granddaughter was married in 1795, the quilt was still unfinished, and a woman was hired who worked on it for six months, putting a miracle of fine st.i.tches in the quilting. I think she must have been very old and very slow, for the wages paid her were but twenty cents a week and ”her keep,” which was very small pay even in that day of small wages. When Was.h.i.+ngton came to Newport, this splendid quilt was sent to grace the bed upon which the hero slept.
I said a few summers ago to a farmer's wife who lived on the outskirts of a small New England hill-village: ”Your home is very beautiful. From every window the view is perfect.” She answered quickly: ”Yes, but it's awful lonely for me, for I was born in Worcester; still I don't mind as long as we have plenty of quiltings.” In answer to my questions she told me that the previous winter she had ”kept count,” and she had helped at twenty-eight ”regular” quiltings, besides her own home patchwork and quilt-making, and much informal help of neighbors on plain quilts. Any one who has attended a county fair (one not too modernized and spoiled) and seen the display of intricate patchwork and quilting still made in country homes, can see that it is not an obsolete accomplishment.
A form of decorative work in which many women took great delight and became astonis.h.i.+ngly skilful was what was known, or at any rate advertised, by the ambitious t.i.tle of Papyrotamia. It was simply the cutting out of stiff paper of various decorative and ornamental designs with scissors. At the time of the Revolution it was evidently deemed a very high accomplishment, and the best pieces of work were carefully cherished, mounted on black paper, framed and glazed, and given to friends or bequeathed by will. One old lady is remembered as using her scissors with extraordinary deftness, and amusing herself and delighting her friends by occupying the hours of every afternoon visit with cutting out entirely by her trained eye various pretty and curious designs.
Valentines in exceedingly delicate and appropriate patterns, wreaths and baskets of varied flowers, marine views, religious symbols, landscapes, all were accomplished. Coats of arms and escutcheons cut in black paper and mounted on white were highly prized. Portrait silhouettes were cut with the aid of a machine which marked and reduced mechanically a sharp shadow cast by the sitter's profile through candle-light on a sheet of white paper. Mrs. Lydia H. Sigourney wrote in rhyme of a revered friend of her youth, Mrs. Lathrop, of a period about a century ago:--
”Thy dextrous scissors ready to produce The flying squirrel or the long-neck'd goose, Or dancing girls with hands together join'd, Or tall spruce-trees with wreaths of roses twin'd, The well-dress'd dolls whose paper form display'd, Thy penknife's labor and thy pencil's shade.”
I once found in an old lacquered box in a cupboard a paper packet containing all the cut-paper designs mentioned in this rhyme--and many more. The workmans.h.i.+p of the ”spruce-trees with wreaths of roses twin'd”
was specially marvellous. I plainly saw in that design a derivative of the English Maypole and encircling wreaths. This package was marked with the name of the paper-cutter, a Revolutionary dame who died at the beginning of this century. Her home was remote from the Norwich home of Mrs. Lathrop, and I know she never visited in Connecticut, yet she made precisely the same designs and indeed all the designs. This is but a petty proof among many other more decided ones of the fact that even in those days of scant communication and infrequent and contracted travel, there were as in our own times waves of feminine fancy work, of attempts at artistic expression, which flooded every home, and receding, left behind much decorative silt of varying but nearly universal uselessness and laborious commonplaceness.
One of the cut-paper landscapes of Madam Deming, a Boston lady who was a famous ”papyrotamist,” is here shown. It is now owned by James F. Trott, Esq., of Niagara Falls. It is a view of Boston streets just previous to the Revolution. In that handsome volume, the _Ten Broeck Genealogical Record_, are reproductions of some of the landscape views by Albertina Ten Broeck at the same date. They show the house and farm surroundings of the old Ten Broeck ”Bouwerie,” the ancestral home in New York, and give a wonderfully good idea of it. These are not in dead silhouette, for an appearance of shading is afforded by finely cut lines and intervening s.p.a.ces. The highest form of cut-paper reproduction and decoration ever reached was by the English woman, Mrs. Delaney, who died in 1788, the friend of the d.u.c.h.ess of Portland, and intimate of George III. and his queen. She reproduced in colored paper, in what she called ”paper mosaics,” the entire flora of the United Kingdom, and it is said it was impossible at first sight to distinguish these flowers from the real ones.
CHAPTER XII
DRESS OF THE COLONISTS
At the time America was settled, rich dress was almost universal in Europe among persons of any wealth or station. The dress of plain people also, such as yeomen and small farmers and work-people, was plentiful and substantial, and even peasants had good and ample clothing.
Materials were strongly and honestly made, clothing was sewed by hand, and lasted long. The fas.h.i.+ons did not change from year to year, and the rich or stout clothes of one generation were bequeathed by will and worn by a second and even a third and fourth generation.
In England extravagance in dress in court circles, and grotesqueness in dress among all educated folk, had become abhorrent to that cla.s.s of persons who were called Puritans; and as an expression of their dislike they wore plainer garments, and cut off their flowing locks, and soon were called Roundheads. The Ma.s.sachusetts settlers who were Puritans determined to discourage extravagance in dress in the New World, and attempted to control the fas.h.i.+ons.
The Ma.s.sachusetts magistrates were reminded of their duties in this direction by sanctimonious spurring from gentlemen and ministers in England. One such meddler wrote to Governor Winthrop in 1636: ”Many in your plantacions discover too much pride.” Another stern moralist reproved the colonists for writing to England ”for cut work coifes, for deep stammel dyes,” to be sent to them in America. Others, prohibited from wearing broad laces, were criticised for ordering narrow ones, for ”going as farr as they may.”
In 1634 the Ma.s.sachusetts General Court pa.s.sed restricting sumptuary laws. These laws forbade the purchase of woollen, silk, or linen garments, with silver, gold, silk, or thread lace on them. Two years later a narrow binding of lace was permitted on linen garments. The colonists were ordered not to make or buy any slashed clothes, except those with one slash in each sleeve and another slash in the back. ”Cut works, imbroidd or needle or capps bands & rayles,” and gold or silver girdles, hat-bands, belts, ruffs, and beaver hats were forbidden.
Liberty was thriftily given, however, to the colonists to wear out any garments they chanced to have unless in the form of inordinately slashed apparel, immoderate great sleeves and rails, and long wings, which could not possibly be endured.
In 1639 men's attire was approached and scanned, and ”immoderate great breeches” were tabooed; also broad shoulder-bands, double ruffles and capes, and silk roses, which latter adornment were worn on the shoes.
In 1651 the Court again expressed its ”utter detestation that men and women of meane condition, education, and calling, should take vppon them the garbe of gentlemen by wearinge of gold or silver lace, or b.u.t.tons or poynts at their knees, or walke in great boots, or women of the same ranke to wear silke or tiffany hoods or scarfs.”
Many persons were ”presented” under this law, men boot-wearers as well as women hood-wearers. In Salem, in 1652, a man was presented for ”excess in bootes, ribonds, gould and silver lace.”
In Newbury, in 1653, two women were brought up for wearing silk hoods and scarfs, but they were discharged on proof that their husbands were worth 200 each. In Northampton, in the year 1676, a wholesale attempt was made by the magistrates to abolish ”wicked apparell.” Thirty-eight women of the Connecticut valley were presented at one time for various degrees of finery, and as of too small estate to wear silk. A young girl named Hannah Lyman was presented for ”wearing silk in a fflaunting manner, in an offensive way and garb not only before but when she stood presented.” Thirty young men were also presented for silk-wearing, long hair, and other extravagances. The calm flaunting of her silk in the very eyes of the Court by sixteen-year-old Hannah was premonitory of the waning power of the magistrates, for similar prosecutions at a later date were quashed. By 1682 the tables were turned and we find the Court arraigning the selectmen of five towns for not prosecuting offenders against these laws as in previous years. In 1675 the town of Dedham had been similarly warned and threatened, but apparently was never prosecuted. Connecticut called to its aid in repressing extravagant dress the economic power of taxation by ordering that whoever wore gold or silver lace, gold or silver b.u.t.tons, silk ribbons, silk scarfs, or bone lace worth over three s.h.i.+llings a yard should be taxed as worth 150.
Virginia fussed a little over ”excess in cloathes.” Sir Francis Wyatt was enjoined not to permit any but the Council and the heads of Hundreds to wear gold on their clothes, or to wear silk till they made it--which was intended more to encourage silk-making than to discourage silk-wearing. And it provided that unmarried men should be a.s.sessed according to their apparel, and married men according to that of their family. In 1660 Virginia colonists were ordered to import no ”silke stuffe in garments or in peeces except for whoods and scarfs, nor silver or gold lace, nor bone lace of silk or threads, nor ribbands wrought with gold or silver in them.”
The ministers did not fail in their duty in attempting to march with the magistrates in the restriction and simplification of dress. They preached often against ”intolerable pride in clothes and hair.” Even when the Pilgrims were in Holland the preachers had been deeply disturbed over the dress of their minister's wife, Madam Johnson, who wore ”lawn coives” and busks, and a velvet hood, and ”whalebones in her petticoat bodice,” and worst of all, ”a topish hat.” One of the earliest interferences of Roger Williams was when he instructed the women of Salem parish always to wear veils in public. But John Cotton preached to them the next Sunday, and he proved to the dames and goodwives that veils were a sign and symbol of undue subjection to their husbands, and Salem women soon proved their rights by coming barefaced to meeting.
Mr. Davenport preached about men's head-gear, that men must take off their hats, and stand up at the announcement of the text. And if New Haven men wore their hats in meeting, I can't see why they fussed so over the Quakers' broadbrims.
After a while the whole church interfered. In 1769 the church at Andover put it to vote whether ”the parish Disapprove of the female s.e.x sitting with their Hats on in the Meeting-house in time of Divine Service as being Indecent.” In the town of Abington, in 1775, it was voted that it was ”an indecent way that the female s.e.x do sit with their hats and bonnets on to wors.h.i.+p G.o.d.” Still another town voted that it was the ”Town's Mind” that the women should take their bonnets off in meeting and hang them ”on the peggs.” We do not know positively, but I suspect that the bonnets continued to grace the heads instead of the pegs in Andover, Abington, and other towns.
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