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Train + bodice = thrift/versatility. But is it accurate?

While making the Juno dress, I had a bit of a conundrum with the bodice and train.

There was no way to make my original bodice look just like the inspiration bodice.

So, making a virtue of necessity, I had the idea that I could make a second bodice that fit me perfectly, and looked just like the inspiration bodice.  Then I could add additional hooks to make the skirt waist smaller, and the Juno dress would fit a wider variety of models.

But then I encountered a problem.  I’ve been studying similar late 1880s gowns for a while, and wondering if the trains actually attached to the bodices rather than the skirts.

Evening Dress, House of Worth, ca. 1890, back view, 2009.300.635, Metropolitan Museum of Art

Doesn’t the train look as if it might extend from the bodice rather than being part of the skirt?

The theory is sound: it would be much more comfortable to have the weight of the skirt coming from the bodice and hanging off the shoulders rather than hanging from the waist.  Additionally, attaching the train to the bodice opens up the possibility of making a second bodice for balls, as trains are a pain to dance in.

Theory, however, needs to be backed up with actual examples of the practice.

So I did some research, and with help from lots of friends, I found these mentions, all from Cecil Willet Cunnington’s English Women’s Clothing in the 19th Century.  The emphasis in each quote is mine.

For 1886

Evening gowns: These are frequently without trains, except for mature matrons when the train is fastened round the hips instead of to the back…there is a tendency to use the low bodices for dinner dress.  For ball dresses the curiasse bodice…

For 1887

The full evening dress is trained, the train being plain and often gathered to the back of the bodice.

For 1889

Many dresses are made en princesse with ‘V’ backs, laced, the skirts being open in front over an underskirt… The skirt is trained only for full evening dress

These quotes, while difficult to interpret precisely, seem to imply that the train is usually fastened to the back of the bodice, and that trains were not always used: evidence for fastening my train to the bodice.

I also found this image (from EWCit19C):

Doesn’t the train really look as if it is attached to the bodice?

And these images, from La Mode Illustree:

The ballgown certainly looks as if the train (well, not a train, but the back skirt part) is attached to the bodice rather than to the skirt.

I can’t quite tell if the entire evening dress is princess cut (in one piece), or if the bodice and train are one, and the skirt is separate.

A couple of quotes and pictures are great, but only a pattern or extent garment would really prove that bodice + train was done for the type of late 1880s evening gown I was aiming for.

Enter the fabulous VandE, who kindly looked through her magazine collection for me and found this picture from Harpers Bazaar, and the pattern that goes with it.

Victory!

Of course, while I had determined that trains could be attached to bodices, and while I know of numerous examples of skirts of the same era that had multiple bodices (this very similar ensemble, for example), I didn’t actually know of any skirts with multiple bodices where one bodice had a train.

To add to this, I realised that if I permanently attached the train to the one bodice, than whenever the other was used the skirt would be train-less, and while still beautiful, not nearly as striking.

So I decided to leave the train as an entirely separate piece than can attach to either bodice.

The only historical Worth examples I know of with completely detachable trains are formal court presentation gowns such as this one from 1886, and this one from 1888, which has three possible bodices, as well as as this one from 1872.

The Juno dress’s train is a bit short for a formal presentation gown, so I’m going to keep looking for other examples of evening dresses with detachable trains in order to support the historical accuracy of what I am doing.

Queen of the garden

Chiara was, as always, absolutely gorgeous and fabulous in the 1780s robe a la francaise (Lady Anne Darcy’s wedding dress) two Saturdays ago.

I’m so excited to show off her pictures, because I feel that, as many times as the dress has been worn, this is the first proper photoshoot it has had.

Hello sweetness!

I told her to examine the exotic ferns: new plants were all the rage in 18th century Europe

Oh, will my lover come!?!

Swoosh

Want to see more?  Check out the gallery on the portfolio page.

French queens and the fleur-de-lys – part 2

Following on from last week’s post, Anne and Marie were far from being the only French queens to wear blue fleur de lys dresses (which may or may not have incorporated at least part of the same garments)

Margaret of Valois, the first wife of Henry IV of France (Marie de Medici was his second), was one:

Henry of Navarre and Margaret of Valois, 1572

And two generations before her, Claude of France, the mother in law of the infamous Catherine de Medici, was painted in a fleur de lys cloak. It is unclear, however, if the painting was commissioned during her life, or during Catherine de Medici’s, so the cloak may not be historical.

Claude de France (1499-1524) and her daughters (Louise, Charlotte, Madeleine and Marguerite) and Eleonore of Habsbourg, from Catherine de Medici's book of hours

Skipping forward in time, Anne’s daughter in law, Marie Therese of France, was painted in a dress with a modified fluer de lys bodice (possibly the same, or at least partly the same, as the dress worn by Anne in 1646). In contrast to the rivalry shown in Anne and Marie de Medici’s portraits, Marie -Therese’s painting is probably meant to honour her mother in law, with whom she had a close and loving relationship.

Charles Beaubrun, Marie-Therèse of Spain, Queen of France, circa 1660

Marie-Therese’s first daughter in law, Duchesse Maria Anne Victoria of Bavaria, died in 1690 and did not live to be Queen of France, but a posthumous portrait shows her in the fleur de lys and ermine robes of French royalty:

Attributed to Jean François de Troy (1679-1752), Maria Anna of Bavaria, la Grande Dauphine, post 1690

Her daughter in law, Marie Adelaide de Savoie, in her turn, also died before becoming Queen. She was, at least, painted before her death.

Unknown artist of the ecole française, Marie Adelaïde of Savoy, Duchess of Burgundy (1685-1712), ca 1710

Marie Adelaïde’s first two sons died in childhood, so her third son became Louis XV of France, and his wife Marie LeszczyÅ„ska was to be France’s longest serving royal consort. This gave her plenty of time to have her portrait done, frequently in the fleur de lys and ermine robes.

Queen Marie Leszczyńska, wife of Louis XV by Alexis-Simon Belle, ca 1725

Two of the earliest portraits are the most interesting though.  In 1726 she was painted in the full fleur de lys gown and robes to commemorate her marriage:

François Albert Stiemart, Marie Leszczyńska at Versailles, 1726

A few years later, she was portrayed in a painting that made a much subtler, more allegorical link to her status.  Rather than being draped in fleur de lys, she wears blue and carries a spray of lilies, the flower the emblem originated from, which also symbolised French nationality and (through their link to the annunciation and the Virgin Mary) feminine virtues.

Alexis Simon Belle, Maria Leszczyńska, ca 1730

What a lovely way to make a point about national pride and virtue, without going over the top?

With ‘in your face’ and subtle out of the way, Marie L went on to be painted in fleur de lys a further eight times (that makes 11 portraits celebrating her status in total!).

François Stiemart, Marie Leszczyńska, Queen of France, circa 1730

Jean-Baptiste van Loo, Marie Leszczyńska, Queen of France, ca 1730

Alexis-Simon Belle, Marie LeszczyÅ„ska, Queen of France (1703-1768) and the Dauphin Louis (1729—1765), circa 1730

Louis Tocque (1696-1772), Marie Leszczyńska, Queen of France, circa 1740.

Marie Leszczyńska, Queen of France, date unknown

Marie Leszczyńska, Queen of France, date unknown

After Jean-Marc Nattier, Marie Leszczyńska Queen of France, after 1750

Marie LeszczyÅ„ska also had a daughter in law portrait, though of a much nicer nature than Marie and Anne’s a century and a quarter before.

Follower of Michel van Loo, Allegorical portrait of Marie Leszczyńska, Queen of France and her daughter in law Maria Josepha of Saxony, Dauphine of France, c.1765

More on Maria Josepha and the last of the French queens in a few days.