The Countess Howe Gown Project (ca. 1764) A journey back in time ~ PART 1

"One thing is new, which is, there is not such a thing as a decent old woman left, everybody curls their hair, shews their necks, and wears pink..."  
[from The Cut of Women's Clothes by Norah Waugh, quote attributed to Lady Jane Cole, 1754]. 

In this current time of pandemic, I've found it's been difficult to focus as consistently and effectively on creative projects as I usually do.  In fact, it's been hard to just get started -- on anything.  I think it's taken weeks to adjust psychologically to a reality few of us could have imagined.  Yet now I feel that concentrating on a new project, even if it means a little mental pushing and shoving, is a good thing. 

Not that I needed yet another thing to add to my seemingly limitless "to-do" list, but maybe something exciting enough to jump-start the Muse.  What I really needed was inspiration to launch; that impetus came partly from an incidental chat with an online friend, and partly from the rediscovery of a long forgotten length of silk taffeta that I'd stuffed in the back of a cupboard years ago.  

Although a project like this may be rightly judged a bit self-indulgent, it is also a means of elevating the spirit and alleviating some of the stress and melancholy of the present time.  Sometimes going on a journey is the best medicine for ennui, and in this case it's a journey back in time to re-create a lovely 18th century gown. 
(Click on "Read More", below right, to continue)   

The Painting: 

In or around 1764, the English painter Thomas Gainsborough captured a lady in a pink gown, in all her fashionable glory, the warm, rich colour of her gown contrasting strikingly against -- or perhaps it's better to say materializing beautifully, as if stepping forward, from -- a rather gloomy and ill-defined landscape.  The juxtaposition of background and subject has a magical effect.  It's almost as if this painting is saying: Look what a lovely and delicate thing has miraculously emerged from such a dismal place! 

​This was Gainsborough's portrait of Mary, Countess Howe, one in a prodigious output of portraiture executed by the artist during the 1760's.  By this time, Gainsborough was already established as a painter of the upper classes, rendering lively representations of contemporary fashion in a style now considered iconic of the 18th century.   

Who Was Lady Howe?  
Originally I planned to leave research into the lady herself to another time, but then I discovered, with just 5 minutes of internet searching, a plethora of details about her husband in particular.  Following is a brief summary, along with a links to further in-depth information.  

Lady Howe was married to Richard Howe.  Howe was a minor aristocrat, the second son of a Viscount, but in July, 1758 he inherited the title of Viscount of the peerage of Ireland on the death of his older brother. 

​Richard Howe was to become one of the most illustrious naval heroes in British history, ultimately rising to the rank of First Lord of the Admiralty.  He played a key role in battles against the French, both on the continent and in what was then New France, which paved the way for Wolfe's defeat of Montcalm at Québec and shaped the fate of Canada.  

Howe was instrumental in the British fight against the American revolution, aiding from the sea his brother, General Sir William Howe, head of the British land forces.  His later military exploits included brilliant actions against the French.  He was probably as well known in his time as Marlborough had been in his.  He had had a privileged upbringing, his father having served as Governor of Barbados, his mother the daughter of King George I's half-sister. 

​This was also the era of the great voyages of Captain James Cook, who was virtually an exact contemporary of Howe (Cook was born in 1728).  Being in the Royal Navy, it's very likely that Cook would have known Howe personally.  No wonder Lady Howe's portrait was painted by Gainsborough. 

Gainsborough painted a companion portrait of Lord Howe at the same time (ca. 1763/64), shown below, a rather stiff and uninspired work compared to others by that artist (and certainly nowhere near the excellence of his portrait of Lady Howe).  At that date (ca. 1763) Viscount Howe was already a brilliant naval commander with a number of victories to his credit.  Lord Howe was also painted late in life by Copley, another prodigious artist of the 18thC. (see below).   Howe lived a long life for the era, 1726 to 1799.  

Mary was born Mary Hartopp in 1732, Richard in 1726 (so she was about 32 when her portrait was painted).  She and Richard married in March, 1758.  Her husband wasn't actually created Viscount (of England) until 1782, and Earl until 1788, so strictly speaking his wife was not yet Countess Howe when this painting was commissioned in 1763/64 (although she was Lady Howe, her husband having become Viscount in the peerage of Ireland a few years earlier).  She is recorded as being the daughter of a landowner who became Governor of Plymouth, but I've been unable to find the date of her death.  She and her husband had three daughters, meaning that the earldom expired with her husband in 1799 (it was apparently later granted to his grandson).

My surmise that this woman would have been dressed in the height of English fashion -- and as a patriotic symbol as well -- was certainly not far off the truth, as her husband was already a well-known and respected naval officer when this painting was done in 1763.  With her husband's family connections to King George I, and his shining military career, there is little doubt they would have been a "society" couple, and probably welcomed at Court.

Here are two links for anyone interested in more detail on Lord Howe: 
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Richard_Howe,_1st_Earl_Howe
https://www.pennchurch.uk/46-monuments/

Richard, Viscount Howe, 1763 (by Gainsborough). Howe would have been about 37 years old when this portrait was painted.

Lord Howe on the deck of the vessel "Queen Charlotte", 1794, by Mather Brown.

Lord Howe, Admiral of the Fleet, by Copley (1794)

I can't resist placing the two portraits of man and wife together.  Seen this way, it is clear that Gainsborough's muse was awakened by the beautiful and self-possessed Lady Howe (although she, in her gown, would have been painted in Gainsborough's studio, with the landscape background being added later, as was the norm of the era).  Her poise is clear in this portrait, and her gaze direct and unflinching.  They must have made a handsome and glittering society couple in real life.  

I will leave the reader to do further research on Gainsborough's life and career.  ​ My focus will be on the ensemble Lady Howe is wearing in the painting, analyzing its constituents, and determining how to re-create it, partly as an antidote to living in a time of pandemic.   Pink has often been associated with health and robustness ("in the pink"), and it seems to me that making such a beautiful reproduction in the colour of good health is, at the least, a happy choice. 

I've long admired this portrait for its energetic depiction of what is clearly not a classical or allegorical costume, but contemporary dress, and for Gainsborough's ability to capture character in a face: Countess Howe's stance, and the expression on her face in this painting, is the very opposite of the vapid and mostly uninteresting scenery behind her.  Her gaze is difficult to resist. 

In paintings such as this, I always enjoy musing about how the choice of garment came about, as I believe it's rarely accidental, and that artists usually have something to say (or at least advise) about what the sitter should be wearing (remember, this is the painter of the "Blue Boy"!). 

Perhaps her Ladyship wanted a favourite ensemble memorialized in oils, to be seen forever on the wall of the family's ​home, and the colour just happened to appeal to Gainsborough as well.  Or did Gainsborough go through Lady Howe's closet with her maid, and choose a gown to make the impression he had in mind for his portrait? 

Although it's merely surmise on my part (or perhaps deduction), I think neither was the case, and that the choice of gown was the lady's.  This is a highly patriotic and contemporary portrait, full of messaging, but not allegorical as much of 18th century portraiture was.  Gainsborough captures her rather proud and haughty air, apparently secure in the knowledge that this ensemble was the epitome of English fashion and English taste -- not French! -- and that it would reflect her social position and that of her husband, displaying her charms to great effect.  And so it does! 
(Click on "Read More", below right, to continue reading)

The first question some may ask is: why do it?  I'm sure reproduction costumers will understand.  First, I suppose I want to do it because I can, that is, I recognize that I have the drafting and construction skills -- and the materials -- to be able to replicate this ensemble.   Second, costume of this era fits into the historical context of the region where I live, as well as being one of my personal areas of special interest (18th century). 

Probably most importantly, I find it a thrill to be able to bring a portrait like this to life, in full colour, preferably to be able to have the ensemble worn by a living person once again.  

I'll be that "living person", and although I am nowhere near as young nor as winsomely slender a thing as Lady Howe, I do have the experience and skills to otherwise reproduce and wear the ensemble, and -- I have to admit -- a desire to know how it felt to wear that gown.  In other words I wanted to re-create both the gown and the experience of the portrait.  

One of the first issues that arose in my mind was: would a woman "of a certain age" be wearing a costume like this in 1764?  And in PINK?  Actually, I'm fairly convinced from my research that the answer is "yes".  Aside from the number of surviving gowns in shades of pink from the 1750's to the 1780's, and paintings of women of the era of various ages wearing pink of one hue or another, the amusing morsel from 1754 (quoted earlier) shines a light specifically on fashion and age in the mid-18th century: 
"One thing is new, which is, there is not such a thing as a decent old woman left, everybody curls their hair, shews their necks, and wears pink..." 

So, it seems pink will do.  Excellent!  Because I happen to have 15 metres of vintage lilac-pink silk taffeta that has been sitting in a cupboard in my studio for years, waiting -- so it seems -- for the right inspiration.   It is one of those luscious, high quality, lightweight iridescent (pink-shot-white) silk taffetas that is not quite the right colour or weight for a Victorian gown (well, possibly the 1860's), the wrong tone for an Edwardian day dress (even though taffeta was very popular from 1911-14), and wrong for my age group even though perfect for a 1950's evening gown (which I didn't particularly want to make anyway).  

 
Next is the question of the hue of pink.  My taffeta is definitely on the cool, lavender-lilac end of the pink spectrum.  I would have liked to exactly replicate the lovely tone of pink in Lady Howe's gown, a gentler and warmer hue, clearly on the peachy side of pink.

Here however Mrs. Budget and her sister, Miss Practicality, come into the picture (as I suspect they do for most reproduction costumers).  The 15m piece of silk taffeta I have, although not the ideal colour, is historically accurate enough for the era generally, both in colour and type. A ca. 1770 silk gown of virtually the same lavender-pink hue is shown in Costume Close-up [Baumgartner et al] -- see photo below. I note in passing that this gown shows the development of style in just 5 years from the Gainsborough portrait, to the "rounded rump" shape and a straight centre front closing bodice (no stomacher).   

There is also the well-known portrait of Queen Charlotte, by Ramsay, from about the same time period, in which she is wearing a silk gown of a pink colour with just a touch of a lavender, or at least not as much on the warm end of the spectrum as Lady Howe's gown.  (The style of Queen Charlotte's gown itself does strike me as just a little retrograde for the known date of the portrait, that is, a style more typical of ca. 1755-60.  It was -- and still is -- not unusual for senior royals to be conservatively dressed, i.e. somewhat behind the current fashions). 

​I was fortunate to have found my lilac-pink silk at a terrific discount over a decade ago, and had no other specific project in mind for it.   New silk of precisely the colour I'd want, and in the quantity I'd need (at least 8m in modern width) would be out of the question at the moment, especially during this time of Covid when textile prices seem to have skyrocketed -- $30 to $50 per metre for true silk taffeta is not unusual.  

​So, lilac pink will do just fine... and I happen to have just the right colours of fine silk thread to sew the gown (see photo): two lilac-pink spools of my favourite silk threads (no. 50 & no. 100 weight); 2 spools of slightly thicker Gutermann silk thread in an exactly matching colour, and natural white Gutermann silk thread for the linen lining portions. 

​I want to mention here that for hand-sewing of fine silk fabrics, I've used the Tire (or Clover) No. 50 pure silk thread (the spool shown in the photo at top middle) as my favourite "go-to" for at least 20 years.  Its qualities of strength and invisibly on silks are superb, and I highly recommend it. 
​

A Careful Analysis:

​In re-creating any historical garment, the first practical step is to carefully analyze what information about the garment -- including construction details and accessories -- can be gleaned from the available painting (or photograph(s), in the case of an extant gown). 

Sometimes (as in the case of Mme Vigée-Lebrun, or Allan Ramsay, both of whose paintings from this era rendered clothing in exquisite and exceptional detail), it's possible to almost copy the outfit "as is", without having to do much in the way of educated guessing.  Not so with Gainsborough though, as his rendering of clothing is somewhat loose, indistinct, and one could say almost impressionistic in style.  

To start with then, the analysis involves determining the parts and accessories of the garment that can actually be seen in the painting.  Here I found that enlarging the image, observing top and bottom separately, was helpful, but I was wishing for more detail (alas): 

The elements visible in the top half of this painting are as follows (all in line with fashions of the period): 

1. Medium-large bergère hat, probably in fine straw given the colour, with the fashionable down-turned brim and tied with a wide ribbon behind at the nape.  Indistinct, probably white or silvery-white ribbon decoration on the crown; 
2. A delicate little cap, just visible over the edges of the subject's hair; 
3. 4-tier pearl choker, of the type seen in many paintings of this period; 
4. Fine, transparent, lace-edged fichu, which appears to be criss-crossed over the bodice front; 
5. Closely-fitting gown bodice.  Details of the front are not clear -- but there does appear to be a hint of embellishment of some sort along the right front edge (robing) of the gown, suggesting there would be either a separate stomacher or a compère.   This, as well as the colour and decoration of the front piece has to be left almost entirely to surmise.   However, given the sleek appearance of the bodice as a whole, and knowing the fashions of the period, I'm inclined toward a stomacher or compère of matching pink silk, with restrained surface decoration, something along these lines (also by Gainsborough): 

Portrait of Mrs. Awse, by Gainsborough, ca. 1767

Had there been a lot of fussy embellishment on the front piece (either stomacher or compère) in Countess Howe's portrait, I think Gainsborough would have shown the fichu slightly displaced over all the bulk underneath, or removed ribbons, etc. for purposes of the painting -- either literally, or via artistic licence.  I'm inclined toward modest embellishment for the reproduction for these reasons, as well as for consistency with what I believe was the fashion in English gowns (see further on).  
​
6.  The next element visible (at least partially) are the magnificent sleeves.  These are close-fitting, ending in tiered flounces of the same pink silk, decorated with a matching bow at the crook of the elbow.  Precise details of the flounces are only hinted at in the painting, but 2- or 3-tiered flounces of matching silk were common on gowns of the 1765 era. 

​There are at least 3, and perhaps 4, engageantes (decorative lace flounces), of a gossamer material (possibly cotton lawn or silk gauze), edged with a fairly deep flounce of what looks like fine, impressive lace.  Gainsborough renders these beautifully, but not in strict detail: 

7.  Lastly, (and easy to miss) are what appear to be black ribbons around both her wrists.  Whether these were silk satin, grosgrain, or velvet, etc. is anybody's guess.  I happen to like the idea of velvet. 

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​So much for the top portion of the costume.  From the waist area down can be seen the following: 

1. A sublimely delicate and transparent, apparently embroidered, apron, to which the Countess is directing the viewer's attention by lifting up one edge with her right hand.  Whether the apron was cotton or silk gauze is impossible to say, but Gainsborough has rendered it as a flowing material, so it seems unlikely it was a stiff organza type.  I have ordered silk gauze from an online shop, hoping it will do the trick!  Since the apron is clearly a focus of the ensemble, I plan to try to apply lace motifs to simulate the embroidery (which would otherwise take me months to do by hand!).  A small bow is visible at the front of the Countess' waist, likely the delicate attachment ties of the apron, which would have been passed around the back and tied in front. 
2. A petticoat in silk matching the gown.  The petticoat appears to have a deep ruched or gathered frill at bottom (a common embellishment for the period).  Other than that, Gainsborough shows no surface detail. 
3. The skirt of the gown itself, at least from a costume historian's viewpoint, is a bit of a puzzle.  It's unclear whether Gainsborough was trying to suggest different qualities of light hitting the taffeta, or if this is a brocaded or jacquard textile, and even whether there is a train.   The furbelows (if any) along the leading edge(s) of the gown are indistinctly painted.  Here again it will be a matter of using judgement based on similar historical gowns.   My choice will be decided by the fabric I have on hand -- a plain taffeta. I'll keep the traditional serpentine surface embellishment along the leading edges fairly low-key, made in the same silk.  That is, no extra puffings, fly-fringe, fabric flowers or other surface application. 
4. White (likely silk) stockings are visible, and those dainty black shoes with their pretty, but not ostentatious, gold buckles.   
5. Lastly, it appears she is holding a pair of gloves in her left hand -- and possibly a fan (a nice addition anyway, even if it wasn't actually there). 

In my view, the lovely, elegant-looking shoes are an essential element of this portrait, creating a touch of drama (and attention) as they do by matching the black ribbons at the wrists.  Unfortunately I can't justify purchasing a pair of custom-made reproduction 18th century shoes.  Ready-to-wear historic footwear, while a bit less pricey, is risky even if I could afford it:  most off-the-rack shoes tend to fit my fussy, wide, size 9 feet very badly. 

So I ransacked my old stack of shoes deep in a closet, and there -- just waiting? -- was a pair of virtually unworn, navy-blue leather dress pumps I'd bought in the 1990's, complete with Louis heels and pointed toes.   Not perfect, nor even historically quite right, but not bad from a distance either -- and at least I know they fit!  I've ordered black shoe dye from an online supplier, and will attach the "faux" brass buckles to duplicate the general look of the shoes in the portrait.  One element dealt with! ​

1990's dress pumps to be transformed, Cinderella-like, into fancy 18th century shoes.

Now that I had a list of the constituents of the ensemble, it was a  matter of making a checklist to ensure all materials were at hand.  I won't give a tedious recitation of the details, but suffice it to say that, aside from the shoe dye and the silk gauze (both coming by mail), I appeared to have everything needed to create the ensemble! 

Determining the Design: 

The next step is design, and the most important question is this: is the Countess' gown a sacque (robe à la française), or an English gown?  After another look at the painting, I'd say it's clearly the latter: 

​However a few points occurred to me:
​(1) It's plausible (although unlikely) that Gainsborough might have chosen to omit the Watteau back of a robe à la française in order to accentuate the Countess' lithe form and slender waistline, or for other artistic purposes, perhaps even after the fact.  (I keep thinking I see the artist's correction in that negative space between her right arm and the gown). 
(2) The 3/4 profile of the composition (as opposed to a full side view) might have obscured the back pleats of the gown from view, either deliberately or coincidentally, although this seems less likely.   
(3) A fine silk gown of this time period, made for an aristocratic lady, was more likely to be a française than an English-style gown.  The visible embellishment (including the magnificent sleeves) is certainly suited to a robe à la française of the period.   
(4) On the other hand, Gainsborough clearly shows the line of her waist and back (from a partial side view).  Try as I might, I can't see flowing pleats. 
(5)  Lastly, on the same side of the argument, this portrait is dated 1764, at a time when the English and French were at each other's throats over control of Canada (and revolutionaries were beginning to stir up trouble in America).  It's possible that Lady Howe's gown was also intended as a patriotic gesture -- she is wearing what would immediately be recognized as typical, fine, upper class English-style dress of the era.   

Nonetheless, the back pleats of the painting below, composed in full side view, are very delicately rendered, and would be virtually invisible had the subject been turned a little further.  I also note the rather plain, simple style of the stomacher of this gown (aside from the blue bow). 

Portrait of Miss Dixie (by H. Pickering), ca. 1760

To complete the points against this being a robe à la française, Gainsborough was well aware of how to paint a française and its pleating, so lack of technical ability (or fashion knowledge) would not be an argument.  Indeed, he painted another pink gown of the same period, very similar in style to Countess Howe's gown but for the back pleats:

Gainsborough - Portrait of Mary Little (ca. 1760)

There were a couple of other resources from the 1760-65 period that I found particularly helpful in determining the general aspect of Countess Howe's gown. 

​First, there is a painting by Allan Ramsay (dated 1760-65, excerpted below) showing what appears to be an English gown, with style elements that are consistent with those in Gainsborough's painting of Lady Howe.  Specifically, these are the moderately embellished stomacher, robings and leading edges of the gown, the deeply flounced sleeves, and the restrained decoration of the matching petticoat.  I think this is about as close as I can get to a detailed representation of a gown of the type Lady Howe is wearing in her portrait.  

Detail -- Mrs. Laura Keppel and Sister, by Allan Ramsay (ca. 1760-65)

​Second, Nancy Bradfield's "Costume in Detail" provides detailed sketches of a silk open robe in the English style, with the "long back" or "English back" construction, which she dates to between 1755 and 1775 (although the earlier of these dates is probably more accurate).   The surface decoration is quite similar in style and extent to that shown in the Ramsay painting above.  

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Visualizing the Project: 

With these considerations in mind, I've concluded that an English gown, open over a matching petticoat, with a matching stomacher (or possibly compère), all with restrained surface embellishment but extravagantly flounced sleeves, makes the most sense.  Since Gainsborough otherwise renders the various aspects of the gown quite faithfully (if not in high detail), I must assume that he accurately portrayed the bodice as it was, i.e. fitted around the body, not with loose flowing pleats of a typical robe à la française at back.   

Now comes the question of the precise type of English gown involved.  At this date (ca. 1764), English gowns with both separately constructed bodices as well as the "long back"* style were in fashion.  Both could be either "round length" (floor length all around), or with a moderate train. 

​*(By "long back", I'm referring specifically to gowns cut with a long, narrow panel that ran the whole length of the centre back of the gown, from bodice to skirt hem, pleated to fit the body as far as the waistline at back.  I also sometimes think of these as "late mantuas".  The term "en fourreau" has been used to describe such gowns, but that moniker is misguided at best, and quite wrong at worst -- click on the button below to see my essay on this subject, under the title "Understanding Fourreau":  ).  

Research & Essays

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The skirt of ​Lady Howe's gown does seem to me to be portrayed by Gainsborough with slightly longer drapery in the back.  Since I feel even a minimal train adds elegance to these dresses, and the overall style is certainly not that of a plain, utilitarian dress, I'll opt for a moderate train, along the lines of the English gown on the lady near the left side in this group portrait (from about 1766): 

Afternoon Tea at The Temple, by M. Barthélémy Ollivier, ca.1766

Those All-Important Underthings: 

​The next issue to be decided upon is the subject of underpinnings: side hoops or cul postiche (or other padding)?  Which type is depicted in the painting of Lady Howe?  This can really only be deduced, based on the shape Gainsborough provides of the outer gown, keeping in mind the laws of perspective, Gainsborough's own style of rendering costume, and the known fashions of the period. 

Having looked through dozens of Gainsborough portraits, it seems to me that his mid- to late paintings were more focused on the movement and colour of drapery, rather than accurately painting the effect(s) of a garment's under-structure.   Or perhaps, given that he began painting at a time of the ridiculously exaggerated panniers of the late 1740's (such as the one below), the later fashions seemed to have a natural silhouette by contrast, and that is how he painted them.  Of course, when Gainsborough painted Lady Howe in 1764, it's doubtful he would actually have known which specific undergarments she was wearing!

In the painting below, Gainsborough has clearly captured the rather silly effect of the shelf-like wide panniers of the late 1740's.  It's little wonder that he depicted women's clothing in the following decades as mostly smooth and flowing. 

Mrs. and Mrs. Andrews, by Gainsborough, ca. 1748

Even though a smart young aristocratic such as Lady Howe would likely be on top of the latest fashions, 1764 is still rather early for the false bums and exaggerated back shapes of the later gowns such as the one below (from about 1780-85).   Here the overall style has evolved and is quite different from the gown in the Lady Howe portrait: 

The gown below, from about 1770, strikes me as close in overall character to Lady Howe's gown, notwithstanding the very different textile and the lack of original stomacher and petticoat (I apologize for not having the source cite on hand for these photos, I recorded only the date).  Lady Howe's gown was several years prior to the "à la polonaise" style of pulled up back skirts, so that was not a consideration for my reproduction. 

The English gown below also displays the last vestiges of the sleeve flounces and provision for a stomacher, which were soon to disappear from fashion.  This of course is a "long-back" or "English back" gown (see my earlier note).   It would likely have been worn over moderately-sized side hoops, and with engageantes ​decorating the sleeve ends.  

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​Making Final Choices
​(a.k.a., trying to use what I already have): 

Ultimately I have to make some decisions about this replica which are not entirely clear from the painting itself, based on surmise and on my research and knowledge of fashions of the era.  The point of this project is to represent Gainsborough's creation as faithfully as reasonably possible. 

So -- it will be an English gown, with a moderate train, matching petticoat with a deep bottom frill as the only embellishment, some limited surface decoration along the robings, but plain lower open edges of the gown, and a simple stomacher or compère.

From a purely aesthetic point of view, I prefer the "long-back" English gown construction, as I think it looks more formal.  The overall style will be not unlike the pale blue gown shown above, with perhaps a little more of a train.  My moderate side hoops (in silk shantung), shown below, will do for support.  

As far as other undergarments go, my ca. 1750-55 stays are the proper shape and style to work appropriately up to the mid-1770's: 

Unfortunately though, my ca. 1750 linen shift (shown in the photos above) won't do at all for this new gown.  This is because, prior to about 1755, shifts had very loose, voluminous sleeves, with lace frills sewn on at bottom, often in addition to an attached neckline lace flounce.  Toward 1760, shift sleeves became narrower and plainer, and separate engageantes (removable for laundering), made of fine embroidered lawn or lace, were added just inside the sleeve bottoms in lieu of the earlier frills.  Removable neck fillers usually replaced the previous neck lace flounces attached to shifts.  In any case, after about 1755, the shift essentially disappears under the gown. 

Taking another look at Lady Howe's gown, it seems there isn't much of a neck frill added, if any at all (although again, this may have been the artist's discretion in rendering unnecessary or distracting elements in minimal detail).  I do prefer the look of a lace frill around the neckline, so I'll be adding something delicate and tasteful there. 

Here for comparison are: (1) a ca. 1745 gown with the shift visible beyond the sleeves; (2) a gown of ca. 1770 with separate engageantes at the sleeves as well as neckline frill; (3) a pair of ca. 1750-70 engageantes; and (4) my ca. 1750-55 shift with its wide sleeves and attached lace frills: 

​Accordingly, a new, simpler, shift with shorter and more closely-fitting sleeves will be needed.  Fortunately I still have lots of very lightweight linen available.  

Second, a petticoat (matching the gown) will be required, but that would be the case anyway, and I do have more than enough pink silk for it.  

Third, my favourite golden-yellow linen under-petticoat (see below) just won't work with this gown.  I'll need a new one, in a neutral off-white tone, preferably with a pretty frill at bottom, and in a lighter weight material.  Despite being perhaps not 100% accurate as an 18thC. textile, for this purpose I'll enlist some of my many metres of ivory silk shantung, purchased years ago at a sale price.   (Sometimes necessity dictates minor compromises).  About 3m should be more than enough.  

Lastly, for support, my existing silk side hoops will be perfectly serviceable.  They'll also provide a more appropriate silhouette for the mid-1760's than the fairly wide pannier I wore with my ca. 1750-55 silk sack gown. 

Material Progress ...

As of this date (July 2, 2020), I've cut out my new shift from the fine, lightweight, cream-coloured linen I luckily still had available, and it's waiting to be sewn up.  Where shifts are concerned, I admit to sewing some main seams by machine, using fine quality heirloom cotton thread, partly to save time and partly to save my hands from strain.  Important or visible areas will be hand-sewn. 

I have a basic pattern I've drafted for an 18th century linen gown lining and sleeves that is essentially appropriate for any style between about 1740 and 1770, given a bit of modification for the changing fit of sleeves during those decades.   (Incidentally, I do ultimately plan to make the design for this project accessible as a published pattern). 

These pieces have now been cut (including the pink silk portions for the sleeves), and are waiting to be hand-sewn (see below).  The stomacher (or possibly compère -- I haven't quite decided yet) has been cut in roughly the shape required, from 2 layers of buckram, 2 of ivory dress-weight linen, and one of pink silk.  I plan to experiment with the actual shape of the stomacher/compère when I have a better idea of precisely where the front edges of the gown will fall. 

Once I have my new shift finished, I'll dress my mannequin with it and my existing blue silk stays and go on to the next step.  This will entail making the new under-petticoat, a simple rectangle of ivory silk, with one opening at the left side, pleated into a twill-tape tie at the waist.  My smallish side-hoops, covered with silk shantung, will go over all of that, ready for the process of draping and fitting the petticoat and gown. ​

​Although side hoops were still fashionable and in wide use around 1765, I'm not completely convinced that side-hoops will be sufficient support for this gown without some type of padded roll for the derrière.  ​Excess padding in the back didn't replace hoops of one kind or another until several years later.  On the other hand, a "long-back" English gown might just require a bit of padding at centre back (in addition to the hoops) in order to maintain the proper shape of the skirt.  To be determined! 

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I prefer to cut and fit 18th century gowns in the typical manner of the time: rough-cut lengths according to a general plan, arranged and pin-fitted to the body of the person who will be wearing the gown, and then hand-sewn.  This is really not as mysterious or onerous a task as it might sound, especially if you start with a mannequin that is accurately adjusted and/or padded out to your personal form. 

Of course the ideal is to be able to actually drape the gown on the person who will be wearing it, but since I'm both client and maker, a fitting mannequin will have to do.  My general procedure is to drape, pin-fit and baste the gown sections onto the lining on the mannequin, then take the whole thing off and try it over myself (wearing a second pair of stays).  Adjustments can then be made on the mannequin before final hand-stitching is done. 

So endeth Part the First...  
I'll be back with more details of the project as I go along.  To be continued in PART 2!