Ready, Set, Gown

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Ready, Set, Gown
Ready, Set, Gown

Staff and volunteers attempt to create a garment in two days. Can they stitch in time?

Mount Vernon’s historical costumer, Kathrin Breitt Brown, and journeywoman mantua maker, Brooke Welborn of the Burnley & Trowbridge Co., created two 18th-century gowns during two “Gown in a Weekend” public events held in the spring of 2023. From draping and cutting to fitting and finishing, they used 18th-century techniques to complete the gowns. Each gown portrayed a different style for the same era.

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This article originally appeared in Mount Vernon magazine, published three times a year by the Mount Vernon Ladies' Association.

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First Event

A plain English gown, also called a “night gown,” was made from a slate blue worsted wool for Timbila Kabre, a character interpreter portraying American poet Phillis Wheatley. (MVLA)

A plain English gown, also called a “night gown,” was made from a slate blue worsted wool for Timbila Kabre, a character interpreter portraying American poet Phillis Wheatley. (MVLA)

At the first event, they created a mid-1770s untrimmed plain English gown, also called a “night gown,” from a slate blue worsted wool for Timbila Kabre, a character interpreter portraying American poet Phillis Wheatley, who spent many years of her life enslaved. A rare copperplate of Wheatley, believed to be from the early 1770s, depicts her sitting at a table, quill in hand. Wearing this iconic English nightgown, with a distinctive cap and kerchief, the image is noteworthy for both the composition of an enslaved person and for the clearly seen details of her attire. 

Phillis, an African-born poet born in 1753, was kidnapped in Africa and sold into slavery at 7 or 8 years old to an American family. They taught her to read and write, encouraged her travels, and enabled her to seek publication of her poetry. She was emancipated in 1773, married a poor grocer, and died in 1784. 

Wheatley’s poem “His Excellency George Washington” was sent to Washington in 1775. Washington sent her poem to other luminaries, and it was published in the Pennsylvania Magazine, among other places. In response to her poem, Washington wrote:

I thank you most sincerely for your polite notice of me, in the elegant Lines you enclosed; and however undeserving I may be of such encomium and panegyrick [sic], the style and manner exhibit a striking proof of your great poetical Talents. 

Although Wheatley never visited Mount Vernon, it is believed that Washington met her at his headquarters in Cambridge sometime in March 1776.

Timbila Kabre, a character interpreter portraying American poet Phillis Wheatley, poses beside the iconic copperplate of Wheatley, which served as the model for this English gown. (MVLA)

Timbila Kabre, a character interpreter portraying American poet Phillis Wheatley, poses beside the iconic copperplate of Wheatley, which served as the model for this English gown. (MVLA)

Second Event

Rachel Samson, a character interpreter portraying a woman named Mary Wheatley, is fitted in a short sack, known in French as a pet-en-l'air. (MVLA)

Rachel Samson, a character interpreter portraying a woman named Mary Wheatley, is fitted in a short sack, known in French as a pet-en-l'air. (MVLA)

(MVLA)

(MVLA)

At the second “Gown in a Weekend” event, Breitt Brown and Welborn created a short sack, known in French as a pet-en-l'air. A mint green and pink striped silk was used, with plenty of pink ribbons. This is a less formal version of the fashionable sack-back gown and is recognizable by the looser pleats in the back. Especially stunning, the gown and petticoat have about 1,000 inches of pleated trim. This ensemble went to Rachel Samson, a character interpreter portraying a woman named Mary Wheatley. This gown depicts a woman in the same year as the Phillis Wheatley gown, but it would be worn by a genteel woman at the top of the social strata. Mary was the daughter of Phillis’s enslavers, and also the first to recognize Phillis’s intelligence. Within a few years of Phillis’s enslavement, Mary taught her to read.

George Washington would have been quite familiar with ladies’ gowns since he frequently placed the orders for Martha’s and other’s attire. In a 1760 letter to Robert Cary & Company, his factor in English, he writes: “Mrs Washington sends home a Green Sack to get cleand, or fresh dyed of the same colour—made up into a handsome Sack again woud be her choice, but if the Cloth wont afford that, then to be thrown into a genteel Night Gown.” Remaking gowns into the latest style was quite common, although in the 1760s both sack-back gowns and night or English gowns were quite popular.

A couple years later, again writing to Robert Cary, Washington notes: “…among the Goods sent in for Miss Custis (by the Unity[)] there came a black Callimanca Petticoat and full trimmed Night Gown of a straw coloured Lustring marked MPC. but as they were of Womens size, and not charged in her Account we concluded they must be packed up by mistake; and as some expence and risque woud accompany a return of them Mrs Washington will keep them herself, and the cost please to place to my acct.”

It’s amusing to compare this to a modern purchase from Amazon. Often, it’s just not worth the effort to return an errant order. 

Interview with Kathrin Breitt Brown, Mount Vernon’s historical costumer

Mount Vernon’s historic costumer, Kathrin Breitt Brown. (MVLA)

Mount Vernon’s historic costumer, Kathrin Breitt Brown. (MVLA)

While demonstrating dress-making for the public, what kinds of questions did they ask?

Having the public watch and learn was a key element to this program. For both weekends, some guests came especially for the program, and one aspiring seamstress even stayed for both days of the entire first weekend and came back for the second. Some observers asked quite technical questions, about specific stitches or techniques. Some asked about 18th-century gown styles, and others were keen to learn about current costuming matters at Mount Vernon. 

What was the most challenging part of the process?

Some parts of the construction process are easy, such as side skirt seams with a backstitch, a hem with a felled stitch, and others that don’t require a close fitting to the body. Tasks such pleating the skirts into the waistband and fitting the sleeves into the armscye require attention to detail. Doing that quickly, and correctly, while under the public eye and answering questions can be challenging, especially if a task is not coming together as smoothly as one plans.

How long were you working?

For both gowns, we started a day ahead of time to cut muslin shapes on the model in her stays. Muslin is a type of inexpensive cotton fabric (in modern terms), and the shapes become what we would call pattern pieces today. These shapes are the basis of the gown, and the shape of them determines what the style of the gown will become. Different shapes yield different styles of gowns. These are fit to the wearer while in her underpinnings. Being a fairly intimate process, we chose to do this away from the public.

How is 18th-century clothing different from ours today?

Today, when we dress ourselves each day, we probably have a pretty standard set of undergarments, over which we likely don a dress or maybe a pair of pants and a shirt—possibly a coat or sweater over that. Add to that maybe a few accessories: a scarf, some jewelry. 

For 18th-century ensembles, multiple layers are found both under and over the gown. The layer closest to the skin is a shift, which we would recognize as a slip with sleeves. Shifts are always made of linen, and every woman wore one with only the quality of the fabric differing. Shoes and stockings are put on before stays—the 18th-century version of a corset—since one can’t bend at the waist easily once in stays. Underpetticoats and skirt supports, which varied depending on the year, were donned over the stays. A set of pockets, which are a separate item, tied around the waist. Stays came next. The gown typically included another petticoat, what we would call a skirt today, and then the gown itself. Over all of that, most often an apron was worn—fancier aprons for fashionable women, plainer ones for those lower on the rungs—a fichu or kerchief (the piece around the neck) and a cap. Fancier gowns also likely had sleeve flounces, ribbons at the neckline or elbows, and neck tuckers. Finally, jewelry. In sum, many more pieces than we wear today.

What is the most interesting part of the process for you?

Sewing is having a resurgence, and the interest in historic costuming is huge. More importantly, though, sewing, or domestic arts more generally, is an avenue toward understanding and loving history that has been neglected for many of us. Typically, in schools we are taught about wars, events, and dates, but the study of textiles—the production of cloth, clothing, and housewares—yields just as much historical value. It engages people who might not otherwise find history interesting.

What was accomplished?

Technically, neither gown was completed by the weekend’s end. The “Phillis Wheatley” gown needed just another few hours of work, but the “Mary Wheatley” gown has about 1,000 inches of trim—that’s 2,000 inches of hemming—all of which had to be pleated and then attached to the gown. So while the gown itself was mostly completed that weekend, finishing the trim took many more hours. It is important to note that for both gowns, Mount Vernon volunteer seamstresses helped tremendously. Phillis’s gown benefited from the hands of five volunteers and Mary’s gown had 10 volunteers basting and hemming the trim.

What does Brooke Welborn’s title, “journeywoman mantua maker,” mean?

We can break down the phrase “journeywoman mantua maker” to learn about 18th-century apprenticeship practices. To start at the end, a maker makes things, in this case by needle and thread, so a seamstress.

A “mantua” is a type of gown found in the earlier part of the 18th century. Although the names of gowns changed, that particular phrase stuck. 

Journeywoman (or journeyman, in other cases) means she has completed her seven-year apprenticeship. In the 18th century, a journeyman or woman would travel—hence, journey—from shop to shop practicing their trade. Above a journeywoman would be a mistress or master, which implied that they owned a shop. The elevated titles don’t necessarily mean that they had more training or skills than a journeywoman. Brooke completed the seven-year apprenticeship at Colonial Williamsburg, currently runs her own mantua-making business, and teaches mantua-making at the Burnley & Trowbridge Co. She doesn’t have a “shop,” so she is not technically a mistress mantua maker.

How often is this program repeated throughout the year?

This is a new program, and we hope to have at least one more public event this year. We don’t have a regular schedule, but we do hope this will become a regular event.

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