The variety of stuffs used in them was great. Some of these are wholly obsolete; even the meaning of their names is lost. In an inventory of 1644, of a citizen of Plymouth there was, for instance, “a petticoate of phillip &; cheny” worth £;1. Much of the value of these petticoats was in the handwork bestowed upon them; they were both embroidered and elaborately quilted. About 1730, in the Van Cortlandt family, a woman was paid at one time £;2 5s. for quilting, a large amount for that day. Often we find items of fifteen or twenty shillings for quilting a petticoat.
Embroidered Petticoat Band.
The handsomest petticoats were of quilted silk or satin. No pattern was so elaborate, no amount of work so large, that it could dismay the heart or tire the fingers of an eighteenth-century needlewoman. One yellow satin petticoat has a lining of stout linen. These are quilted together in an exquisite irregular design of interlacing ribbons, slender vines, and long, narrow leaves, all stuffed with white cord. Though the general effect of this pattern is very regular, an examination shows it is not a set design, but must have been drawn as well as worked by the maker. Another petticoat has a curious design made with two shades of blue silk cord sewed on in a pattern. Another of infinite work has a design outlined in tiny rolls of satin.
These petticoats had many flat trimmings; laces of silver, gold, or silk thread were used, galloons and orrice. Tufts of fringed silk were dotted in clusters and made into fly-fringe. Bridget Neal, writing in 1685 to her sister, says:—
“I am told las is yused on petit-coats. Three fringes is much yused, but they are not set on the petcot strait, but in waves; it does not look well, unless all the fringes yused that fashion is the plane twisted fring not very deep. I hear some has nine fringes sett in this fashion.”
Anxiety to please his honored mother, and desire that she should be dressed in the top of the mode, show in every letter of John Hall:—
“I bought your muffs of my Coz. Jno. Rolfe who tells me they are worth more money than I gave for them. You desired yours Modish yet Long; but here with us they are now much shorter. These were made a Purpose for you. As to yr Silk Flowered Manto, I hope it may please you; Tis not the Mode to lyne you now at all; but if you like to have it soe, any silke will serve, and may be done at yr pleasure.”
In 1663 Pepys notes (with his customary delight at a new fashion, mingled with fear that thereby he might be led into more expense) that ladies at the play put on “vizards which hid the whole face, and had become a great fashion; and so to the Exchange to buy a Vizard for my wife.” Soon he added a French mask, which led to some unpleasant encounters for Mrs. Pepys with dissolute courtiers on the street. The plays in London were then so bold and so bad that we cannot wonder at the masks of the play-goers. The masks concealed constant blushes; but wearers and hearers did not stay away, for neither eyes nor ears were covered by the mask. Busino tells of a woman at the theatre all in yellow and scarlet, with two masks and three pairs of gloves, worn one pair over the other. Suddenly out came disappointing Queen Anne with her royal command that the plays be refined and reformed, and then masks were abandoned.