Boozy, unpunctual, constantly messaging each other and obsessed with pugs — no, we’re not talking about today’s millennials (they are beardier), but this more or less describes fashionable Europeans in the 17th to 19th centuries, at least if the contents of the V&A’s grand new permanent galleries are representative. These long-awaited spaces, opening on December 9, are devoted to art and design in Europe from 1600 to 1815 and are stuffed with astonishing objects, some commissioned from the finest local craftsmen, others made in Asia and the Americas for the lucrative European market.
The objects in these seven rooms tell us the story of Europe through the lenses of commerce, collecting, leisure and the Enlightenment. They explore the dominance of France under Louis XIV — and the handover of power to Britain after the battle of Waterloo in 1815. As we seek to redefine our role alongside our continental chums, and protecting Europe’s cultural richness becomes more important than ever, they show us how, with closer ties and ever-improving infrastructure, life in Europe began to resemble ours today — from hot drinks and seasonal fashions to global trade and global power. Here are some highlights — they might be more familiar than you think.
1. Balloon-mania handkerchief, 1783, France The first public demonstration of a hydrogen-filled balloon flight was on June 4, 1783 in Annonay, France. It was organised by Jacques-Étienne and Joseph-Michel Montgolfier. By November that year they had helped to organise the first untethered balloon ride with passengers. Lesley Miller, the Europe galleries lead curator, says: “People gathered in huge crowds to watch them take off. They were a feat of science that captivated the public.” Advertisement 2. Watch, c1640-50, France 3. Siphon glass with stag, c1650-1725, Germany 4. Window panel with memento mori, about 1630, Switzerland 5. Table fountain, c1745-47, Germany 6. Cane handle with pug’s head, c1736-40, Germany Advertisement 7. Chintz dress à l’anglaise, 1785, Netherlands The French couldn’t get enough of our buttons either. Cut steel buttons and buckles made in the Midlands were exported for sale in specialist Parisian shops. 8. Snuffbox with sleeping woman, c1744-50, Italy Heike Zech, another senior curator at the V&A, says. “Snuffboxes were a means of communication and the language of the snuffbox was a highly individual and effective way to stay in touch across a crowded room. To tap on a box or open and close its lid could convey all sorts of intimate messages without speaking a single word.” 9. Urn on stand, c1755-72, Germany Advertisement 10. Travelling shaving set, c1700-30, Netherlands The Europe 1600-1815 galleries open at the V&A, London SW7 (020 7942 2000), on Dec 9
“All the conversation here at present turns upon the balloons filled with light inflammable air, and the means of managing them so as to give men the advantage of flying,” Benjamin Franklin wrote to a friend in 1783 from Passy, near Paris. “One is to be let off on Friday next at Versailles, which it is said will be able to carry up to 1,000 pounds’ weight . . .” The public was obsessed with balloon flight, which was illustrated on everything from handkerchiefs (such as the printed cotton one from Alsace in the picture gallery) to hats, waistcoats, tea sets and bed covers.
While clocks that kept accurate time were desirable commodities for 17th and 18th-century scientists, the public were less bothered about punctuality. Smaller timepieces were instead valued for their ornamentation and displayed as jewellery. In some cases, so much attention was paid to the decoration that the result was as pretty as a painting but inaccurate as a timekeeper. Watch-owners were expected to open the case to reveal the beautifully designed underside of the lid as often as they were expected to check the time.
Beer pong was yet to be invented, but blokes in 17th-century Europe had their own drinking games. After jockeying for the position of alpha male on a hunt they would test each other’s boozing ability — this game ended not with killing the stag but kissing it. The trick to drinking from this glass was to block the disguised opening in one side and suck the alcohol from a small hole in the stag’s mouth. It was a roaring, laddy way for men to ensnare companions and rivals — and one that caused unseasoned drinkers to be soaked in wine and humiliation when they got it wrong. “The glass presented a whole array of challenges to one’s dignity and commitment,” says Angus Patterson, the senior curator of metalwork at the V&A. “You had to defeat the glass, your companions and the drink. Ultimately, of course, the real enemy was sobriety.”
Unfortunately for the party animals of the era, the temptations of life were tempered by the awareness of sin, and constant self-control was needed to “die well”. From the 15th century, treatises on ars moriendi — the art of dying — could be found in many homes but people also sought visual incentives to behave well. Depictions of damned souls or demonic faces were intended to shock the sinner into repentance and a state of vigilance. “These images seem macabre to us today, though they’re no more so than the images in many horror films,” Miller says. “At a time when most people were religiously observant, the fear of damnation was very real.” Memento mori — “remember that you will die” — carried a moral message, reminding them of the transience of human existence and worldly pleasures. The images instructed men and women to live a virtuous life on earth, in preparation for the Day of Judgment.
Though it took hosts until the late 17th century to provide their guests with cutlery (guests previously carried their own knives and spoons — presumably to save their host the washing-up), by the 18th century dinner parties were a riot of extravagance. Elaborate services could be made up of more than 685 pieces of matching decoration. As well as tall baskets of lemons — an expensive luxury north of the Alps — well-heeled hosts might serve multiple courses made up of hundreds of dishes and the table might be decorated with figures made of sugar or wax. Describing a party at the house of Count Brühl in 1748, at which 206 people sat down to dine, Sir Charles Hanbury Williams wrote these words: “When the desert was set on, I thought it was the most wonderful thing I ever beheld. I fancyd myself either in a garden or at an opera, But I could not imagine that I was at dinner. In the middle of the table was the Fountain of the Piazza Navona at Rome, at least eight foot high, which ran all the while with Rose-water, and tis said that piece alone cost six thousand dollars.”
In 2015, celebrity fans of pugs include Hugh Laurie, Paris Hilton and Kelly Brook. But they are way behind; pugs first became fashionable in the 1740s. Introduced into Europe from China in the 16th century, they became popular in German court circles. The breed’s fidelity resulted in them becoming a symbol for the Freemasons’ lodges that sprang up in Europe after 1717. When Pope Clement XII issued a bill forbidding Catholics from becoming Freemasons in 1738, Elector Clemens August of Cologne founded the “Mopsorden” — the “Order of the Pug”. It was very popular and, unlike Masonic lodges, admitted women. Manufacturers produced pug-themed accessories, and canes, which in the 1700s replaced the sword for all but the most formal court dress, were one example.
Two centuries before Galliano and McQueen took their design ideas from London to Paris, the French were already keen on English fashions. “The creative and often outrageous outfits associated with 21st-century British designers are a far cry from the plain styles that met with approval in the late 18th century, when tightly fitting women’s gowns (robes à l’anglaise) and men’s suits in sombre, high quality wool took not only Paris, but also the rest of Europe, by storm,” Miller says. “Paris has been established as the European capital of fashion for nearly a century and so Parisian merchants were happy to import all goods that would satisfy the leaders and followers of fashion, as they are today.”
Few objects weren’t fashion statements in the 18th century but snuffboxes were the equivalent of an iPhone 6s. Not only were they a luxury item that could cost as much as a house in a “prime European location” but their sales boomed after tobacco was introduced to Europe from North America in the 16th century. By the 18th century they were considered an “essential of gallant attire”, as noted in Johann Zedler’s Universal Lexicon in 1743, and changing boxes daily was the mark of a “man of taste”. Wealthy collectors had more than 800.
Slow, therapeutic beadwork might sound like a 21st-century answer to mindfulness but in the 1700s it gave employment to soldiers returning from war. Many young men, often swept off to fight before they could complete an apprenticeship, returned without the necessary training to work in a trade. The wounded, whether mentally or physically, had an even harder time slotting back into normal life. It was Duke Karl I of Brunswick who came up with the idea to employ former soldiers who had fought in the Seven Years’ War. He set them up in factories, where they used beadwork to decorate furniture. It was an intricate and time-consuming task, which consisted of stringing beads on thread, laying them out on to designs that had been traced into a soft, plaster-like layer, then adding extra details, such as mother-of-pearl or coloured glass that imitated precious stones.
Unlike today’s hipster beards, trendy European men in the 18th century were clean-shaven. Luxury sets, such as this silver and tortoiseshell one from the Netherlands, were needed to keep men well-coiffed — and it was quite the process. A plumed hat over a long curling wig was the height of male fashion and an array of tools kept man and wig in check. Travelling sets typically included a mirror, scissors, two-sided comb, six razors and a sharpening file. Personal valets or barbers removed facial and head hair so that the wig — which was perfumed and then powdered with starch or flour — could be slipped on more easily. Even when the French army was campaigning in 1667, Louis XIV reportedly spent an hour and a half getting ready each day — the waxing of his moustache took 30 minutes alone.
