More Showy Phaetons
In Part 2, I looked at the brougham and the victoria, two prestigious carriages (though simpler, more affordable versions of them were available). Apparently, it was a thing among those who could afford it to parade around Hyde Park, displaying their frou-frou carriages. In Hyde Park, Its History and Romance (1908), Ethel Brilliana Tweedie (a.k.a. Mrs. Alec-Tweedie) tells us the title spot is where "the èlite drive on summer afternoons from five to seven, when four or five rows of motors and carriages moving along at a crawling pace is quite a common sight." It was something of a ritzy ritual.
That sparkling parade probably included barouches and landaus, both discussed below. The former was mostly used in summer while the latter could be ridden throughout the year. But carriage makers were continually tinkering with and improving upon designs, borrowing a feature from one kind to put on another. There was even something called a barouche landau. In this regard, classifications of carriages are like genres of fiction: it's best to remember that they're ever-evolving and neither rule-bound nor stable.
Check the Weather Before Boarding a Barouche
This illustration of a barouche appears in
The Art Journal Illustrated Catalogue (1862). You can see a photo of one
with the cover raised here. In fact, that covered barouche belonged to Abraham Lincoln, and it's what he rode in to Ford's Theatre on the night he was assassinated!
As far as I can tell, a barouche was pretty much a victoria -- but with seating for four instead of only two. The third and/or fourth passenger would ride facing backward right behind the driver, a seating plan often called "vis-à-vis." However, if it started to rain, those suckers riding backwards would be all wet because a collapsible leather hood only reached far enough to protect the passengers facing forward. Think of this cover as something like what's found on a baby carriage (or a perambulator, if infant perambulation is more your style).
I'm cheating on Victorian-era here, but I found it interesting that, in Sense and Sensibility (1910), one way Jane Austen shows how Edward Ferrars disappoints his sister involves a barouche. Or, rather, doesn't involve a barouche. Well, I'll let Austen explain:
[Edward] was neither fitted by abilities nor disposition to answer the wishes of his mother and sister, who longed to see him distinguished — as — they hardly knew what. They wanted him to make a fine figure in the world in some manner or other. His mother wished to interest him in political concerns, to get him into parliament, or to see him connected with some of the great men of the day. Mrs. John Dashwood wished it likewise; but in the mean while, till one of these superior blessings could be attained, it would have quieted her ambition to see him driving a barouche. But Edward had no turn for great men or barouches.
Alas, poor Edward is too introverted for such a flamboyant vehicle. A more useful, more practical landau might've appealed to him -- but Austen doesn't address the matter. (She does, however, address a barouche-landau in Emma!)
Only the Poor Coachman Gets Wet in a Landau
In Modern Carriages (1905), Sir Walter Gibley explains: "The advantages of the landau make it one of the most widely used carriages among private owners and on the public stands." One of those advantages was the ability to raise two leather hoods -- one in front and one in back -- over the passenger compartment, making it as cozy as a clam. Unlike a clam, though, a landau with the hoods raised looked -- to my novice eyes -- something like a brougham because of the boxy shape of the passenger compartment. In fact, we might consider this a brougham convertible, and this begins to explain what made them so popular.
Wait! I wasn't expecting a pop quiz! Well, I guess that's the point of a pop quiz -- but while researching and studying Victorian carriages, I stumbled upon a test of what I've learned so far. It involves a Sherlock Holmes story titled "The Adventure of the Red Circle" (1911 - again, not Victorian). In it, a character named Mrs. Warren explains her dilemma to Holmes, saying her husband had "not got ten paces down the road when two men came up behind him, threw a coat over his head, and bundled him into a cab that was beside the kerb." Readers can assume that things happened too quickly for either Mrs. Warren or her abducted husband to have noticed the specific kind of carriage or cab involved. Arthur Conan Doyle doesn't pin it down, either. This presents a challenge to an illustrator assigned to depict that dramatic moment, and H. M. Brock and Joseph Simpson are both named as illustrators in The Strand's publication of the story. The result is this:
The abduction of Mr. Warren from Arthur Conan Doyle's "The Adventure of the Red Circle" as illustrated in
The Strand Magazine Now, Watson, let's review the evidence. Sir Walter informs us that landaus were very popular. One might conjecture, however, that they were not quite so popular as to be immediately recognizable as, say, a hansom cab. Now, please note the leathery exterior and boxy shape of the passenger compartment in the illustration. Four wheels. One horse. I'm convinced, dear doctor, that what we see above is a landau! Yes, a laudau with the hoods raised to conceal nefarious shenanigans!
Then again, I ain't no Sherlock Holmes. Feel very free to correct or expand on anything I say above in the comments below. I'll wrap things up in Part 4, expanding on what I say in my opening comments above: not only did Victorian carriages wander all over the place in terms of locale -- they also wandered all over the place in terms of design.
-- Tim
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