While doing some research on changes to the corset during the late 1800s, I came across an article titled “Symposium on Corsets” in a January 1890 edition of the Chicago Tribune. It was too delicious to walk away from, and down the rabbit hole I went. Who were these Divas? As it turns out, each one was a performer of some kind – opera singer or actress. They generally seemed to know each other, and there was polite Shade thrown, Gay Nineties style.
The hourglass corset was worn by most women of the Victorian age and was at its most extreme in terms of heavy boning, and tight lacing in the 1870s and 1880s. Some fashionable women sought to achieve an 18" waist.
"A cutting wind, or the fatal effects of tight lacing" (1820s)
By the late 1870s, increasing health concerns led to gradual changes in corset design, and eventually to the end of the hourglass, replaced by the S-curve corset of the early 1900s. During that transition, there were "health corsets", "empire corsets", and "short corsets". And some prominent women were confident enough of their figure - or their place in society - to declare themselves corset-free. Hence the Divas.
SYMPOSIUM ON CORSETS
PATTI, ALBANI AND NORDICA JOIN IN THE CHORUS.
The Diva Thinks They Are the correct Thing – so Does Albani, but Nordica Doesn't--Rosina Vokes chats In Her Characteristic way, telling why she wears ‘em – Fauntleroy’s "Dearest" Couldn't Exist Without ‘Em - Miss Milward. Mary Anderson and Marie Jansen.
A cablegram printed a few days ago contained the information that Mrs. James Brown Potter had abandoned the corset. A murmur was heard in certain quarters.
What had Mme. Patti to say on the subject? A Tribune reporter found the Diva in a room filled with the odor of roses. The reporter went at the subject without having been compelled to do so strategically. Madam motioned Nicolini to a far corner in the room. He obeyed. Then she said, in her own peculiar way: “I think corsets are the correct thing. Some absolutely perfect figures may dispense with them, of course, but the average woman. and especially the stout ones, cannot afford to eschew stays. I myself invariably wear them."
"And do you find them injurious?"
"Not in the slightest. But, then, my stays are always extraordinarily loose. Interfere with singing? Why, people don't sing with their stomachs, do they? It must be an oddly formed person who would. As long as one doesn't wear stays about one's throat, there can be no possible interference. Now, I cannot sing with as much as a ribbon confining my throat."
Then the Diva turned to the more congenial topics of her "dear Chicago," her roses, and those beautiful little velvety dogs which are her Inseparable pets. If possible, the Patti of private life is a thousandfold more charming than the Patti of the public.
ALBANI BELIEVES IN STAYS. Mme. Emma La Jeunesse-Albani-Gye's apartments at the Grand Pacific were as bright as a glowing fire when the reporter called. Masses of flowers and well raised shades added to the warmth of the scene. The madam herself, in heliotrope silk and black lace, beamed alike on Mr. Gye and handsome Mrs. Henry E. Abbey, while with a pretty motherliness she exhibited her little son's Christmas offerings and showed the many portraits with which she "makes a little bit of home everywhere," as she expresses it. When “corsets" were mentioned a slight frown deepened in the clear gray eyes, but it passed as quickly as it came, and in her musical French voice Mme. Albani gave her views. “I believe in stays because I have always worn them. I shouldn't like at all to go without, and I'm sure the public wouldn't like it. Imagine me, for I am a little stout, you know."
"Plump, madam, only plump."
"Ah! that is kind of you. Nevertheless you know I shouldn't look well without a corset. I do not think I could keep up even. I believe the support to be essential absolutely."
“And not detrimental?"
"Not unless so tight as to interfere with breathing, for breathing is singing. You have seen the 'Huguenots,' haven't you? Yes. Well, you remember we all have to wear long pointed bodices there - it was the style of the times--but how could we possibly do so without stays? I don't know, do you?"
NORDICA DOESN'T. There was an all-pervading odor of roses and white hyacinths through Mme. Nordica's apartments at the Richelieu. The songstress lay wearied and nervous beneath the eiderdown, whilst her devoted sister tenderly bathed the throbbing brow. The dainty little lady-mother sat amid the ruins of madam's floral offerings and chatted.
“No, Lillian never wears corsets. That is, she never does now -not even for the street or salon. There was a time, years ago, when she wore them, but they were soon discarded. It was simply matter of comfort with her. After awhile she concluded to try them again. She had several pairs manufactured. Little loves of stays - all in delicate satins and all Parisian."
“How long did she wear them?"
"Scarcely at all. One day she said to me: *Mamma, dear, I am not as comfortable as I used to be; I shall return to the old ways.” Since then she, has never put a corset on."
"Does she substitute a stiff waist?”
“No; she simply wears a thin silk waist without a suspicion of whalebone in the back, and the merest hint of it at the front and sides. We make them all ourselves, so you may be sure they are simplicity personified."
MRS, MILLWARD'S WAY. It was a pretty picture that met the eyes In the star's dressing-room at the Grand. Miss Jessie Millward's dress as Julie Noirville made a swath of ruby plush in front of the long mirror, and Baby Larogue, with her tiny arms clasped around that magnificent creamy throat which rose above the glowing plush, was saying: *Miss Millward, in that dress you look like a queen."
“Ay, but a queen in French corsets."
"Yes," laughed Miss Milward, putting the golden-haired little fairy aside, as she rose. “I plead guilty. Not only is this bodice heavily boned, but I also have corsets underneath. Go without? Positively, I couldn't carry the weight of this dress without them. I should sink beneath it, and a pretty spectacle that would be for the stage! But don't think I always wear corsets. As a matter of comfort, don't. For the street I always wear loose fitting dresses and what is known as ‘baby stays.' Do you know what they are? - just flannel bodices with straps and battons, simply a contrivance to hang skirts upon. Then in many of my plays I wear a style of dress with which corsets would be impossible - Directoire, for instance. So you see I go with or without corsets with equal ease. Cold? I never take cold under any circumstances, and I never wear any more flannel than a short petticoat. Strange, isn't it? For my part, I believe every one ought to wear stays part of the time. If one doesn't one grows out at the waist horridly. It’s so hideous, you know. Now, when I wear corsets in the evening I do not during the day, and vice versa. I couldn't run the risk of becoming a fright. Still (meditatively) Miss Terry never wears stays, and her figure is superb. I think one's natural figure has much to do with the question, after all. Miss Terry is one in a thousand. I shall delighted to know if Patti wears corsets."
ROSINA VOKES TELLS CLAY TO PUT HIS HEAD OUT. “Cecil, dear, please put your head out of the window; we are having a costume talk, and you really must not listen." Considering that a fierce rain storm was raging without, Miss Rosina Vokes was making a rather cool request of her notably loving hubby.
Mr. Clay merely grinned quietly, and sank back further into the recesses of the carriage, shutting his eyes as an indication that his ears were closed.
“My dear child, I couldn’t dream of not wearing corsets. I should not be able to dance, or sing, or anything. I should be tired to death in no time. Injurious! Fudge! Don't you pin your faith to loose seeming dresses. I know a lot of these Greek draped actresses who lace tight- tight underneath the flowing draperies. Forgive If I'm positive- that is my way -but I believe in corsets, pure and simple. believe corsets are just essential for a woman as suspenders are for a man, and one must wear them if one doesn't want one's things all slipping around and off. And then the support. Every decently formed woman needs support, of course. 0! women who are excessively thin could go without stars, I fancy: but then they look all up and down, you know. When to put on corsets? As soon as the figure gives the merest hint of development. It is on the same principle as pinning a brand tightly round a baby's dear little body so that its precious back will not get broken. Every woman needs the support of corsets,"
Just then Mr. Clay opened the eye and directed an aside to his wife.
“Tight! Gracious, no. I should not want you to suppose I advocated such a thing, for a moment. I honestly don’t believe in that. Don't tell, though, but I used to be horribly vain. I once wore seventeens--just fancy! - seventeen corset-laced tight. was off the stage then, and one day was at the Newmarket races. I was fancying myself, I assure you, when I heard an old English lord remark, an apropos of me: 'Good Gawd! She'll come In half.” It wasn't pleasant, so now I wear my stays loose, quite.”
“DEAREST” TALKS ON THE SUBJECT. When Miss Helen Lowell pulled off the mourning robe she wears in the first act of “Fauntleroy” to replace it with "dearest's" traveling gown, a black satin corset was undisguisedly revealed.
“Ah! you wear them then?”
“Why, I couldn't exist without corsets. I have worn them ever since I was 13, and expect to do so as long as I live. I think they are injurious if worn tight - I have had a practical demonstration of that - but I really couldn't go without them for a day. I should feel horribly. Anyhow, I do not believe it is possible to obtain as symmetrical an outline without as with them. Miss Carrie Turner, who is a particular friend of mine, never wears them. I once thought seriously about following her example and studied the effect from the front. But somehow hers, like every corsetless figure I ever saw, had a sort of squatness about it that I certainly do not admire. I suppose may say that I am an advocate of stays. Just get a pair large enough to encircle you loosely without being open at all in the back, and the effect will out vie anything you can achieve in other wars. I do not consider a loosely fitting corset one iota injurious.
WHAT MARY ANDERSON SAID WHEN SHE WAS HERE. When Mary Anderson was here a Tribune reporter called on her in reference to this all-round question of corsets. Miss Anderson, in her artistic house gown, looked as innocent of stays as Verdita. “Corsets?” with a cold, pale smile. “No, I don't wear them. I see Mrs. Croly (Jennie June) has been telling tales out of school, so I may as well confess. I don't wear stays, but I wear a good deal under them."
“How did you come to discard them?"
"It was after I went to England. My health was poor and the doctor ordered outdoor exercise. I took off corsets then and never put them on again. But then I have no superfluous flesh and am rather too slender. They did not interfere with my posing, but I feel better without them. It's all 'as you like it.' I like it better without,
“You wear a corset with conventional dress?"
"Never, under any circumstance! And the ladies of my company do not wear them on the stage. Stage dressing is nearly always unconventional, except in society plays, the draperies, being from the shoulder and armpit, and stays are manifestly out of place from artistic reasons alone.'* Miss Anderson smiled graciously and wormed her long train out among the chairs that stood about in clean pinafores. And then Nadjy came in in a trim, taut street costume.
MARIE JANSEN. “Corsets! Of course I wear them. Who does not! Think of me as Nadjy with nothing to tie those black spangles to. I'd drop to pieces, " said Miss Jansen. “Then the Tribune might ask its readers to listen to the *tale of woe' in earnest. Are they an inconvenience? Look!” She got behind a door in the parlor of the Grand Pacific hotel, and, after a furtive glance down the corridor, daintily kicked the palm of her outstretched hand, executing a pirouette after it.
“I'm all right, and my stays are as taut as a sail in high wind. Sometimes I have wondered what would happen if the strings should break. ‘Listen to the tale of woe’” she hummed, casting her eyes meditatively on the chandelier.
“Pauline Hall wears them too. And all the chorus girls. Some of them would be sad figures if they didn't. ‘Listen to the tale of woe.’. Of course, anyone who sings must wear them loose. I have one now, but look.” She took a deep breath, which distended the region just above her fluttering heart that is nightly clasped in a jet black vice, and trilled airily, “Listen to the tale of woe,” and had plenty of breath to spare after the effort.
Jan 5 1890, Chicago Tribune
A luxury hourglass corset from 1878, featuring a busk fastening at the front and lacing at the back (public domain)
