I was reading along in Kathryn Hughes’ fascinating NYRB review (December 21, 2023; archived) of Hilary Davidson’s Jane Austen’s Wardrobe (I had no idea she was so tall!) when I got to this:
The making of dresses and outer garments was entrusted to a local dressmaker; Davidson points out that the complex construction of the sleeves on Austen’s brown silk pelisse could be achieved only by an expert pattern cutter. This, though, remained a surprisingly inexpensive outlay. When Austen employed a London dressmaker in April 1811 to make pelisses for her and Cassandra, the tradeswoman charged only eight shillings, equivalent to perhaps $30 today. The mantua-maker—or dressmaker, as she was increasingly known—would have kept a pattern of each client on file that could be altered to take account of changes occurring through age, illness, and pregnancy.
Mantua-maker! I ran to the OED (entry revised in 2000):
Now archaic and historical.
Originally: a person who made mantuas. Later more generally: a dressmaker.1694 Mantuamaker.
P. A. Motteux, translation of F. Rabelais, 5th Book of Works Pantagr. Prognost. 2371712 The most celebrated Tyre-women and Mantua-makers in Paris.
E. Budgell, Spectator No. 277. ¶111776 Masks will be..sold by almost all the Milliners and Mantua Makers in Town.
Massachusetts Gazette & Boston Weekly News-letter 22 February
[…]1997 A Coach and Six to go to her Mantua-Maker’s.
T. Pynchon, Mason & Dixon xiii. 143
So I must have run across it when I was reading Mason & Dixon a decade ago (1, 2, 3) but simply accepted it as one of those mysterious olde-fashioned terms he sprinkled the text with — unless, of course, I did look it up and subsequently forgot it. (Surely not!) At any rate, I turned next to the base word, mantua (entry also from 2000):
Now historical.
A kind of loose gown worn by women, fashionable esp. in the late 17th and early 18th centuries. Occasionally attributive, in mantua cloth, mantua gown, etc.
1678 One rich flowred Mantua lined with black, with a pair of very fine laced Sleeves.
London Gazette No. 1287/41688 A Mantua, is a kind of loose Coat without any stayes in it.
R. Holme, Academy of Armory iii. 95/2
[…]
But the best part is the etymology:
Variant of manteau n., after Mantua n.¹
Notes
The popularity of Mantua cloth in the 17th cent. (not all made in Mantua) and the coincidence of the names Mantua, manteau, manto, mant (and their etymons) inevitably led to confusion.
The city name Mantua occurs in the form Mantoa in the 17th cent. (compare also Middle English Mantoan, variant of Mantuan n.), which suggests close similarity in pronunciation to manteau; a similar analogical transformation can be seen in the 16th-cent. borrowing portmanteau n., of which port-mantua was a not uncommon form during the 17th cent.
Makes sense!
Another interesting form in a later sentence involving mantua:
On January 8–9, 1799, she wrote to Cassandra to report that she “got over the dreadful epocha of Mantuamaking much better than I expected.”
The OED informs me that epocha is a variant form of epoch used 1600s–1800s.
В последний раз я видел вас так близко
В пролёты улиц вас умчал авто
Мне снилось, что теперь в притонах Сан-Франциско
Лиловый негр вам подаёт манто.
When I saw you for the last time so close
You were rushed away into the spans of streets in an auto
I was dreaming that now in the dens of San Francisco
A purple Negro is handing you a manteau
[Not recommended for people jumping even at a whiff of racism]
[Not recommended for people jumping even at a whiff of racism]
Or at rhyming авто with манто.
The name mantua-maker persisted long after the popularity of the eponymous garment had waned, because it filled the niche of describing a specifically female dressmaker (before dressmaker itself came to carry that implication). Male tailor indicated a higher status profession than female seamstress. Seamstresses were associated with cheaper garments. For the middle class and rich, they were typically only used for repairs and undergarments. However, since mantuas first became popular as women’s dressing gowns, they were considered to fall within the remit of female artisans, and even after they developed into outerwear, they continued to be made by women
For the curious,
https://www.google.com/search?q=mantua+dress&sca_esv=cfaaa28257c63847&hl=EN&source=hp&ei=Wq_gZ4eWG_rdptQPyo-uKQ&oq=mantua%C2%A0&gs_lp=EhJtb2JpbGUtZ3dzLXdpei1pbWciCG1hbnR1YcKgKgIIBDIFEAAYgAQyBRAAGIAEMgsQABiABBixAxiDATIFEAAYgAQyBRAAGIAESIZGUMkIWNQqcAB4AJABAJgBXaAB9ASqAQE3uAEByAEA-AEBmAIJoAKgBagCA8ICBxApGIAEGArCAggQKRiABBixA8ICAhApwgIOEAAYgAQYsQMYgwEYigXCAggQABiABBixA5gDCpIHATmgB74RsgcBN7gHlAU&sclient=mobile-gws-wiz-img&udm=2
Many thanks to both Brett and cuchuflete — very enlightening!
‘1712 The most celebrated Tyre-women and Mantua-makers in Paris.’
In 1712, were women making tyres, the things that go on wheels? And why are they being linked to mantua-makers?
I eventually worked out that this ‘tyre’ is a variant of ‘tire’ which is related to ‘attire’. ‘Tire’ has had various meanings (and spellings) over time, including related to what knights wore, and later the meaning also branched into what a wheel wore (modern ‘tire’ or ‘tyre’). In 1712, I think that ‘tire’ here was restricted to woman’s clothing, perhaps even specifically head ornaments. Hence a ‘tire-woman’ was a lady’s-maid, who assisted in the dressing of the lady.
Heh, I read right past it, thinking it was named after the city of Tyre,
A certain playwright lodged in the home of a French Huguenot tire-maker at some time between 1602 and 1604…
A tire-woman is more often a maid or dresser, and I vaguely thought it had something to do with retiring rooms, but ‘attire’ makes sense!
The head-specific sense, from the Faerie Queene:
“And on her head she wore a tyre of gold,
Adornd with gemmes and owches wondrous faire,
Whose passing price uneath was to be told:
And by her side there sate a gentle paire
Of turtle doves, she sitting in an yvorie chaire.”
owches
An interesting word; OED (entry revised 2004):
Etymology:
Irish has nasc, is this a borrowing or a parallel (or is the LL word possibly from a Gallic word?)?
That goes back to Old Irish; I don’t know what the further etymology is.
In the same passage I was struck on second reading by “uneath” which looks like it might be one of those weird “archaisms” that were likely Spenser’s own coinages but the word does appear once (and only once) in Shakespeare. In Henry VI, pt. 2, which is not really in the “greatest hits” category and is also the subject of speculation as to whether Shakespeare was really the sole author:
“Ten is the hour that was appointed me
To watch the coming of my punish’d duchess:
Uneath may she endure the flinty streets” etc. etc.
It is absent from the KJV.
Ouches and its origin have come up here before.
@hat
Matasovič has for the corresponding P-C verb:
*nad-sko- ‘bind’ [Vb]
OIr. nascaid, – naisc ; naiss, -na\ nenais, -nenai [Fut.]; nenaisc [Pret.]; issae, -nass [Pret. Pass.] JRET: MBret. nasca ‘bind’, MoBret. naskan ‘IE: *neHd- (IEW: 758) COGN: Lat. nassa ‘fish-trap made of wickerwork’, OE net ‘net ETYM: The Celtic forms can be derived from PIE *nHd-. In Lat. nodus ‘knot’ we might have the full grade of the root, in which case the laryngeal is h3. If this etymology is correct, Skt. nahyati ‘attaches, binds’ cannot be from the same root, but implies PIE *Hned – (LIV 227; the initial laryngeal is reconstructed because of the lengthening of vowels in compounds, e.g. Skt. upa-nah-‘, cf. PCelt. *nesso- ‘closer ). IEF: KPV 489ff, LIV 227, LEIA N-4, Deshayes 2003: 532, LP 383.
Thanks!
There’s also ‘tiring house’ for an actors’ dressing-room or green room, as in ‘A Midsummer Night’s Dream’.
This green plot shall be our stage, this hawthorn-brake our tiring house.
A retirement home is where old people go for a fashion makeover.
Or to have their tires rotated.