mantua maker’s seam – Fabric & Fiction

How to Sew: Historical Seam Finishes

There were many ways of sewing and finishing seams in the 18th and 19th centuries. This is by no means a comprehensive guide, and there are probably as many variations as there are people who have ever sewn a garment, but these are some that are relatively common, and which I have found useful.

Three of these seam types (Mantua Maker’s, English stitch, and the Stacked seam) exist to save time by allowing the stitcher to sew a seam and finish the raw edges all in one go. Before the sewing machine, techniques like these saved a ton of time over modern techniques like bag lining, because they allow the dressmaker to sew each seam only once, rather than twice (once for the fabric and once for the lining).

Flat Felled Seams

Best for seams with no linings

A flat felled seam is sewn along the seamline with running stitch or backstitch. One side of the seam allowance is then trimmed down; then the longer seam allowance is wrapped around the shorter seam allowance and hemmed to the fabric. This encases all the raw edges within the seam allowance, and keeps the allowances flat against the fabric. It gives the seam a nice, crisp appearance, but does leave a visible line of tiny stitches along the seamline on the outside. Flat-fells are particularly useful for trousers, breeches, shirts, and shifts, as they are strong and hard-wearing.

Sew your seam as normal by hand or machine and press open.

Trim one side of the seam allowance. (Where possible, trim the side that will be at the back of the garment.)

Press the untrimmed seam allowance over the trimmed one.

Fold the raw edge of the untrimmed seam allowance under.

Begin stitching so that your knot is inside the folded seam allowance.

Hem stitch the folded edge to the fabric, making sure to catch only one thread of the outer fabric in each stitch so that your stitches will be as invisible as possible on the outside.

Mantua Maker’s Seams

Best for seams with no linings

In a mantua-maker’s seam, the two fabric edges are folded over together twice, and the seam is sewn along the inner edge of the fold. It comes out looking like a hem on the inside, and an ordinary seam on the outside. Best for long skirt seams. It is best done by hand, but can be done on a machine in a pinch.

Place your fabric pieces right side to right side.

Working with both pieces of fabric as one, fold the edge a small amount.

Now fold the edge again, so that the raw edges are encased inside the second fold, as if you were preparing to hem.

Stitch the seam using small stitches. Be sure to catch both pieces of fabric, and the very edge of the fold. I have found that this can be done on the machine in a pinch as long as you pin and sew carefully and keep as close as possible to the edge of the folded seam allowance in order to mimic the line of the hand stitching.

Hem and Whip

Could be used with or without lining

This is a method by which the pieces are finished individually, and then joined together afterwards. I would recommend this method most for lightweight, lined pieces, but you could also use it in unlined areas, though the hemming would show as a very small row of stitching on the outside of the garment if you use it without a lining. It is especially good for dealing with fabrics that fray easily, as it allows you to eliminate the raw edges before assembling the garment.

Fun Fact: The bodice of my Chemise à la Reine is constructed this way.

Cut your fabric with seam allowance, and your lining without. The example on the left is ready to begin; the example on the right is already finished.

Trim the corners of your fabric, about halfway between the point of the fabric and the point of the lining.

Fold the trimmed corner in so that the fold hits right at the point of the lining.

Fold up the edge of the piece so that the raw edges of the fabric touch the raw edges of the lining.

Fold the edge up again so that the raw edges are encased. Pin in place.

Do the same on the other side of the corner.

Repeat the mitering process for all corners of your pattern piece, and fold in all of the long edges to match.

You should now have all corners mitered and a hem pinned in place all around your piece.

Begin stitching at one of the corners. Stitch the edges of your miter together a couple of times to hold it in place.

Hem stitch the folded edge to the lining all around, stitching each miter together as you reach it. Make sure that you do not catch the outer fabric as you stitch.

Your pieces are now ready to be assembled.

Place your pieces right side to right side and pin.

Whip stitch your pieces together along the hemmed edges.

Overcasting

Best for flat-lined areas

This technique is by far the most common to be seen in Victorian era bodices, which are generally flatlined, with the seams pressed open and overcast to the lining. It is not the most beautiful finish, as the raw edges are left visible, though protected. It’s best not to let this bother you–our ancestors were not nearly so bothered about raw edges as we seem to be, and folding the seam allowances over in order to encase the raw edges would create unnecessary bulk in a tightly fitted bodice. This finish also makes it very easy to go in and make small fit adjustments if necessary.

Place your lining on top of your fabric, wrong side to wrong side.

Baste your fabric and lining together just inside the seam allowances.

Your pieces are now flatlined, from here on out you will treat the fabric and lining as one.

Place your pieces right sides together and sew your seam as normal, by hand or machine, through all four layers.

Press seam open. Trim the lining seam allowance so that it is even with the fabric seam allowance.

Start your thread so the knot is underneath the seam allowance. Stitch around the raw edges, catching the lining as you go, but not the outer fabric, so that the seam allowances are held flat against the lining.

“English” Stitch

Sews and finishes fabric and lining concurrently

I use quotes here because this stitch does not have a name that we know from the period as far as I have seen. It has come to be known as the English stitch in much of the historical costuming community. It is best known from this description in the Workwoman’s Guide from 1840:

The mode of sewing these four thicknesses so as to make them lie flatly when opened, is rather peculiar. Take up with your needle, three of the thicknesses, leaving the fourth unsewed. The next stitch, take again three folds, leaving the other outside one unsewed: continue alternately taking up one side and omitting the other, letting the stitches lie close together: when completed, open the seam, and flatten it with the finger and thumb.”
The Workwoman’s Guide, by a Lady, 1840

The edges of each piece (fabrics and linings) are turned under, and stitched in a way that sews all four together with raw edges between the layers. It is a very efficient way to sew fabric and lining, and is very useful for 18th and early 19th century gowns.

Press the seam allowances of both your fabric and lining to the wrong sides.

Place your fabric pieces right sides together (folded edges out).

Place each lining piece right side out against its corresponding fabric piece. Folded lining edges should be against folded fabric edges.

Make your first stitch from the outside in through one lining and both fabrics. Do not including the final lining in this stitch.

Make your second stitch from the other side, through the lining you didn’t sew last time, and again through both fabrics. Leave the lining you sewed in the first stitch out of the second stitch.

Continue stitching in the same manner; through three folds, leaving out one lining each stitch. Keep your stitches close together so that you will have a strong, tight seam.

“Stacked” Seam

Sews and finishes fabric and lining concurrently

This one is in quotes because I have no idea whether this technique has a name. It is another one that is useful for lined 18th and early 19th century garments. I also use it for a lot of my cosplays and modern sewing. It again sews the seam at the same time as encasing the raw edges, with the extra advantage that (unlike the English stitch) it can be done by machine as well as by hand. It does leave all four seam allowances running in the same direction, rather than opened out, so consider that when choosing between it and the English stitch. All four fabric thicknesses are stacked in such a way that the seam can be sewn all in one, and the lining and fabric will open out, covering the raw edges and leaving a nice, finished seam. It’s amazing how fast a lined bodice or dress can go together when using this technique.

Fun fact: most of the seams in my Dragonstone Landing dress are sewn this way.

Place your fabric pieces right sides together. In order to save confusion here, the top fabric in this picture is pattern piece A; the bottom is pattern piece B. When the seam is finished, all your seam allowances will point towards the piece in the ‘B’ position. Consider that when you decide what order to stack them in (I generally try to face them towards the back, or if it is a curved seam, towards the outside of the curve so that they can be clipped and not create as much bulk.

Place the wrong side of lining piece A against the wrong side of fabric piece A.

Finally, place the right side of lining B against the right side of lining A. All four of the pieces involved in the seam should now be in your stack: B fabric on bottom, then A fabric, then A lining, then B lining. This can also be achieved by putting your two fabrics right sides together, and then your two linings right sides together, and then placing the lining stack on top of the fabric stack.

Sew your seam as normal, by hand or machine, through all four thicknesses of fabric.

Pull the B lining out to one side and press all four seam allowances towards it.

There you have it: six different historical methods of sewing and finishing seams.

Learn to Sew Again: The Burnley & Trowbridge Pelisse Workshop

If you’re like me, you’ve read a lot of historical fiction, or possibly historically-inspired fantasy books. Inevitably, somewhere in these books, a woman gets a new dress. The dressmaker comes, takes measurements, shows her swatches and sketches, goes away, and a day or two later, the dress arrives, lovely, and perfect, and above all, finished. Now in my case, when I was young, I dreamed of reaching a skill level where I could work that fast (yes, yes, I know, the dressmaker would have had apprentices to help as well, but twelve-year-old me does not care). The older I got, and the more I sewed, the more I was baffled. I could sew fast. I could sew neatly. I didn’t actually start using a machine until I was 18, so I had years of hand-sewing experience. But there was still no possible way I could complete a garment, let along a ballgown, (even with help) in 48 hours. If you’re someone who knows anything about the differences between period and modern construction, you’re already laughing at me.

Over the years, especially since I started interpreting, I have added to my repertoire of hand-sewing skills, but nothing has shone light on the mysterious speed of historical seamstresses and tailors like the Burnley & Trowbridge workshop I attended in October. I signed up with two of my dearest friends, Amy and Melissa, almost as soon as the workshop was announced last winter, and the three of us planned for months and then trekked across the Appalachians to Williamsburg, VA. There were several times over the months between signing up and going when I considered dropping out for purely financial reasons. Even minus the hotel, gas, and price of admission, this was going to be an expensive project. I can’t tell you how glad I am that I stuck with it.

Seriously. Go to a workshop here. It will blow your mind. Burnley and Trowbridge also sell beautiful period fabrics. You can shop on their website, or check out their Facebook page.

The workshop was led by Janea Whitacre, who is the Mistress Milliner and Mantua Maker at Colonial Williamsburg. Over the course of the three day workshop, she taught each of the (approximately) dozen women in the workshop how to make a Regency pelisse from the ground up. We started by ‘cutting on the person’ (draping on a body, rather than a dress-form), and stitched everything using period techniques that have fallen out of modern dressmaking, but suddenly explain how it was possible for a skilled dressmaker to produce garments so quickly. Everything about period construction is centered around a single goal: sew the smallest number of seams possible, mostly by not sewing the same seam twice unless absolutely necessary.

Amy draping my bodice.

Sewing my bodice.

Melissa and I were very excited about our finished bodices!

Thanks Angela Burnley, for letting me use these photos!

With machines to help us, sewers today are rarely troubled by the idea of bag lining, where the same garment if made first of lining fabric, then of fashion fabric, and put together afterwards. But think how silly that would be if every seam had to be sewn by hand! You’d have to make the same garment twice! The period techniques we learned for lining are like magic tricks. You put your fabric together in a way that boggles the modern sewer’s mind, sew a single seam, and it all comes out stitched and lined! For example: did you know it’s possible to sew a lined sleeve with a single seam? You just fold the sleeve with the right sides together, fold the lining with the right sides together, stack the two pieces on top of each other, sew down the length of it once (though 4 thicknesses of fabric), turn the fabric right side out and, voilà! the lining is inside. The seam allowances are all going in one direction, but here’s the thing: who cares? When did it become more important to have seam allowances open than to sew efficiently?! The old finished product looks just as good, keeps the lining from twisting around inside the sleeve, and halves the sewing time. And it could be done on a machine, if you want. There’s literally no downside.

My Completed Sleeve

No need to worry about putting things in backwards when Melissa sets your sleeves right on you!

If you want to learn how to line a bodice in half the time, you’ll have to attend a workshop yourself, since Janea is a thousand times better at explaining in person with the real pieces in front of her than I could ever be trying to put everything in a single blog. I’m telling you: take one of these workshops, they are more than worth the price of admission and the travel time. The first couple of hours were worth the $165 I paid. B & T only have a couple of their workshops for this year up, but keep checking back.

But I suppose you want to see the concrete item I got out of this, and not just hear me geek out about all the tricks. So here you go:

Each of us brought our own inspiration images to the workshop, and I was working to reproduce this extant piece:

I’ve been wanting to try reproducing it for a while, and I’m so glad I didn’t get around to it until now.

When I was originally planning this project, I wanted to make it out of this silk from Renaissance Fabrics, but sadly, in the two intervening years, they ran out (shocking, I know). It’s incredibly difficult to find really interesting striped fabrics like this, and finding one that had stripes and florals was pretty much a pipe dream, but luckily, Renaissance also had a lovely cream, fawn and sky blue striped silk faille that worked very nicely. It even picks up the colors of the original piece.

Most of my process shots are from after I returned from the workshop. As you can imagine, everything there was happening way too fast to get many pictures in. By the time I left, I had a completed bodice and the sleeves and skirt were set and pinned in place, ready to be attached. The bodice seams are all sewn by top-or-prick-stitching (I chose prick) through two layers of fabric and one of lining, then covering the seam on the inside with the other lining piece and quickly slip-stitching it into place. Since I wasn’t lining my skirt, I got to learn about a fun little thing called a mantua maker’s seam, which allows you to sew a fully finished seam like a french seam with just one row of stitching. The Fashionable Past has a quick tutorial here.

The first thing I did when I got home was to sew the sleeves in place. Since the material is very thick and pulls hard against the pins, I basted it before doing the final prick-stitching. As you can see, the fullness is controlled by pleats, rather than gathering, since these are much easier to set on a person.

The skirt was attached the same way:

After that, I had to take a break for a while in order to finish the company dresses for the Jane Austen society AGM. You can read about Heather’s here, and Meredith’s here. When I got back to the pelisse, it was time to finish the front edges and hem.

The front bodice edges were finished by folding in the edges of both fabric and lining, then prick-stitching them together.

At this point, life got in the way again as I rushed to complete holiday gifts. But once the holidays were over, I could finally buckle down and finish this project, which was now spread out over three months.

Not unlike the project itself, this post is not getting away from me, so I’ll wrap it up here, and there will be a special 2nd edition of this post on Wednesday, where you’ll get to see collar, trimming, buttonholes and the finished product! Here’s a sneak peek:

See you then!

Hannah

Read Part 2!

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