This is the second brainchild of Kendra Van Cleave and Trystan Bass – the first was a costuming event held at Blo Norton Hall in Norfolk, England back in 2010 (read Kendra or Trystan’s posts on the topic). We had such a delightful time dressing up in a 16th century manor house, cooking period food, singing songs, dancing, and the like that we had to reprise our visit, but this time, in an 18th century chateau in France! And, just so you know that I’m not making this all up, here is a picture of my shoes in front of the chateau itself (look very closely for the two small black bumps in the center next to the glass of champagne). What does all of this have to do with Paste Buckles, you might ask? I’m so glad you asked!

Some of you may be familiar with Augusta Auctions, and the high quality historic pieces that they are able to procure. Recently, an auction was held in New York City on April 17 (you can access the entire catalog listing from the Augusta Auctions website, as well as for their past auctions). Several lots contained antique 18th Century silver buckles and paste buckles in incredibly good condition. The thought then struck me – what could be better than spending two weeks in an 18th century chateau, dressed in 18th century clothes? Wearing actual 18th century bling!! Through the marvel that is my mother (who lives in New York City, where I was born), I came away with several lots, all late 18th. The first lot was a set of larger silver and steel buckles, probably late 1770s or 1780s, based on the large size of the buckles (buckles fell out of use in the 1790s or so, and were often replaced with ribbons). These were in very good shape, and the bottom pair actually has silver sheeting which was hammered onto the steel underneath.

The second lot was a beauty of a lot – three pairs of buckles, all paste buckles. Paste is a high lead glass which can be easily cut and shaped (more so than diamonds) and when backed with foil, produce a brilliant shimmering and sparkling effect when light reflects on them. Paste buckles were incredibly common in the 18th century, but as the styles changed towards the end of the century, they fell out of fashion rather quickly – as they say, “One day you’re in, and the next, you’re out!” Candice Hern wrote up a small article on paste buckles, which is good for a little bit of background reading (along with accompanying sources). These absolutely stunning buckles ended up in my greedy little hands just before we left for France.

Additionally, see a closeup of one of each of the buckles – the rectangular buckle is in excellent shape, but with a bit of surface rust on the prongs, but the oval buckles are pristine. The rectangular buckles without prongs are missing a few stones, but those should be easily replaced. Absolutely gorgeous!

Lastly, for context, a shot with the buckles actually on some period reproduction shoes. The shoes on the far left are the Martha shoe from the makers at Fugawee, the middle pair are the Kensington shoe from American Duchess, and the third are a pair of my own work, which you can read about in Lesson 5. When placed on actual shoes, I think that the buckles truly show off their grandeur.

And now, a bit of commentary on the buckles themselves. One thing that I found particularly noteworthy is the fine work used in the steel of the prongs. The prongs, on both chapes of the buckles, are almost needle-sharp, even after over 200 years, and are very sturdy. It might be illuminating to compare them to reproductions that are currently available, and show the differences. In the picture below, the top right buckle is the Pierced Buckle from Fugawee, and the top left buckle is the Fleur from American Duchess.

In general, the antique buckles are finer and made with a higher degree of craftsmanship than the period reproductions – this is not meant as a knock on reproduction wares at all, but simply an objective comparison, as the availability and relatively low price of reproduction buckles is very attractive. The steel on the antique pieces is much finer and solid than the reproductions – likely, they would have been wrought by a smith rather than cast which allows for finer details, as casting is often more difficult with finer and thinner pieces. The top strap prongs also have a narrower neck and smaller attachment point to the center of the buckle. As mentioned, the prongs for both antique buckles are needle sharp, and do not cause as much of a “bulge” compared to the reproduction ones (as shown here). Moreover, although I have not sampled an exhaustive number of buckles (only about 40 or so), all of the buckles I have looked at seem to have chapes which are the same size and would ideally accommodate straps of the same size. The Fleur buckles do seem to have a chape which is smaller than would be ideal, but perhaps the original piece that the reproduction is based upon may differ from the other numbers of buckles that I’ve examined.

Obviously, wearing antique buckles is something to be undertaken carefully, as the stones can sometimes loosen and fall out. Availability, of course, is also an issue. However, I cannot adequately describe how gleeful it is to be walking around the grounds of a beautiful chateau, dressed in linens and silks, and wearing authentic pieces from the period! Well, perhaps a picture will describe it, courtesy of Kendra Van Cleave:

There are many tradeskills that require the use of an apron, from bakers, cooks, and black smiths, to name just a few. Their aprons differ from each other in some ways, but as this focus is on shoemakers, we will focus on evidence accordingly, but noting that other trades can often wear similar aprons. As a cookie, here is an image from the 1555 “Das Hausbuch der Mendelschen” in the Stadtbibliothek Nürnberg showing a waist-tied apron.

Most of the bona fide images of shoemaker’s aprons come from the 15th and 16th centuries, though the aprons styles reflected could also have been worn by other trade skills as mentioned above. My thanks to the usual suspects of Larsdatter and Marc for the images. Below, take a look at three different images of the same style of 15th century apron – the first a sculpture of a shoemaker from the first half of the 15th century taken from “Historical Gleanings,” CIBA Review 34, June 1940 p1243. The second is from Guy Marchand’s bookplate, Paris, 1496 (from Jãfvert, 1937). The third is from an illustration of Aristotle’s Ethics, Politics, and Economics (Rouen I.2 927, fol. 145r), 15th century. Note that none of them wrap around the neck, but instead are pinned to the outer garment just below the neck.

This style continues into the 16th century, as an image from a 16th century disc shows (from Marc). We also have an image from the second half of the 16th century, signed “Reymond Pierre, emailleur à Limoges” (from Forrer, Robert. Archäologisches zur Geschichte des Schuhes aller Zeiten, 1942). Both the apprentice and the master are wearing this type of apron.

Although common aprons that strap up around the neck and around the waist are used by blacksmiths as early as the 14th century (c.f. the images of black smiths) there are also some waist-only aprons like the one above, as well as a 1525 apron from the same source. However, in the 16th century, we also begin to see shoemakers wearing aprons that strap around the neck. The middle image is a 1568 woodcut from the “Eigentlicher Beschreibung aller Stände auf Erden,” by Jost Ammon and Hans Sack. The image to the right is from a 1583 illustration in “Das Hausbuch.”

As mentioned before, as the 17th century rolls around, there are a larger number of images available of shoemakers (check Marc’s site), and the far majority of the images show the over-the-neck type of apron, which seems to indicate that this has become the more common and popular style of apron.

The earliest pictorial evidence of stirrup use that I know of is from the donor stained glass windows dated to 1205-1225 in the Chartres Cathedral of Notre-Dame. Both Marc Carlson and Larsdatter have several images of these and other images of shoemakers with (and without!) stirrups.

Many of the illustrations show the shoemaker strapping a shoe (or something – sometimes, we cannot tell) to the top of their knee or thigh, with the strap passing underneath the foot to provide tension. Sometimes their foot is resting on a block, sometimes it isn’t. As you get into the 17th and 18th century, images of shoemakers with stirrups and blocks becomes more common (see Marc Carlson’s site for 17th century images and Garsault’s work on shoemaking for 18th century images), which is why we focus on the earlier representative images, such as the below image from the 14th century dipiction of the “Life of St. Mark” in the Manresa Cathedral, Spain.

For additional historical context, take a look at images from the 15th and 16th centuries below – both are woodcuts, and the first is dated to 1490. It is an image of Guy Marchand’s bookplate, Paris, 1496, and is a representation of St. Crispin and Crispianus, the two most commonly cited patron saints of shoemakers (October 25). The second is a 1568 woodcut from the “Eigentlicher Beschreibung aller Stände auf Erden,” by Jost Ammon and Hans Sack. Both show prominent use of the stirrup while shoemaking.

Unfortunately, for the most part, it is a bit difficult to see exactly what the shoemakers are working on – remember that the artists creating these woodcuts may only have had a vague notion of the shoemaker holding a shoe with the stirrup and sewing it with an awl and stitching cord. That is not to say that they were unfamiliar with the process, as all shoes were handmade at that point and it would not have been an uncommon sight at the market or a faire to see a shoemaker at work. Just as most people today have seen enough images of people on horseback to draw a representative image, when asked to draw a picture of a mounted rider, they might not capture all of the details of the harness, girth, spurs, etc. correctly. Perhaps the same is true with these images, but we digress.

The evidence above is not to indicate that everyone used stirrups – Das Hausbuch der Mendelschen certainly shows plenty of images of shoemakers cradling a shoe between their legs to work on it. But, I feel confident to say that there is ample evidence demonstrating the use of a stirrup from the medieval and beyond.

Speaking of which, what do we use the stirrup for? I’m so glad you asked:

- Closing the upper. That is, the pieces of the upper are butted together and attached with round closing (see this link on Al Muckhart’s site for a fine description of round closing). Essentially, the stirrup holds the two separate pieces upon a curved piece of wood so that the round closing stitches can be made by the shoemaker without having the work slide across his or her lap or the table.

- Tacking in a heel stiffener. In the same way that the closing block and stirrup assist with round closing, I find it very effective in whipping in heel stiffeners. The stiffener was found in many medieval and renaissance finds, as well as many early modern pieces.

- Inseaming and Outsoling (confused by these terms? Marc Carlson has an excellent dictionary which is good for referencing these confusing words!). As an example, and although it is not a primary source material, a drawing from a photograph of a 16th century sculpture of Crispin and Crispianus getting arrested shows the use of the stirrup with a shoe being stitched on one knee. I performing inseaming and outsoling with the shoe strapped to my knee in exactly this manner.

- Putting linen on bristles for sewing. Although I do not do this personally, Al Muckhart uses the stirrup to hold onto the bristle while he braids the linen threads around it. My technique of winding a bristle is different, as I wind the linen thread around the bristle, using my knees to tension it.

- Carrying your box of tools. I recreated an 18th C. journeyman’s box to carry the majority of my tools, and one of the curiosities was a small notch in the handle of the extant pieces. From discussion with the folks at Williamsburg who were kind enough to share these details, it appears that the journeyman would put his strap here and carry the entire box over his shoulder. The slot would keep the box level and prevent it from slipping off of the stirrup.

To perform properly, your stirrup should be of stout leather, and not stretch very much when tension is applied. I would say that a minimum of 7oz leather would suit. Additionally, you might not get a single piece long enough out of a hide very easily, so you might need to join two pieces with round closing or an overlap seam, and it’s hard to use a stirrup to do that if you don’t have one yet. If you do round close, I suggest putting a small piece of leather in between the two to help make the seam even stronger. This is a similar concept to the small strip of leather medieval shoemakers placed between the sole and the upper.

As part of the shoemaking process, for a lasted shoe, one tacks on an insole to a last, and then the upper is stretched around the last. However, to my knowledge, we don’t really have much evidence for “pliers” specifically for lasting shoes until the 1640s, and that comes from The Shoemaker Teaching the Linnet to Sing, possibly by David Teniers the Younger, 1640s, at the Northampton Museum Collection. Marc Carlson’s site on shoes is an excellent resource, and I cannot recommend it enough. Look at the blunt-nosed pliers-like object, and I think that it’s quite a strong bet that these are used for lasting. Hopefully, you will agree with me once you read the rest of the post!

I don’t want to get too involved in a discussion of historical lasting, which has been addressed in some detail here. To summarize, we are not entirely sure how exactly the last was used in medieval shoes (and it may have differed depending on the place and time). There are some clues, as some shoes seem to evidence of holes consistent with a shoe constructed on a last, but many do not. It is very possible that the last was used as a shaping tool after the shoe was made up, at least in the early years. However, there seems to be evidence of shoes being worked on the last – take a look at this picture from a fresco from the Church of St. Jacob at St. Ulrich in Grooden, South Tyrol, dated to sometime between 1400 and 1475 (from Larsdatter’s excellent site). This fresco, showing craftsmen working on the Sabbath, is difficult to read, but it does appear that the worker on the left (the shoemaker), is pulling nails out of what appears to be a lasted shoe. My eyes could be deceiving me, but it also appears that those darker strokes could represent lasting tacks.

Details in drawings from the “Das Hausbuch der Mendelschen” in the Stadtbibliothek Nürnberg do seem consistent with shoes constructed while on the last, though, and the same basic process seems to have been used through the time of these pictures, from 1425, 1531, and 1598. At the minimum, it serve to show that lasts used a “shover” of some kind, which is pulled out of the shoe so that the last can be removed. See the entry on shover at Marc’s page, and again, I must note that Larsdatter as well as Marc Carlson linked above both have excellent links to pictorial images of shoemakers in action.

However, let us move on, as this site focuses primarily on Renaissance and later shoes which show strong evidence for lasting – indeed, it is really the only way to make a welted shoe.

In Garsault’s work on shoemaking (12 in the picture), and Hartwig on the right (A German translation of Garsault’s work), lasting pliers are shown. They are of different form than the blunt-nosed pliers above, but their purpose remains the same. Garsault mentions that “the lasting pincers with toothed jaws [are] used for pulling, stretching out the leather, etc.”

Though I am not aware of any medieval or renaissance evidence of lasting pliers, certainly blacksmiths in medieval times would have had the ability to create pincers and pliers similar to these, as they used pincers on a routine basis to hold hot metal (see the link above to images of period blacksmiths). The same pincers could probably easily be used as lasting pliers, and may indeed have been used as such. Anyhow, the exact purpose of such unusually shaped tools as shown above may not be immediately clear; let me demonstrate their purpose with some more modern lasting pliers that I use for shoemaking. Below, you will see a set of three vintage lasting pliers.

Note that these pliers all have a slightly curved pincer point, and there is a knop on the side. Again, this modern style probably dates to around the late 19th century, but their use is similar to that of the 18th and 17th C. pliers shown above. I use the middle one the most frequently, but even though the hammer knop on the right is welded on, I do like the one on the far right because of the nail puller at the tip.

Once an upper is closed (that is, the pieces of the upper are butted together and attached with round closing (see this link on Al Muckhart’s site for a fine description of round closing), then the upper is soaked and placed on top of the last. In order to take the shape of the last, the upper must then be stretched over the last and tacked down over the insole. Once mostly dry, the welt, upper, and insole can then be sewn together in the operation known as inseaming. Allow me to demonstrate this process, and you will see how the pictures of the 17th and 18th c. lasting pliers could have been used in a similar manner as these more modern lasting pliers.

The stretching step is done by grasping the lasting margin of the upper, and tugging it down over the insole. Usually, one starts at the very front of the shoe and then the sides and back are lasted. With a curved neck, one can grasp the leather in two ways, as you can see in the photos below. I rarely tend to grasp the leather “upside-down,” as on shown on the right, as the hammer knop acts as a fulcrum to stretch the leather. This is also the purpose of the blunt 17th C. pliers and the angled 18th C. pliers.

Once you have grasped the lasting margin of the upper and tugged the upper into place, it needs to be tacked down. I use sharp #10 carpet nails since they give an appearance of a period nail and they are easily obtained at the local hardware store. Using one hand to hold the stretched leather, the other hand can be used to place a tack into the stretched upper and the hammer knop is used to tack it in.

As you can see, the two period hammers above could be used in the same manner, and a nail can be used to tack an upper down without changing tools. With shoemaking as a livelihood, time spent putting down and picking up your tools is time that you’re wasting. Making things as efficient as possible with as few movements as possible separates the amateur from the professional, so the construction of these tools makes a great deal of sense.

The translation is, per Google Translate: “Shoe, flat, with Cover and heel cut – to pale yellow – velvet and with bovine leather sole with embossed geometric decoration, strap closure on the instep, anonymous, ca 1550 – ca 1574.

It’s a little hard to see, but if you zoom in at the actual museum website, it does look like the shoe is lined with taffeta. There also might be some linen interlining, as there is some kind of tabby material behind cuts in the shoe on the left, but that could also just be supporting material to ensure that the shoe keeps its shape. Notice the great detail on the buttonhole stitching around the slits and the eyelet holes.

My own supposition is that the straps should actually go behind the vamp, rather than over, as they look a little bit wonky and don’t seem to meet the eyelets on the vamp exactly. A lightweight shoe, probably of turn-shoe construction, this likely would have been an indoor shoe, suitable for walking about the palazzo, dancing, or having dinner. I will simply have to make a pair – the construction will probably be much more straight forward than for a leather shoe, as the upper can be simply sewn together, but the hard part is all of the buttonholes (of which I love the look, but hate the work!).

This particular post focuses on an important tool of the trade – the hammer. In your visits to antique stores or looking through various Ebay or Etsy shops, you might have seen hammers looking very similar to the two below (if not, just type in “cobbler hammer”).

Interestingly enough, there do not seem to be many medieval descriptions or depictions of hammers used in medieval or Renaissance shoemaking. There are plenty of images of blacksmiths using hammers, but not very many for shoemakers. Marc Carlson’s appendix of shoemaking tools does list a mallet for turning a turn shoe right side out and to flatten the sole/lasting margin (that is, the little bit of excess leather of the upper in a turn shoe), and although I use my hammer for that purpose, that is not quite what I have in mind here. Additionally, it seems curious that a hammer is not mentioned even for such a critical operation such as lasting, where one stretches leather around a wooden last to keep it in place, since one must necessarily use something to tacks the upper leather around and to the bottom of the last. The closest thing we have to a hammer used in shoemaking comes from a fresco from the Church of St. Jacob at St. Ulrich in Grooden, South Tyrol, dated to sometime between 1400 and 1475. This fresco, showing craftsmen working on the Sabbath, is difficult to read, but it does appear that the worker on the left (the shoemaker), is pulling nails out of what appears to be a lasted shoe. It also appears that those darker strokes could represent lasting tacks. My thanks to Larsdatter for the fantastic evidence.

We also have an anonymous woodcut from the 1490 text “De Geschnicht de Pfarrers vom Kalenbergcomes,” entitled “The Parson asks the Cobbler to Fix his shoes.” Although not technically a shoemaker (a cobbler was a worked of old leather and repairer of shoes), it shows a similar type of hammer as to that above, and clearly being used to beat on something (though the woodcut is rather difficult to read).
Marc Carlson was good enough to provide this image on his site.

In Queen Elizabeth’s Wardrobe Unlocked (p211), June Swann makes a point that there are many tools whose use is uncertain, such as the “dresser,” which may be some knife or hammer for preparing leather. In any event, I’m interested in hammers of two types – the first is what I will call a shoemaker’s hammer, and the other is a lasting hammer, or a lasting pliers. We will focus on the first – the second is a topic for another time, since for lasting, shoemakers seemed to have used a particular type of pliers which had a hard point built-in for hammering and tacking the upper to the last.

Since we don’t seem to have much evidence for medieval or renaissance shoemaking hammers (aside from the one image posted above), let’s look at what else we have – there are several images of shoemakers with hammers from the early-mid 17th century, such as those seen in The Shoemaker Teaching the Linnet to Sing, possibly by David Teniers the Younger, 1640s, at the Northampton Museum Collection. My thanks to Marc Carlson’s site on shoes for this reference. Note the hammer on the right is on a wooden stump, likely for beating out the leather (discussed below). The one on the left appears to have a claw-type end, and could be used for pulling out lasting tacks. It looks strikingly similar to the hammer depicted in the 15th century fresco above, doesn’t it?

Additionally, we have references from the 18th century, most notably from the works of Garsault (10 in the picture), Diderot, and Hartwig (A German translation of Garsault’s work). Note that this illustration comes from the relatively new translation by D.A. Saguto of Garsault’s text on shoemaking, which I highly recommend and have linked above.

These are the most obvious hammers in the text, and they match the hammer on the left at the very top of the page pretty closely. This hammer, which I’m simply going to call a shoemaker’s hammer, is a multi-purpose tool. The face is flat or nearly flat and smooth. There is a pane at the end of the hammer, but this pane is not used for pulling nails (that is the job of the lasting pliers or a separate nail puller). These hammers are different from what is commonly called a “cobbler’s hammer,” shown above in the picture on the right as well as the two below, but I can’t comment too much on the use of a cobbler’s hammer, as I neither have one nor use one. I suspect some may be used for driving in hobnails or tacks, as their face is not a polished one (image on the left), but there are also plenty of cobbler’s hammers with a polished face (on the right).

With regards to the historical use of the shoemaker’s hammer, from discussion on the Crispin Colloquy, it seems that the pane was used for pounding the sole flat around the edge, although I admit that I seldom use it at all. Garsault, with respect to the pane, often employs it to press the outsole to better fit into the insole and last (p68 of Saguto’s translation), or to bed several layers of leather into each other (p73). With respect to the polished face, that is primarily used for beating the insoles (p66) and outsoles (p68) to make them denser and firmer. Most of the leathers I purchase are already rather dense and compressed, but I admit to not having tried to beat them out as described.

There are a number of things that I find the polished face of the shoemaker’s hammer useful for.

- Flattening the round seam in the joins of an upper. Gentle tapping on the wet seam will flatten it and reduce any possibility of rubbing against the foot, as well as make it flatter on the outside of the shoe. At the upper left of this photo, you will see a round seam which was not tapped, resulting in something of a “wrinkly” effect. I often gentle tap the inside of the seam before I last, and once the shoe is lasted, I will tap the outside to flatten it further against the last.

- Flattening the holdfast. When you inseam the upper to the insole, there is a bit of a bulge that occurs when the seam is pulled tight (typically called the holdfast). After wetting this bulge, the hammer is used to flatten it down. If you were to trim off the lasting margin (the excess upper leather) on this picture, you would then wet the holdfast and tap it flat.

- Tapping wrinkles out in an upper or smoothing out the upper during lasting. Sometimes when lasting, there will be a bit of a bulge, especially around the toe (like here). Tapping these bulges can smooth the upper to the last.

- Flattening the stitching groove on the outsole. When you sew an outsole, you cut a stitching groove first (see this detail on the stitching groove). Once the outsole is stitched on, hammering all around the groove will close this seam and encase the thread in the outsole.

- Flattening the heel stiffener (see here for more details). Gentle tapping of a wet stiffener will make it lay flat.

- Tapping in pegs on a pegged sole. In the pegging lesson, we create a hole for a peg, and these pegs are gently tapped in.

For some of these, one could use rubbing sticks or bones (the topic of a future post), especially when smoothing out wrinkles and such. But, for many of these, I find that the shoemaker’s hammer works quite well. One note of caution – never use your polished shoemaker’s hammer for nailing anything that is metal! You will mar the surface of the hammer, and this is something you ought to avoid at all costs. This seems like common sense, but experience speaks; instead of grabbing the closest thing like a hammer to beat on whatever it is you need beaten, take a moment and get a claw hammer out instead of using your good shoemaking hammer.

Astute observers might note that the grain on this leather seems a bit pronounced – indeed, that is because I had neglected to bring appropriate upper leather, and a lady at the faire was kind enough to provide me with some leather that, although not perfect, did the job quite well. The leather was chrome tanned, so it did not retain the shape of the last as well as it might have were it vegetable tanned, but I really did want to see these complete.

For reference, you might enjoy a size comparison between the small master and his mother:

And, because it’s simply too cute, a demonstration of the size of the last (with my hand as the reference – this is the only shot that is mine, for clarity’s sake). Talk about fitting in the palm of your hand!

Although much of my shoemaking is done at home, if I find myself at faire playing the erstwhile shoemaker, I make sure to bring my shoemaker’s bench, stool, bucket, and toolbox with me. This way, I’m always able to take a commission or do a quick repair (just don’t tell the cobbler’s guild!). Notice the essential “tool” at the far right side of the photo, necessary for getting through a long, hard day!

Fortunately, every now and then, a divine light finds itself in the lowly craftsman’s eye – one of the very few perks of being a shoemaker is assisting even the loveliest of ladies with a lace or a fitting. You can see the evidence for yourself!

Of course, in the end, the customer is the most important person in the transaction, and although there is a bit of room to grow in these, I dare say that they suit the young master quite well.

1) Limit the class to four maximum – as it turned out, we only had four anyway, but this is really the most I could handle easily without going too crazy.

2) No tall boots! Ankle boots with one seam should be the tallest option. Otherwise, there is simply too much stitching to do.

3) Choose three styles of shoe, and stick to those. We spent a lot of time patterning, and I think that put us behind.

4) Stitching blocks and stirrups – everyone needs to have one. It makes life tons easier.

5) Thickness of leather – don’t try and compensate for difficulty in closing by selecting a heavier leather. It only makes your life more miserable in the end. You end up with a higher propensity for breaking awls, and it makes the shoes much more difficult to turn.

One of the finished results of one of our students – not only did all of the shoes fit, but they all looked quite fantastic! Picture courtesy of Avivah.

A very large portion of shoes from both medieval times and the Renaissance had some kind of treatment on the opening of the shoe, be it some kind of simple reinforcing stitching or a separate binding or strip applied to the opening. As you might imagine, stitching of that kind takes time to be elegant and look decent, so I figured I would give it a shot. This is also a front lace closure, and the lace can be tied either on the top of the throat opening (like modern shoelaces), or placed through the holes as shown and tied on the medial (outside) of the foot. Tying on the outside tends to give it a bit more flair, at least in my opinion. =)

The binding is first caught with fine whip stitches to the opening of the upper, and then folded down and stitched again. You will also notice a heel stiffener in the back.

In this pair, I’ve moved away from using sole-bend leather (very thick, dense, and compressed leather) in favor of good quality saddle skirting, and I’m much more pleased with the results. The skirting takes dye much better, and when burnished, gives a bit of a polish to the cut edge of the outsole.

What was most unusual about these particular shoes was the black “strip” that surrounded the entire shoe. There are a couple of German pictures which shoe this type of “two-toned” shoe, and although my reproductions look similar, I’m not entirely satisfied with the design.

Here are two images of these two-toned shoes:

Curious shoes, wouldn’t you say? We don’t have any extant shoes in the 16th century (at least none that I know of) which have any kind of applique or other banding (although chopines are a bit different). Likewise, there is no indication as to how this would have been done. It is certainly possible that they are constructed like the wedges in Lesson 9 only with a contrasting surround on the bottom, but the contrasting color seems to go up too far.

I first put together a test piece and lasted it. I skived the edges and pasted on the surround strip and then caught it in with the upper for the sides. Looking back, I probably should have made the place where the quarters meet the vamp a bit lower, but we know for next time. In general, the glue held on pretty well, so I decided to go with this construction. Thinking back, I probably should have stitched them right-sides-to-right-sides and then folded it down and beaten it flat. I may try that if I ever do a second pair.

A shot of the uppers with the strips pasted down. I also realized that I seldom show the shoes actually lasted, so I decided to take a photo this time.

In general, I’m reasonably happy with the attempt, although the more I look at my work, the more I realize that the lasts I am using are just not quite right. For the 16th C, the lasts should be curved inwards at the bottom so that the welt is more tucked underneath the upper, but because I am using modern lasts, the shoe basically drops straight down, pushing the welt out further. For the next pair I make, I am going to round the bottom of the last dramatically to see how it arrives at a more period look.

The structure is pretty similar to shoes that you’ve already seen on this site, although I typically attempt something new (a new stitch, technique, etc) with each piece I do, with the hopes of learning more each time!

Here is the pattern for the shoes.

A couple of things you will notice – reinforcements where the quarters meet the vamp, a leather lining for the quarters, heel and toe reinforcements (both of which are pegged), and slashes on the vamp. Interestingly enough, the vamp actually overlaps the quarters and is sewn in with tunnel stitches which make a hidden but secure seam.

I decided that I would only do a heel reinforcement, and that I would have it straight across rather than angled like the extant piece (for modern comfort. Also, you will note that the welt stitching is easily visible in my attempt, due to the style of last I have used. Most of my lasts are modern, simply because I do not have the inclination to carve new lasts for each client and make the shoes, and I have not yet attempted to curve the feather line on these modern lasts which would probably hide the welt stitching. Although some extant shoes do have an easily observed welt, many extant lasts and shoes from the 16th C. curve inward, essentially hiding the stitching from view.

I also whipped in a leather lining for the back and a reinforcement patch for the sides. You can see it over and whipped through the silk lining for the vamp. Although I have allowed this lining to show through the slashes in the vamp, we have limited documentation (i.e. I cannot find any as yet) for contrasting lining on slashed shoes – all of the images I have seen show the wearer’s hose through it, the hose often contrasting.

The heel is done in two layers of stitching, although the original was probably stitched all at the same time, as only one layer of stitching seems evident from Goubitz’ redrawings. However, two layers of stitching does give a nice visual appeal which will hopefully not be lost on the viewers!

All in all, I’m pleased with the attempt, and I may fool around with altering the last next time to draw the welt inwards more.

The 16th C. Welted shoe – the heel stiffener is whipped into the quarters at the top, and then the upper is closed with the stiffener caught into the side seams. There is also an oblong reinforcement piece for the strap. The outsole is attached through the welt, and there is a heel lift.

The 14th C. Turn shoes – the heel stiffener is whipped into the upper, and there is a stiffening cord along the vamp opening. There is also a leather reinforcing band along the quarters opening.

Oh yes, I almost forgot – the finished products! Do forgive the poor quality of the picture, but it gives a good representation of what the shoes look like.

Until this time, I have always dyed leather by using a foam brush dipped into the dye, and with dry leather. However, this can sometimes leave streaks, and the only solution is to continue to dye until you’ve basically dyed the heck out of it. This did not work for this particular color of dye, because once overdyed, the color was simply too dark. So, I ended up experimenting quite a bit to try and figure out the best way to dye. I must also give the biggest thanks to the fabulous Sarah Lorraine (http://www.modehistorique.com) who was absolutely instrumental in this process; I was so dye-shy at points that I refused to dye anything without her approval!

As you can see, there is a reason that I have titled this picture “dying” instead of “dyeing” – it was killing me to perform all of these experiments! But, in the long run, it was worthwhile, since I got a good bit of information out of the trials, which I will share with you here. One note: I am using Fiebing’s spirit dye which is no longer available in California. The “Eco-Flow” dye that Tandy sells is not at all suitable for shoes, since it is water based and will leech out as soon as it gets wet. Oil based dye is probably the best stuff, but color selection and availability is somewhat limited.

Most importantly: Wet your leather. Wet leather will not absorb dye nearly as quickly as dry leather. As a result, you will get more uniform color and fewer streaks. Of course, wet leather alone will not get you all of the way there, but it is a critical step in the dying process. It does mean that you won’t be able to work the leather immediately afterwards, but it is worth waiting a day to get a nice, uniform finish. For darker colors, like dark brown or black, you probably can get away with just spritzing the surface of the leather rather than wetting the entire piece.

After some experimentation, I can offer two techniques of dying which should give good results. Here we go!: Technique 1: Vat dying. Instead of brushing on the dye with a foam brush or roller, pour a quantity of dye in a flat, shallow pan (or pyrex) just enough to coat the bottom of the pan. Make sure you have a bucket of water close by. After wetting the leather in the bucket and allowing any surface moisture to evaporate, place a leather piece grain side down into the pan, and then pick it up quickly (checking quickly to make sure you coated everything) and then dunk it into the bucket, waving it around. This will remove any excess dye which might cause splotching. Although you might get a little bit of dye on the inside of the leather, it is a small price to pay for an even coating of dye on the outside.

Technique 2: Dye-soaked terrycloth. When dying a piece of wet leather, I was able to get a “sheen” of dye across the surface by using a well wet dye-soaked terrycloth and rotary strokes which then dyed evenly. Note that if you are trying for a slightly darker color, you might need to apply two coats of dye. For the second coat, you probably only need to spray the top surface of the leather rather than dunking it.  Oh – and regarding cotton daubers that come with the dye, just say no! They soak up far too much dye for a given area, making the streaking problem even worse.