Charles Dickens’ novel set in the French Revolution contains probably the single most famous knitter in English literature–Madame Defarge, who knits damning information into her work as she sits calmly in her husband’s wine-shop:

 Next noontide saw the admirable woman in her usual place in the wine-shop, knitting away assiduously. A rose lay beside her, and if she now and then glanced at the flower, it was with no infraction of her usual preoccupied air. There were a few customers, drinking or not drinking, standing or seated, sprinkled about.   

A figure entering at the door threw a shadow on Madame Defarge which she felt to be a new one. She laid down her knitting, and began to pin her rose in her head-dress, before she looked at the figure.    

It was curious. The moment Madame Defarge took up the rose, the customers ceased talking, and began gradually to drop out of the wine- shop.   

 ”Good day, madame,” said the new-comer.    

“Good day, monsieur.”    

She said it aloud, but added to herself, as she resumed her knitting: “Hah! Good day, age about forty, height about five feet nine, black hair, generally rather handsome visage, complexion dark, eyes dark, thin, long and sallow face, aquiline nose but not straight, having a peculiar inclination towards the left cheek which imparts a sinister expression! Good day, one and all!”   

 ”Have the goodness to give me a little glass of old cognac, and a mouthful of cool fresh water, madame.”    

Madame complied with a polite air.   

 ”Marvellous cognac this, madame!”    It was the first time it had ever been so complemented, and Madame Defarge knew enough of its antecedents to know better. She said, however, that the cognac was flattered, and took up her knitting. The visitor watched her fingers for a few moments, and took the opportunity of observing the place in general.    ”You knit with great skill, madame.”    ”I am accustomed to it.”  

  ”A pretty pattern too!”    

 ”You think so?” said madame, looking at him with a smile.   

 ”Decidedly. May one ask what it is for?”    

“Pastime,” said madame, still looking at him with a smile while her fingers moved nimbly.    

“Not for use?”   

 ”That depends. I may find a use for it one day. If I do — Well,” said madame, drawing a breath and nodding her head with a stem kind of coquetry, “I’ll use it!”   

 It was remarkable; but, the taste of Saint Antoine seemed to be decidedly opposed to a rose on the head-dress of Madame Defarge. Two men had entered separately, and had been about to order drink, when, catching sight of that novelty, they faltered, made a pretence of looking about as if for some friend who was not there, and went away. Nor, of those who had been there when this visitor entered, was there one left. The spy had kept his eyes open, but had been able to detect no sign. They had lounged away in a poverty- stricken, purposeless, accidental manner, quite natural and unimpeachable.    

 ”JOHN,” thought madame, checking off her work as her fingers knitted, and her eyes looked at the stranger. “Stay long enough, and I shall knit ‘BARSAD’ before you go.” 

Now, Dickens was no knitter, and I know of no reliable way to knit information into a sweater.  Morse code?  In the round so you always know what direction to read it in?  I’m not convinced. 

He’s also clearly weirded out by the idea that women can knit without looking at their work, and while having an apparently unrelated conversation–see Estella in Great Expectations. 

I image that Mme. Defarge would have chosen a nice, tightly spun yarn with good stitch definition, nothing too fuzzy or novelty-ish, and a boucle would definitely be out of the question.  During the French Revolution it would have been hard to get anything other than a good utility yarn anyway, am I right? 

Anyhow, if any of you out there can think of a way to record information into your knitting, let me know and we’ll go and test it out at a Second Cup sometime.  I’ll be the one with a rose in my headdress.   

Back in 1985, my favourite issue of Vogue Knitting showcased the following pattern in their “Then and Now” section:

Anyone who knows about my serious fixation with vintage patterns will not be surprised to learn that, back in 1985, this pattern totally appealed to me. 

So I bought the recommended yarn in a celery green colour and knit this baby up. 

Back in 1985, soft and wearable merino wool hadn’t really arrived and there was no cleverly added spandex or microfibre to soften or tighten anything.  Therefore, the comfortable choice for a close-fitting sweater was cotton. . . highly processed, non-organic, old cotton. 

The Sheepjeswool cotton that it called for was very nice–much softer than most regular cottons and less string-like than the mercerized ones.  In fact, it felt much like the Eco-Cotton without all of its environmental friendliness.

I LOVED that sweater.  I wore it for years and years.  I wore it with jeans (the ones I took in down to the ankle), I wore it tucked into my pleated-front ’80’s pants and tightly belted even though I didn’t have a 16-inch waist like the original model.  It was comfortable.

Sadly, eventually it stretched out horribly after one or two wearings–especially in the elbows–and then the sleeves wouldn’t stay pushed up and I’d have to roll them and, well, it just didn’t work.  The material just plain old gave out, lost its shape, stopped looking sleek and fitted and looked faded and worn. 

Cotton is naturally a very strong fibre (and actually gets stronger when it is wet), but this one just eventually gave up.  I wonder if the 1985 processing techniques shortened its life, or if maybe I just actually wore the sweater out.

I like to believe that if only that cotton had contained a little spandex, microfibre or even acrylic, I might have kept the sweater until this day.  Although it would probably not quite fit over my more, um, mature figure.

To that yarn’s credit, the sweater lasted for longer than some wool sweaters I’ve had, but I can’t shake the feeling that if it had been made in, say, a tightly spun merino, it would be in my wardrobe today.

One mystical day, when I have nothing but time and am feeling fleet of finger and trim in the waistline I will make this sweater again.  But not in cotton, now I’m superstitious about it. . . maybe in this.

A quick shout out to Montreal animator (and knitter!) Torill Kove who just won an academy award for her short animated film The Danish Poet. 

CONGRATULATIONS!!!!

You should all go seek out the film (which is quietly brilliant, funny and moving) and note that there is knitting content.  Oh yes there is.

So, if you need to shop anywhere other than with us, go here and buy yourself something Norwegian and knitted.

Yes, I know the film is the Danish poet, but Torill is Norwegian and the film is a co-production with Norway and . . . well, just see the film.

I have this one issue of Vogue Knitting that is dog-eared from use and reading.  It is the Spring/Summer 1985 issue, and the front cover is too beat-up to scan properly. 

Not only have I made four of the sweaters featured within, but it introduces new regular columnist Elizabeth Zimmerman. 

It also featured the following image, cropped from a larger advertisement:

Even at the tender age of 15 (that’s a clue, y’all) this picture HORRIFIED me.  Not only is the sweater supremely terrible, but it is terrible on three otherwise attractive women of various ages. 

But then .  .  . there are the pants.

I think the girl on the left manages to come off looking kind of cute in a misguided and hopelessly dated kind of way, but the chick on the right looks like a badly-constructed mannequin with ill-fitting legs.  In her CUSTOM MADE ill-fitting pants.

For more than 20 years, I have imagined these pants to be made of some kind of heavy-duty polyester.  Indestructible until they catch fire and melt to your legs.  Oh the humanity!

There will be more from this issue so stay tuned!