Charles VI Coat Armour Repro, Part 2: Drafting the Pattern

This is the second in a series of blog posts describing the process I undertook to recreate the child-sized coat armour on display at the Musée des beaux arts in Chartres, France. I’ll be covering the process of drafting the pattern. Find the first part here: Dyeing an Imperfect Lampas.

When I examined the coat in the museum in Chartres on July 1, 2011, my first order of business was to take a myriad of measurements. I gave careful thought to all of the lengths I would need to recreate the pattern on flat paper later. I laid them out in a spreadsheet before going to France. My best friend, Greta, accompanied me as my assistant and recorded them for me as I measured and called out each number to her. Time was short. I was only given three hours to gather all the data I would ever get from this coat.

Here are the measurements I took. Each number corresponds to a measurement on the following tables.

Measurements I took in order to recreate the pattern faithfully.

Measurements I took in order to recreate the pattern faithfully.


Chart of measurements taken on the front of the garment. The numbers in the left column corresponds to the numbers in the first image in this post.

Chart of measurements taken on the front of the garment. The numbers in the left column correspond to the numbers in the first image in this post.


Measurements taken on the back of the garment.

Measurements taken on the back of the garment.


Measurements taken on the sleeves.

Measurements taken on the sleeves.


This may seem like an excessive number of measurements, but without them, I couldn’t be certain I was accurately reproducing the flat pattern. It’s probable that with fewer measurements I would have been forced to fudge some aspects of the pattern from memory. This way, I could be confident.

I framed out the shapes of the torso pieces using straight lines crossing each other (an x and y axis) as a guide. I was delighted to discover a beautiful symmetry at play. The waist ran exactly midway between the highest point of the shoulder and lowest point of the hem. The torso pieces could also be bisected by a line that ran from the highest point of the shoulder, directly down the middle of each piece.

The front piece balanced across an x and y axis.

The front piece balanced across an x and y axis.


Note the chalice shape framed by the square in the middle of the diagram above. We frequently think of an hour-glass shape when describing the fashionable silhouette of the 14th century. This certainly applies for women. For men, however, I think a chalice shape describes the silhouette better, especially in the last 40 years of the century. Their chests were framed with bold curves, but their hips less so. The lower half of the torso was more typically defined by an A-line. In the most fashionable clothing, this A-line was enforced with the use of rigorous padding and quilting.

That straight-line flare from the waist to the hips was made all the more striking by placing the waist artificially high. The dotted line extension in the diagram above shows where the bottom of a man’s hips would end. The waist on a man typically sits about halfway between the armpits and the bottom of the hips. Here, the waist has been placed about one third of the distance between armpits and the bottom of the hips. Modern re-creations typically place the waist too low to give the correct silhouette.

Analysis of period silhouettes aside, I drafted the pattern using pencil, wide craft paper, ruler, yard stick, a flexible curve ruler and—of course—the measurements. Here is an example of the back piece in progress:

Drafting the back piece, in progress.

Drafting the back piece, in progress.


In addition to re-creating the pattern shapes, I had the added challenge of re-creating the placement of the quilt lines. The curator at the Musée des beaux arts took photos at my request, which I consulted when placing the quilt lines. As you can see in the picture above, the quilt lines were not uniform or parallel.

Final drafted back pattern

Final drafted back pattern.


Apologies for the dark photo. I did not have a decent camera at the time. As you can see, I added a half-inch of seam allowance all around. See how the quilt lines do not line up with all the hem scallops? It’s clear that the maker was not concerned with that sort of neatness. Far more important was the emphasis on the waist. The lines move inward proportionately, and then back out again, once past the waist.

Here’s a photo of the front piece before I added the hem scallops and seam allowance:

The front pattern, almost done.

The front pattern, almost done.


The quilt lines are complex and somewhat unpredictable. Some curved more strongly than others, and the curves themselves were all slightly different.

The front pattern piece with buttonhole guide and seam allowances.

The front pattern piece with buttonhole guide and seam allowances.


The sleeve was quite straight-forward. It had a somewhat shallow s-curve sleeve cap, which allowed the curved seam to run down the back of the arm and provide a fullness for the elbow to bend into.

The sleeve pattern, almost finished.

The sleeve pattern, almost finished.


The finished sleeve pattern’s quilt lines were much easier to map out than the body pieces’ quilt lines—straight lines that run parallel to each other are the easiest of all.


The sleeve pattern, finished.

The sleeve pattern, finished.


The cleaned-up pattern, including tiny godets on the side seams, finally emerged. For the purpose of reproduction, I decided to incorporate the tiny godets in the main pattern pieces. They existed on the original because the original, lengthwise-folded fabric was not wide enough to accommodate the full width of the skirt for cutting purposes.


The completed pattern, shrunk down for the publication of my article.

The completed pattern, shrunk down for the publication of my article.


I also mapped out the shape of the padded placket which sits behind the buttonholes on the original coat:

The front piece with placket overlay

The front piece with placket overlay.


Clearly plackets were a done thing, because this is not the only extant garment from the time period with one. The jupon preserved with the Black Prince’s funerary achievements (dated to 1376) in England also has a placket behind its lacing holes. See Janet Arnold’s article (citation below) for a good source of information on the jupon.

The final step in preparing this pattern was to treat the pattern pieces like stencils. Instead of cutting the fabric into the shape of the finished pattern pieces, I was going to lay these stencils on rectangles of linen fabric and then transfer the final shapes as well as the quilting lines. I planned to use the prick-and-pounce method for the transfer. These large rectangles of linen would serve as the base upon which I would build the padding and quilting.

Close-up of the upper back piece with pricking, in preparation of pouncing, which is the pressing of a colored powder through the holes to transfer a design to a new surface.

Close-up of the upper back piece with pricking, in preparation of pouncing, which is the pressing of a colored powder through holes to transfer a design to a new surface.


In the next installment, I’ll show you how I padded and quilted the garment pieces before sewing them all together. (Part 3: Padding and Quilting on a Frame)


Suggested Reading:

Arnold, Janet. “The Jupon or Coat-Armour of the Black Prince in Canterbury Cathedral.” Journal of the Church Monument Society VIII (1993): 12–24.

Kelly, Tasha D. “The Tailoring of the Pourpoint of King Charles VI of France Revealed”. Waffen- und Kostümkunde Hefte 2 (2013): 153–180.

Anatomy of my bodice pattern for 14th century bust support

I’m going to break down the tailoring details of how I typically attain 14thc century bust support, and more specifically, the kind that looks right for the last two decades of that century in Western Europe. Please note, though I talk about a specific method in this post, I happen to also like other methods with different tailoring techniques and placement of the lacing. I also can’t wait to see the work that develops from the Austrian bra-like finds. There has long been an undercurrent of rumor that visible historical costumers like me are dogmatic in our approach to such things, but I find that silly. By the very nature of what I am seeking to learn, there is no corner on the market of knowledge because so much is still yet unknown. All I have ever done is conduct experiments based on viable theories. And what fun it has been!


Henri de Mondeville, before his death in 1320, wrote in his work Cirurgia (translated into English):

“Some women, unable or unwilling to resort to a surgeon, or not wanting to reveal their indecency, make in their chemises two sacks proportioned to their breasts, but shallow, and they put them on every morning, and compress them as much as they can with a suitable bandage. Others, like the women of Montpellier, compress them with tight tunics and laces…” (bolding mine)

I first became aware of this gem from Will McLean’s blog, A Commonplace Book.

I suppose that makes me very much a “woman of Montpellier”, because I prefer to wear dresses requiring lacing and a tight fit in order to wrangle my bosom. Although, one really must ask, what did a surgeon have to offer the amply-endowed 14th century woman? I am both intrigued and afraid to know!

As with any journey from Point A to Point B, there is more than one way to solve this whole bust support issue in European 14th century clothing, with more than one result in comfort, aesthetics, and silhouette. I am partial to a front-lacing dress with curves built into the center front edges and the side seams. Of course, as discussed in a previous blog post, I still fudge the silhouette with generous shoulder seams, but I am of the opinion that changing that aspect of my pattern will not affect the rest of it enough to invalidate the version I’m sharing in this post.

This comfortably traditional pattern of mine for bust support has evolved through the years. It’s a silhouette that works well for the 1380s into the early 15th century, judging from the artistic portrayals across multiple geographic locations and media usage. I could stand to adjust the shoulder seams and neckline shape as already mentioned, but otherwise, I’m quite happy with it. To see how different this pattern is from my earlier efforts, take a quick look at the final pattern shape I came up with for the curved front seam method in my old photo essay on this topic. Keep that page open, and then compare to the photo of my more recent pattern below. Virtually unrelated!

There are a number of signature features to this bodice pattern’s tailoring. By analyzing them individually, we can better understand a form of patterning that will be effective for the challenge of wrangling the female bust.

Here’s a photo of the most recent custom bodice pattern which I use for my own late 14th century-style fitted dresses:

Tasha's traditional bodice pattern

Tasha’s traditional bodice pattern

Keep in mind that the principle at work behind this tailoring method is “negative ease”, which means that it’s skin-tight. This is not a pattern intended to skim the upper body. This is what my body silhouette would look like if it were flattened out and quartered. (YUCK!) Now I will highlight specific shapes and explain their purpose.

Under-bust points on the front piece

Under-bust points on the front piece

On both the center-front edge and the side seam there is a sharply defined point where the bust curve ends and the lines below the bust begin. When laced close, this creates a band of strength just below the bust which prevents the bust from creeping downward. It also creates a sharply defined pocket within which the bust can rest.

Bust curves on front piece

Bust curves on front piece

Note also that both the side seam and the center-front edge have a defined curve in the bust area. This helps distribute the bust evenly across the entire chest and helps reduce the tendency for the bust to collect in the middle. I find the curve on the side seam especially useful and important, even for women of a smaller size. The less important curve is the one in the front, as long as the side’s curve provides room for the bust.

Under-bust flare on front piec

Under-bust flare on front piec

Notice that the lines extending out from under the bust points are mostly straight for about three inches of length before they flare generously. This is the aforementioned band of strength which stabilizes the bust and gives you confidence that everything is going to stay where it should for long periods of time. The subsequent flare allows the dress to skim over the tummy while maintaining the appearance of a defined waist. Much of the later 14th century and early 15th century figural imagery portrays women with higher waists than we modern folks are used to. If it is too close-fitting across the belly, every little variation in your curves will show, and that’s not always desirable (or comfortable!) either.

Armholes on front and back pieces

Armholes on front and back pieces

The armhole is deeper in the front than in the back. They are both cut with a strong curve and end right up in the armpit, though you can see that the back piece’s armhole is somewhat shallower than the front piece’s. This improves range of motion of the arm in its natural position (slightly towards the front of the body). It also places the armhole seam at the fulcrum of your shoulder joint’s movement, which keeps it from binding your mobility. My initial photo essays on the draping method for this style showed the armholes much larger than I would now deem ideal for this style of dress.

The curve of the center-back seam

The curve of the center-back seam

The center back seam closely follows the curve of the body all the way to the top of the rear end. This accentuates the S-curve at the bottom of the spine — a feminine feature much appreciated aesthetically. You may have also noticed that the back piece is much thinner than the front piece. This is because there is typically more of you on the front of your body than the back, if we are using the side seam as the splitting point.

Tasha, August 2012

Tasha, August 2012

Here I am, wearing a linen dress I made from the pattern above. Pretty comfortable and definitely supportive.

Other people have different signature bodice patterns that they are equally happy with, and I encourage you to experiment until you find the right one(s) for you.

New tutorial lite: Drafting a grande assiette-style upper sleeve from measurements

Another workshop I held during my California trip was on the topic of fitting a grande assiette sleeve in the style of the Charles de Blois pourpoint. I did a quick demo on draping the upper sleeve directly on the body, followed by instructions for drafting the upper sleeve, gores and all, with measurements. I developed a simplified way to take five measurements, derive four more, and then draft the three gore shapes and the upper sleeve itself.

I provided a worksheet with instructions for taking the initial measurements and deriving the additional ones from them. I also provided diagrams of the shapes and how the measurements now applied to those shapes. I had the attendees practice the method themselves, using wide paper, calculators, pencils (and string for make-shift compasses), and a yardstick. Everyone was able to run through all the steps with minimal input from me, which tells me it’s pretty easy to understand, provided you can do some very basic algebra.

The point of this exercise was to show how a complex pattern like the grande assiette upper sleeve can be broken down to basic geometric shapes defined by related measurements. With that in mind, I did simplify it in a number of ways, most notable being that the front gore and the underarm gore are the same length in my worksheet. In the original, the underarm gore is a bit shorter than the front gore. However, I think that once you try this method out, you will be able to make adjustments, either by changing the math slightly or by making adjustments on the body itself.

The link below opens the page I put up in the Tutorials section. At the bottom of that page is the link to the worksheet.

Try it out! See if you like it. Tell me what you think.

Drafting a grande assiette-style upper sleeve from measurements, or: Drafting with your new friend, Math!

New tutorial lite: Making a dress from your bust-supportive bodice pattern

For my recent workshops in California, I produced a couple of hand-outs for attendees. Tonight I webbed one of them, a sort of fast-and-rough guide to making a dress from a bust-supportive bodice pattern. While far from comprehensive, it does contain a fair bit of useful information, especially for the advanced beginner who is comfortable making her own historical dresses, but may still be working from others’ patterns. Drafting sleeves, for instance, is not always for the faint of heart, and even seasoned experts can find themselves stymied when a particularly interesting arm and shoulder present for consideration.

Making a dress from your bust-supportive bodice pattern

It is my hope that my diagrams will illuminate the basic patterning steps. This webbed version of the hand-out also contains a bunch of useful links to tutorials and further instructions, which should give you more than enough to learn, if you are not already familiar with the techniques described. Happy dress-making!

Fourteenth Century Clothing Workshops in California

On Saturday, April 13th, at Loyola Hall on the campus of Santa Clara University, I presented an afternoon of immersion into the tailoring of two famous French pourpoints dated to the fourteenth century: The Charles VI and the Charles de Blois. It is impossible to study fourteenth century clothing without paying at least some attention to these two rare garments. I began by presenting a summary of the data I gathered on the pourpoint at the Musée des Beaux-Arts of Chartres, France, purported to have been worn by Charles VI of France. My study of the garment in July 2011 yielded fascinating new understanding of the construction details which the historical clothing community at large has not yet seen for this garment. Excellent discussion ensued throughout the presentation, and I had a great time sharing the material with such engaged attendees. When my slide lecture was through, I invited folks to examine the reproduction I’d made and to ask further questions.

After a break, we resumed, this time on the topic of the grande assiette, which is the French term for a form of tailoring seen in the 14th and 15th century, particularly in France. The armholes of a grande assiette garment were cut exceedingly large, and the sleeve cap required to fill that space was created with the use of triangular gores. By modern standards, this is an unusual way to cut a sleeved garment, and for many, translating the 2-D pattern pieces to 3-D is a challenge.

Grande assiette geometry for drafting

Grande assiette geometry for drafting by Tasha Kelly

Following a quick overview of evidence for this tailoring technique in the period mentioned, I demonstrated a way to drape the upper sleeve, including the gores. Next I demonstrated an easy way to use measurements to draft the upper sleeve, including gores. I had asked participants to bring a calculator (smart phones would do), their own measuring tape, and a yard stick. My hosts and I supplied paper, pencils, and string for make-shift compasses. Each participant was given a worksheet on which they recorded five measurements taken on their own body. These were labeled m1 through m5. Next, they derived four more measurements from provided equations, which were labeled mA through mD. Lastly, they drafted the upper sleeve and three different gores—one for the front, one under the arm, and one for the back (which would need to be cut twice). The simplified drafting mimics the pattern used on the pourpoint of Charles de Blois, the most famous extant example of the grande assiette tailoring technique. The goal of this exercise was to show how geometry can easily be used to draft seemingly complicated patterns.

A fair number of us retired to the Fault Line Brewery in Sunnyvale for dinner where I further got to know the fun folks who’d come out for the day. I was served a gigantic bowl of seafood gumbo which after eating two-thirds of it, I thought I might burst.

The next morning at 10AM, I held a fitting workshop for creating a 4- panel draped pattern to use in making a bust-supportive dress. This style of dress can serve as the foundation fashion layer for women who wish to recreate a popular look portrayed throughout the latter half of the 14th century, all over Europe. There are two basic schools of thought on this—curving the center-front seam, and keeping it straight. The benefit of the latter is that it also allows you to eliminate the center-front seam altogether and put lacing on one or both side seams. However, the former is my first love, so that is the method I taught. I also think it’s easier to get right on the body than the straight-front seam is, due to the subtleties of fit required around the side seams and armholes to make the bust look nice. I had asked everyone to bring a couple of yards of linen with them, which we used as the base fabric for the draping.

Fitting for 14th century Bust Support

A group of ladies fitting each other. Photo by Cilean Sterling.

Our hosts’ home is beautiful and there was lots of open room for people to work. I asked everyone to pair up while I grabbed one friend and fit her as a demonstration. Everyone quickly followed along, picking up on the concepts right away. We took a break for a pot-luck snacking/light lunch fortification, and then got back to work, this time switching roles, so that whomever had been fit became the fitter in the next round.

It was a great weekend. Everyone I met was a ton of fun to get to know. This was the perfect group of people—extremely welcoming and such quick studies. My hosts, Debora and Robert, were a delight, and beyond generous. Thank you, California, for your hospitality.