For almost as long as I’ve been a knitter, I’ve been fascinated by the history of knitting. I’ve especially enjoyed the mind-twisting process of working with the often obtuse and obfuscatory language of antique patterns. There’s a thrill, I find, in watching a project emerge row by row and knowing that other knitters, long gone, followed the same path.

The process of decoding, testing and correcting isn’t for everyone, though; and so in this column I hope to share the excitement of the journey by removing as many of the roadblocks as possible. You don’t need to be a historian to come along–just a knitter with a curious mind.

Like a Hat Out of Hell

“Some days,” my grandfather used to tell me, “you eat the bear. And some days, the bear eats you.” It was an oddly rural choice of imagery for a man born and raised in Detroit, but the point was well taken: your place in the great food chain of life is subject to change without notice. Though I remain uneaten, three months in the arena with Frances Lambert’s 1847 take on a lady’s knitted traveling cap have left me feeling distinctly nibbled upon.

If you are a woman who spends her weekends lolling around a living history museum, you are thinking, “My goodness, isn’t that just the very thing!” If you are not such a woman, you are asking, “Why on earth would anybody make this?”

I’m so happy you asked.***

An enigmatic aura surrounds most historic knitting patterns, particularly those that – like this cap – were published without even a sketch of the finished product. This makes casting on a sort of casting off:  you plow into uncharted waters with at best a vague notion of where you’ll end up. The destination reveals itself gradually, by stages. Those of you who have participated in mystery knit-alongs will understand the appeal.

The danger, of course, lies in sailing up a blind inlet while thinking you’re heading for the Northwest Passage. It’s not necessarily that there are errors in the pattern, though often there are. It’s more a matter of ambiguity in how maneuvers are described. Miss Lambert might intend for you to Do This, or she might intend for you to Do That. You have no choice but to guess which she means, and if you choose wrong you may not find out for quite some time.

An average pattern will offer you one or two such forks in the path. Usually I like them. They add spice. This pattern, however, was a conga line of ambiguities, including uncertainty at several key junctions whether Miss Lambert truly meant “knit” when she wrote “knit,” or whether she meant “purl.”

While it’s unfair to get to angry with the dear lady – she was, after all, attempting to convey in words what had for centuries been taught by direct demonstration – I confess that by the fourth time I ripped out and re-calculated the decreases in the crown, I began to hope she had died a painful death and gone to a circle of Hell in which she is forever poked with double-pointed needles and peppered with insoluble pattern support questions.

At first glance, it looks like stockinette with an occasional ridge of garter – but it’s not. It uses radical decreases and increases to create a  stockinette-like fabric that lies flat and does not curl. I kid you not. What’s more, Miss Lambert’s clever practice of changing to a new color on fourth row of her stitch pattern causes the shades to blend gently from one to the next like watercolors. Enchanting.

It’s almost enough to make me to hope she’s not actually in Hell.

Almost.

*I know this for certain because after finishing it I wore it around the house for several hours on my very bald head. There are few borders, gentle reader, which your humble correspondent will not cross to make you happy.**

** No, there are no pictures of this. That would be one of the few borders I will not cross.

***Because this would otherwise be a dreadfully short column and the editor would yell at me.

translated by Franklin Habit from My Knitting Book (Second Series)
by Frances Lambert

FINISHED MEASUREMENTS

MATERIALS
Yarn

Historic note: The original pattern calls for a selection of five shades of any light color, plus white.

[MC] Sunday Knits Nirvana 3 ply [92% merino wool, 8% cashmere; 246yd/225m per 50g skein]; color: Cream; 1 skein
[CC1] Sunday Knits Nirvana 3 ply; color: Twig; 1 skein
[CC2] Sunday Knits Eden [100% merino wool; 246yd/225m per 50g skein]; color: Sage; 1 skein
[CC3] Sunday Knits Nirvana 3 ply; color: Wren; 1 skein
[CC4] Sunday Knits Brigadoon 3 ply [100% merino wool tweed; 246yd/225m per 50g skein]; color: Stone; 1 skein
[CC5] Sunday Knits Brigadoon 3 ply; color: Birch; 1 skein

Recommended needle size
[always use a needle size that gives you the gauge listed below -- every knitter's gauge is unique]
1 24-inch US #5/3.75 mm circular needle

Notions
Row counter (optional)
T-pin or safety pin
Yarn needle

PATTERN NOTES
[Knitty's list of standard abbreviations and techniques can be found here.]

DIRECTIONS

FINISHING
Weave in ends. Soak and gently block.

When dry, fold back front roll along the MC stripe and use a  length of CC1 to sew CO edge to foremost edge of crown.

Using MC, firmly sew non-tasseled end of each tie to right and left inside of cap, where front roll and back shaping come together at a point.

This cap is worn very high, exposing most of the top of the head. It should be tipped backwards slightly so that the sides of the front roll cover the ears. Tie the cords just under the right or left ear, whichever is preferred. When rough travel is expected, for example by coach or on Mr. Cunard’s new ocean-going paddle wheeler, a few judiciously-placed hair pins may be employed.