Andrea here, musing on “the Swoon,” one of the traditional minor but memorable secondary tropes of Regency romances. Fainting is far less prevalent in today’s historical novels—or it's used for tongue-in-cheek effect—as women aren’t as apt to be portrayed weak, flighty creatures. (What self-respecting modern heroine would fall into a faint at the first sign of trouble or bad news? These days, if accosted by a villain, she would likely punch him in the nose rather than swoon and hope to be rescued by her hero!)
But all jesting aside . . . the phenomenon of fainting from an emotional trigger (shocking news, fear, anxiety, etc) is actually a real medical condition called Vasovagal syncope. It happens when the part of the nervous system that controls heart rate and blood pressure reacts to stress. The heart slows, blood pressure suddenly drops, the blood vessels widen in your legs, causing the blood to drop to the lower extremities, thus oxygen has a hard time getting to the brain. So you, um, swoon. (It’s often called the Vagal Response because the vagus nerve is involved in controlling the blood vessels, and when it’s overstimulated by stress, unpleasant things can happen!)
How do I know this? Well . . .
When I first started reading romance novels I used to snicker at the idea of fainting from shock, thinking it a silly, overblown invention by authors to accentuate the delicate feminine sensibilities of their heroines. And then, to my utter surprise, it actually happened to me. I happen to dislike needles. As in, really dislike needles. The idea of getting a shot has always given me the heebie-jeebies. But I simply ask to sit down when getting one, and it’s okay. One time, though, I must have been stressed about other things, because I rolled up my sleeve, and then remember starting to breath a little weirdly. The next thing I knew, the nurse was patting my cheek gently, and looking horribly distraught. “I-I hadn’t even touched you yet!” she stammered. “And you just keeled over!”
How embarrassing to find out I’m a flighty peagoose straight out of an Ann Radcliffe gothic novel! However, I’ve learned that’s much more common than you think. I now usually warn doctors or dentists of the potential problem. Just recently, I had to have a broken tooth extracted, and knowing that having a hammer and pliers in my mouth wasn’t a happy thought, I warned him that I was prone to the Vagal Response. He laughed and said not to worry—he had it happen a lot, and was perfectly prepared with oxygen, etc. to deal with it. (I’m delighted to report that no heroics were required. I’ve learned to control it with yoga breathing.)
Now, in Regency novels, the heroines are usually revived with smelling salts or concentrated vinegar concoctions, and in doing a little research on that, I’ve discovered that the concept of shocking the system back into normal function with a sharp scent has been around since ancient times, when vinegar was used. The 13th century saw the advent of ammonium carbonate-based “smelling salts” (no doubt discovered by alchemists dabbling in their chemical laboratories.) However, by the 18th century, distillation methods allowed for the creation of a vinegar with a more concentrated amount of acetic acid, which made for a stronger scent. Thus vinegar became the preferred 'smelling salt" of the Regency
To “sweeten” the punch of vinegar, one could have aromatic oils blended into the vinegar. It became fashionable to have an apothecary make up such scented potions. Some ladies even went so far as to have a personal blend made up. Favorite scents included rose, lavender, mint, lemon, rosemary, juniper, mace, cinnamon and cloves.
So, how did a lady carry her vinegar? Most likely in a vinaigrette! (Though small glass bottles were also used.) These small, stylish containers came into vogue during the Regency. The high acetic acid content of Regency vinegar held the scent of the aromatic oils for months, so a viniagrette was designed to hold a small sponge soaked with perfumed vinegar. (The best quality natural sponges came from Turkey, which added to the exotic allure. They were of a very fine texture, thus a small piece could be used.)
The container itself would have a hinged, tight-fitting lid, and a delicate grille inside would hold the sponge in place. Like snuffboxes, vinaigrettes became works of art in themselves. The most expensive ones often had a lining of glass or vitrious enamel, which is basically a layer of powdered glass, to protect the metal. (Vinaigrette makers had to be knowledgeable about which materials were susceptible to the corrosive effect of acetic acid.)
The decorative designs of vinaigrettes often celebrated a grand event, like Nelson’s victory at Trafalgar or Wellington’s triumph at Waterloo. Travel scenes were also stylish, as were floral and pastoral motifs. The containers remained very popular well into Victorian times. (It’s no wonder, as the tightly laced corsets of the era were often responsible for the breathing difficulties that cause swoons.)
So, that’s a very short short history of The Swoon, and how to be revived from one. Now I have a couple of questions for everyone: What’s your opinion of swoons in romance novels? Have they ever struck you as silly? And lastly, have you ever fainted from the Vagal Response? (I promise you won’t be featured in my next novel!)
