How William Perkin’s mauve became the height of fashion – thanks to Queen Victoria, an abundance of coal tar and some borrowed silk underwear
As it’s the UK’s National Storytelling Week starting Monday 30 January, our technical director Andrew Filarowski is here with a true tale about the birth of the world’s first synthetic dye. While SDC stalwarts might know all about William Henry Perkin and his game changing discovery, some of the details may surprise and delight. Are you sitting comfortably? Then we’ll begin.
At the SDC, we think of Sir William Henry Perkin as a bushy-bearded, elder statesman of colour chemistry. That’s the image that adorns the wall of Perkin House, our Bradford UK head office named in his honour, and gazes out from his lengthy Wikipedia profile.
However, this is really the story of a 13-year-old boy, the seventh and youngest child of a successful builder and carpenter, in the East End of Victorian London.
William had all sorts of career plans. He could have become a musician – he played two instruments. He was also a talented painter. William’s father, George, wanted his son to become an architect and sent him to the City of London School.
It was at lunchtimes here, for an extra shilling, that William began to attend chemistry sessions – as a ‘tiny bit of science’, with impromptu experiments with his master, Thomas Hall, offering a fun distraction from the serious business of the school day.
Hall recognised and nurtured his young pupil’s enthusiasm, taking him to the Royal Institution where he was enthralled by lectures from the electromagnetism pioneer Michael Faraday, who too saw William’s potential – and asked him to be his assistant.
Two years on, at the Royal College of Chemistry, working under August Wilhelm von Hofmann, William was involved in trying to synthesise quinine, a natural substance extracted from the bark of a particular South American tree, for the treatment of malaria – which was rife and deadly in Europe at the time.
Still only 16 years old, one day when cleaning out the laboratory, he set about removing leftover coal tar – an abundant, oily by-product of gas lighting – from some glassware. The substance was the focus of the quinine development process, which was ultimately to fail.
William poured out some alcohol and began to clean the glassware. The mix created a bright purple liquid.
Most people wouldn’t have thought twice about this worthless slop, and thrown it away, but it sparked William’s curiosity. As a keen scientist in training, he probably knew the history of imperial or Tyrian purple, derived from snail shells. He was also an artist, of course, so perhaps naturally intrigued by this mysterious hue.
Scientific folklore says William raced home to his sister’s underwear drawer – and his makeshift attic laboratory, provided by his wealthy father – to see whether this beautiful shade would transfer to fabric. Dipping the silk into a beaker of the solution, he realised that he had discovered a light and washproof dye in a pleasing shade.
Continuing his experiments, and recognising the commercial potential of mauve, William named this new colour after the French name for the mallow plant which has similarly-shaded blooms. He called upon his father, George, to carry on supporting his research project.
It was clear that textile dyers needed to be told about this unfolding opportunity, nothing short of the world’s first synthetic dye, and William took to the road to spread the word.
However, industry was unconvinced about this innovation – content with its rich and well-established world of plant and animal extracts, and scared off by the costs that production would incur.
William had to go as far as Perth in Scotland – a trip that took considerable time and expense – to persuade a dye works to take a risk, and conduct some experiments and trials. Aged 18, in August 1856, William was finally in a position to file for a patent.
Our image shows a fresh-faced young man at this time, more romantic poet than the ageing, white-haired father of modern dyeing.
This pioneer was to spend the next two decades immersed in the dyeing industry at a time of real wonder and progression. The more recent equivalent would have been working for Apple or Microsoft in the 1970s and 80s.
Mauve is said to have really taken off when the extravagant wife of Napoleon III, Empress Eugenie, declared that the colour matched her eyes. This revelation was reported by the Illustrated London News in 1857, a fact duly seized upon by the world’s most fashionable women.
When Queen Victoria herself wore a rich mauve, lace-trimmed gown with a matching petticoat to the wedding of her daughter in 1858, this most current of colours was firmly established as the height of fashion – and William, now 21, quickly became rich and well respected.
Of course trends come and go, and the craze for mauve did not last, but this distinctive hue was firmly established in the canon of colours for ever – gracing penny stamps, for one example.
As SDC members and associates know, Sir William Perkin went on to have a distinguished career, dying in 1907 and leaving an estate worth close to £10 million in today’s money. He is buried in the grounds of Christchurch, Harrow, Middlesex.
As for coal tar, it has since been important in the development of hair dye, chemotherapy, saccharin and artificial musk – perhaps thanks to William’s early perseverance with this seemingly worthless substance.
The story of mauve is one of encouragement, belief, family and recognition. Young William was supported by his parents, his scientific mentors and eventually, the wider coloration community.
He would never have got there alone, Queen Victoria would have plumped for a different choice for that pivotal mother-of-the-bride outfit – and history would have taken a different course.
If ever there was a tale to illustrate the importance of nurturing talent, this is it – an ethos that’s absolutely central to our work as an educational charity today. We’re delighted to share it once more.