Princess with the Tiny Feet: The Duchess of York

Frederica Charlotte of Prussia (1767-1820) -- wife of George III's second son Prince Frederick Augustus -- was said to have very, very small feet. It was also said that she was short in height, not very pretty and had bad teeth. However, she was lively and sensible and expected to make Frederick very happy.

Frederica Charlotte Ulrica Catherina, Duchess of York by Marie Anne Bourlier after Elisabeth Louise Vigée-LeBrun, published by Edward Harding.

Frederick, the Duke of York, was eager to marry. He was the first royal marriage of all George III's fifteen children and everyone was excited. After all, if he did, he would receive a handsome increase in funds. One thing Frederick wanted to do for his bride was provide her with shoes. His older brother George, the Prince of Wales, consulted the royal shoe maker. The duke sent the prince a pair of Frederica's wee shoes to make six new pairs. The delicacy of Frederica's tiny feet became the object of great curiosity. Although newspapers were scarcely able to mention the princess’s beauty, they praised her for her charm and "neatness". Copies of her shoes were sold in the hundreds -- purple leather shoes studded with diamonds, finished with a high heel and only... 5-1/2 inches long.

'The York-minuet' (Frederica Charlotte Ulrica Catherina, Duchess of York; Frederick, Duke of York and Albany) by James Gillray (1791) National Portrait Gallery

Soon it became fashionable for every stylish woman to squeeze her feet into tiny shoes. The rage for the princess’s shoes became over the top. James Gillray summed up the whole frenzied madness in one cartoon caricature titled "Fashionable Contrasts" showing Duchess teeny feet dwarfed by the Duke's.

'Fashionable Contrasts' by James Gillray (1792) National Portrait Gallery.

Unfortunately, as the marriage progressed, it was not as agreeable for both parties.

The Duchess, called "Freddie" by her friends, became a bit more eccentric as the years went by keeping to herself and doting on her 18 dogs in their large estate. Life at the estate provided the privacy the Duchess wanted. She was known to stay up until dawn reading books, sleep until 3 in the afternoon, get up and play with her dogs, then read until dawn again. Her mad, controlling, but sometimes very wise father-in-law, George III, was sympathetic and felt without children she needed to rest her affection on her dogs.

top image from LACMA: a pair of English shoes, though not the Princess's, is made from satin, leather, linen (1790-1795) and the size... 9-1/2 inches.

Marie Antoinette, Big Hair and moi (Part III)

These poufs, no doubt, were impossible to wash and provided a bit of a breeding ground for bugs. Special head-scratchers called grattoirs were made from ivory, silver and gold. Women gracefully slid the flattened, slightly curved end of the stick up into their do for a graceful, discrete scratch.

Christie’s, Paris, April 2006

from Les Arts Décoratifs

The reign of the three Louis Louis Louis is synonymous with everything elaborate, dramatic and no doubt dazzling. Not one object – even utilitarian – seems to have escaped the court unadorned or under embellished. Shopkeepers, hairstylists and menuisiers benefited from this extravagance (while peasants paid the price). So why would a hair dressing chair be ignored? A variety was created, in different forms and from different materials. Fauteuils à coiffer, as they were called, were comfortable. They had to be, women had to sit in them for long hours. Cushioned during the winter months and caned for the summer, they were indented back to facilitate the fixing of a lady's do.

Christie’s, London, April 10, 2002

Sotheby's, Paris, France, June 14, 2006


Christie's, London, United Kingdom, December 14, 2005,
by Antoine Nicolas Delaporte, circa 1775

Marie Antoinette, Big Hair and moi (Part II)

By 1769, shortly after Marie Antoinette arrived to the French court, there were no less than 1200 hairdressers in Paris. Over time, Marie Antoinette began wearing larger and more ornate bouffants. The collaboration between her famous milliner, Rose Bertin, and her hairdresser, Léonard, proved to be quite a creative one and the vogue for these hairstyles lasted for ten years. Marie Antoinette began to don more and more outrageous hairstyles. She didn't invent fashions -- she promoted radical new ones – and set the trend. These hairstyles became all the rage among the aristocracy. Women began to do more than decorate their big coifs with ribbons, feathers, flowers, beads and jewelry. They crowned it with silk or lace. But after some time, that just wasn’t enough.

Marie Antoinette by Jacques-Fabien Gautier D'Agoty (1775) Musee Antoine-Lecuyer, Saint-Quentin France

In the court of Louis XVI, members competed for attention and tried to outdo each other with witty remarks and the latest novelty fashions. The most unusual hairdo would soon have to be outdone by another -- something more ingenious and over the top.

Image from La Mesure de l'Excellence.

A beehive form made from wire was created stuffed with wool or horse hair, and then it was mounted on top of the head. Hair was wrapped around these frames – and when women didn’t have enough (or it was too fine or thin) false hair was added -- building it up to soar up to three feet high. The do was powered with flour which helped to set the creation and absorb natural oils from the head. But it was this same flour that so many starving peasants desperately needed to have to bake bread.

Image from La Mesure de l'Excellence.

Women placed in their hair little figurines made from fabric and small objects made from papier maché. Their hairdresser arranged them as sceneries or landscapes. Sometimes, they used their hair as a stage to replicate historical scenes or sometimes to communicate an emotion -- sentimental pouf -- this type of do was called.

Image from La Mesure de l'Excellence.

Themes began to develop. Marie Antoinette wore a pouf à la jardinière which included such garden vegetables as carrots, radishes, an artichoke and a head of cabbage. Another woman exclaimed in glee after seeing the pouf do that she would never again wear anything but vegetables in her hair. “Vegetables were so much more natural than flowers,” she said. Women were not to be involved in politics. It wasn’t a ladylike thing to do. But it didn’t mean they couldn’t participate in their own way. Marie Antoinette wore her pouf a’ la inoculation in support of the small pox vaccination which showed Aesculapius’s serpent wrapped around an olive tree.

She wore these hairstyles at court and in town, and this had a swift and contagious effect. Rose Bertin, a mere plebeian, was now known as the Minister of Fashion.

"Everybody was talking of the poufs created by the firm of Bertin . . . one famous pouf was that of the Duchesse de Lauzun. She appeared at a reception wearing a most delicious pouf. It contained a stormy sea, ducks swimming near the shore, someone on the point of shooting one of them; on the top of the head there was a mill, the miller’s wife being made love to by an abbe, whilst near the ear the miller could be seen leading a donkey."

excerpt from Rose Bertin -- The Creator of Fashion at the Court of Marie Antoinette. By Émile Langlade. Published in 1913. I so want to find this book....

“The Preposterous Head Dress, or the Featherd Lady", London: Published by M. Darly, March 20, 1776. Yale Library.


The Duchesse de Chartres was one of the biggest big pouf wearers. She wore in her pouf small figures of her five children. Another time she appeared at the opera with her hair dressed in a sentimental pouf – nestled in it she had a little figure of her eldest son in his nurse's arms, a parrot pecking at a cherry, a little black boy, and the initials of her son and husband.

This trend spread England and to Sweden, one woman was report to have even created a replica of her dead husband’s tombstone.

“Miss Juniper Fox”, London. Published by M. Darly, March 2, 1777. Yale Library.

One of the most fashionable hairstyles of the eighteenth century was called: À la Belle Poule, which commemorated the victory of a French ship over an English ship in 1778.


In 1776 the Duchess of Devonshire was said to have made the addition of ostrich feathers, beads and flowers fashionable in le pouf. “Lady All-Top", London: Published by J. Lockington, May 15, 1776. Yale Library.

These big hairstyles created problems though. Hairstyles would obstruct other patron’s views at the theatre. It was difficult to move through doorways or in and out of carriages without knocking it over. Women would stick their head out of a moving carriage – the roof was simply not high enough. Some women kneeled on the floor for the extra room. Rumor says that many slept upright for weeks as not to muss their do. And many others would get their hair caught on fire from candlelit sconces. Lice, mice and other such things were said to have made these pouf their home.

This one is my favorite: "Miss Shuttle-Cock", London, Published by M. Darly, December 6, 1776. Yale Library.

Queens were always expected to look like the king’s dutiful subject – necessary only to produce heirs. It was the king’s expensive, flashy favorite mistresses for whom ultra-chic fashion was appropriate -- not his wife. But Louis XVI was faithful to Marie Antoinette and instead of providing excitement in the bedroom, he allowed her to spend spend and spend some more. Marie Antoinette’s end was tragic, no doubt. She lived a life of furbelows, flounces, and fandangle, (I don’t think I’ve used that word since 1982!); extravagance and excessive spending. And then she paid for it -- her pouf permanently separated from her shoulders.

(Top image from Boston Museum of Fine Art: Gallerie des Modes et Costumes Français. 2e. Cahier des Nouveaux Costumes Français pour les Coeffures B.12 (duplicate) "Pouf d'un gout nouveau..."French, 1778)

Marie Antoinette, Big Hair and moi (Part I)

I’ve never particularly liked my hair. It is fine and of a dark reddish-brassy color. I can fix the color (as I do often) but I can only do so much with the lack of thickness. Root boost, thickening spray, Velcro rollers and backcombing helps, but only for a few hours. It ultimately grows weary and limp. The only lift I have is an enormous cowlick on the right side of my forehead. That area sticks straight up with no help at all. And it won’t lie down either – despite wind, rain, snow, humidity or even a bucket of water dumped on my head.

In grade school my mom would often put my long hair in two braids. Because my hair was so fine, I would always lose one of my ponytail holders by the end of the day. Somewhere on the play ground, or on the floor of a classroom or in the gymnasium was one of my lone plastic and elastic hair bobbles. It would just slip out and fall away. I would ask the teacher for some scotch-tape to hold my loose braid together.

After the original Star Wars movie came out in 1977, I desperately wanted to go as Princess Leia for Halloween. I wore my Dad’s white dress shirt which fell past my knees and tied a thick rope around my waist. I had my mom do my usual two braids, but then wrap each one around and around pinning them to the sides of my head. But my braids weren’t anything like the big, fat cinnamon buns like Princess Leia had. I had two dinky little nuts on either side of my head. I was embarrassed for myself and mad at my Mom for not making them look thick like Carrie Fisher’s. No one knew who I was that night as I rang doorbells for candy.

I’ve always wanted thick hair. I’ve mixed packages of gelatin with water and slurped it down, washed my hair with horse shampoo, and coated my thin, straight strands with all sorts of thickening sprays and creams. The only thing I have not tried is crimping it with an iron. A crimping iron makes me think back to 1989, torn Levi’s, Woo Woo shots and a particular ‘Guns ‘n Roses’ song... all with quite a bit of distaste. It also makes me think of more recent times wondering if Kelly Wearstler was trying to bring it back when she appeared on Top Design. I couldn’t crimp then and I still can’t now. So when I’ve read stories about characters -- real people or in fables -- with thick, glorious hair I’ve gotten… a little envious.


Most of us know about Queen Marie Antoinette (1755-1793). And we’ve heard about her penchant for big hairdos. Many of us can’t understand why she went to such measures to create tall and enormous dos. Though we may desire to have big bouncin’ and behavin’ hair, to go to the great lengths as the women of the court in the eighteenth century did is hard to understand. But we need to put this in historical context. Marie Antoinette's came to the spectacular and glitzy court created by the "Sun King" Louis XIV who had rebuilt Paris and Versailles as THE style centers earlier in the century. Under his reign, "couturière" was born. Women seamstresses were taken seriously and under the protection of a guild, they were allowed to create their own dreamiest of gowns. Some of these women were specifically sought out and recognized in Paris and became the first celebrity designers. Hairdressers as well. The Sun King encouraged luxury goods, fancy furnishings and the latest fashions, and this was to entrance Marie Antoinette.

Court of Versailles was always crowded with hairdressers, dressmakers, and milliners (much like stylists today), who exercised more influence than the King's Councilors. Big hair wasn’t anything new before Marie Antoinette discovered it. Although the Sun King was only about 5’-7” tall, he towered over six feet tall sporting with his high 6” heels and his tall coiffeur. Hairstyles in the early eighteenth century were big and high, so much so that Duc de Saint-Simon who resided for many years at Versailles complained that women's faces were now "in the middle of their bodies."

From very humble beginnings, came a dress designer and stylist named Rose Bertin. According to legend, when Rose was a small girl she would sneak food to a woman in prison who was a fortune teller. She told Rose that one day she would be very successful in life. After apprenticing as a milliner in Paris to Mademoiselle Pagelle, things quickly moved ahead for her, and she eventually became Pagelle's partner. In 1770, Rose opened a shop in Paris called The Grand Mogol filling it with all sorts of grand and gilded displays. Customers walked through the door and felt they were in a jewelry box. She quickly had customers, many among them were influential noble women at Versailles, who included many ladies in waiting to the new Dauphine, Marie Antoinette.

Rose’s style wasn’t limited to clothing; she worked with the court’s leading hairdresser, Monsieur Leonard, developing le pouf – the latest hairstyle. In 1774, when Rose Bertin was presented to Marie Antoinette by the Duchesse of Chartres, that is when the vogue for the big hair began.

(Top image from The Brat Pack Blog...)

Death of the Dumbwaiter

So it was called, and not insultingly either. In the early eighteenth century, came a piece of furniture that began as a luxury and then turned into a necessity. Dining was a more informal affair back then. People wanted to talk to each other while they were eating. Small rooms were designed for dining, followed by a vogue for little suppers with friends. Gone were the days of formal, rigid etiquette and ceremony. Ingenious little devices were invented to help promote this more intimate manner of feeding.

The dumbwaiter was invented sometime during the first quarter of the eighteenth century. They were so efficient and utilitarian that they played a major role in making dining a more friendly and simple affair.

Garth’s Auctions August 2007 offered up this mahogany dumbwaiter, circa 1760-1780. It has three graduated circular shelves, the lower two rotate; raised on tapered ring turned supports, tripod base with cabriole legs and pad feet.

The dumbwaiter has a central shaft that supported graduating circular trays; often these trays revolved. They were raised on a tripod base. Thomas Sheraton, one of the legendary English furniture designers, proclaimed the dumbwaiter to be, "A useful piece of furniture, to serve in some respects the place of a waiter, whence it [was] so named." The absence of a real servant was conducive to a more intimate dining. The dumbwaiter was usually placed at the corner of a dining table to store additional plates and cutlery. Maybe even a little pudding and cheese. After-dinner glasses and other dining accoutrements were placed on the stand.

Their popularity quickly spread to France. Louis XV adored his intimate dining affairs, because they enabled him to rub knees with the beautiful damsels he insisted to accompany him to dine.

Brunk Auctions, October 2002: An 18th century English mahogany dumbwaiter. Three tiers with molded edges, tripod base, original iron spider.

Thomas Jefferson was fond of them. He lived in France from 1784 to 1789 succeeding Benjamin Franklin as minister. Before returning to America, he packed up several dumbwaiters and transported them to his famous Monticello home in Virginia.

He preferred the dumbwaiters to be raised on small casters which could be wheeled about allowing his servants to swiftly and quietly bring food into the dining room without disturbing his conversations. The dumbwaiter would be placed (by one of his slaves) next to the edge of the table, where Jefferson and his fellow diners could serve themselves. So fond was Jefferson of the dumbwaiters that he had Philadelphia cabinet makers -- Joseph and Henry Ingle -- create even more in the 1790s.


Available at Florian Papp.

By that time, the dumbwaiter had become very popular in America. Woodworkers began to make more elaborate versions of the simple design that Jefferson had embraced. Gothic fretwork, leaf molding and curves of all kinds were used to decorate a piece. Early in the nineteenth century, marble was utilized for the trays. The marble kept bottles of wine deliciously cool, which diners appreciated. Sometimes the shelves were used as knife trays; sometimes holes were cut in the shelves which proved very handy for holding the bottles in place.

Wheathills in Derbyshire offers this George III mahogany folding top, two-tier dumb waiter with graduated swivel tiers on an urn-shaped column. Note the brass castors.

Circular trays were cut along a flat line to show off the fine quality of mahogany, usually imported from the Caribbean. The slightest of rims kept the wine bottles and glasses from tipping onto the floor. By Victorian era, the designs of dumbwaiters had become eclectic and idiosyncratic. Some had holes lined with tin to hold bottles and decanters.


Pook & Pook in January 2007 sold this Regency mahogany dumbwaiter with two dished tiers joined by brass columns, nice rope carved standard, raised on acanthus downward sloping legs terminating in brass casters.


The dumb waiter flourished and then it died off. It served its purpose and then for what ever reason it vanished. I remembered seeing a few here and there as a kid, tucked in a corner of a room kept for sentimental reasons. But no one seemed to ever use them. Do we ever see them today?

Tea Time !

The tea table was a culturally charged piece of furniture. It was first introduced by the Dutch and then the Portuguese princess, Catherine of Braganza, the queen of Charles II introduced it to the English court in the seventeenth century. And then its popularity quickly spread. It was new. It was beguiling. It was ambiguous. Its surface could change. It could be horizontal when in use or vertical when not. It was foldable. It was movable. It was important.

What recession? This early eighteenth century number had an estimate of $12,000-$18,000 back in October of 2008. Someone snagged it for over $48,000 at Northeast Auctions.

Important enough to hold tea and all of the exquisite expensive porcelain and silver items with which to serve it. It signified wealth and good breeding/taste. It smelled of money.

George I walnut tea table. I like the dainty pad feet. Circa 1720 available at Mallett's.

The tea table was a symbol of social rank, civility and family stability. It commanded tightly scripted ceremonies and behavior. During the first quarter on the eighteenth century, wealthy people sat around the tea table and enjoyed their luxurious commodity. They were refined, gentle, and knew proper etiquette. The tea table’s surface was decorated with expensive porcelain to drink the tea from. Drinking tea meant genteel behavior. It meant you were privileged and you could afford it.

Tea items on a tray were arranged in a specific order and served in a particular way based on age, gender and rank. People would huddle around it. So close sometimes that hot water was poured upon their heads. Tea time was formal event, with both men and women or casual with friends. It followed a strict code of etiquette. Tea warmed the body, and caffeine stimulated the mind. The finely polished mahogany of the table was a visual treat for any guest. Little children who placed their greasy fingerprints upon it were scolded. Tea tables varied from square to circular. Some had scalloped edges, and some were japanned.

Clinton Howell.

Over the century the price of tea tumbled and by century’s end, the wealthy merchant class as well as the common laborer was drinking it. Tea was portable and easily prepared and tea tables had to be stylish enough to carry out the performance of tea pouring and tea drinking. The tea table was the stage. The design had to reflect the latest fashions. The people sitting around it had to understand the performance of pouring tea and turning one’s spoon in the cup to drink from just so. Spoon etiquette was very important. One was never to stir one’s spoon, but gently fold the tea slowly from the six o’clock position to the twelve.

Tea cups with a handle were held by placing one’s fingers to the front and back of the handle with one’s pinkie up. This allowed for balance. In order to drink a cup with no handle, one only needed to place one’s thumb at the six o'clock position and one’s index and middle fingers; you could at the twelve o'clock position, but again one must gently raise one’s pinkie for balance. And never ever pick up a sugar cube with your fingers, only use sugar tongs or else risk loosing your reputation. These codes of behavior were a way to weed out those who did not belong: The bourgeoisie. The working class.

Available at Michael Lipitch (Knees on the legs look to be carved at a later date...)

Toward the end of the eighteenth century, as the price of tea dropped more modest and affordable tea tables were produced. The elite did not like this. Accusations of over indulgence, negligence and flouting of natural social order were heard. Doctors and philanthropists published articles raging against classes other than the wealthy drinking tea. They stated it was bad for the lower classes health. Hot tea would make the blood boil and even cause death. Many of the wealthy of the time believed that the social habits of the poor must be controlled. An anonymous writer wrote a pamphlet and circulated it widely. Drinking tea in the afternoon was believed to encourage “artful husseys” to drink spirits and to vent their emotions by complaining about their husbands.

Available at Charlecote.

To the elite, the practice of tea-drinking in the afternoon among working class women meant they were neglecting their knitting and daily household duties; and instead spending what their hard working husbands had earned as they wasted time sitting around the tea table gossiping and leaving their children in rags gnawing on crusts of bread.

George III rosewood tea table with an octagonal top with satinwood banding.

Tea drinking has changed since then. Most of us enjoy the taste -- served hot or cold over ice. Brewed by the hot afternoon sun or quickly made with a convenient little bag steeped in water for a matter of minutes. Add a little lemon or dab of honey and most of us are just fine regardless what we drink it from or where we come from.