Dress Like a Duchess: Duchess Sophia Frederica of Mecklenburg-Schwerin

  

The robe à la française

When you think about the eighteenth century in terms of historical fashion, what do you envision? For many, the period calls to mind the height of court dress, with its powdered wigs, towering curls, frothy gowns and wide-skirted coats. 

The watercolours of Louis Caroggis dit Carmontelle, painted of the various denizens and courtiers of Versailles capture dozens of figures in the height of fashionable dress, but the vast majority of women portrayed in the images all sport similar gowns.

Marquise de La Croix née Mademoiselle de Jarente 

 They have low, square necklines and fitted bodices, elbow-length sleeves with cascading ruffles at the cuffs, and broad skirts. The gowns are decorated with heaps of frothy trim, usually made of the same fabric of the gowns or else of a white material. The skirts have a flat appearance at the front, but extend out wide at the hips, far beyond the natural silhouette. The backs of the gowns hang down from the shoulders in a stack of pleats that flow to the hem. They are decadent and ornate, worn by young and old alike. These gowns go by a few different names, but are known as the robe à la française, sacque, sack-back, (or, anachronistically, Watteau-pleated gowns).

Mesdames les comtesses de Fitz-James et du Nolestin

Madame de Julienne et Madame de Serré

 

In creating historical dress, I find it really important to consult period imagery or period descriptions if at all possible. Consulting images like the Carmontelle watercolours helps to give a general understanding of the range of styles within a group of people, but shows what aspects of historical dress are most common. Our fashion tastes today are much more shaped by individualism than we might think, and so we sometimes forget that our historical forebears weren’t quite so keen to stand out from the crowd.

When I create historical clothing, I am typically looking for the rule, rather than the exception.  If I managed to time travel, I’d want to get away with it unnoticed for as long as possible.  

I had been making historical clothing for a number of years that I often used to supplement my museum wardrobe. I’d made a number of gowns and short jackets, fashionable straw hats and silk bonnets, aprons and shifts, and breast knots and more. But I had never attempted a robe à la française. The individuals I was researching and portraying at work at the time wouldn’t necessarily have need for such impractical garments, so it was difficult to justify such an ambitious, stylish (and, for the period, expensive!) project.

However, when I had the opportunity to work in the wardrobe department and act as an extra in a film project, however, I knew that my moment had arrived!

Inspiration and Interpretation

I use Pinterest to keep track of period images for particular times, trends, or garments. While I wouldn’t say to take the pins you find there at face value, it can be a really helpful organizational tool. I went to my Eighteenth Century Fashion page on Pinterest where I had saved the portrait of Sophia Frederica of Mecklenburg-Schwerin (24 August 1758 – 29 November 1794).

Sophia Frederica of Mecklenburg-Schwerin, painted by Georg David Matthieu

The film project would be taking place in the daytime in the mid- 1770s in the court of King George III. While I wasn’t going to be portraying the Duchess Sophia Frederica, the fact that the fabric I had on hand bore a reasonable resemblance to the gown in the portrait made me confident that I could justify its use. I knew where to find pink and white striped ribbon in the right width. I wasn’t going to be able to find or afford the lace that her gown was trimmed with in the portrait, but I would substitute some smaller amounts of silver metallic lace as a nod to the original. My gown needed to be plausible within the bounds of the fashion rules, but not necessarily an exact copy.

I consulted the The American Duchess Guide to 18th Century Dressmaking for some of the more complex bits of fitting and draping the yards and yards of blue-and-taupe shot silk taffeta (Abby in particular worked for years as an 18^th century apprentice milliner and mantuamaker at Colonial Williamsburg) and my gown started coming to life!

My preference in historic recreation is generally to use the technology available at the time of the garment’s life. So, if the garment pre-dates the 1850s, I usually don’t use a sewing machine. I find that handsewing is really meditative and – for me – easier than manipulating a machine especially when it comes to the drapes, folds, and frippery of historical dress.

The back pleats, completed and bound

The portrait of Duchess Sophia Frederica is from the waist up, and so exactly what the gown and its matching petticoat looked like was a mystery. I decided to trim it, as the rest of the gown, with self-fabric gathered and stitched in a way to balance the trim of the bodice and sleeves. It wouldn’t do to have an elaborate gown and bare petticoat; the ensemble would look unfinished! With a little planning and assessment of how much silk taffeta I had on hand once the gown and petticoat blank were assembled, I trimmed out the rest.

 

The petticoat details

Draping the gown skirts over the finished petticoat

Trimming the stomacher

Trimming the gown skirts

The finished ensemble on the dress form

In the eighteenth century, the material costs were often higher than the labor due to the use of the apprenticeship system and forced, coerced, or enslaved labour. Part of the visual impact of a stylish gown like a robe à la française was in the sheer volume of material. Using self-fabric trim underscored the impression of largesse and excess of the already-stunning sack-back gowns.

I used every bit of my materials, piecing together even tiny scraps of fabric to make the trimmings. This was all that was left:

Wearing the Gown

Finally, my gown was finished, and not a moment too soon! I had been working on this project for weeks on my days off or after work, and put the final stitch into the project the very night before the film shoot. We shot at Agecroft Hall, a real 16^th century house that was dismantled and reconstructed in Richmond, Virginia, USA. 

The shoot was incredibly fun, and another of the court ladies was also wearing a gown in a different style I’d made— but I’ll say more about that in another post. We courtiers had a fantastic time attending His Majesty King George III, and the torrential rainstorm that occurred that day held off until the shoot had wrapped, thank goodness!

The complete ensemble is worn over silk stockings and garters, buckled shoes, a knee-length chemise, a pair of boned stays, a set of side hoops, two underpetticoats, the gown petticoat, a stomacher, basted-in false sleeve ruffles called engageantes, and the gown itself.

I paired it with my own 18th century jewelry (made by the fabulous Taylor of Dames a la Mode). The hair and makeup artist used both a gorgeous human hair wig and my own hair in absolutely splendid style.

Descending the grand staircase in the Governor's Palace

Practicing a minuet in the Palace Ballroom

I re-wore the gown a few months later when I spent Christmas Day with my colleague portraying Lord and Lady Dunmore at the museum. I learned a lot during the making of this gown (most notably that it’s waaaay easier than it looks, but that you spend more time trimming the gown than actually assembling it!) and have made several more française gowns and styles since!

 

Project: robe à la française (gown, stomacher, petticoat)

Materials: silk taffeta, plain linen, linen thread, silk thread, metal lace, cotton lace, rayon striped ribbon.