This exceptional pair of Delft trays presents a refined and politically charged homage to Prince William IV, Stadtholder of the United Provinces, and his consort, Princess Anne of Hanover. Executed in a deep cobalt blue, the trays combine courtly portraiture with rich ornamental detail, embodying both the technical sophistication of Delft potters and the broader cultural significance of the House of Orange-Nassau in the mid-18th century.

Each tray is centered with a finely painted bust-length portrait, set within an architectural window opening that lends the composition both depth and a sense of staged grandeur. Princess Anne is depicted with elaborate coiffure, wearing pearl earrings and a sumptuous gown, her ermine-trimmed mantle emphasizing her royal dignity. Behind her, a landscape of trees and clouds is framed by a classical pillar, suggesting both cultivated taste and dynastic stability. The upper register is adorned with stylized acanthus leaves and a harp—perhaps an allusion to harmony and refinement—while beneath, a banderole identifies her as ANNA VAN BRUNSWYK LUNENBURG / Prinsesfe van Oranje enz. enz. enz. The composition is flanked by orange branches, alongside a lion holding a bundle of arrows and the head of a unicorn, reinforcing themes of sovereignty and legitimacy.

The companion tray depicts Prince William IV, shown wearing a short powdered wig, a sash, and an ermine-lined mantle over his embroidered uniform. The insignia of the Order of the Garter—conferred upon him in 1733—is prominently displayed, reflecting his international prestige. He holds a coat of arms featuring a lion rampant with sword and arrows, a potent symbol of Dutch unity and authority. His portrait is similarly framed within a window opening, crowned by acanthus ornamentation, a chain with a pendant of Saint George and the dragon, and a command staff. The banderole below reads WILLEM CAREL HENDRIK FRISO / Erfstadhouder der Vereenigde Nederlanden, accompanied by an orange branch.

Both trays are bordered by an upturned rim decorated with a blue-ground diaper pattern, rhythmically interrupted by floral panels. The undersides are raised on four bracket feet, a distinctive feature that enhances both their elegance and functionality.

Historically, these trays commemorate a significant moment in Dutch history. William IV (1711–1751), born posthumously to Johan Willem Friso, became Stadtholder of Friesland and Groningen at birth and later, in 1747, the first hereditary General Stadtholder of all seven United Provinces. His marriage in 1734 to Princess Anne of Hanover, daughter of King George II of Great Britain, symbolized a powerful Anglo-Dutch alliance. Though his tenure was brief, William IV is remembered for administrative reforms, including the abolition of indirect taxation.

The portraits are directly based on a print dated 1750 by Pieter Tanjé, after a drawing by Gerard Sanders, a German-born court painter active in Düsseldorf and later Rotterdam. This translation from print to ceramic illustrates the close interplay between graphic media and Delftware production, as well as the widespread dissemination of royal imagery through decorative arts.

As a pair, these trays carry an added layer of meaning: together they celebrate not only individual status but dynastic unity. Objects such as these would have functioned as both decorative showpieces and expressions of political allegiance, reflecting the pride and identity of their owners within the socio-political landscape of the Dutch Republic.

D1734
Pair of Blue and White Royal Portrait Trays
Delft, circa 1750

Each painted in the center with a bust-length portrait, one depicting Princess Anne elaborately coifed and wearing pearl earrings and a lavish gown with an ermine fur mantel, placed in a window opening with a background of trees, clouds and a pillar, the top of the window decorated with stylized acanthus leaves and a harp, beneath her a banderole inscribed ANNA VAN BRUNSWYK LUNENBURG / Prinsesfe van Oranje enz. enz. enz., flanked by orange branches with on one side a lion holding a bundle of arrows and on the other side the head of a unicorn; the other depicting Prince William IV wearing a short light wig, a sash and mantel with ermine fur collar, and the Order of the Garter on his embroidered uniform, and holding the coat of arms with a lion rampant with sword and a bundle of arrows, also placed in a window opening with a background of trees and clouds, the top of the window decorated with stylized acanthus leaves, a chain with a pendant in the form of Saint George and the dragon and a command staff having on a ribbon, the banderole beneath him inscribed WILLEM CAREL HENDRIK FRISO / Erfstadhouder der Vereenigde Nederlanden, and an orange branch, the upturned rim with a blue ground diaper work border interrupted with floral panels, and the underside raised on four bracket feet.

DIMENSIONS
Heights: both 27.2 cm. (10.7 in.);
Widths: both 27.6 cm. (10.9 in.)

PRICE
€ 18.000 (US$ 21.000 export*) incl. shipping
(excl. local taxes, if applicable)

William of Orange chose Delft for its strategic advantages. The city proved both loyal to the rebel cause and defensible: it lay beyond the immediate reach of Spanish forces, was protected by strong fortifications, and benefited from an extensive network of waterways that facilitated communication and supply. At the same time, his efforts to impose greater order on the military organization of the revolt proved crucial to its survival. He strengthened discipline, curbed the often unruly conduct of the Geuzen captains, and laid the foundations for a more structured military administration, responsible for the supply of artillery, gunpowder, transport, and provisions, as well as for the improved mustering and payment of troops.

Following his assassination in 1584 by Balthasar Gérard, authority passed to the States General until his son Maurice of Nassau was appointed stadholder in 1585. Building on the organizational and administrative foundations laid by his father, Maurice, in close cooperation with his cousin William Louis, stadholder of Friesland, initiated far-reaching reforms of the Dutch States Army. In 1599, the Ordre op de Wapeninge (Order Concerning the Arming of Troops) was established, setting standardized regulations for the armament and payment of infantry and cavalry units. These measures were particularly significant for the infantry, which formed the backbone of the Republic’s army during the Eighty Years’ War and accounted for a substantial portion of state expenditure. A growing emphasis was placed on the use of firearms, and the training of soldiers was increasingly systematized through drill instructions developed by William Louis and codified in the influential manual by the Southern Netherlandish artist Jacob de Gheyn (1565–1629).

Although Maurice did not reside in Delft, the city retained its military importance. Its role shifted from a centre of political leadership to one of logistical significance. Delft became a crucial hub within the Republic’s military infrastructure, housing both the provincial arsenal of Holland and the Generality’s central magazine. Together, these institutions formed a vital nexus in the supply and distribution of arms and munitions to both the standing army and civic militia units.

At the same time, this infrastructure entailed considerable risk. The catastrophic explosion of the gunpowder magazine in 1654, the so-called Delft Thunderclap, devastated a large part of the city and claimed many lives. Contemporary accounts describe the scale of destruction: approximately 200 houses were completely destroyed, a further 300 lost their roofs and windows, and scarcely a household in the city remained untouched. Entire neighborhoods were erased, and the disaster entered both visual and written memory as one of the most traumatic events in Delft’s history (Fig 1).

This event did not lead to a complete relocation of military storage from Delft. Already in the 1660s, a new gunpowder magazine was constructed at a distance of “a cannon shot” from the city, in an effort to prevent a recurrence of such devastation. At the same time, the arsenal in the city centre was extended (Fig. 2). Further expansion followed in the 1690s, when the arsenal doubled in size; to accommodate this enlargement, thirty-one houses were purchased and demolished.

The concentration of military resources profoundly shaped the character of Delft. Practices such as inspection, storage, and distribution formed part of daily life, reinforcing broader military reforms that emphasized order, coordination, and discipline. Even after the Peace of Münster in 1648, which marked the formal end of the Eighty Years’ War, the Dutch Republic did not enter a period of lasting stability. The Republic remained engaged in successive conflicts, including the Anglo-Dutch Wars, colonial confrontations overseas, and the crisis of the Rampjaar (Disaster Year) of 1672, when it faced invasion on multiple fronts. Within this context of persistent military tension, Delft retained, and indeed reaffirmed, its importance as a centre of military infrastructure.

By the eighteenth century, Delft’s role within this system had become more stable and institutionalized. While the city no longer functioned as a centre of military innovation or political leadership, its arsenals and depots remained in operation. The military thus persisted as a continuous presence within the urban fabric, embedded in its structures, labour, and daily routines.

Within this context, military imagery on seventeenth- and eighteenth century Delftware might be expected as a logical and meaningful theme, reflecting a system deeply embedded in the identity of the city. Yet, surprisingly few such objects have survived. Military subjects are far more commonly encountered on Delft and Northern Netherlandish tiles and tile panels, where they appear in greater number and variety. Engravings of soldiers by Jacob de Gheyn, for instance, served as an important source of inspiration and were widely adapted in seventeenth-century tile production.

Based on surviving objects, a modest interest in sixteenth- and seventeenth-century military themes in Delftware emerges towards the mid eighteenth century. This renewed attention may be linked to the political and military developments surrounding the War of the Austrian Succession (1740–1748). As an ally of Austria and Great Britain, the Republic became increasingly involved in the conflict, particularly when French forces advanced into the Southern Netherlands. The invasion of 1747 exposed the vulnerability of the Republic and led to significant political change.

In response to this crisis, William IV (1711–1751), Prince of Orange-Nassau, was appointed stadholder of all seven provinces, becoming the first to hold this office on a hereditary basis. At the same time, he was installed as Captain-General of the Union, consolidating both political and military authority. His wife, Anna of Hanover (1709–1759), Princess of Brunswick-Lüneburg and daughter of King George II of Great Britain, embodied the Republic’s dynastic ties with Britain and played an active political role, later serving as regent. Their elevation was accompanied by a surge in Orangist sentiment and public expressions of loyalty, reflected in Delft faience, such as a pair of bustes featuring the royal pair (fig. 3).

A small group of Delftware butter tubs preserved in the collection of Museum Prinsenhof Delft (fig. 4), decorated with military motifs and bearing an Orangist association, combines these themes. The Orangist secretary of Delft, Gaspard Rudolph van Kinschot, commissioned the butter dishes on the occasion of the inauguration of William IV as Captain-General of the Union on May 15, 1747. The museum’s collection also includes two plates dating from the first half of the eighteenth century, both depicting card-playing soldiers after a print by Cornelis Bloemaert II (1603-1692) (fig. 5), as well as a plate dating from the same period, showing the conquest of Maastricht by the Duke of Parma in 1579 (fig. 6).

An intriguing plaque from the Aronson Collection (main image), depicting military exercises, may be understood as part of this broader eighteenth-century emergence of the visual expression of military identity in Delftware. Although it appears to be unique, with no closely comparable examples currently known, it fits within this developing context. The composition is arranged in three horizontal registers, each illustrating a different aspect of military drill and exercise. The upper two registers depict artillery drills with a cannon and seem to be inspired by Jacques Callot’s (1592–1635) series Les exercices militaires (fig. 7), while the lower register shows two soldiers engaged in a fencing exercise.

While Callot produced numerous prints depicting military drill and the handling of weapons, these were not conceived as formal instructional tools comparable to the manuals of Jacob de Gheyn. Rather, they functioned as widely circulated visual observations of contemporary military practice. Their clarity of gesture and sequence nevertheless endowed them with a quasi-didactic quality, making the principles of drill and discipline accessible to a broader audience beyond the strictly military sphere.

Whether this plaque was intended as an instructive object or as a commemorative reflection on the importance of drill and discipline, introduced by Maurice and William Louis in the seventeenth century, remains uncertain. What is clear, however, is that it demonstrates the remarkable breadth of subject matter explored by Delft pottery painters and reveals how military themes, though relatively rare, could be adapted into complex and intellectually layered compositions within Delft faience.

NOTES

1. K.W. Swart (eds. Raymond Fagel, M.E.H.N. Mout and Henk van Nierop), Willem van Oranje en de Nederlandse Opstand 1572–1584, The Hague, 1994, p. 69

2. A Geuzen captain was a leader of irregular rebel forces during the early stages of the Dutch Revolt, often commanding groups of insurgents or privateers who operated with a considerable degree of autonomy before the army became more formally organized.

3. The States General was the central governing body of the Dutch Republic, representing the collective interests of the seven United Provinces.

4. M.A.G. de Jong, ‘Militaire hervormingen in het Staatse leger en de opbouw van het wapenbedrijf 1585–1621’, in: Bijdragen en Mededelingen betreffende de Geschiedenis der Nederlanden, vol. 118, The Hague, 2003, p. 470.

5. M.A.G. de Jong, Militaire hervormingen in het Staatse leger en de opbouw van het wapenbedrijf 1585–1621, vol. 118, The Hague, 2003, p. 469. A “Generality magazine” (Generaliteitsmagazijn) was a centrally administered arsenal supplying the army of the Union as a whole, as opposed to provincial magazines maintained by the separate provinces.

6. Reinier Boitet, Beschryvinge van de Stad Delft, Delft, 1729, p. 564

7. Ibidem

8. ‘Zwaar Geschut’, City Archive Delft, published online, July 15, 2023

9. Wilhelm Joliet, Wisselwerking van sponsen en decors, Harlingen – Rotterdam, Wapenhandelinghe van roers, musquetten ende spiessen, n.d.

10. Caption with inventory number B 2-428-A

In this article, we look beyond the objects in the Van Gelder Collection themselves to the substances they formerly contained. Rather than focusing on form or decoration, we explore the collection through the lens of so-called wondermiddelen (wonder medicines): substances whose reputed powers were sustained by long-standing tradition and a belief in wonders that once formed an accepted part of medical practice.

In the early twentieth century, the Dutch physician and medical historian M. A. van Andel published his study Klassieke Wondermiddelen, a work rooted in a growing interest among physicians in the history of their own discipline. Van Andel did not approach these remedies as curiosities or superstitions to be dismissed, but as an accepted part of earlier medical practice, using them to illustrate how deeply tradition and belief in wonders had shaped pre-modern medical practice.¹

Remarkably, Van Andel wrote from Gorinchem, the same town in which the pharmacist Van Gelder would later establish his own pharmacy. What at first appears to be a minor coincidence proved a fruitful point of departure for connecting Van Andel’s historical perspective with the material legacy preserved in the Van Gelder Collection. Where Van Andel reconstructed a medical worldview that has largely receded in the western world through texts and historical sources, the Van Gelder Collection preserved its material remains.

Among the many substances discussed by Van Andel, adeps hominis stands out as one of the most striking examples. Known in medical Latin as adeps hominis, and often obtained from the bodies of executed criminals, hence its vernacular designation beulszalf (executioner’s creme), it was prescribed for wounds, rheumatism, and disorders of the nerves.² Its use reflects a set of assumptions fundamental to apothecary practice: the belief in transferable qualities, the authority of long-established tradition, and the search for substances endowed with extraordinary efficacy. According to this logic, vital force was thought not to vanish immediately at death, but to remain active in bodily matter and capable of being transmitted through it. Fat taken from individuals who had died suddenly in full health and physical strength, was therefore considered especially potent. Although such remedies gradually disappeared from regulated pharmaceutical practice, the broader medical logic they exemplified also informed the use of other animal, vegetal, and mineral substances in early modern medicine, albeit on different grounds.

While the apothecary ceramics assembled by Van Gelder do not include vessels associated with adeps hominis, they do preserve inscriptions naming substances that occupied a similar conceptual space.

One such substance is dragon blood, Sanguis Draconis. Despite its evocative name, it is neither blood nor connected to the world of dragons, but a deep red gum-like resin obtained from trees native to the Canary Islands and Madeira, as well as from various tropical plants (Fig. 1).³ In early modern Europe, however, the distinction between appearance and material reality was far less decisive. Its vivid color and suggestive name encouraged its interpretation as a powerful vital substance. Sanguis Draconis was used primarily for wound treatment and to staunch bleeding, applications that aligned closely with its perceived sanguine nature. The belief that the “blood of a dragon” could restore or protect human blood exemplifies a medical imagination shaped by analogy and symbolism. A vessel inscribed Sang. Dragon. thus records not only a medicinal substance, but a way of thinking (Fig. 2).

Equally charged, though rooted in the animal world, was castoreum, inscribed on apothecary jars in the collection as O(leum) Castorei (Fig. 3). This pungent substance was obtained from the scent glands of the beaver and was widely prescribed for nervous disorders, convulsions, and what early physicians described as hysteria. Castoreum was surrounded by a persistent and vivid myth, already circulating in antiquity and recorded by authors such as Pliny the Elder: the belief that a hunted beaver would bite off its own testicles to escape, sacrificing part of itself to survive.⁴ This misconception also led to the erroneous assumption that castoreum itself was derived from the testicles rather than from specialized scent glands. Although anatomically false, the story lent castoreum an aura of self-sacrifice and extraordinary potency. Its repellent odor, rather than undermining confidence in the remedy, was taken as proof of its strength. At the same time, castoreum does possess genuine pharmacological properties, as it contains salicylic acid, a compound derived from the beaver’s diet of willow bark.⁵ In this sense, Oleum Castorei functioned as a wonder medicine whose reputation was shaped by both myth and measurable effect

A more subtle, but no less evocative substance is spermaceti. Spermaceti is a waxy material extracted from the head of the sperm whale, an animal that early modern Europeans knew primarily through perilous maritime encounters (Fig. 4). It is encountered in the collection on a vessel inscribed u ceti u spermat:ceti (Fig. 5). Literally, the inscription reads Unguentum Ceti sive Sperma Ceti (ointment of ceti, that is, spermaceti). The double formulation reflects early modern pharmaceutical practice, in which a single substance could circulate under different names in medical literature and prescriptions, and served to ensure clear identification rather than grammatical precision.  Whales occupied a liminal position between the known and the monstrous, and substances derived from them inherited this ambiguity. Spermaceti was valued for its cooling, soothing, and restorative qualities and was widely used in ointments for burns, wounds, and skin conditions. Its perceived efficacy drew not only on practical experience, but also on its exotic origin and the dangers involved in its acquisition. As with many wonder medicines, rarity and risk enhanced therapeutic credibility. The cylindrical jar mentioned above, shows that this substance was used around 1810.

Together, these substances, human fat, dragon blood, castoreum, and spermaceti, each grounded in different forms of tradition and experience, reveal a medical culture in which belief, observation, and material practice were closely intertwined. The pharmaceutical ceramics of the Van Gelder Collection give material form to this world and offer a rare and compelling insight into the enduring power of wonder within the history of medicine.

Notes

1. M.A. van Andel, Klassieke Wondermiddelen, Gorinchem, 1928, p. 3

2. Van Andel, 1928, p. 49

3. Nationaal Farmaceutisch Museum, collection no. 193

4. Igor Rosa, From Scythia to Sarmatia – Medical Use of Beaverʼs Body Parts from the  Antiquity to the Early Modern Period, Bratislava, 2018, p. 9

5. Rosa, 2018, pp. 7-8

Delft flower baskets, intended for floral arrangements, have formed part of the repertoire of Delft potteries since the later seventeenth century. Certain workshops even appointed specialists devoted exclusively to the production of these so-called bennetjes. Dated examples reveal that they were frequently commissioned as gifts for festive or ceremonial occasions, underscoring their dual function as both utilitarian and ornamental objects. Their presence in distinguished collections, including that of Paleis Het Loo, attests to their prestige.

This mid-eighteenth-century pair, with its intended use indicated on the bottom, confirms that the tradition of arranging flowers in ceramic baskets continued, albeit on a more modest scale. The relatively small number of surviving eighteenth-century examples suggests that the practice reached its zenith in the final quarter of the seventeenth century. The delicately pierced body and carefully executed decoration of this pair point to the hand of an accomplished and experienced maker.

D2554
Blue and White Pair of Open Work Baskets
Delft, circa 1750

Each marked IB in blue for Justus Brouwer of De Porceleyne Byl (The Porcelain Axe) factory from 1739 to 1775

Each finely painted with an elaborate central scene depicting a basket brimming with fruit, resting on an ornate baroque table and surrounded by delicately rendered insects and butterflies, the pierced sides highlighted in cobalt blue, the handles molded in the form of interlocking dolphins, the upper rim featuring a scrollwork band both on the exterior and the interior, the lower exterior decorated with a geometrical band of squares and triangles with stripes in the middle.

DIMENSIONS
Width: 25.5 and 26 cm. (10 and 10.2 in.)

PROVENANCE
Cor & An Erwich (Barbet) Collection, Belgium;
Aronson Antiquairs, Amsterdam

PRICE
€ 26.000 (US$ 31.000 export*) incl. shipping
(excl. local taxes, if applicable)

For thousands of years, salt has been an indispensable commodity. Essential for preserving and flavoring food, it once held such universal value that it functioned as an international medium of exchange. In antiquity, Roman soldiers were famously paid in salt, giving rise to the Latin salarium, the origin of the modern word “salary.” Salt was also among the earliest commodities to be taxed, with records of salt taxation in China dating back as far as 2000 BC. Given its economic and cultural importance, it is hardly surprising that salt occupied a prominent place on medieval and Renaissance dining tables.

Salt cellars, often referred to simply as “salts”, were designed to contain this precious substance, with the earliest known examples already in use in classical Rome. Beyond their practical function, salts served as powerful social indicators. The quality of salt presented by a host reflected both wealth and status, while a guest’s position at the table could be judged by their proximity to the salt cellar: to sit “above the salt” was a mark of distinction. The most luxurious salts were fashioned from precious metals, while others were made from porcelain, earthenware, or pewter.

By the late seventeenth and early eighteenth centuries, the symbolic significance of salt gradually diminished, and salt cellars became correspondingly smaller. The present Delft salt cellar, however, belongs to an earlier tradition. Its square form and notable height point to a period when salt still held considerable ceremonial importance. Archival sources confirm that square salts were produced in Delft from at least 1667 onwards, yet very few examples of this particular model have survived. As such, this piece offers a rare and evocative glimpse into the rituals and hierarchies of the seventeenth-century table.

D2512
Blue and White Square Salt Cellar
Delft, circa 1670

Biconical vessel on a square base with four round feet in each corner, continuous decoration with on each side a figure in a various landscape, at the top, a square basin with a cherry motif surrounded by a band of scroll work.

DIMENSIONS
Height: 12 cm. (4.7 in.)

PROVENANCE
German Private Collection, Hessen

With TEFAF 2026 in sight, we are greatly looking forward to presenting our collection in Maastricht and would like to offer a first preview of a remarkable ensemble. The group consists of eight Delftware plates, accompanied by a vase and a butter tub, both dated 1720. Together, they form a rare and unusually coherent ceramic response to one of the earliest market collapses in modern financial history.

Although comparable in certain respects to the Dutch tulip mania of the 1630s, this crisis grew out of a new form of speculative share trading that increasingly detached itself from underlying value. In England, a large public debt, intensified by years of warfare including the War of the Spanish Succession (1701–1713), was addressed through an unconventional measure, converting government debt into shares issued by chartered trading companies. This solution significantly lowered the interest payments on government debt.¹ In 1711 the South Sea Company was founded as part of this framework. Inspired by the English model, the Scottish financier John Law proposed comparable strategies to France, and in 1719 the Compagnie des Indes was created, often referred to as the Mississippi Company (Fig. 1).^{2 3}  Investors bought shares on a massive scale, encouraged by the promise of extraordinary overseas profits and by the visible involvement of government.

The boom could not last. Prices rose so sharply that shares became a vehicle for rapid resale, sometimes even traded for profit before they had been fully paid for. When it became clear that expected commercial returns would never match the inflated prices, markets collapsed and many were left with worthless holdings and severe debts. News of the collapse spread rapidly across Europe, and the events of 1720 were discussed, analyzed, and satirized far beyond England.

Although share trading was not new in the Dutch Republic, notably through long-established companies such as the VOC, widely regarded as the first company in the world to issue permanent, freely tradable shares, the events of 1720 marked a shift in scale and character. Many Dutch investors also participated in South Sea Company shares, linking Dutch capital directly to the speculative boom in London and ensuring that developments abroad were closely followed at home.⁴ In June of that year, speculation became widespread in the Netherlands, rapid resale replaced long-term investment, and newly proposed companies multiplied at an unprecedented pace. At its height, around thirty-one such companies existed on paper and an estimated 300 million guilders were invested in shares.⁵ Several cities, including Amsterdam, Leiden, and Haarlem, prevented local companies from taking shape by issuing bans, and by October 1720 trading was being curtailed across the Republic.

Compared with England and France, the damage in the Dutch Republic remained more limited, partly because state capital was not tied to the same degree to these ventures, and because participation remained relatively contained.⁶ Even so, the crisis was widely discussed and generated public tension, particularly among the urban poor, who feared economic hardship.⁷ In Amsterdam, unrest on October 5, 1720 became known as the Actiepest, with violence directed at share traders around the Engelsche Koffiehuis, known as Quincampoix, after the bankers’ district in Paris (Fig. 2).⁸

The Dutch response was immediate and highly visible in print. Satire became a dominant way of describing the crisis, and the best-known compilation is Het Groote Tafereel der Dwaasheid (1720), which collected texts and images mocking the logic of “paper wealth,” the theater of speculation, and the speed with which crowds could be drawn into a shared illusion.⁹ It is within this environment, where topical imagery circulated quickly and widely, that Delftware satire makes particular sense (Fig. 3). Delft potters were well placed to translate familiar figures and short slogans into ceramics, and practical forms such as plates and household vessels offered an ideal surface for direct and recognizable commentary that could even serve as conversation pieces.

The group of Delftware objects that will be presented at TEFAF in March, belongs to this satirical tradition. The so-called actie imagery on Delftware frequently depicts commedia dell’arte characters, Harlequin figures, fools, jugglers, and more conventionally dressed figures representing traders holding share certificates and contracts (Fig. 4). Their inscriptions read like pointed captions, designed to be understood at a glance. Such pieces compress a complex financial event into a sharp visual shorthand, turning speculation into theater and bringing that theater into domestic space.¹⁰

The inscriptions found on this group are an integral part of its satirical programme. Rendered in deliberately corrupted Dutch and French, they evoke the shouted slogans and market cries of early-eighteenth-century share trading: “Wie wil premie” (“Who wants a premium?”), “Loop axsies” (“Buy shares!”), “Actions à vendre” (“Shares for sale”), and “Ik win op axsies” (“I profit from shares”). These confident assertions are countered by more sardonic phrases such as “Sotte axsie” (“Foolish shares”) and “Pouvres actions” (“Poor shares”), which, read with the benefit of hindsight, underline the rapid collapse of speculative optimism. The fractured spelling of acties as axsies, along with phrases that verge on nonsense, is intentional and mirrors the confusion, bravado, and collective delusion that characterised the financial mania of the 1720s. Together, these texts transform the objects into rare ceramic witnesses of the South Sea Bubble, capturing both the language of speculation and the moral critique that followed its disastrous end.

Related Chinese export porcelain versions made for the Dutch market raise the question of purpose and suggest that these objects were likely intended not only as commentary, but also as a cautionary lesson for Dutch audiences, a warning against speculative schemes and the risk of placing hard-earned profits into fragile paper ventures (Fig. 5).¹¹

This satirical Delftware ensemble was part of the Meentwijck Collection of Dutch banker and stockbroker Dirk Nienhuis and his wife Liesbeth. Their collection was named after the villa they purchased in Bussum, a house designed in 1912 by the renowned Dutch architect and designer K.P.C. de Bazel (Fig. 6). The villa takes its name from De Bazel’s residence on the nearby Meentweg. Over time, it became closely associated with an impressive and wide-ranging collection of Dutch applied arts from approximately 1890 to 1940, now widely known as the Meentwijck Collection.

Nienhuis began collecting with stamps and weights, favoring objects with intrinsic value that were easily tradable, and later expanded the collection to include ceramics, glass, clocks, jewelry, lamps, and posters. His attention to a period that was not yet widely fashionable meant that prices were often modest at the time, while the quality of his selections helped shape later appreciation, attracting the interest of museums and collectors. Within that context, the Delft plates, alongside the vase and butter tub dated 1720, stand slightly apart from the collection’s usual period and focus. Their presence adds a distinctive historical dimension, bringing the world of commerce and financial history into dialogue with the applied arts that otherwise define the Meentwijck Collection, and may be understood in light of Nienhuis’s professional background in banking and securities trading.

Three centuries after the crash, these objects remain compelling for reasons that go beyond rarity alone. They show how quickly financial crises enter culture, how satire can function as a form of public analysis, and how these Delftware objects, as part of the decorative arts, can carry sharp commentary without leaving the domestic sphere. It is difficult not to recognize familiar patterns, whether in the dot-com boom, housing bubbles, or crypto euphoria. The tools change, but the sequence remains the same, the promise of easy gain, the acceleration of imitation, the moment when belief outruns reality, and the sudden reversal. For that reason, the caution embedded in these objects remains relevant, inviting reflection well beyond their historical moment.

Notes

1. Jeroen Salman, “Spelen met de financiële crisis van 1720. De Aprilkaart in Het Groote Tafereel der Dwaasheid,” in: Historisch Tijdschrift Holland, vol. 42, no. 3, 2010, p. 179.
2. The poem in this print may be translated as follows: “This is Law, so great, so extraordinary, who turns one into a hundred thousand; and while these finances thrive, Paris calls itself a second Peru; but once silver and trust run dry, it is the end of Quincampoix.” In this context, “Peru” refers to mythical wealth associated with gold and silver, while “Quincampoix” denotes the Parisian district where much of the speculative trading associated with Law took place, and by extension the financial system as a whole. The horse beneath John Law is depicted defecating coins, a satirical image intended to ridicule the illusion of effortless wealth.
3. Salman, 2010, p. 179.
4. Halde van Rijn, “De windhandel van 1720,” published online on Oneindig Noord-Holland, 26 March 2012.
5. J. A. Worp, “De windhandel op het tooneel,” in: Noord en Zuid, vol. 24, Culemborg, 1901, p. 381; and Van Rijn 2012.
6. Salman 2010, pp. 179–180.
7. Pieter Langendijk, Quincampoix of de windhandelaars en Arlequyn Actionist, 1720′, new edition by C. H. Ph. Meijer, Zutphen, 1892, p. 14.
8. Langendijk, ed. Meijer 1892, p. 8 and pp. 14–15.
9. Kuniko Forrer, “De wereld is vol gekken: de ontstaansgeschiedenis van Het Groote Tafereel der Dwaasheid,” in: De Boekenwereld, vol. 14, March 1998, p. 109.
10. D. Howard and J. Ayers, China for the West, London, 1978, vol. I, pp. 234–235.
11. Ibidem.

]]> https://www.aronson.com/actie-delftware-from-the-meentwijck-collection/feed/ 0 https://www.aronson.com/blue-white-flower-vase-2/ https://www.aronson.com/blue-white-flower-vase-2/#_comments Fri, 09 Jan 2026 10:40:43 +0000 https://www.aronson.com/?p=79343 Every month we present a special object from the Aronson Antiquairs’ collection. This month we would like to show you this blue and white flower vase, from circa 1710. Quintel vases have five spouts and were amongst the earliest examples of spouted vases. The heart-shaped model with five spouts, such as the present one, followed the early quintel vase. This model was probably intended to be seen from one side because of the flat shape. The decorative vase may have been displayed on a mantelpiece, or on a piece of furniture.

It was in the late seventeenth century, under the patronage of Queen Mary II, who was as passionate about Chinese blue and white porcelain and its local counterpart, Dutch Delftware, as she was about her gardens, that the Delft factories developed their technical skills and virtuosity in the production of all sorts of ‘vases with spouts’ to display flowers. Inspired by Queen Mary, it also became fashionable in aristocratic circles to decorate their residences with vases full of flowers. For instance, large vases were used to decorate the fireplace in the summer, and smaller vases were placed on the table during a festive meal.

Although the vases in the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries were filled with all varieties of cut flowers, there has been much misunderstanding about this. In the mid-nineteenth century, when collectors and art historians rediscovered Delft earthenware, they must have thought that the vases were intended to be filled with hyacinth bulbs or flowers, as they came to be known as ‘bouquetiers à Jacinthes’. Not long thereafter, however, a more familiar name came into fashion, which is still used today: ‘tulip vase’ or ‘tulipière’, ascribed to these vases on the revised supposition that they were intended specifically to hold the precious and popular tulips.

Blue and White Flower Vase
Delft, circa 1710

Delft flower vases with multiple spouts have been admired since their earliest production in the last quarter of the seventeenth century. Among the many forms developed in Delft potteries, the fan-shaped flower holder stands out as one of the most distinctive and enduring types. Although it belongs to the broader Delft tradition of vessels designed to separate and support individual flower stems, its flat back, radiating top, and relatively modest scale define it as a clearly recognizable and distinctive group. This article explores the origins and context of this elegant flower holder.

From Egytptian and Middle Eastern prototypes to European adaptations

Delft flower holders with spouts should be understood as the result of a gradual evolution rather than a sudden invention. The basic principle of arranging flowers individually in tubular openings likely originates in ancient Egypt. Wall paintings from the tombs at the Egyptian archaeological site of Beni Hasan, dating to around 2500 BC, depict vases with spouts specifically designed to support the heavy-headed lotus flower. The lotus held profound symbolic significance in Egyptian culture, associated with rebirth and eternal life.

In the ancient world more broadly, flowers primarily served religious, symbolic, and ceremonial purposes. In Greek and Roman cultures, they were present in and around the home, but mainly in ritual contexts, such as domestic altars, banquets, and festive occasions, rather than as permanent elements of interior decoration. This long-standing association between flowers, symbolism, and controlled display forms an important conceptual backdrop for the later development of specialized flower-holding vessels.

Much later in history, further examples of spouted vases appear in the Middle East. As early as the Seljuk and early Ilkhanid periods in Iran (eleventh to fourteenth centuries), potters produced small stonepaste vessels with a central neck surrounded by short tubular spouts (fig. 1).  These compact objects already embodied the essential idea later refined in Delft: a shared water reservoir combined with separate supports for individual stems.

During the Safavid period and within the wider Ottoman floral culture of the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries, this principle was developed into larger and more luxurious flower holders (fig. 2). These objects formed part of a broader courtly culture in which flowers, including tulips, played a highly symbolic role. Through trade routes, and earlier through crusader contact, Middle Eastern arts exerted a sustained influence on European material culture.

By the early seventeenth century, these long-standing traditions of symbolic flower display increasingly intersected with new European ideas about gardening, order, and visual control, expanding the role of flowers from primarily symbolic markers to carefully staged objects of aesthetic display.

Gardening manuals and botanical treatises began to conceptualize flowers not only as living plants rooted in the soil, but also as carefully arranged objects of display. In this intellectual climate, Giovanni Battista Ferrari’s De Florum Cultura (1633) famously described vases as “portable gardens,” emphasizing their role as instruments through which nature could be shaped, ordered, and admired indoors. The publication illustrates several vase designs in which individual flower stems are supported by separate, clearly defined openings, reinforcing Ferrari’s notion of the vase as a “portable garden” and anticipating the development of multi-spouted flower holders (fig 3). This notion provides an important conceptual bridge between earlier symbolic flower vessels and the emerging European interest in complex, multi-spouted flower holders.

Across Europe, related ceramic “portable garden” solutions emerged both before and alongside the Delft examples. The earliest European multi-spouted vases appeared in late sixteenth-century Italy (fig. 4). In their overall profile and controlled distribution of stems, this Italian model comes close to the later Delft fan-shaped type. By the late seventeenth century, additional forms were produced in Savona, Italy and earlier in the seventeenth century in France, faience workshops in Nevers developed gondola- or navette-shaped flower holders fitted with multiple nozzles (fig. 5). Although often regarded as autonomous inventions, these Nevers vessels show clear conceptual affinities with Middle Eastern models, reinforced by their frequent decoration with floral motifs derived from Iznik pottery.

Delft potters operated within a dense network of international contacts. Their connections to Nevers and Italian ceramic centers probably formed one channel of influence, but direct exposure to Middle Eastern objects through the Levant trade must also be considered. This seventeenth-century commercial system linked the Dutch Republic with Ottoman ports such as Smyrna, Aleppo, and Constantinople, facilitating not only the exchange of goods but also the circulation of visual ideas and aesthetic preferences.

One of the most visible outcomes of this exchange was the introduction of the tulip to the Netherlands. By the early seventeenth century, tulips had become high-status luxury plants, culminating in the well-known tulip mania of 1636–1637. Although this predates the emergence of Delft flower holders by several decades, it established a cultural climate in which elaborate flower display had strong appeal. From around 1900 onward, multi-spouted Delft vases even came to be called “tulip vases,” a term that is evocative but historically inaccurate. These vessels were intended for a variety of flowers, including tulips, often combined into carefully orchestrated bouquets.

The emergence of the fan-shaped flower holder in Delft

In sixteenth- and seventeenth-century Ottoman decorative arts, floral motifs were embedded within a symbolic framework reflecting cosmic harmony and cultural meanings. Ottoman art routinely incorporated highly stylized plant forms, tulips, carnations, hyacinths, and roses, arranged in rhythmic, symmetrical compositions that emphasize balance and order, a principle linked in Islamic aesthetic theory to the notion of cosmic equilibrium (mizan). Symmetrical floral arrays on Iznik ceramics, for example, have been interpreted as visual expressions of these ideals, with rotational symmetry and radiating forms evoking spiritual and cosmic balance (fig. 5). Stylized motifs such as carnations often appear in fan-like configurations, particularly in textiles and ceramics of the classical period, associated with elegance and refinement in courtly contexts. While the fan-shape should not be understood as a literal symbol, these forms reflect a visual language of ordered, controlled display, which resonates with the later development of Delft’s fan-shaped flower holders, translating two-dimensional compositional logic into three-dimensional ceramic design.

The fan-shaped flower holder belongs to the earliest group of spouted vases produced in Delft. The first examples, dating from the 1680s, were so-called quintel vases, featuring a single fan-like row of five spouts designed to support individual flower stems. (fig. 6). Constructed from multiple small tubes joined together, it allowed individual stems to be arranged into a structured, frontal bouquet. Archaeological evidence connects this form to royal contexts: Fragments of two fan-shaped flower holders bearing the mark of Samuel van Eenhoorn, owner of the Grieksche A factory between 1678 and 1687, were found in the gardens of Paleis Het Loo, the residence of King William III (1650–1702) and Queen Mary II (1662–1694). These pieces likely correspond to the “flat flower bottles” recorded in a 1713 inventory of the royal collection, indicating both their prestige and their functional differentiation.

What distinguishes the Delft fan-shaped type from its international predecessors is not the basic idea of spouts, but its geometry. The flat reverse indicates that these vases were intended to be placed against a vertical surface, such as a wall, chimney breast, or within a niche or overmantel, rather than viewed in the round. The radiating top transforms the bouquet into a frontal, carefully staged display, emphasizing symmetry and visual control. Rather than imitating a single foreign prototype, Delft potters appear to have assembled several narrow vase units into a unified silhouette, thereby creating a new visual logic for floral presentation suited to specific interior contexts.

Alongside a wide range of spouted vase types produced in Delf, including bowl-shaped vessels with covers, round and polygonal vases, and obelisk-shaped pyramidal forms, fan-shaped flower holders themselves evolved into a variety of nuanced designs. Delft potters developed increasingly elaborate fan-shaped models with multiple tiers of spouts, as seen in the blue-and-white pair dating to around 1710, which combine an oval water reservoir with a second row of four spouts along the front edge (fig. 7).

. In addition to these developments, Delft potters also produced heart-shaped flower vases derived from the quintel form, characterized by a flattened silhouette and five spouts (fig. 8 2539). Common in the early eighteenth century, these models illustrate how potters adapted the basic multi-spouted concept into distinct silhouettes that responded to changing decorative tastes and specific spatial contexts.

Conclusion

The Delft fan-shaped flower holder is best understood as the product of a layered and international genealogy. While its fundamental concept derives from Middle Eastern models and related European developments in Italy and Nevers, Delft potters did not simply copy these sources. Instead, they reconfigured them, introducing a distinctive fan-shape that transformed the bouquet into an ordered, almost theatrical display. This form may reflect Middle Eastern visual traditions, transmitted through trade and filtered through Dutch taste. In doing so, Delft potters transformed international influences into an object that is unmistakably Dutch, exemplifying Delftware at its most imaginative.

Notes

1. Julia Berrall, “Floral Decoration: Historical and Stylistic Developments,” Encyclopaedia Britannica (online), https://www.britannica.com/art/floral-decoration/Historical-and-stylistic-developments
2. Ronald Brouwer, “Turkish Tulips and Delft Flowerpots,” in The Tulip: A Symbol of Two Nations (Utrecht/Istanbul, 1993),  p. 26
3. M.S. van Aken-Fehmers, Delfts aardewerk. Geschiedenis van een nationaal product, vol. IV: Vazen met tuiten. 300 jaar pronkstukken / Dutch Delftware: History of a National Product. Vases with Spouts. Three Centuries of Splendour (Zwolle / Den Haag: Gemeentemuseum, 2007),  pp. 112-113
4. Brouwer, “Turkish Tulips and Delft Flowerpots, p. 26
5. Van Aken-Fehmers, Delfts aardewerk, vol. IV p. 34.
6. Van Aken-Fehmers, Delfts aardewerk, vol. IV ,pp. 116-117
7. Iznik, in present day Turkey, counts a an important ceramic centre.
8. Brouwer, “Turkish Tulips and Delft Flowerpots,” p. 26
9. “The Whirling Flowers,” Illuminating Objects (The Courtauld Institute of Art),https://sites.courtauld.ac.uk/illuminating-objects/illuminating-objects-home/iznik-dish/the-whirling-flowers/
10. Collection of Paleis het Loo, Apeldoorn (inv. no. RL 6048)
11. A.M.L.E. Erkelens, ‘Delffs porceleijn’ van koningin Mary II / Queen Mary’s ‘Delft porcelain’: Ceramiek op Het Loo uit de tijd van Willem III en Mary II / Ceramics at Het Loo from the time of William and Mary (Zwolle/Apeldoorn: Waanders Uitgevers / Paleis Het Loo, 1996)p. 63

]]> https://www.aronson.com/the-fan-shaped-flower-holder-form-function-and-international-origins/feed/ 0 https://www.aronson.com/pair-of-models-of-shoes/ https://www.aronson.com/pair-of-models-of-shoes/#_comments Fri, 05 Dec 2025 12:12:44 +0000 https://www.aronson.com/?p=79075 Every month, we highlight a remarkable piece from the Aronson Antiquairs collection. This month we present this beautiful pair of blue and white model of shoes, from circa 1760.

Miniature ceramic shoes like this pair were commonly sold at annual fairs and regional markets throughout the Low Countries. While most examples are undated, some bear inscriptions, initials, or dates, indicating that they were intended as personalized tokens for specific recipients or special occasions. Their purpose therefore extended beyond that of decorative curiosities to objects with clear social meaning.

In seventeenth-century Dutch visual culture, shoes carried a rich set of symbolic associations. They appear frequently in genre paintings, where they could convey romantic, playful, or subtly erotic undertones through well-understood visual puns. These meanings parallel broader marital customs of the period, including the tradition in some regions of brides receiving or wearing wooden clogs during wedding ceremonies: gestures connected to prosperity, fertility, and domestic harmony.

Within this context, the present pair of ceramic shoes participates in an established symbolic vocabulary. Their small scale, ornamental nature, and occasional personalized inscriptions suggest they were likely exchanged between lovers or newlyweds as intimate gifts. Serving as emblems of affection, good fortune, and marital bliss, they demonstrate how modest ceramic objects could embody complex layers of social meaning in early modern Dutch society.

D2045. Pair of Blue and White Models of Shoes

Delft, circa 1760

Each painted on the front and sides with floral scrollwork, a blossom on the molded flower on the front, the dotted-edged sole continuing around the arch and the heel washed in blue.

DIMENSIONS
Heights: 4.2 cm. (1.7 in.)
Lengths: 7.8 cm. (3.1 in.)

PRICE
€ 2.850 (US$ 3,000 export*) incl. shipping

(*excl. local taxes, if applicable)

On 5 December, many people in the Netherlands celebrate Sinterklaas (Saint Nicholas), a time-honored occasion rich in history, ritual, and joy. It is a fitting moment to reflect on the origins and customs of this celebration, its connection to Santa Claus, and to draw a thoughtful bridge to the role of the shoe during Sinterklaas and to one of Delft’s most charming creations: faience miniature shoe models.

While no official sources confirm details from the life of Saint Nicholas, it is generally assumed that his roots trace back to around 270 AD. He was a Christian bishop of Greek origin, born in Patara (in modern-day Turkey). He died in Myra, today Demre, also in Turkey, on 6 December 343.

Although officially canonized in 1446, Nicholas was regarded as a saint long before that date. His reputation as a benefactor of the poor was widely recognized, and as early as 520, a church devoted to him was built on his original burial site in Myra.

The earliest biography of Saint Nicholas, composed around the year 800, laid the foundation for later accounts, including the widely influential Legenda Aurea (Golden Legends) by Jacobus de Voragine, written around 1300.(1) This work circulated broadly across Europe and underpinned many traditions of the Dutch Sinterklaasfeest. One story in particular stands out, as it appears to have provided an early basis for the custom of putting out a shoe and receiving chocolate coins.

To explain this custom more fully, we turn to a well-known legend. During the time Nicholas served as bishop of Myra, he learned of a poor man with three daughters. The man could not provide dowries for them, which meant they were unable to marry and were destined to live very difficult lives. Nicholas decided to visit the house by night and threw a small bag of gold through an open window (Fig. 1). When the father discovered the gold, he was overwhelmed with gratitude toward the anonymous donor, as his eldest daughter could now marry. Saint Nicholas repeated this generous act twice more, and in the end all three daughters were able to marry.

Some versions of the legend recount that the gold fell into a shoe, which helps to explain how the shoe became part of the Sinterklaas tradition. The custom of setting out a shoe to be filled with treats, known in Dutch as schoen zetten, has been documented from the second quarter of the fifteenth century onward. It was originally linked to charity: children placed their shoes in church to receive alms. By the sixteenth century the practice had entered the domestic sphere. Children would place a shoe by the hearth at home, slip in a note or drawing, and often leave a little fodder for Sinterklaas’s faithful white horse. If they had behaved well, they would discover the shoe filled with treats by morning. Children who had misbehaved might receive a bag of salt or the roe, a small bundle of twigs carried by Sinterklaas’s helper as a traditional symbol of discipline, and in earlier times used for a light spanking. A wonderful example of how the celebration looked in the seventeenth century can be found in a painting by Jan Steen (Fig. 2).

In the Dutch context today, children still eagerly anticipate the arrival of Sinterklaas. They sing songs, place their shoes by the hearth or door, and leave small offerings for his horse, hoping to discover sweets or small gifts the next morning. Other familiar customs include the consumption or gifting of marzipan, gingerbread, speculaas cookies, almond pastry and chocolate letters.

While these customs remain distinctly Dutch, the figure of Sinterklaas also became part of a wider transatlantic tradition. Beyond the Sinterklaas celebrations preserved in former Dutch colonies, in Belgium, in parts of the German-speaking world, and in several Eastern European countries, there is also a clear line of cultural connection linking Sinterklaas to the Anglo-American figure of Santa Claus. When Dutch settlers established New Amsterdam in the seventeenth century, they brought with them the annual commemoration of St. Nicholas on 5 and 6 December, along with customs of gift-giving, children’s songs, and the idea of a benevolent saint arriving from afar. Even after the English took control of the city and renamed it New York, traces of this Dutch celebration continued within local communities.

Over the eighteenth and early nineteenth centuries, these remnants mingled with other European winter traditions brought by new immigrant groups.(2) Writers and illustrators in New York played a crucial role in reshaping St. Nicholas into a more broadly recognizable, non-sectarian holiday visitor.(3) In this process, the Dutch name and imagery proved especially durable: “Sinterklaas” gradually became “Santa Claus,” and the figure itself shifted from a bishop-saint into a jolly, gift-bearing character associated with Christmas rather than a separate feast day. As the celebration adapted to its new setting, the Dutch custom of putting out a shoe for gifts slowly evolved into the now-familiar practice of hanging a stocking by the fireplace. Seen in this light, the Sinterklaas celebration in New Amsterdam was not the sole origin of modern Santa, but it was an important and formative strand in the larger cultural weaving that produced the Santa Claus myth as we know it today.

Delft miniature shoes

Back in the Netherlands, the enduring image of a shoe waiting quietly by the hearth offers a gentle stepping-stone to miniature Delft faience shoes (Fig. 3). These objects were not made for the custom of schoen zetten, nor were they intended to be filled with treats. Their connection to Sinterklaas is therefore not one of origin, but of association: in both cases, the shoe participates in a culture of gifting and domestic ritual, though in the miniatures the shoe is the gift itself.

Ceramic and ornamental shoe models have captivated collectors for centuries. In the seventeenth century, shoemaking developed into a highly decorative and skilled craft, inspiring the creation of Delft faience miniature shoes as intricate artistic objects. Often made with the same attention to detail as full-sized footwear, these miniatures could symbolize prosperity and affection.

Shoes in general were also linked to customs such as attaching shoes to newlyweds’ carriages (and later cars), a gesture wishing the couple good fortune, fertility and shared wealth. Another practice, recorded from the Middle Ages through the nineteenth century, involved concealing shoes within the walls of homes, thought to protect the household from misfortune and to ward off witches.

By the eighteenth century, exchanging ceramic model shoes had become fashionable among the aristocracy. Celebrated for their refined designs and association with luxury, they were prized collectibles in elite circles.

Various models were produced in both Delftware and Frisian ceramics, ranging from blue-and-white to polychrome and petit feu examples. Always designed in step with contemporary fashion, they came in a range of types and sizes, attesting to their popularity. The pair of blue-and-white slippers (Fig. 4) illustrates footwear commonly worn at home by both men and women in the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries. Slippers like these were typically fashioned from costly materials intended for indoor use, keeping them clean and pristine. Delft painters often evoked these luxurious surfaces, such as silk, leather, metal thread, and stitched decoration; an effect that is clearly visible in this pair.

The examples illustrated in Figs. 5 and 6 show shoes that were typically worn outdoors by both sexes. They had stacked heels, a fashion promoted by the French court of Louis XIV. Heeled shoes were a status symbol, as they were mostly worn by the nobility.

It is highly possible that shoes and slippers were made in little kilns by so-called thuiswerkers (home workers), who were not part of a factory, as was the case with so many other miniature objects. Miniature ceramic shoes like these were sold at annual fairs and markets. Although most examples are undated, some bear dates and initials, suggesting they were given as gifts on special occasions. Since brides traditionally offered a pair of shoes to the groom, it is likely that these faience shoes had the same function. They were a sign of respect for the marriage and domestic stability, and they also signified an erotic connotation in the seventeenth century. Thus, the pair of Delftware shoes was possibly exchanged as a symbol of good luck in marriage.

These finely modelled and carefully painted miniature Delft faience shoes reflect the same culture of gifting and domestic ritual that underlies the Sinterklaas tradition. Both the child’s shoe set out in expectation and the finely crafted faience shoe exchanged or displayed as an object of value belong to a shared history of material customs centered on generosity, family life, and good fortune. They remind us that the shoe, whether set out in hope or cherished as a collectible, holds a lasting place in the material language of giving in the Netherlands, a tradition to which Delft potters also contributed with their creations.

For those who celebrate Sinterklaas, we wish you a wonderful evening, and we can only imagine the delight of anyone who finds a pair of miniature Delft faience shoes in the shoe they set out.

Notes

1. Paul Faber, De Geschiedenis van Sinterklaas, published on NEMO Kennislink on December 4, 2008

2. Rachel Walman, The New York City Origins of Santa Claus, in: History Detectives, December 21, 2018 (https://www.nyhistory.org/blogs/the-new-york-city-origins-of-santa-claus?)

3. Ibidem