Gifts of Grandeur: A Souvenir of the Wedding of Queen Victoria and Prince Albert, 1840

Pencil Case
England,1840
The Victoria & Albert Museum

Made in England in 1840, this pencil case commemorates the marriage of Queen Victoria to Prince Albert of Saxe-Coburg and Gotha. The gold case for a propelling pencil is lined with a gilded copper alloy, and engine-turned, engraved and enameled on the exterior. It has been set with turquoise, and a lapis lazuli intaglio and medallion portraits of Queen Victoria and Prince Albert. Such pencil cases were crafted to be given as gifts to commemorate important days.

The marriage of Victoria to her first cousin, Albert (son of her mother’s brother, Ernest) was long-anticipated and long-rumored. In fact, the marriage had been in the works since the cousins were children. However, the Queen wasn’t too keen on the idea at first. When she first met her German cousin, he seemed disinterested in her and, frankly, she didn’t find him at all interesting either. Though he possessed a handsome face and figure, he was shy and somewhat dull. However, upon their second meeting, once Victoria was already Queen and she had her choice of many eligible bachelors, Albert had undergone years of study and intense grooming for the role of Prince Consort and Victoria declared him the most perfect man she’d ever seen.

Punch’s Cousin, Chapter 343

The writhing, fiery, angry world outside of Julian’s body was obliterated by the image which stood before him in the calm, cool, private world within his own mind.

For once, the chatter of Mr. Punch, the resentment of Scaramouche, the nagging of Guignol and the other voices which usually weighed heavily in Julian’s ears (real or imagined) were silent and he was able to focus entirely on the regal figure which told him gently, “You may rise.”


“Pardon me, Your Majesty,” Julian began.

The figure raised one gloved hand and interrupted Julian. “Ask only what is necessary.”

“This, Your Majesty, seems to be a necessary question.” Julian replied.

“You wish to know how I am able to stand before you now?” The man smiled, his words thick with the molasses of a German accent.

“I do.” Julian nodded meekly.

“I am, as you might say, imaginary. I am a creature of your memory, and your expectations, come to offer you what I may because you require it. Any authority or status you assign me is of your own design for I am not really here.”

“I see.” Julian said, drawing in a sharp breath. “Since you are not real, what shall I call you, Your Majesty?”

“Albert.” He smiled. “Or Prince Albert. Whatever you wish.”

“You’ll forgive my impertinence, then,” Julian continued. “If I speak plainly.”

“There’s no impertinence,” Prince Albert frowned. “Your Grace, you are speaking to yourself. You may not wish to recognize it, but you are.”

“I’m not a well man,” Julian sighed.

“You’re more well than you realize.” Prince Albert chuckled. “You are given to fits of emotion. This is something I understand, you know. Recall, if you will, Your Grace, the moments we spent together at Balmoral or at the Palace. Did I not bellow and sigh just as you do? Was I not as entranced by the sparkle of the diamonds as you? Was I not as enthralled by the fire of the rubies. Do you recall how I shared—even briefly—memories of my brother, Ernest, and how I told you that I longed for his companionship—that deep oneness of understanding that he and I once shared and that, for a moment, the way we talked reminded me of the conversations that I wished I could have with him?”

“I do.”

“Though embarrassed, were you not comforted by the thought? You who have, until recently, had the companionship of no one, and certainly no familial connection?”

“Yes.”

“Well then, you answer your own question. I come to you as a source of comfort—a vision of your own creation to guide you.” Prince Albert responded.

“Guide me through what?”

“You must ask?” The prince frowned.

“Why then, did I imagine you and not Naasir or Robert?” Julian asked.

“You can answer that yourself.”

“I suppose I don’t wish to trouble Robert.” Julian sniffed. “Any further than I already have, I imagine. You know, I didn’t trust him at first.”

“I know. And now?” The Prince squinted.

“Now, I do. Wholly.”

“Yet, you feel guilt that you’ve led him to such confusion.”

“I do.”

“And what of Naasir?”

“Naasir was very loyal. He died for me, you know.”

“Of course, I know.” The Prince snapped.

“Yes, of course.” Julian nodded. “Yet, what he said often troubled me so. All of his talk of what was meant to be and his premonitions. I could never really accept them. Isn’t that sad and curious? A man who gave his own life for me, and yet, I don’t know that I trusted him fully.”

“The things Naasir said made no sense to you. You? A man who is occupied by so many others. A man who, for many weeks now, has allowed his body and mind to be controlled by the phantom figure of a puppet—another creature of your own making?”

“I suppose none of it makes much sense.” Julian sighed.

“In its way, it does.” Prince Albert shook his head. “Perhaps, Your Grace, you ask too much.”

“Perhaps.” Julian answered nervously, twisting the imaginary ring on his phantom index finger. “You say you’ve come to guide me. Through what?”

“More questions. You’re asking yourself more questions. Don’t you know?” The prince snapped.

“We’re in a spot of trouble again.” Julian replied, flustered.

“I should say so. Mr. Punch is frenzied and powerless. You’ve given control to Scaramouche. Not wise, Your Grace, not wise. Your friends and family are in peril. And, yet, you’re in here with an imaginary prince.”

“You make it sound ridiculous.” Julian scowled.

“Isn’t it?” The Prince replied disgustedly. “You yourself know the enormity of what’s ahead of you. And, yet, you’re unwilling to face it. Are you a coward?”

“I am not.”

“Aren’t you? How many times have the minds that you created within yourself tried to push you forward? How many times have you resisted?”

“I’ve…” Julian began. “I’ve tried to move forward. I have, earnestly. Why do you think I’ve given my life over to Mr. Punch? It’s Punch who now occupies the body predominately. It’s Punch who is living. It is Mr. Punch who eats and sleeps and feels and laughs.”

“And feels love?”

“Certainly.”

“Are you able to love, Julian?”

“I don’t know.” Julian shook his head.

“Do you love the dog?”

“The dog? Toby?” Julian sputtered. “Yes. Very much.”

And, the infant? Colin. Your nephew?”

“I adore him.” Julian responded.

“And Fuller, Cecil and Adrienne?”

“Of course,” Julian replied, beginning to anger.

“And Marjani and Columbia?”

“I do.”

“What of Robert?”

“Yes,” Julian whispered.

“What of yourself?”

Julian didn’t answer.

“What of yourself? Julian, the Duke of Fallbridge?”

“I suppose I must.”

“You must or you do?” Prince Albert shouted.

“I don’t know.”

“Perhaps, then, you’re not ready for my guidance.” Albert answered. “Farewell.”

“Wait!” Julian called out. “Your Majesty, please wait. I’m ready.”

“Then, follow me.” Prince Albert smiled.

“Where?”

“Backward, Your Grace. In order to go forward, we must first go back.”



Did you miss Chapters 1-342? If so, you can read them here.

Card of the Day: The Coronation Ceremony, Paying Homage

In this series of commemorative card by the Churchman Cigarette Company from 1935, we’ve seen several scenes of the order of the coronation ceremony. Here, we see the moment directly after the proper crowning when members of the court pay homage to the new Monarch. Pictured here is George V. That’s appropriate since these cards were manufactured for his Silver Jubilee.


I always like to back these things up with additional images when I can. In searching for photos or other images from the coronation of King George V, most roads, it seems, lead back to me and this Web site. This is interesting to me from a vanity standpoint, but not very helpful since I don’t have any more images of people paying homage to King George V. So, I’ll simply add this very jolly and handsome photo of George V and my favorite dead Royal, Mary of Teck, looking quite content around this same time period. I honestly don’t know where I got this, but I’m sure it’s in the public domain.

Object of the Day, Museum Edition: An Odd Souvenir from the 1937 Coronation that Didn’t Happen

I ask you.  Would you disturb this sleeping baby?

As I write this, it’s 3:30 in the morning and I’ve been awake all night with a fever and general malaise from a stupid cold that I shouldn’t have gotten because I very, very rarely ever leave my house. Nonetheless, I’m up and have been for many, many hours. Bertie, on the other hand—literally, as you’ll see in a moment—has been asleep for at least ten hours, only waking up for a moment to bark at the thunderstorm that blew through my hometown and to glance at me with contempt when I got up to get my laptop. I should also note that I’m typing this with one hand since Bertie is sleeping on the other one. This is a habit he’s gotten into since his surgery. He likes to have his healing leg resting on some part of me while he sleeps. And, being a sucker for a cute dog, I haven’t the heart to move him.

So, what’s a boy to do? I could lie here awake and wish for someone to bring me ice cream. Of course, I know that that won’t happen since the only other occupants of this house are: A. Bertie who has no thumbs and B. Mr. Punch who is a puppet and doesn’t function independently (thank God). I can’t imagine either of them will bring me ice cream. So, I might as well show my readers—many of whom are in the U.K. and are presently awake—some new old stuff. And, since I’ll no doubt be useless for the rest of the day, let’s dive right in.

Mug
1937
The Victoria & Albert Museum

Let’s begin the day—since I’m feverish—with something that both attracts and confuses me.

This mug attracts me for reasons that are obvious to those of you who come here every day. It’s a coronation mug, so it’s no surprise that I like it. That’s evidenced by the fact that there are about fifty of them in my office on the other side of the house. This one’s not here. It’s in England, in the V&A. I like it despite the fact that it was made for Edward VIII who, in my opinion—feverish or otherwise—just messed up a lot and broke his mama’s heart.

It’s a fun design, brightly colored in the way that things were in 1937. I always think it’s quite funny when people say to me how surprised they were that things of previous eras were in color. The world was in color! Color didn’t just start with the advent of color film, and even if it did, color film was being used in 1937. But, I digress.

What confuses me is that the V&A states that this mug was made in Etruria. Come again? Yes, that’s right—Etruria. Now, just to shed some light on why that’s odd, let’s examine where and what Etruria is or was or might have been. In my understanding, Etruria was the name given to the land that once was in Southern Italy (now Tuscany) from whence the Etruscans came. Wacky Napoleon I of France fancifully revived the name “Etruria” for this region from 1801 to 1807, but, as far as I know, that didn’t stick and by the time Edward VIII was making Queen Mary bellow Cockney phrases of disgust when she learned that her son would not give up that pesky Simpson woman, it was not a term that was in use.

But, yet, the V&A says this comes from Etruria, and so it must have. It was painted with a design incorporating “E.R.,” the Royal Arms, the date of 1937, and a representation of fireworks, designed by Eric Ravilious, and made by Josiah Wedgwood and Sons Ltd.

Two Words...
Abdication.  Kerfuffle.

It’s a pretty thing, but kind of a moot point, too.

And, so, let’s conclude this with a quote from Edward VIII, later the Duke of Windsor:

Perhaps one of the only positive pieces of advice that I was ever given was that supplied by an old courtier who observed: Only two rules really count. Never miss an opportunity to relieve yourself; never miss a chance to sit down and rest your feet.

And, yes, I suspect that was the only somewhat useful thing Edward had to offer. Sad, really. Bertie (my terrier friend, not, Eddie's nephew, King George VI, who was also quite intelligent) is capable of more complex thought.


UPDATE:

I have since been told that Etruria was also the name of a large Staffordshire estate that was acquired in 1765 by Josiah Wedgewood as his home and a factory site.  This became the family home known as Etruria Hall.  I was not in a mindset--at 3:30 in the morning--to come up with that conclusion initially.  So, clearly Bertie is also capable of more complex thought than even I am. 

Mastery of Design: The Charles Boit Miniature, 1720



Miniature
Charles Boit
Enamel, Gold, Diamonds
1720, France
The Victoria & Albert Museum

 This oval miniature bust length portrait depicts an attractive young lady wearing a pink shawl, her hair adorned with several blue ribbons. The portrait on enamel is set into a frame of rose-cut diamonds which dates to approximately the 1720 creation of the miniature.

Portrait miniatures in enamels became quite popular in the Eighteenth Century. They developed from the decorative work of goldsmiths and watchmakers in the French cities of Blois, Châteaudun and Paris and are a continuation of the fashionable portrait plaques which had been made in the enameling workshops of Limoges in central France during the Sixteenth Century.

In the 1630s, Jean Toutin adapted new techniques of enameling which produced subtle, translucent colors. These techniques are still in practice today and allow for an impressive delicacy of detail. These portraits often were applied to small objects such as watches or snuffboxes, but usually stood alone in jeweled frames such as this.

This particular example is the work of enamel artist Charles Boit who was well respected for his ability to create light and shade in his miniatures. Boit’s subjects often showed an openness of expression due to their large eyes. Though this miniature is not signed, we can tell by the figure that this was the work of Boit’s hand.

Unfolding Pictures: The Jannin Fan, 1840-1860

The Janin Fan
French, 1840-1860
The Victoria & Albert Museum

As printing technology advanced, printed lithographic fans became the most popular type from about 1840 to 1870, surpassing more expensive hand-painted fans. Though most of the leaves of these fans were printed, they did feature watercolor washes as decoration. These elaborate leaves were supported by ornate sticks of bone, ivory, mother-of-pearl, lacquered wood or papier maché.

French manufacturers produced the majority of these fans, and most of them were exported in great numbers to other European countries. Very often, these printed fans depicted romantic scenes set in the Eighteenth Century, as you can see in this fan which boasts a lithograph by H. Jannin. This bucolic image has been mounted on lacquered sticks. Scenes of this type imitate the Rococo style and pastoral subject-matter of many earlier Eighteenth-Century fans. These were part of the great Rococo Revival which dominated fashions for two decades.

Unusual Artifacts: The Baffo Harpsichord, 1574

The Baffo Harpsichord
Italy, 1574
This and all related images from:
The Victoria & Albert Museum

Putting aside any preconceived notions of harpsichords that we might have based on Lurch, let’s take a look at one from 1574 which was made in Italy. This harpsichord was built by Giovanni Baffo who was the leading maker of harpsichords in Venice. During the Sixteenth Century, Venice was one of the main instrument-producing centers in Europe. This magnificent instrument is decorated with traditional Islamic patterns. Such patterns were then widely used in Venice. But, the instrument also features the classical motifs, such as Apollo and the Muses--suitable themes for musical instruments—which were fashionable at the time. Through the centuries, this harpsichord has endured a number of changes--including the altering of the range of the notes. This alteration was a sign that even if musical fashions and ranges changed during the next century, the prestige of Baffo's instruments remained intact.

The harpsichord features a pine case with an inner face veneered with rosewood, and is partly inlaid with boxwood with a cypress soundboard. The edges of the instrument, jack rail and base of the keyboard are decorated with ivory studs while the nameboard and inner sides above the sound board, are veneered with rosewood, and decorated with gilt moresques and inlaid with patterns of ivory and boxwood. The maker has signed and dated the instrument on the nameboard.

The inside of the lid is elaborately adorned with a grotesque ornament and two winged putti holding up the three-crescent emblem of the Strozzi family, for whom the instrument was made. The main part of the lid is dominated with a cartouche containing Apollo and the Muses. Further adornment includes masks, bat-wing lunettes and sphinxes and other grotesques. Curiously, the decoration is crudely cut off at a later date.