Mastery of Design: The Italian Fleurs-de-lis Necklace, c. 1600

Necklace
Italy, c. 1600
The Victoria & Albert Museum

Sumptuous scrolls of enameled gold form this openwork necklace. Made circa 1600, the piece comes from Italy. A series of ornate crown-shapes are punctuated with fleurs-de-lis. The whole of the piece is set with table-cut rock crystal and hung with pearls.

We can’t be sure of the jeweler nor can we know for whom the piece was made, however, it’s a safe bet that this handsome necklace was made for a person of important standing—most likely the wife of a politician or statesman.

History's Runway: The James Galanos Evening Gown, 1959

Gown
Velvet, chiffon, bugle beads and embroidery
American, 1959
James Galanos
The Victoria & Albert Museum

1951 saw the launch of James Galanos’ label which immediately became associated with the sophistication and glamour of Los Angeles. Galanos liked to play with elegant contrasts. For example, in this 1959 gown, he’s paired black with crimson to create drama. The gown of velvet is embroidered with fleurs-de-lis and rosettes in black bugle beads. A satin ribbon accentuates the waist and separates the ornate bodice from the delicate layers of black chiffon which cascade over the skirt. 

Gifts of Grandeur: The Grand Duchess Olga Gold Casket, 1800-1850

Gilt Bronze and Micromosaic Jewel Casket
St. Petersburg, 1800-1850
This and all related images from:
The Victoria & Albert Collection

Tsar Paul I (reigned 1796-1801) built Gatchina Priory, south of St. Petersburg, commissioning the monumental structure in the Gothic style which he favored. This jewel casket exhibits a similar style. It’s believed that the casket (made either in Rome or St. Petersburg) was created for the Grand Duchess Olga (1822-92), the daughter of Tsar Nicholas I.

The casket is constructed of gilt bronze with relief friezes of intricate archways, each interrupted by a central oval. Many of the oval medallions have been inset with micromosaics of putti in the act of play. The jewel case’s top section is adorned with a relief of arcs, arches and fleurs-de-lis set against foliage. At the center of the lid, a rectangular mosaic has been set. This intricate scene depicts the Gatchina Priory nestled into a lush landscape.

Made between 1800 and 1850, the casket is thought to be the work of Georgi Ferdinand Wekler, considered one of the foremost mosaicists of his day. The box is now part of the Gilbert Collection at the V&A.

Treat of the Week: More than a Mere Trifle

This Sunday’s meal was a delicious summer frittata bursting with the flavors of fresh herbs and vegetables nestled in a delicate bed of egg and cheese. Accompanied by pancetta, and a beautiful salad of garden greens, summertime fruits, assorted nuts and rich blue cheese, it was the perfect meal for a blisteringly hot day. 

The crown jewel, however, was the dessert—an elegant and beautiful trifle. Look at it! It’s magnificent! You see, when my mother made Bertie’s birthday cake this year, she saved the remaining pieces of cake which were left after she carved the hippo shape. These pieces emerged from the freezer, ready for a new life, and became the base for this gorgeous trifle. Layered with pastry crème, peaches (seasoned with cinnamon) a sauce of raspberries and brandy, crème de cassis, strawberries, Bing and Rainier cherries and whipped cream, the top of this deeply delicious dessert is adorned with raspberries, blueberries and piped rosettes of whipped cream.

I’ve had many a trifle in my day, but, I must say, this is one of the best. With each bit, you get a different combination of flavors—each fresh and independent, but each a perfect companion to the others. You, too, can treat yourself to a trifle by using piece of cake which you’ve already made (or bought from a store) and layering them in a large bowl, trifle dish, or individual cups, with your favorite fruits, jams and creams.

Mr. Punch of Belgrave Square, Chapter 100

Chapter 100: 

A Trifle 

Mr. Punch, Robert and Colin, thankfully, were allowed two days of relatively uninterrupted, blissful peace. Nothing overly dramatic marred those forty-eight hours which passed without intrusive visits from barons, without the appearance of specters, without any histrionics from Miss Barrett and without any major incident of any sort.

While the masters of the house enjoyed their daily walks around the estate, their time sketching or writing, and their evenings chatting quietly by the fire, the staff below stairs devoted themselves to preparing for the Servants’ Ball.

Mrs. North, the Grange’s housekeeper, kept tight control over her own staff, but allowed Speaight the luxury of managing those from Belgrave Square. Mrs. Pepper, in her exceptional way, maintained an enviable autonomy—directing Ethel and Jenny in the creation of the grand cake for the ball as well as orchestrating the daily meals, both for upstairs and down, with the aid of the Grange’s permanent kitchen maids.

Since Mrs. North had the operation of the castle well under hand, and since the Duke had been clear that the staff from Belgrave Square was meant to be, for the most part, on holiday, Speaight kept his men and women occupied with some of the more creative and interesting details of the ball. Violet was put in charge of the floral arrangements while Georgie was given the task of carrying the many missives and bits of communication to and from the baker, the cooks who had been hired from other estates, and, best of all, the tailor.

Speaight noticed Georgie Pepper’s especially keen interest in visiting the tailor’s shop to receive updates on the progress of the costumes which the Duke had commissioned for the fancy dress ball. When Mr. Speaight mentioned how impressed he was with Georgie’s eagerness, Mrs. Pepper smiled broadly. At first, Speaight thought the smile was simply a mother’s pride, but Mrs. Pepper confessed that her boy was so happy to visit the tailor more so because of the tailor’s handsome daughter than the work itself.

Despite these duties, Ethel, Jenny, Georgie and Vi were still considerably less busy than when they were at the Duke’s London home and, with His Grace’s encouragement, took time to enjoy the beauty of Aberdeenshire—walking the grounds, taking little cakes and treats which Mrs. Pepper had made for them and making small picnics for themselves.

Some of the Grange’s permanent staff balked at the relative freedom afforded the visitors from London, but Mrs. North was quick to point out that their guests lived and worked with the masters each day in London whereas those in Scotland had, overall, a relatively quiet life at the Grange, often going years without a master to serve.

“Them lads and lasses from London gotta work each day from sun up ‘til sun down,” Mrs. North had scolded a group of maids who’d complained. “Most o’ the time, you got it easy here. It won’t kill ya to work a little more this week—especially with such a fine treat comin’.”

Of course, there was little rest for Charles, Gerard and Gamilla, and the Duke was quite aware of their unending contributions to the family. In addition to their usual duties as both footmen and valets to the Duke and the Doctor, the two men had undertaken many of the necessary demands of preparing for a grand event. Charles—with his steady hand—had been asked to write out the menus, invitations and assorted dance cards. Meanwhile, Gerard had been put in charge of Finlay, and set with the task of managing the set-up of the ballroom and surrounding areas.

Gamilla stayed in the nursery with Colin—only leaving when the child was with his fathers. She remained at the baby’s side from the moment he awoke until the moment the Duke and the Doctor retired for the night—taking all of her meals in the nursery. At night, she’d write in the journal which Miss Barrett had given her and, then, quickly would fall into the soundest of sleeps—the kind of sleep which only those who truly work can know.

Still, the three members of the staff closest to the Duke and the doctor never complained. In fact, they felt quite pleased to be a part of something which the Duke found so important. The only small bit of sorrow was that Gamilla and Gerard rarely saw one another—an absence each felt keenly. A feeling which, in his sympathetic manner, Mr. Punch noticed each time he looked upon his companion’s valet or his child’s temporary governess.

Speaking of governesses, Miss Barrett had been all but forgotten by most everyone. Dr. Halifax paused each morning to check on the woman. Somehow, her “fever” never worsened nor improved. She showed no signs of being terribly debilitated, but also failed to demonstrate complete health. The constant limbo of the woman only served to annoy Robert further and, not wishing to bother his mate with such things, instead of fretting about it, he put Miss Barrett out of his mind all together. Furthermore, Robert felt no need to press the woman to return to her duties since he was, after all, pleased to have her out of the way.

Only Gamilla would make a point to spend any time with Ellen, visiting Miss Barrett each night for at least half an hour before retreating to her room to write down her thoughts and fall into a sound sleep. Ellen was always polite to Gamilla, but Gamilla did begin to worry that Miss Barrett seemed forever tired and desirous of solitude and that the woman’s condition didn’t seem to improve. Nevertheless, Gamilla was far too busy to do anything about it, and, even if she had the luxury of more time, she was powerless to make a difference.

And, so, there Miss Barrett remained. Alone in her room, she was brought her meals on trays. Mrs. North infrequently referred to the mysterious, frail governess, only asking three times daily if “The Parakeet”—as she called Ellen—had been fed. Always quick to notice things, Mrs. North immediately realized that Ellen was disliked, if not loathed, by Dr. Halifax and held in contempt by both Charles and Gerard. Since Mrs. North had begun to hold the two London footmen in the greatest of esteem, she felt no need to waste any effort on “The Parakeet.” In the housekeeper’s eyes, if Charles and Gerard didn’t worry about the girl, and if one of the two masters didn’t care for her, there was no reason to even give her the slightest thought.

Mr. Punch had seemed to have forgotten entirely about Ellen. To be sure, he even had taken to referring to Gamilla as Colin’s governess—an error which Robert encouraged. It isn’t that Punch didn’t care what happened with Ellen. Quite the opposite. Of anyone in the house, with the exception of Gamilla, Punch was the most eager to see that Miss Barrett was given a fair chance. Though Punch had often been unimpressed with the manner in which Ellen spoke to him, he did feel a certain loyalty to the governess, recalling how kind she had been when she learned that he was both Mr. Punch and the Duke. Furthermore, Punch also felt a sense of kinship with the woman considering that her brother, Roger, was much like him in many ways. However, in the days leading up to the ball, Mr. Punch was distracted by a variety of other things, and, so, any thoughts of Miss Barrett were naturally at a minimum.

When a man’s body is inhabited by more than one personality, he must navigate, daily, through the many thoughts and worries which arise from each “soul” within him. In Punch’s case, he found himself continually troubled by small bits of memories which would blow behind his eyes like so much jagged fluff. Recalling the scene on the tower had chipped a hole in some dam of which he’d not been aware. Images, scents, and sounds from that long lost day jabbed at Punch and made him wince.

He tried desperately to ignore them. However, the worst part of it all was his guilt. Since his inception within Julian, Punch had always taken great pride in his role as “Keeper of the Memories.” To think that he failed Julian somehow by forgetting something filled Mr. Punch with a tremendous sense of guilt which Punch tried valiantly to suppress.

Robert, however, could tell that something was troubling his companion. Though Punch tried to dismiss his fleeting looks of burden and sadness by explaining them away as something inconsequential as a bit of lint in his eye or the annoying feeling of a hair on his face, Robert knew better. He was not fooled by the excuses of such trifles and could feel deeply that Mr. Punch was being harassed from within by something which caused the man a range of feelings from mild irritation to deep sorrow. Yet, Punch wanted Robert to be happy and Robert wanted Punch to be happy. And, so, they devoted themselves to creating as bucolic a two days as possible.

The evening before the day of the ball, Mr. Punch and Robert sat across from one another in the long, plum-colored dining room. Dinner had concluded and the two awaited pudding. Since only Charles and Gerard were waiting at table that night, Punch felt free to speak as himself.

“Mrs. Pepper said she got somethin’ right special for us for tonight’s puddin’.”

Robert smiled. “I know what it is.”

“Here—how could you know?” Mr. Punch’s eyes widened.

“Because I was downstairs earlier and saw it.” Robert teased.

“You were not.” Mr. Punch smiled. “You was with me all day, you were. ‘Cept…”

Robert grinned. “Except?”

“When you wasn’t.” Mr. Punch snorted. “Coo! Charlie!” Punch looked up. “Did Dr. Halifax go downstairs today?”

“I couldn’t say, Your Grace.” Charles smiled.

“He was! You were!” Mr. Punch chirped. “Fine, then, what’s for puddin’?”

“You’ll see.” Robert winked.

Punch once again looked to Charles. “You know, too.”

“Perhaps, Sir.” Charles nodded.

“What is it, then?”

“Dear Punch, you’ll just have to wait. Gerard will be up in a moment.”

“It ain’t the cake, is it? That’s for tomorrow!”

“It’s not the cake,” Robert shook his head, “but I did ask Mrs. Pepper if she could make something special for you. I thought you deserved a treat. She agreed and I’ve seen her handiwork.”

“Why?” Punch asked sincerely. “I ain’t done nothin’.”

Robert shook his head. “You’ve done much. Hasn’t His Grace done much, Charles?”

“I should say so, Your Grace.” Charles replied. “You’ve given all of us downstairs this wonderful gift.”

“It’s just a little party.” Mr. Punch shrugged.

“If you’ll pardon me, Your Grace, it’s no such thing. You should see how excited everyone is. And, especially, Ethel and Jenny and Violet, Sir. They’re overjoyed. And, really, Your Grace, I must confess, I’m rather excited, too. I know Gerard is. Like the others, he’s never attended a fancy dress ball. And, to be sure, you’ve been so kind in having costumes made for all of us.”

“Furthermore,” Robert added. “You’ve given me this lovely holiday. So, the very least I could do is ask Mrs. Pepper to make you something I know you’ll like.” He looked up as Gerard entered. “And, here it is now.”

Gerard came into the dining room, proudly pushing a trolley upon which stood a large crystal bowl of trifle—gorgeous bits of pound cake layered between pastry cream, homemade jam, fresh berries, cherries and peaches and topped with whipped cream.

“Coo!” Mr. Punch whooped. He sniffed the air and immediately could smell the brandy and crème de cassis which had infused the layers of cake. “What a lovely trifle, it is. Gerry, you must tell Mrs. Pepper how beautiful it is.”

“I shall, Sir.” Gerard smiled as he began to serve.

“Well, then.” Punch smiled hungrily. “This is a nice surprise, it is.”

“I’m glad,” Robert grinned.

Punch frowned briefly.

“What’s the matter, my dear?”

“Oh, it’s just that I wish all them folks downstairs could have some, too.”

Robert looked with pride at his companion.

Mr. Punch shrugged. “I wager they’d like it, they would.”

“Mrs. Pepper made some for all of us, Sir.” Gerard said.

“Oh, good.” Mr. Punch nodded happily, taking a spoonful of the dessert from the bowl which Charles offered him. He took a bite, his face overcome with an expression of deep satisfaction.

“It is lovely,” Robert nodded.

“Such fine berries! Reminds me of when I were a boy.” Mr. Punch mumbled as he took another spoonful. “Well, when Julian were a boy. I ‘member a time what we was here at the Grange. There were a young fella what came by the kitchens with a cart filled up with berries and sometimes the cook would buy some and make us somethin’ like this.”

“That sounds pleasant.” Robert smiled.

“It were.” Punch nodded. “Nice boy. Freckle-faced with strawberry blond hair. I think he were a cousin to Finlay, in fact. Julian never talked to ‘im no nothin’, but he seemed…”

Punch paused for a moment, his face went blank.

“Punch?” Robert asked.

“Huh?” Mr. Punch shook his head. “Oh, nothin’. Got a seed in me teeth, I did. Ain’t nothin’. It’s out now. What was I sayin’?”

“About the boy who brought berries to the kitchens.”

“Yeah.” Mr. Punch continued. “Seemed like a nice boy. Think his name were Roger.” Punch took another bite of trifle and paused. He looked up to see Robert, Charles and Gerard exchanging glances.

“What?” Punch asked.

“His name was Roger?” Robert asked softly.

“I think.” Punch shrugged.

“Like Miss Barrett’s brother?” Robert asked.

“I s’pose.” Punch said. “Could be wrong. Like I said, I never spoke to ‘im nor did Julian. Too shy, Julian was.”

Robert nodded quietly.

“I don’t understand.” Mr. Punch tilted his head to one side. “What you thinkin’?”

“I’m thinking how delicious this is.” Robert grinned.

“Oh!” Mr. Punch agreed. “It sure is! It’s just wonderful! Best puddin’ we had all week. I say, it is special. How can somethin’ so important be called a trifle?”



Did you miss Chapters 1-99 of Mr. Punch of Belgrave Square? If so, you can read them here. Come back tomorrow for Chapter 101.

Unusual Artifacts: A Fleur-de-Lis Finial, c. 1600

Bronze Finial
France, 1600
The Victoria & Albert Museum

Made in France around 1600, this bronze finial has been cast in the form of a fleur-de-lis. An iron spike protrudes from the bottom—thus allowing the finial to be attached to something.

Such pieces were made for a variety of ornamental purposes. We can’t be sure for what this finial was made since it has been stripped from its original purpose for centuries. The curators at the V&A, where the finial is housed, suggest that the finial was, perhaps, from a set of ornamental bronze railings which once surrounded the tomb of a wealthy French nobleman. When originally made, the finial most likely was accented with gilding.

Object of the Day: Konigin von Frankreich: A Trade Card in German for an English Company

Click Image to Enlarge

And, here we are! Happy Monday! I thought we’d start out the week with a little German fun. You know—something tasty…something like Meat Extract.

But, this isn’t just any ol’ Meat Extract. This is the meat of the Queen of France—I think. Maybe not. My German is not good. Now that I think about it, I’m sure that’s not it. You can’t farm Queens of France.

Let’s back up for a moment.

Here we have a trade card produced by an English company for the German market. This is actually one of my favorite cards from my collection of ephemera. From an aesthetic standpoint, it’s very attractive. The image on the front states, in German, that it’s the “Queen of France.” In her jewels and regal robes, she is set against a heraldic pattern of gold fleurs-de-lis on a deep blue ground. She holds a scepter mounted with a fleur-de-lis finial. It is all decidedly French. Beneath this image—and so we don’t forget that this was a trade card, after all—is a drawing of some kind of product which is labeled as:

LIEBIG’S FLEISCH EXTRACT 

The canister seems to be adorned with an illustration of a cow…or a bear. No, it’s a cow. I think.

This is one of a series of cards produced by England’s Liebig Meat Company. Their multi-lingual advertising included collectible cards featuring famous historical figures. These cards were used throughout Europe to advertise for their meat-based products. In the 1840s, given the cost of beef in Europe, the Liebig Company began producing their famous Meat Extract which was a thick, black, gummy molasses-like syrup made from typically inedible parts of the cow. Meant as a substitute for costly meat, the extract was intended to be a nutritious tonic. I can’t imagine how incredibly disgusting that stuff must have been.

By the 1870’s, Liebig was also producing cooked canned corned beef—just like our Victorian, American buddies at Libby, McNeill and Libby. In 1899, even the Liebig Meat Extract had become prohibitively expensive for most families. And, so, the firm created another brand—Oxo—which was meant to be a cheaper substitute. Cheaper than meat syrup? What was in Oxo? I can’t imagine. By the 1920’s Oxo also introduced a line of bouillon cubes, and, then, dried glands and other yucky stuff.

The reverse shows the same canister of Liebig’s Meat Extract as well a bottle of Oxo—both underneath a color signature along with a lot of German ad copy. I’m not going to bother to try to recreate the ad copy for this one since I know I’ll bungle the German. Still, regardless of the fact that it’s advertising cow syrup, it’s quite attractive.  Since we see the Oxo bottle, I'd place the date of this card around 1900.

Click image to enlarge.