The Belle Époque Today: The Art of Alex Duliba

Alexander Duliba

We'll gather lilacs in the spring again 
And walk together down an English lane 
Until our hearts have learned to sing again 
When you come home once more

                                   --Ivor Novello

Every so often, and, I admit it’s quite rare, I find myself impressed with the talents of an actual, living person. And, so, since I take these things quite seriously, I share the achievements of these individuals with all of you. With the exception of the occasional puppeteer or Punch Professor, usually—in fact, exclusively—these individuals have been visual artists. But, today, I’m going to introduce you to Alex Duliba, a singer.

Mr. Duliba, a baritone from Essex, England, has developed his exceptional skill and impressive range over the course of his lifetime. Encouraged as a child to pursue his dream of singing, Alex studied with Miss Joyce Ellis, and, later Mr. Robert Alderson, both of whom quickly found that young Duliba had a natural knack for line, as well as grasping the importance of text and style. Alex thrived in his studies of the classics.

Ivor Novello

Alderson suggested that the songs of the great Ivor Novello would certainly suit Duliba’s style, and, Alex quickly realized a passion for Novello’s work as well as a deep appreciation for the ballads of the 1920s through 1950s. Alex Duliba noted to me that he felt quite fortunate to have been able to share this love of those enchanting ballads with his late, beloved grandmother who had a special fondness for them as well.

Without a doubt, I’m impressed to see a person in my own (relatively) age group, devoting his life to a revival of such works. So, three cheers for Mr. Duliba. His immense talent speaks—or sings—for itself. Enjoy this clip of young Alex singing Novello’s “We’ll Gather Lilacs,” and keep your eyes open as I have a feeling we’ll be seeing much more from this baritone. 

Here’s wishing Mr. Duliba much success.

Mr. Punch of Belgrave Square, Chapter 137

Chapter 137:
You Simply Must 


Robert’s eyes stung with hot tears. “My dear Punch?” He gently shook his companion.

“What’s happened to him, Doctor?” Gamilla shrieked.

“I…I don’t know. He’s, I think…he’s done this before. It’s…it’s when he’s…I don’t know what to call it…” Robert wiped the sweat and tears from his face with the back of his hand. “When he’s…transitioning. From one entity to another.”

“Oh.” Gamilla nodded. “Does that mean that…the Duke…you know, Sir,…the original Duke is done gonna come out?”

“I’m not certain.” Robert furrowed his brow. “I was fearful of this. I know he doesn’t like when I shield him, but, he’s so delicate and sensitive. He’s received, as we all have, shock after shock this evening. I was afraid this would trigger such an…” Robert raised his hands in frustration. “Why are there no words for this? Why?”

“I’m sorry, Sir.” Gamilla said softly.

“Such an episode,” Robert continued. “We’ll call it an ‘episode.’” He examined his companion. “His breathing and heart beat are regular.” Robert glanced up at the bed where Gerard continued to moan.

“Sir,” Charles spoke up. “Shall I go get your bag?”

“I hate to send you out, Charles, but I think you’d best.”

“I’ll go in the nursery and stay with Colin ‘til Charles returns.” Gamilla said, rushing into the next room after taking one more look at Gerard.

“Dear Punch,” Robert leaned in, whispering. “I’d like to stay with you and watch over you, but…” He sighed. “Gerard needs me, too.”

Robert sat on the floor next to the Duke’s body. “Come back to me.”

Taking the Duke’s hand, Robert continued to whisper. “I know that you sometimes wonder if I wouldn’t be happier with Julian, and, despite my reassurances, I know that you carry that with you. Please hear me. It’s you, dear Punch. You have to come back to me. You're...you're my whole world.  You and Colin.  We can't go on...  Whatever is happening inside of you right now—I wish, how I wish I could understand it—just know that we need you to come back to us. Not just me, but especially for Colin. Colin needs his Punch. He adores you, my dear.  He worships you.  He needs you. I need you. The staff…we all…” Robert trailed off. “Now, you listen to me, Mr. Punch. You’re the heart of this family. Without you, we can’t continue.”

Panting, Charles rattled back into the room, locking the door behind him. He extended his arm and offered the surgical bag to Dr. Halifax.

“Thank you, Charles.” Robert stood up. “Did you get a sense of the atmosphere of the household?”

“Very quiet, Sir.” Charles responded. “Mr. Speaight is showing people to their rooms. I saw nothing of Finlay nor Miss Barrett.”

“Good.” Robert sighed again. “Will you help me carry His Grace into the nursery?”

“Of course.”

“We can put him on the sofa in there while I work on Gerard. If you’d watch him and Colin…”

“I’ll see that they’re both well.”

After carrying Julian’s body into the nursery, Charles sent Gamilla to attend to Gerard with the Doctor.

Alone with the Duke, Charles picked up Colin from his cradle and sat in the chair next to the sofa where the Duke lay.

“Your Grace,” Charles said aloud. “Colin is here. I suppose he thinks you’re sleeping. Perhaps you are. I’m here, too. It’s Charles. I think you can hear me. I don’t understand what goes on inside of you. I imagine it’s quite a terrible thing which you must endure. But, I also know how strong you are, Your Grace. Would that I were so strong, Sir.  I have enough trouble being just one man.  I don't know how you manage being two or more.  I couldn't do it.  I know you think I'm very hearty, but, you see, I’m not. I try to appear to be, but…I’m not. I…” He shook his head. “Colin wants to talk to his papa, Your Grace. So, you’ve got to wake up.”

He hugged the child and added, “You simply must.”



Did you miss Chapters 1-136? If so, you can read them here. Come back tomorrow for Chapter 138 of Mr. Punch of Belgrave Square.

History's Runway: “La Fleur” Dress, 1922

"La Fleur"
Lilac Lawn Day Dress
Madeleine Vionnet, 1922
The Cecil Beaton Collection at:
The Victoria & Albert Museum

“Lawn,” a fabric with a fairly plain weave, in the 1920s was likely crafted of linen. These days, most lawn is made of cotton. Regardless, it’s a perfect fabric for a day dress—durable, light and fashionable.

Here, from 1922, we see a gown made of lilac lawn. With a V-neckline, short sleeves and it’s convenient ankle length, the dress would have been suitable for a day in the country or for attending a summer sporting event.

Belted at the waist, the dress is given a hint of springtime style by layered, overlapping scallops attached to a base of tulle. These petal-like scallops and the fresh color evoke an appealing idea of new flowers. This is reinforced by an appliqué motif on each petal which depicts a stylized flowering plant in a decorative pot.

The dress was made in Paris for the design house of Madeleine Vionnet (1876-1975). It was donated to London Society photographer Cecil Beaton to be part of the collection of modern clothing which he was assembling for the V&A in 1972. 

Object of the Day: A Trade Card for Lion Coffee

If you click on the image, maybe you'll see your face in a dish.
But, it's highly doubtful.  My guess is you'll see a larger version of the picture.  

In 1880, when a little girl turned eight, she was forced to look at her reflection in a dish which was partly hidden beneath a piece of bark and a rose.

Okay, I’m kidding.

This is, however, a solid example of an 1880s stock trade card. I say “solid” because there’s nothing extraordinary about it. The chromolithography is quite nice, the colors are vivid, the printing is excellent and the illustrator did a competent job. When I was sorting through that lot of card which I recently purchased (and, remember—I warned you—there are about two hundred more awaiting you), I came upon this one and said, “Oh, that’s pleasant.” And, that’s just what it is. Pleasant. There are no disproportionately large animals. There are no children wearing flowers as hats, there are no grotesque faces, nor vegetable-bodied ladies. It’s just a nice, pretty picture. It was meant to be that, and that’s what it is. And, I’m sure, that’s why it was selected from a catalog as an advertisement. It’s a nonthreatening image which is wholly representative of the tastes of the time (especially in America). It’s got the minty green and pink which was the rage in the North Eastern U.S. in the 1880s and, it’s a picture of an innocent child—they liked nothing better. Heck, it’s even got flowers and laciness and a lovely tactile quality from the fine embossing.

But, what does it sell? We can’t really tell from the front. Let’s see what the reverse says.

If you want a Handsome Picture Card of which this is a fair sample
     Buy a Package of 

            LION COFFEE 
It is composed of a
successful combination of 
MOCHA JAVA AND RIO

               Is never sold in Bulk
      A Beautiful Picture Card
                    in every package. 

It is roasted with the greatest care but is not ground
     LION IS THE KING OF COFFEES 
Manufactured by the
           WOOLSON SPICE CO.      

                          TOLEDO OHIO 



Oh, I see. They blew their budget on the font. It’s certainly indicative of the era, but, still, a rather odd font choice, considering it was to be printed on an embossed card. And, again, I say, “How pleasant.”

Click to see the fonty goodness.

Mastery of Design: The Salamanca Pendant, 1800-1870

Pendant
Salamanca Spain
1800-1870
The Victoria & Albert Museum

It’s not surprising, given Spain’s highly-Catholic history, that Roman Catholic imagery would be incorporated into all art forms. Many jewels made in Spain from the Seventeenth to Nineteenth Centuries featured religious themes along with more secular designs.

This cross-shaped pendant is a good example. Made in the Salamanca region of Spain, the pendant is a great representation of the sort of filigree work which made the region famous. While the piece is dominated by the cross, it is suspended from a tulip, and this from a filigree bow—a popular fashion of the early-to-mid Nineteenth Century. Similarly, as was the style of the time, the pendant is made in three sections—each encrusted with seed and baroque pearls attached by thin gold wire. The whole was worn on a ribbon, tied around the throat.

The work of an unknown jeweler, the piece dates between 1800 and 1870.

 

Precious Time: A Skarral & Co Watch and Pair Case, 1650-1800

Watch
Case and Pair Case, c. 1650
Movement by Skarral of London, c. 1800
Matching bow brooch, now missing.
This and all related images from:
The Victoria & Albert Museum

Little is known about this watch and pair case of enameled and engraved gold. Clearly, it has been altered over time. The case was made in around 1650. We’re not sure where or by whom. It’s believed that the case once hung as a pendant from a bow-shaped pin. The present movement was installed into the case in 1800 by Skarral & Co. of London. At that time, the watch was adapted and the bow replaced.

The Home Beautiful: Marie Antoinette's Armchair, c. 1785

Arm Chair
French, c. 1785
This and all related images from:
The Victoria & Albert Museum

This chair, surmounted by a monogram of “MA”, was made for a now-unknown palace for Marie-Antoinette, queen to Louis XVI of France. While we’re not sure for which of the French Royal residences this chair was made, it’s notable that a similar suite of chairs was made for the Château de Saint-Cloud. Another two sets of chairs of a corresponding style can be found at Versailles and at the Tuileries. 

One of two carved walnut chairs remaining from the set, this chair (and its pair) were reupholstered with the present silk fabric in 1971. The original upholstery is long, long lost. The restorer took liberties with the silk swags, modeling them after a small wax model of a similar chair which was made about 1780—five years before this chair is thought to have been constructed.

Carved, gilt and painted a gray-white, the armchair features a bowed back and canted sides, above a D-shaped, bow-fronted seat. Turned and tapered legs, the back legs slightly raked and splayed, support the piece. Carved figures of the goddess Diana add drama.

The chair has been attributed to Jean-Baptiste-Claude Sené, (1748-1803) who had been commissioned to create furnishings for a number of the French palaces in the 1780s. 

A newer photo showing the chair, cleaned, with the flounces removed.