Mastery of Design: A Toadstone Ring, 1500-1600

Toadstone Ring
Germany, 1500-1600
The Victoria & Albert Museum

What is toadstone? During the Medieval and Renaissance eras, the stone was thought to have literally come from the head of a toad. That’s a lot of toads popping things out of their little skulls. As it turns out, toadstone has nothing to do with toads. It is, actually, the fossilized tooth of a fish—equally strange.

In the Thirteenth through Seventeenth Centuries, toadstones were assigned mystical properties—specifically thought to protect the wearer from being poisoned or getting kidney disease. Well, that’s oddly specific.

So powerful was the stone that it was said to give off heat when in the presence of poison and that, should the wearer be bitten, it could ward off snake venom. Furthermore, it was thought that toadstone could protect a pregnant woman from the fairies and demons which would want to steal the newly born child and switch it out for a changeling.

Here’s an interesting example of a toadstone ring. This, like most such rings, comes from Germany and dates to sometime between 1500 and 1600. The silver ring features a crown-shaped bezel which holds the toadstone. The shoulders of the ring are engraved with vines and flowers.

Toadstone is also known as “crapaudine” or “crappot”—charming names, which, oddly enough were assigned to it because of its rusty brown color. The proper name is “Lepidotes.”

Painting of the Day: “Flowers in a Glass,” by Roelandt Savery, 1613

Flowers in a Glass
Roelandt Savery, 1613
On loan from a private collection
to the National Gallery, Britain

Though born in Flanders, painter Roelandt Savery (a fantastic name) lived in Amsterdam from an early age. There, he was responsible for a number of the brilliant still life paintings which defined Seventeenth-Century Flemish and Dutch art. Here, we see a still life of flowers which could not have been painted from life. The blossoms that Savery has combined are from flowers that bloom at different times of the year. The detail of each bloom is spot-on, indicating that he had drawn studies of several flowers throughout the year and combined those designs into this one canvas. The flowers are nestled into an ornate wine glass known as a roemer. Roemers were known for their uneven surface of raised drop-shaped masses of glass.

In typical Dutch fashion, the vase is flanked by a frog and a lizard. The Dutch frequently included animals in their still lifes, which, technically makes them not still lifes. Butterflies and dragonflies flit around the buds, with some alighting on the petals. While these sorts of paintings are often overwrought, this one—though still quite full—takes a less-crowded approach, making the composition appear to be quite realistic.

History's Runway: A Walking Dress Ensemble, 1817-20

Walking Dress
1817-1820
The Victoria & Albert Museum

This day outfit dates between 1817 and 1820 and echoes military uniform in design, givimg it a decidedly masculine flavor. Passementerie (trim) in the form of crescent-shaped moulds, looped cord and balls covered in floss silk replace the gilt or silver buttons which would have adored the similarly-styled men's regimental coats. The tassels on the collar ends and cuff bands evoke the tassels which adorned boots, hats, sashes and cap lines of military accessories.

Military styles were worked into ladies' fashionable dress in Britain largely due to the influence of the Napoleonic Wars (1793-1815). The uniforms worn during this period were some of the most elaborate in the history of military dress with bright, vivid colors, frog (clasp) enclosures, braid and tassels.  These uniforms fueled the imagination of fashion designers for years to come.

Print of the Day: Theatrical Leap Frog, 1804

Theatrical Leap Frog
Print, hand-colored, 1804
The Victoria  & Albert Museum

This hand-colored engraving entitled "Theatrical Leap Frog" is a caricature of the child actor Master Betty leaping over John Philip Kemble--a famed English actor of the late Eighteenth and early Nineteenth Centuries.  It was published in London by Rudolph Ackerman (1765-1834).

It represents the growing popularity of novelty acts as they surpassed legitimate drama in fashion.  The original was drawn by Thomas Rowlandson.

Unusual Artifacts: The Hermes Frog Door-knocker, 1932

Frog Door Knocker
Gertrude Hermes, 1932
The Victoria & Albert Museum

Gertrude Hermes, the designer of this attractive brass door knocker, was primarily known as a wood engraver and sculptor but she was also a notable painter, printmaker and book illustrator.

This charming frog door knocker is one of a series of doorknockers that Gertrude designed for her friends as fun gifts.  Hermes was, notably, the first woman engraver to be elected to the Royal Academy in 1963.

Hermes' preferred subjects, in sculpture and prints, were animals and children. She executed these with the same strong, but fluid, style that she has demonstrated here.

The Home Beautiful: A Minton Tile, 1880

Tile
Minton, 1880
The Victoria & Albert Museum

Made circa 1880 by Minton, this earthenware tile was stenciled with a design before being glazed and fired.  The stenciled pattern depicts four scenes: a sunrise, a balloon, a toad and a rooster.

It was made at Minton’s Stoke-on-Trent, England, Factory and was part of a large set of tiles depicting similarly bucolic scenes predominantly in browns and blues.  

Object of the Day, Museum Edition: A Frog Scent Case, 17th C.

Silver Gilt Scent Case
German, Seventeenth Century
The Victoria & Albert Museum

This silver-gilt scent case was made in Germany in the Seventeenth Century. As you can see, it’s created in the shape of a frog on a leaf. Such a case would have been worn or carried on the person to keep a pleasant aroma at hand at all times during periods when cities and towns didn’t smell so very good.  This one, for example, would have been worn from a chain or ribbon, suspended around the neck, or hung from a matching pin or brooch.  A sponge, fabric or porous material soaked with scent or pot pourri would have been contained in the case and the aroma would have escape through the pierced backing.

The owner and maker of this handsome figure are unknown, but it’s a lovely example of German silver work of the early 1600s. 

Precious Time: Queen Victoria's Rock Crystal, Diamond and Ruby Clock, 1900

Clock
Michael Perchin
c. 1900
Crown Copyright
The Royal Collection
Images Courtesy of Her Majesty Queen Elizabeth II

Created by Fabergé workmaster Mikhail Evlampievich Perkhin (1860-1903) around 1900, this desk clock of carved rock crystal is mounted with gold, silver-gilt, enamel, rose diamonds and rubies.  It was presented to Queen Victoria by Tsarina Alexandra Feodorovna, her granddaughter,  in 1900.

Crown Copyright
The Royal Collection

Her Majesty had a fondness for her Tsarina granddaughter.  According to the Royal Collection, "On receipt of the news of the death of Tsar Alexander III, on 1 November 1894, the Queen wrote of the new Tsar and Tsarina in her journal:

‘What a terrible load of responsibility & anxiety has been laid upon the poor Children! I had hoped and trusted they would have many years of comparative quiet & happiness before ascending this thorny throne.'"

The Queen was thrilled with this gift from the young Tsarina and appreciated its unusual, noting its difference from the majority of Fabergé’s clocks in her collection.  The others are in the form of gold strut clocks, enameled in a wide variety of colors and set with gemstones in gold. 

Crown Copyright
The Royal Collection

This clock, however, is crafted predominantly of rock crystal which has been engraved with trophies incorporating torches and a quiver as well as musical attributes. The rock crystal lobed panels are divided by four mounted gold arrows set with rubies and diamonds. 

White enamel forms the dial which is  surrounded by a bezel of green enamelled laurel with diamond-set ribbon ties. 

Upon the death of Queen Victoria, the clock was given to the future King George V who kept it on his desk until his own death.

Crown Copyright
The Royal Collection

To Serve and Project: The Pugin Staffordshire Plate, 1848

Gothic Revival Plate
A.W.N. Pugin
The Victoria & Albert Museum

This plate was designed by the celebrated architect and writer A.W.N. Pugin, known for his association with the Palace of Westminster and as a leading figure in the Gothic Revival. This plate, with its trefoil and quatrefoil ornament, is a perfect example of Pugin's Gothic style sensibilities. According to the V&A, "Pugin had a long-standing relationship with Herbert Minton of Minton & Co. and produced many ceramic designs for the firm, including tiles as well as tableware."

The eight-lobed white plate feautures a rim decorated with raised quatrefoils in a buff color and gilding on blue ground. The playe's center shows raised vine leaves and grapes in gilding and green on a buff ground around a central circle containing a  green tudor rose surrounded with a band of trefoil shapes in gilding on blue.

It was made in Staffordshire, England around 1848.

Figure of the Day: The Flower Girl, c. 1760

The Flower Girl
The Bow Porcelain Factory
The Victoria & Albert Museum

This figure from the Bow Porcelain Factory depicts a young woman with a basket of flowers. She symbolizes Springtime with her basket of flowers, her pink bodice and green corsage and diapered skirt of red, yellow and green. Blue circles and stars adorn her outfit and match her blue shoes—topped by pink rosettes.

She’s wholly Rococo on her circular base with applied leaves. This work of soft-paste porcelain painted with enamels and gilding followed the French fashion of porcelain figural groups designed for the dessert table. 

The Art of Play: The Wellington Mr. Punch, c. 1925

Professor Wellington's Mr. Punch
Circa 1925
This and all related images from:
The Victoria & Albert Museum

This handsome Mr. Punch was once used by Yarmouth's Professor Wellington--a celebrated Punch & Judy man of the first half of the Twentieth Century.  This glove puppet is part of a varied and beautiful set of Punch and Guignol puppets which belonged to Wellington.

As is the nature of Punchinellos, he features a painted wooden head, hands and feet.  His green and black velvet hat is trimmed with holden braid which matches the trim on the green panel at the front of his scarlet velvet coat.  Black breeches and a yellow ruff are also constructed of velvet.  Two wooden buttons adorn his ensemble.

Unusual Artifacts: Johnny the Dunce, an Automaton, 1860

Automaton
French, 1860The Victoria & Albert Museum

Poor Johnny. He’s a dunce. This somewhat creepy, but entirely intriguing figure of wax is more than just an awkward depiction of a humiliated boy. It’s also an automaton by an unknown French maker.

Here, we see the figure of a young boy sitting on (not at) his desk. He’s trying to learn to read, but his attempts are unsuccessful as his book is upside down. I worked with people like this once. Despite his earnest efforts, he has not been rewarded for his sad studies. He has been made to wear an artificial suede cap marked DUNCE which has been fashioned to resemble two ass’ ears. Still, the cap goes nicely with his red and white sweater, yellow silk shirt and waistcoat with a red silk front and brown silk back. Clearly he comes from a well-off family. His breeches are of striped silk and velvet in dark green, pale green and orange which somewhat clash with his knitted yellow and green striped socks which stick out below his black lace up boots.

Johnny’s head and body are crafted of composition while his lower arms made of bisque. His wax head is adorned with hair of black mohair and eyes of brown glass.

He looks rather pathetic when sitting still. However, when the clockwork mechanism is activated and a slow, mournful tune begins to play, he looks all the more pathetic. The ears on his dunce’s cap move back and forth as his head moves to the left. It’s quite a complicated animation as his right arm also moves up and down and his left leg swings.

Such automata were not made for children. These were the stuff of aristocratic adults and were often trotted out for the amusement of guests. 

After A Fashion: A Hat by Balenciaga, c. 1960

Hat of Woven Green Straw
Balenciaga, c. 1960
The Victoria & Albert Museum

Made circa 1960, this attractive hat of woven green straw is trimmed with a pin which has a bobble on each end. The unlined headwear features a hatband with a grosgrain back and green velvet front.

The hat was made in Paris, France, and is the work of the famed designer Cristóbal Balenciaga, (1895 – 1972). It’s part of the collection of Mrs. Fern Bedaux—the extremely wealthy widow of an American multimillionaire office systems pioneer, Charles Bedaux--whose beautiful clothing was given to the V&A by her niece and heiress Miss E Hanley. Mrs. Bedaux always celebrated for her fashion sense, purchased her entire wardrobe regularly from Balenciaga, amassing an unrivaled collection of the designer’s work.

Object of the Day, Museum Edition: A German Mechanical Dancing Toy, 1865-75

Mechanical Dancing Toy
1865-1875
The Victoria & Albert Museum

A colorfully-dressed couple dances around an opulent setting—this was the stuff of the upper-classes and was out of reach for most people, especially children. So, imagine a child’s face as he or she gazed at this magnificent mechanical toy which was made in Germany between 1865 and 1875. Sadly, most children would never have had a chance to see this toy. This was made as a conversation piece for wealthy Nineteenth-Century men and women who already had access to such events. Automata such as this were made in contrast to the novelty pieces which glutted the limited market. This was the elegant answer to all of the smoking monkeys and laughing urchins.


The mechanical figures are housed in a box of polished wood with a glass panel at the front. The while of the box is surrounded by a carved, gilt frame. The brass clockwork mechanism which operates the figures as well as the music box is activated by releasing the control switch after winding with an iron key.

The scene of a three-sided ballroom is adorned with mirrored walls and a red cloth curtain, and is trimmed with gold metallic paper. Across the front top is a band of similar cloth. The floor is of printed paper over wood, showing birds, trees,, flowers and fruit and a lead chandelier is suspended from the top. At some point later, two electric lights were added.

The figures are two bisque German dolls with blonde wigs. The woman wears a purple jacket trimmed with gold, a cream skirt covered with black lace, and black lace attached to the top of the head. The man wears a purple jacket with green and gold trim, green breeches and a green cap which extends to a long point at the back, decorated with gold trim and a gold and purple tassel.

Mastery of Design: The Castellani Helios Brooch, c. 1860

This and all related images from The British Museum.

This gold brooch, from The British Museum's Hull-Grundy collection, comes from the Italian Castellani workshop and dates to between 1860 and 1870.  Castellani looked to then-recent archeological discoveries for inspiration and this brooch is an ideal representation of that passion for the past.

The jewel depicts Helios, a Roman sun god, with a mask cast in relief and enameled eyes.  Fine granulation in rows represent the god's hair and rays of light emanate from his head in the form of twisted gold wires. 

Unusual Artifacts: Pyramus and Thisbe Valance, 1560

Pyramus and Thisbe
Panel from a Bed Valance, 1560
French, possibly made for Queen Catherine De Medici
The Victoria & Albert Museum

This piece of satin textile is one of a set of panels that once formed part of the decoration of a bed valance—a kind of pelmet round the top of bed curtains. The image is embroidered in colored silk on a red satin ground and depicts the story of Pyramus and Thisbe. Pyramus, thinking that Thisbe was dead, committed suicide by falling on his own sword. This scene is shown within a frame held by men in stylized Roman military dress.

Other decorative motifs pictured include a laughing mask, birds, dolphins, ox skulls, an altar, a vase and draperies and figures of nudes and monsters in the Grotesque style which had been introduced to France between 1550 and 1575, based on Italian artifacts. Given the style, it is possible that this panel may have been part of a set made for Queen Catherine de Medici (1519–89, daughter of the Italian Lorenzo de Medici, later Queen Consort of France), or for another high-ranking member of the French court. Further evidence comes from the fact that in the Nineteenth Century, this fragment was bound in an album inscribed “RICAMI DEI MEDICI.” (‘embroideries of the Medici’). A gold braid was added in the Nineteenth Century.

Painting of the Day: King George V with his Granddaughters, 1934-1935

King George V with His Granddaughters
Thomas Percy Earl, 1934-1935
The Royal Collection

King George V and Queen Mary loved, loved, loved their granddaughter Princess Elizabeth. Queen Mary often noted in her diary that she spent many happy hours with Princess Elizabeth. She never mentioned Margaret Rose. The king, too, adored his eldest granddaughter. And, he didn’t really like children too much. She called him, “Grandpa England,” and he often said that he hoped that nothing would come between “Bertie” (his son, the Duke of York) and “Lilibet” (his nickname for Bertie’s eldest daughter) and the throne. Not only was this a show of support for his second son and his granddaughter, but it was a clear statement that he didn’t think that his eldest boy, “David” would be a good king. “David” wasn’t a good king, and he wasn’t king long—thankfully. We all know about David’s abdication kerfuffle when, as King Edward VIII, he preferred Wallis Simpson over England.


After the abdication, Queen Mary was all the more involved with Elizabeth and often took comfort in the fact that her late husband adored the girl as well.

Before the King’s death in 193g, he sat for a portrait with the two young princesses. This painting by Thomas Percy Earl shows the King with his favorite horse and the two young girls on their ponies. They are guarded by a sturdy Scottie dog. This painting was created as a gift for Queen Mary. It was presented to Queen Mary by the wives and widows of members of the Jockey Club for the Silver Jubilee celebration on May 6, 1935.

History’s Runway: The Duchess of Windsor’s Bal Masque; Ligne Trapèze, 1958

This and all related images from:
The Victoria & Albert Museum

Ah, Wallis. You didn’t mind looking like a circus performer, did you? This unusual “Masked Ball” themed cocktail evening dress of black silk tulle, and beaded net tulle is trimmed with black satin bows.

The dress has a low round neck, elbow length sleeves and a bell-shaped skirt. The net is caught in drapes by the bows. The bodice and sleeves are trimmed with black beads and the hem is punctuated by a black satin band.

This is the work of the House of Christian Dior. And it looks every bit of the year of its creation—1958.

This was made for the Duchess of Windsor. She wore it when she was 62 years old! Daring. And, a little trampy. Christian Dior was one of Wallis’ favorites of the many designers she frequented. The gown was designed by Yves Saint Laurent for the House of Dior. Yves Saint Laurent claimed to have been influenced by the designs of the 1860s.

I wonder what Tim Gunn would say.

Coming Next Week: What's Bertie Watching?

Bertie has had a chance to watch a lot of television lately...for the last thirteen years or so.  He and Oscar enjoy watching their favorite shows together.  Much like me, Bertie enjoys the fantastic classic television shows, and, one of his favorites is the beloved comedy Bewitched starring Elizabeth Montgomery as Samantha Stephens, the plucky "witch with a twitch."  Agnes Moorehead, the enchanting character actress, played her mother "Endora."  Quite famously, Dick York played Sam's mortal husband Darrin Stephens from 1964 to 1969 while Dick Sargent filled Darrin's wingtips from 1969 to 1972.  

Next week, Bertie will be offering up his thoughts on Bewitched and the important part that the show played in shaping not only the television landscape of the 1960s and early 1970s, but, how it continues to influence programming today.

To tide you over until next week, here are some of my...I mean Bertie's...favorite images from the show.

Though it's colorized (which I loathe), here's one of my favorite episodes from the show's first season (the first two were filmed in black and white).  This is Episode 4, "Mother Meets 'What's His Name'."

Film of the Week: Summer and Smoke, 1961

Tennessee Williams was responsible for writing some of the most beautiful, and bleak, dramas in American theater history. Many of his plays were made into feature films which continue to move and startle us to this day.

In 1945, Williams began work on a play that he called, Chart of Anatomy. He later changed the name to Eccentricities of a Nightingale and later, to Summer and Smoke based on a line from the Hart Crane poem, "Emblems of Conduct.”

Summer and Smoke centers around the residents of the town of Glorious Hills, Mississippi at the turn of the Twentieth Century. True to his usual Southern Gothic themes, Williams has woven a tale of repression, manners, debauched behavior and betrayal.

Geraldine Page

 At the middle of the story is neurotic Alma Winemiller whose religious-nature and tragic home life make for a difficulty in forming relationships. She has an unrequited affection for Dr. John Buchanan, Junior—a young doctor whose passions and wildness continue to be a disappointment to his family. Alma cares for her mentally ill mother and fills the role of “wife” with her father. She’s the grudging head of the household upon whose shoulders the burdens of the family rest. By the end, constant disappointment and a growing addiction to tranquilizers lead Alma away from her true nature, or, perhaps toward a path of truth for which she was unprepared.

The film starred Laurence Harvey(as John Buchanan) and Geraldine Page (as Alma Winemiller) with Rita Moreno, Una Merkel, John McIntire, Thomas Gomez, Pamela Tiffin, Malcolm Atterbury, Lee Patrick and Earl Holliman. Produced by Hal Wallis and directed by Peter Glenville, the film received four Academy Award nominations including Best Actress for Geraldine Page’s performance and Best Supporting Actress for Una Merkel’s portrayal of Alma’s off-kilter mother.

This beautiful Technicolor film features accurate Victorian sets and turn-of-the-century costumes which create a wonderful setting for this story of despair and confusion. No, Tennessee Williams never offers up a laugh-riot, but his drama is top-notch. This is further proof of his brilliance.

Card of the Day: HRH The Prince of Wales

When you're bored with yourself, marry and be bored with someone else. 

King Edward VIII 

I’ve often written of my dislike for the briefly-reigning King Edward VIII, the one-time Prince of Wales, and later Duke of Windsor. I tend to side with Queen Mary in matters regarding the Royal Family (not that my opinion really matters at all) and tend to keenly feel her disappointment in her eldest son.

But, to be fair, just for a moment, let’s examine the Prince of Wales who is seen here in this 1935 Silver Jubilee card by the Godfrey Phillips Company.

“David,” as he was known within the family was always restless. This was a state of mind which never made sense to his parents—King George V and Queen Mary. The King and Queen were anything but restless. They had their duties, they had each other, they had the empire and they had their family and that was quite enough. Sure, the King and Queen each had their hobbies, shooting and shopping respectively, but at the end of the day, it was a quiet supper en famille which most appealed to them. Prince Edward, on the other hand, yearned for adventure. He was considered quite good looking. Though Mary wasn’t eager to share this with her son, she often wrote to King George just how handsome she thought her fair-haired eldest boy was and that she was pleased that he physically favored, “The old Royal Family.” 

Young Prince Edward
The Royal Collection

David didn’t need his mother to tell him that he was attractive. Everyone else told him. He liked to be told. He liked praise and attention and enjoyed going places where he’d be get both. Sitting at home while his mother sat cataloging her jewels (and truly, this was how Queen Mary spent her evenings) and his father sat smoking and growling to himself about the Empire (which, indeed, is how George spent his evenings), was not appealing. The King was often very vocal (quite violently at times) about his displeasure with his hard-living eldest boy. And, the more the King ranted, the more Prince Edward wanted to be out of the house—typical teenager stuff, but heartily magnified when you’re the Prince of Wales and your dad is the King. What Edward didn’t know was that his mother—though she never said it aloud—often wrote long letters to her husband pleasing with him to be gentler with their son. It didn’t work, but she tried.

Mary, for her part, had no ability to communicate on a personal level with anyone. She was quite shy and inhibited. While she was able to make small talk at parties and while she had no trouble running her myriad charities and talking with her subjects, when it came to talking with her family, she was crippled. This owed a lot to her tumultuous childhood with her egotistical mother and her father, the Duke of Teck, who was, at best, something of a nut. The Queen was very sensitive and loving, but had no means of communicating that. And, so, he children were often left wondering what she was thinking and, when alone with her, would despair that they only talked about vague subjects. Mary’s few attempts to have real conversations with her children were such failures that they would leave her rooms wondering just what had happened.

After the close of the Great War, Mary hoped that “David” would settle down. She had planned to find a way to start to mold him into a proper heir presumptive, but then, her youngest son—Prince John—died during an epileptic seizure. The Queen sank into a private depression. She never spoke of her son’s death. In fact, she rarely ever mentioned him again, but she privately wrote of her secret, deep despair and how it prevented further closeness to her other children.

Meanwhile, the King and Queen couldn’t understand why Britain was so uneasy when they finally had achieved peace. The Prince of Wales began to represent the new sensibilities of the 1920’s—glamour, adventure and excitement. George V and Mary never could understand their son’s sense of boredom. The Queen was the first to point out that she was “never bored.” Yet, “David” was always bored. Always. And, much of the Empire was bored, too.

And so, disappointment built on disappointment. The more the King ranted, the more “David” became bored. He kept questionable company—company which ultimately led to his abdication, and he was, notably, Queen Mary’s deepest disappointment of all.