In case it hasn’t been evident over the last ten weeks, I have a particular fondness for Victorian papier mache objects. I think it’s the combination of durability and fragility inherent to the medium which makes me feel so warmly toward it. I’m also quite fond of the coloring and decoration of these objects—so typically Victorian.
One of my favorite little objects is this dear little papier mache table. The top is an ebonized papier mache tray, inlaid with mother of pearl within a hand-painted crest of roses and wildflowers. The whole of the top is painted with a decorative gold border. The base of the table is a gently-turned pedestal supported by three fluted and gilt curved legs.
In much the fashion of the papier mache tilt-top tea tables, small tables such as this were used in drawing rooms and parlors and offered a convenient place to rest of cup of tea and a nice dish of little sandwiches. Come to think of it, perhaps it’s my deep love of tea and little sandwiches that guides me toward these objects. Nevertheless, no cup and saucer will touch this table now. After over a century of existence, it’s earned the right to just stand there and look pretty.
My name is Jane Eyre... I was born in 1820, a harsh time of change in England. Money and position seemed all that mattered. Charity was a cold and disagreeable word. Religion too often wore a mask of bigotry and cruelty. There was no place for the poor or the unfortunate. I had no father or mother, brother or sister. As a child I lived with my aunt, Mrs. Reed of Gateshead Hall. I do not remember that she ever spoke one kind word to me.
Charlotte Bronte’s 1847 novel Jane Eyre chronicled the life of a young, abused orphan girl as she managed to escape the clutches of her overbearing aunt only to wind up in the cold, cruel world of a British orphanage. Her only true friend during her childhood died, and, so, she must tamp down her inquisitive spirit in order to survive. As an adult, she shows herself a fine teacher and takes the position of governess at Thornfield, the sprawling country estate of a mysterious man—Mr. Rochester. Little did Jane know that the angry gentleman she startled in the mist was to be her master. And little did Mr. Rochester know that Jane’s presence would change his lfie forever. Thornfield was haunted. Not by a ghost per se, but haunted by a presence nonetheless—a presence which clouded every step that Rochester took. Would Jane expose the secrets of the Hall as she grew reluctantly closer to her master? In true Gothic fashion, the answer, of course, was “yes.”
Several film adaptations of Jane Eyre have been produced. In my opinion, none are finer than the 1944 version starring Orson Welles as Mr. Rochester, the fascinating Joan Fontaine (sister and rival of Olivia de Havilland) as Jane, Margaret O’Brien (the great weeper) as Mr. Rochester’s ward, and featuring an uncredited early film appearance by a young Elizabeth Taylor as Jane’s ill-fated orphan friend. Of particular note is the performance of Agnes Moorehead (good ol’ Endora) as Jane’s wicked, yet strangely pathetic, aunt.
The script of the film was based on an adaptation written by Welles himself for his radio program, “Mercury Theater on the Air.” Welles—undoubtedly one of the most clever film directors of his day—was having some difficulty finding work as a director due to some of the issues surrounding a little film he directed called Citizen Kane. While Welles did not direct this picture (it was credited as being directed by Robert Stevenson), his hand is all over it. He is responsible for the impressive mists and the realistic recreation of the moors that are almost unrecognizable as a Hollywood soundstage. Stevenson recognized Welles’ contributions and offered him a producer credit which Welles declined, stating, “a person who is not considered the director, should not be credited as ‘just’ a producer.”
This film is exciting and beautiful. Even if you know the original novel line-by-line, you’ll find yourself swept up in the picture’s numerous suspenseful twists and turns. With a haunting score by Bernard Hermann, the film is at once tender and mysterious. Welles plays Rochester with great sympathy, and no one could have done a better job with Jane than Joan Fontaine who played a similar role in Hitchcock’s stunning Rebecca. You’re sure to be on the edge of your seat. Just watch out for “Grace Poole.”
(Pardon the captioning in this clip. For some reason, I couldn't find another one that wasn't dubbed into French or Spanish).
St. George is one of the great symbols of the United Kingdom. His image—either with or without the dragon that he famously slew—emblazes many a crest and work of art beloved in England. This diamond-encrusted cameo was created in 1815. Signed on the reverse “Caputi” we know that this was the work of famed Italian medalist, Giuseppe Caputi. The cameo was placed in his present setting by the Royal Goldsmiths Rundell, Bridge and Rundell in 1818 according to the inscription on the reverse of the mounting.
The original owner of this brooch was Prince George, Second Duke of Cambridge (though some say it also belonged to his father). It was later given to German Emperor, Wilhelm II. Queen Mary (then the Princess of Wales) saw the emperor wearing the piece and described it as “so fine it should belong to our crown jewels.” The piece was, indeed, reacquired from the heirs of the Emperor and now resides in the Royal Collection.
This truly is a masterwork of both the cameo artist and the goldsmith. The carving of the stone is exquisitely detailed and fully-formed. The setting, too, is a masterpiece, set with beautifully cut diamonds around a fretwork motto HONI SOIT QUI MAL Y PENSE (Shame on him who thinks evil of it).
The motto alone sums up the beauty of the piece. A symbol of both artistry and bravery, this is the sort of work that defines English jewelry-making of the early Nineteenth Century.
Monday, September 20, will feature Chapter 49 of Punch’s Cousin. Now that Julian, Robert, Naasir (and Mr. Punch) have arrived in Marionneaux will they continue to be welcomed in the home of Robert’s brother, Cecil? Or will Cecil’s wife, Adrienne, be concerned that Mr. Punch might be a threat to their child? Mr. Punch was clearly upset upon seeing the sugar cane at the Rittenhouse Plantation. Just what does he mean when he says that he’s, “lost in the sugar cane?” Their visit to Marionneaux will offer many answers to their questions, but will also create many more quandaries for our travelers. The Elegant Ogress isn’t going to be stopped so easily. The threat that she sees in Naasir will cause considerable trouble for the three men, and will also endanger Naasir’s brother, Cephas and his young bride, Hannah. We’ll also have our first encounter with the notorious Cage family, and we’ll revisit Nanny Rittenhouse as she inadvertently reveals a secret that she swore on her life that she’d protect. And just who is it who’s following the three men?
I’ve been so touched by the kind comments and emails I’ve received about Punch’s Cousin. There’s a lot more excitement in store as Punch, his "chum" Robert, Naasir and Lord Julian both search and are searched for. Thanks for reading!
It’s so easy to complain.Every day we must deal with things that we don’t like.But, does complaining really help anything?All complaining does is prolong a negative experience.It’s inevitable that you must do or endure something disagreeable.The best approach is to simply do it if you have to, and, then, move past it.Complaining doesn’t change the facts.It doesn’t make the experience less unpleasant.All it does is serve to prolong your discomfort by dwelling on it.Perhaps a better approach is to face each challenge, and, then, move forward to something more to your liking.Remember what happened to Lot’s wife when she turned around?We all must remind ourselves to continue to look forward.There is always something better on the horizon—no matter what we’re led to believe.
I must confess that this drawing baffles me a bit. I know it’s French and, obviously, it represents a barrister at work in a courtroom. The figures are loosely drawn in charcoal and pencil and are rendered quickly in the style of caricature. The lower right of the drawing clearly states the date as May, 1889. Much is written above that—at an angle. However, the words have been smudged over time and are written in French.
What’s particularly interesting about this piece is that upon framing it, someone has written in ink on the mat. The handwriting is florid, and also written in French. Now, I am guilty of having overly florid handwriting myself which, admittedly is old-fashioned and probably quite difficult to read. So, I can’t fault whoever wrote this. From what I can best decipher, it says that this drawing is a souvenir of Msr. Lombard Paull, Doctor of “something,” 10th of March, 1890. And it is signed beneath that “something” Albert.
When I first encountered this piece, I thought it was an engraving. On closer inspection, I can see that the edges extend past the natural rectangular area which would denote that it was a print.
Regardless, it’s an interesting and attractive piece of history. Sometimes a little mystery is healthy.
As we approach autumn, Stalking the Belle Epoque will be taking a look at some warm and exciting antiques and art objects including a rare papier mache table, some sparkling jewelry, crystal, a glowing antique Portuguese chandelier and an unusual carpeted bench. We’ll explore Italy’s famed Uffizi Gallery, visit the humanitarian work of a great classic film star, and learn more about the troubled, but brilliant, Montgomery Clift. Mr. Punch will be making his usual appearances both in Punch’s Cousin and in representations of the beloved character in Art History. We will view some exceptional films and take another look into the amazing Royal Collection to see some more of its rare treasures. As always, Stalking The Belle Époque will search the world to offer you glimpses at the most incredible artistic masterpieces housed in the finest of museums as well as give you tips on making your own home a masterpiece all its own.
I know I’m redundant when I say this each week, but, again, my thanks to all of you who have been following. Your contributions to this site are invaluable. I look forward to all we have to share in the coming week.
In much the fashion of the papier mache tilt-top tea tables, small tables such as this were used in drawing rooms and parlors and offered a convenient place to rest of cup of tea and a nice dish of little sandwiches. Come to think of it, perhaps it’s my deep love of tea and little sandwiches that guides me toward these objects. Nevertheless, no cup and saucer will touch this table now. After over a century of existence, it’s earned the right to just stand there and look pretty. 
