THE MAZER, THE STANDING CUP, THE FLAGON, THE TANKARD, THE BEAKER, THE
WINE CUP, THE PUNCH-BOWL
The Mazer, the fifteenth-century precursor of the punch-bowl--Some
historic Standing Cups (the Leigh Cup, 1499)--Stoneware jugs
with silver mounts and covers--The seventeenth century--The
Pepys Standing Cup--Elizabethan flagons--Seventeenth-century
Tankards--The Stuart Beaker--Stuart wine cups--The “Monteith”
form punch-bowl of the eighteenth century.
In this chapter it will be seen that a survey is made of the drinking
vessels of silver plate in use during the sixteenth and seventeenth
centuries. With the advent of coffee and tea, silver plate found a
newer field, and the coffee-pots, tea-pots, and tea-caddies of the
eighteenth century are dealt with in another chapter.
During the period prior to the general use of glass, metals were
employed for domestic plate. Pewter, being less costly, was more used
than silver plate, which was confined to the wealthier classes; and
for those of lower degree the black-jack and the “old leather bottel”
sufficed. Faience from the Low Countries and from Cologne early found
its way to this country. The Bellarmine jugs, large in capacity and
strongly made of _gres de Flandres_ stoneware, were possibly much in
demand for serving sack and beer and other liquors consumed in large
quantities. It is the tendency of all simple objects to become ornate.
The earliest plain horn cups used by the herdsman and the simples
developed into silver-mounted richly-chased drinking horns for use
at the castle. Of this class is the drinking horn belonging to Lord
Cawdor, at Golden Grove, with silver mounts supported by silver dragon
and greyhound, which has a history dating from the days of Richard III.
The wooden bowl, as we see in the mazer, became enriched with costly
mounts. These additions rarely added to the utility of the vessel, but
they denote its elevation into usage by more wealthy people. The plain
grey or mottled and excellently potted stoneware jug, the like of which
Mistress Quickly must have used to pour out the canary of Falstaff and
Bardolf and the thirsty set of tapsters who surrounded the fat knight,
was common enough in the early sixteenth century. But in Elizabeth’s
day it added luxurious appendages to itself in the shape of silver or
silver-gilt rim and lid and bands and foot.
[Illustration: MAZER, OF MAPLE WOOD.
Mounted in silver-gilt, ornamented with quatrefoil belts.
Inscription on boss, “A Gift to the Parish of St. Petrock, 1490.”]
[Illustration: INTERIOR OF MAZER, SHOWING INSCRIPTION.
(_In possession of Parish of St. Petrock, Exeter._)]
The mazer, a wooden vessel in form like the more modern punch-bowl,
mounted in silver, is the earliest type of our domestic plate. These
bowls were ornamented with silver bands and silver rims, and in some
cases there was a silver circular plate or boss in the centre of the
vessel inside. The example we illustrate is mounted in silver-gilt with
quatrefoil belts. It has an inscription on the boss, “A Gift to the
Parish of St. Petrock, 1490.” The wood of these mazers was usually
maple, and the name is supposed to be derived from the British word
_masarm_ (maple). The Dutch word _maeser_ means a knot of maple wood.
Spenser in the sixteenth century has the lines:
Then, lo! Perigot, the pledge which I plight,
A _mazer_ ywrought of the maple ware,
Wherein is enchased many a fair fight
Of bears and tigers that make fierce war.
Among the earliest of drinking vessels of the Middle Ages this form of
the broad bowl followed the earlier horn drinking cup. Mazers were not
made after the sixteenth century. The form was not confined to England,
for Sir Walter Scott, in his “Lord of the Isles,” has the couplet:
Bring hither, he said, the mazers four
My noble fathers loved of yore.
In regard to some of the prices paid for mazers at auction in
London, the following may convey an idea as to rarity. In 1903 a
fifteenth-century mazer realized £140. In 1902 a sixteenth-century
example brought £170. In 1905 a mazer dated 1527 sold for £500, but in
1908 one dated 1534 fetched the colossal price of £2,300. Certainly
this is the highest price paid for maplewood. If the bowl had been
all silver, and had been sold by the ounce, the sum paid would have
been remarkable. But collectors are no respecters of persons, and as a
rarity a mazer makes an appeal which it cannot do as a work of art.
The specimens remaining after centuries of vandalism which have come
down to us from the early days differ in character. The mazer is
reminiscent of Scandinavian drinking customs. To this day the Dane in
drinking your health says “_Scol_.” Etymologists with fine imagination
have linked this with skull, and sought to infer that the old Norsemen
drank out of skulls. It is a myth as old as the upas-tree. Dekker in
his _Wonder of a Kingdom_ says:
Would I had ten thousand soldiers’ heads,
Their skulls set all in silver, to drink healths
To his confusion first invented war.
We may agree with the sentiment, and we could fittingly drink confusion
to a modern intriguer to like end, but, for all that, the derivation
is wrong. The _scol_ of the Dane has reference to little wooden spoons
used with the bowl to ladle out the liquor, much in the same manner as
the punch ladle of many centuries later performed the same service.
The word scull, the oar of a shallop, is the same word. Byron, wishing
to pose as a wicked person, gathered a crowd of wayward spirits at
Newstead who drank out of a skull.
Some Historic Standing Cups
Contemporary with the mazers are magnificent standing cups and covers,
such as the “Anathema” Cup, of the date 1481, at Pembroke College,
Cambridge, or the Lynn Cup, a century earlier, in possession of the
corporation of King’s Lynn. It must be remembered in the contemplation
of our art treasures, and more especially the plate that is left to
us, that the data upon which we may form conclusions are very slender.
Happily much that is superlative is left to us, unscathed through
centuries of civil war and plunderings and meltings-down; but often
two pieces of the same period represent extreme types. One may be a
merely ordinary common vessel and the other may be of most exquisite
and beautiful work, which reached the summit of excellence even in its
own day. Comparisons are odious. But it is as though in five centuries
hence all else were swept aside and all that the twenty-fifth century
had upon which to pass judgment on the eighteenth century potter were
sundry ornate Wedgwood vases and certain crude cottage figures.
[Illustration: THE LEIGH CUP AND COVER.
With London hall-mark for 1499. Richly ornamented in Gothic style.
Having inscription on bands of blue enamel in letters of silver. The
second earliest cup known with a hall-mark.
(See description p. 93.)
(_By courteous permission of the Mercers’ Company._)]
By the courtesy of the Mercers’ Company an illustration of the famous
Leigh Standing Cup and cover is here produced. The date of this is
1499. The vessel is ornamented with raised crossed bands, and in the
panels formed by their intersection are alternate heads of maidens and
flagons, which are the badges of the company. The foot rests on three
miniature flagons, and has a deep chased border with a pierced trefoil
enrichment. On the cover are the arms of the City of London and the
company. The cover is surmounted by a maiden seated, with an unicorn
reclining in her lap, the word “Desyer” on its side. Round the cover
and cup are bands of blue enamel, with letters of silver, with the
following inscription:
To Ellect the Master of the Mercerie hither am I sent
And by Sir Thomas Legh for the same entent.
This specimen exhibits the Gothic style, and this is the second
earliest cup known with a hall-mark. The “Anathema” Cup bears the
London hall-mark for 1481. The antiquity of these early cups illuminate
the field of collecting. The Leigh Cup is contemporary with the
magnificent chapel of Henry VII at Westminster Abbey. Here is a work
of art wrought by the silversmith only two years after John Cabot made
his first voyage to the mainland of America, and on the heels of the
discovery of the sea route to India by Vasco da Gama.
The standing cup and cover carries with it rites and ceremonies that
have been retained to the present day by all those corporations and
companies and clubs who have a ritual extending into the past. It
is not always easy to give the exact reason why customs are still
punctiliously observed. To doff one’s hat to a friend or a superior is
an act which has a long history. To take off one’s casque of armour
was to become at once unprotected from the sword-cut. One can imagine
two knights meeting showing this confidence in each other’s honour in
removing their casques. Similarly in the taking of wine the observances
of to-day in regard to the loving-cup have equally sound reasons to
support them, as being a symbolic continuance of similar actions of the
past when their meaning was more definitely prosaic than it is now.
[Illustration: ELIZABETHAN CUP AND COVER.
1585.
Silver-gilt. Height 10ⁱ/₄ in.
ELIZABETHAN STONEWARE JUG.
_c._ 1570.
With silver-mounted cover and foot.
(_In possession of A. S. M. Smedley, Esq._)
(_Photographs by courtesy of Messrs. Crichton Brothers._)]
There are many recorded instances where treacherous foes have stabbed
a guest when in the act of drinking. It is not difficult to realize
the sequel and the necessity for the usage. When one man drank, his
comrade stood by his side with dagger ready to defend his friend from
treachery. The custom to-day at civic banquets and in old clubs in
regard to the loving-cup passed round is explained. There are always
three standing. Two face each other and the third stands behind the
person drinking as a safeguard against perfidy.
Poison and the fear of death were always prominently before our
ancestors in the Middle Ages. The wine cup was an easy means in
perpetrating revenge; in consequence crystal goblets, which were
supposed to split or change colour when poison was present, were much
in vogue.
There were various forms of standing cups. The craftsman expended his
skill and invention in producing novelties. It thus happens that these
creations exhibit the silversmith’s cunning at its best.
A very interesting cup and cover is that known as the “Westbury.”
It is a fine example of the Elizabethan silversmith’s work, and is
silver-gilt. It is, as is shown in the illustration, in the form of an
acorn on a stem with flattened knob, and spreading moulded base, with
turned knob to the cover. The cup of the acorn is cleverly suggested by
a series of stamped rings. This cup has an inscription which runs:
Given to the Church of Westbury by Collonel Waucklen and Mary
Contes of Malbrou. 1671.
On the cover are the initials of the donors, T. W. and M. M.
According to Hoare’s _Wiltshire_, and Cockayne’s _Complete Peerage,
Extinct and Dormant_, Mary, widow of the second Earl of Marlborough,
was married to one Thomas Waucklen, son of a blacksmith.
This is not too great a demand on our credulity, as a _cause de
célèbre_ in the courts disclosed the fact only a few years ago that
a countess was married to the son of a coachman who had posed as a
prince. We do not know in what manner Colonel Waucklen gained his
military title. He possibly may during the “late wars” have emulated
Hudibras,
When civil dudgeons first grew high,
And out he rode a-colonelling.
But scandal there is which has settled heavily on the cup and its
donors. It is stated that at the time of its gift to the church of
Westbury, Mary the Countess had been dead a year and was buried in a
turnip field. This Elizabethan cup made its public appearance in the
middle of the reign of Charles II, and the said inscription would seem
to have been placed upon it by the “Collonel” to screen the fact that
his wife was dead. It would appear to have been for a long time in
domestic use before it was handed over to the custody of the Church. It
bears the London hall-mark for 1585.
[Illustration: PEPYS STANDING CUP AND COVER. _c._ 1677.
Height 23 in.
With inscription in shield at base, “Samuel Pepys. Admiralitati Angl:
Secretis & Societ: Pannif: Lond: Mr. An. MDCLXXVII.”
(_By courtesy of the Company of Clothworkers._)]
The Stoneware Jug
As has already been said, the stoneware vessels of the Low Countries
came into England and were in common use in the time of Elizabeth. Fine
examples of mottled “tiger ware” with silver mounts were evidently used
by more luxurious possessors, and such specimens bring enormous
prices under the hammer. The celebrated West Malling Elizabethan jug
sold at Christie’s, in 1903, for £1,522. This example was described as
Fulham delft or stoneware, splashed purple, orange, green, and other
colours, in the style of the old Chinese, and mounted with neck-band,
handle mount, body-straps, foot and cover, of silver-gilt. It has
the London hall-mark of 1581, the year after Drake returned in the
_Golden Hind_ from his voyage around the world. The maker’s mark is a
_fleur-de-lis_ stamped in intaglio, repeated on cover, neck-band, and
foot. Its height is 9ⁱ/₂ inches. The weight of silver straps is only
9 oz. “It may have been used for sacred purposes,” says one of the
journalistic critics, who marvelled at the price, “but without doubt is
nothing more than an old sack-pot.”
We illustrate an example with silver-mounted cover and foot, about 1570
in date, which shows the type of jugs of Tudor days of this class.
There are many examples of this kind of tankard. The Vintners’ Company
has one of delft mounted in silver-gilt with cover with inscription,
“Think and Thank,” and “Thank David Gitting for this.” It bears a date
1563. The dates of most of the specimens of this class of stoneware or
delft flagon range from about 1560 to about 1595.
The Pepys Standing Cup and Cover
In continuing the examination of loving-cups the comparison can be
made between the early ornate Gothic type exemplified in the Leigh
cup; the restrained and solid piece of craftsmanship in the Westbury
cup; and the applied style of decoration, French in character, found
in pieces from about 1670 for the next ten years or so. The Pepys cup
is about 1677, and typifies this last period. There is among the York
Corporation plate a silver-gilt cup, 17ⁱ/₂ inches high, with cover
surmounted by a lion couchant. This “Turner” cup has the inscription:
“_Ion̄es Turner serviens ad legem Civitatis Eborū Recordator hoc Majori
et Communitati ejus de gratitudinis ergo dedit, 1679._” The hall-mark
is London, 1679. There is a resemblance in this cup to the Pepys cup:
it is finely decorated with acanthus leaves. In 1893 a copy of the
Turner cup, with the lion transformed into the lion of England, and
embellished with shields of the various Dukes of York, was presented to
His Majesty King George by the citizens of York on the occasion of his
marriage.
In 1677 Samuel Pepys was elected Master of the Clothworkers’ Company,
to whom he presented this cup (illustrated), which is still used at
their dinners.
Its description is as follows: Standing cup and cover, parcel gilt.
Deep plain band round rim, below which is a chased laurel wreath.
The rest of the cup is overlaid with an outer framework of pierced
and embossed work of ornate character, which is not gilt. The design
embraces foliated scrolls with griffin, and included are teazles and
two rams, symbols of the Clothworkers’ Company. The cover is surmounted
by a ram.
The cup bears an inscription: “_Samuel Pepys Admiralitati Angl:
Secretis & Societ: Pannif: Lond: Mr. An. MDCLXXVII_,” and a monogram
S. P., together with the arms of Pepys.
This piece belongs to the Charles II period, and is typical of the
characteristic style of applied decoration, undoubtedly of French
origin. This cup has the maker’s mark[3] T G or J G interlaced, and he
evidently was an English craftsman working during the latter half of
the Charles II period and during the short reign of James II. The vogue
then disappeared.
English silver plate at the end of the seventeenth century is worthy
of note, on account of its technique. A noticeable feature in this
period of free chased work, in pieces with large leaves and fruit or
figure subjects, is the bold manner in which the leaf springs from the
collet of the foot. Among some of the most treasured objects of this
late seventeenth-century outburst of fine craftsmanship are sconces
and mirror frames, and especially large beakers and oviform vases and
covers with floriated ornament richly chased. It was at that time
that Grinling Gibbons the woodcarver revelled in his intricate flower
and fruit pieces carved in the soft lime and chestnut woods. There is
little doubt that the same artistic impulses were in the air. Side by
side with the silversmith’s art were other fashions in furniture, in
silk hangings, in costume, in the building and architecture of houses
and the habits of the people who dwelt in them. In the sixteenth and
seventeenth centuries with so many civil disturbances it was inevitable
that easily movable possessions such as plate were the first to be
realized. It is not difficult to imagine from the remnants still
remaining what the plate must have been like which graced the splendid
banqueting halls of the days of Elizabeth. The massive flagons, such as
that illustrated page 105, and the gleaming dishes and lordly plates
rightly belong to an age when courtiers wore doublets richly sewn with
pearls, when dreams of conquests in the New World set men’s minds
aflame, when new trade routes were opened and great companies formed,
when the sturdy spirit of independence established itself in these
realms to take root and develop into world supremacy on the seas, and
establish an abiding place in the council chambers of Europe, and when
Shakespeare and Ben Jonson, and Kit Marlowe, and Edmund Spenser with
inspired vision penetrated into the domain of romance and won enduring
fame.
But gold and silver plate hold a somewhat insecure place as historic
records. The thief with vandal hands put many a cunningly fashioned
vessel into the melting-pot to escape detection. The Civil War with
its burnings and plunderings on the one hand, and the loyal devotion
of cavaliers who gladly saw their plate go to equip Charles’s army,
on the other, accounts for many more specimens of craftsmanship which
can never come again. Other treasures left the country; the retinue
of Queen Henrietta Maria, her French retainers and her scullions and
priests, journeyed in forty coaches to Dover with much plate. Charles
I, writing to Buckingham, calls upon Steenie to help him and says: “I
command you to send away to-morrow all the French out of the towne,
if you can by fair means, but strike not long in disputing, otherways
force them away, dryving them like so many wilde beasts, until you have
shipped them, and the devil goe with them.” How they plundered the
Queen of jewels and plate, and of the money they owed in Drury Lane,
and of the scuffle they had with the King’s Guards who turned them
out of Somerset House, is a piquant story. To this day in the vaults,
beside dusty documents, three stones record the last resting-place of
all that is mortal of three of the Queen’s faithful French servants,--a
scullion, a chaplain, and a waiting-woman.
[Illustration: ELIZABETHAN FLAGON.
With London date letter for 1599. Decorated in formal strap work and
foliated design incised in outline.
(_By courtesy of Messrs. Crichton Brothers._)]
[Illustration: ELIZABETHAN FLAGON.
Marked with leopard’s head, lion rampant, and London date letter for
1572. Decorated in chased floriated design.
(_By courtesy of Messrs. Crichton Brothers._)]
In these troublous Stuart times many pieces of silver were buried
by the owners who never came back, and they may still lie buried to
this day. Others were disinterred and proudly grace some of our fine
collections. One thinks of John Rivett, the blacksmith, who delivered
up broken pieces of copper to the Puritan iconoclasts who had directed
him to break up the equestrian statue of Charles I. But the statue
itself he buried in his garden at Holborn Fields by night, and at the
Restoration it was re-erected in its old place at Charing Cross, where
it now stands. Without doubt, some of our most treasured plate has had
as eventful a history as the “Man on the Black Horse.”
Elizabethan Flagons
To leave standing cups and retrace our steps, we may examine another
class of vessel, the flagon. This is tall and usually rotund in shape,
having a narrow neck. It belongs to the sixteenth century. Many of
the specimens remaining are among communion plate, but its use was not
confined to ecclesiastical purposes. The name is of ancient origin, and
was possibly at first applied to any vessel holding drink--the Danish
word _flacon_ goes back many centuries. We find various references to
it in the older writers. Bacon writes: “More had sent him by a suitor
in Chancery two silver flagons,” and Shakespeare, in _Hamlet_, has
“A mad rogue! he pour’d a flagon of Rhenish on my head once.” The
relationship of the flagon to the tankard is a close one. The form
as it continued to the end of the eighteenth century was practically
unchanged from that of the earliest known types. It differs from
the Italianate ewer with its slender neck and graceful proportions.
Ale obviously required a broad, swelling vessel. There is nothing
finnicking about that old English beverage. But wine necessitated
something more delicate. Although nothing in silver has emulated the
modern long, thin-necked, glass claret jugs with silver mounts, yet
there has always been a distinction between ale, the popular drink of
the people, and wine of foreign origin more pleasing to the palate of
the connoisseur.
In the two Elizabethan examples illustrated (page 105), it will be
seen that although taller and more grandiose, these are the prototypes
of the later tankard, of which the definite form was established in
the seventeenth century. The evolution of design, whether it be a
continuity of the same technique and medium, or an adaption by the
silver worker of the forms of the glass worker, the potter, or the
woodworker, is always interesting to the student. There is little
doubt that these silver tankards were in a measure derivative from
Scandinavian types belonging to the earlier era. Man did not on a
sudden invent new shapes for everyday use which no other man, in no
other country or in no other age, had ever conceived. The salt-glazed
stoneware of Germany and Flanders without doubt introduced new fashions
to the silversmith. The canettes of Jacqueline Countess of Hainault in
the fifteenth century, _Vrouw Jacoba’s Kannetjes_, the Cologne cannette
of stoneware of middle sixteenth century days, and the Flemish cruche,
a decorated jug with a pewter lid and mounts, all had an influence on
the silversmith. But the law of supply and demand, even in early days,
was something which could not be gainsaid. Man himself determined what
was best fitted to his needs.
It will be seen that the earlier example of the two illustrated is
dated in London, 1572, the year of the Massacre of St. Bartholomew.
It has the almost straight sides, narrowing slightly towards the top
and broadening towards the foot. It is decorated with chased floriated
design, relieved by vertical bands continued on the cover to the apex.
The cover is surmounted by a button, in form like a seal-top spoon of a
later era. The handle is bold, and it lacks the strengthening band at
the base which is shown in the adjacent example, where the handle is
joined to the barrel by a band. The marks will be seen on the face of
the piece in the middle of the surface below the cover.
The other example bears the London date letter for 1599, towards the
close of Elizabeth’s reign. The piece is of fine proportions, with
massive scroll handle. The cover, as in these earlier examples, is
dome-shaped, and is surmounted by a circular radiating disc with
baluster ornament. The billet, or thumb-piece, is chased with a man’s
head. The decoration of the barrel is of the style frequently found
upon tankards and bell salts of the late Elizabethan period and in the
early years of James I, that is formal strap work, and scroll leafage
incised in outline. The ground between is matted. In passing it may be
noticed that this strap design was seized later by the woodworker in
his panel work. The body rests on an applied foot, which is repoussé
and chased with scroll outlines, similar to the cover. Two bands
pass around the barrel and the lower one secures the handle. A panel
with female head in relief adds dignity to a specimen which is of
exceptional character.
Seventeenth Century Tankards
The word “tankard” belongs to an earlier period than the seventeenth
century. It is of widespread derivation. In old French it is
_tanquaerd_, in old Dutch it is _tankaerd_, and in Irish it is
_tancaird_. And no doubt all three races drank well from these vessels.
In the sixteenth century Ben Jonson says:
Hath his _tankard_ touch’d your brain?
Sure they’re fall’n asleep again.
[Illustration: TANKARDS.
WILLIAM III. 1701.
Maker, David Williams.
Scroll handle with applique row of rosettes.
CHARLES II. 1679.
Chased acanthus leaf handle with beaded ornament. Lower part chased
with acanthus leaves.]
[Illustration: CHARLES II TANKARDS. 1684.
Maker, George Gibson, York.
Maker, William Busfield, York.
(_By courtesy of Messrs. Crichton Brothers._)]
“When any calls for ale,” says Swift, “fill the largest _tankard_
cup top full.” But silversmiths and collectors have their own
nomenclature apart from poets, and the tankard belongs, in spite of
literary proof to the contrary, to the seventeenth and eighteenth
centuries. It is the poet, again, who has continued the use of the word
flagon, regardless of the anachronism. Be it a tankard, a mug, jug,
can, pot, bottle or glass, such prosaic terms are swept aside in verse
to figure as the “flagon” or the “flowing bowl.”
The tankard of the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries becomes more
utilitarian, and more national in character. The body is drum-like
in form, and the cover is flat. In order to show how little the form
differed from Charles II to William III, the examples illustrated on
page 111 prove this point. The earlier example, on the right, is chased
with acanthus and palm leaves. The beaded ornament on the handle is a
feature in both.
Two other specimens are illustrated on page 111, both with the York
date letter B for 1684, the year before the death of Charles II.
One is made by George Gibson and the other by William Busfield. The
taller tankard has a flat two-membered lid, and the other has a flat
one-membered lid. In both these examples it is observable that the
scroll handles have an extension of no utilitarian value. It is not
beautiful nor useful. In comparison with the William III example
illustrated on same page, the difference will at once be seen. In these
examples a noticeable feature is the moulded base. Gradually the spread
foot became of diminished size. It was of no practical use. Later forms
show a restraint, almost a poverty of symmetrical design, by the
absence of the foot. The form becomes more squat. We are accustomed to
it in English plate, but it compares slightly unfavourably with foreign
plate, where the balance is more sustained. The massive handle really
demands a more solid base. In the York examples, where the finials
of the handle trail on the ground, it is especially noticeable. The
billets or thumb-pieces are evidently designed for ornament, and follow
earlier examples of greater proportions. If they err, they err on the
side of strength.
In the Exeter example illustrated on page 115, the maker’s mark is
~Ao.~, and the piece also bears the stamped marks of Britannia and
the lion’s head erased, denoting the higher standard. The date letter
is for 1705. This is typically Queen Anne style, and is a year after
Marlborough’s great victory at Blenheim. The scroll handle is massive
and the terminal is level with the base. The marks are illustrated
at the foot of the page, and can be seen clearly on the body of the
piece below the cover. It is an extremely interesting specimen, worthy
of the cabinet of the collector. The thumb-piece is in the form of a
convoluted scroll resembling the shell-like ornament placed on early
salt cellars. It is essentially a metal-worker’s device, but it may be
remarked that in salt cellars of faience the same ornament is used. The
Lambeth delft salt cellar of the late seventeenth century, illustrated
on page 161, indicates this parallel between the potter and the
silversmith.
[Illustration: QUEEN ANNE TANKARD.
With Exeter marks for 1705. Maker’s mark Ao. Including the Higher
Standard marks.
(Illustrated above.)
(_By courtesy of Spencer Cox, Esq._)]
[Illustration: GEORGE II MUG.
With Exeter marks for 1733 illustrated.
GEORGE II TANKARD.
With Exeter marks for 1748 (illustrated p. 391).
(_By courtesy of Messrs. Ellett Lake & Son, Exeter._)]
The other two Exeter examples are illustrated on page 117, and are of
the period of George II. It will be seen that the cover leaves the
flat form hitherto fixed during a long period extending back to Charles
II, and begins to resume the domed shape of the early Elizabethan
types. But there is no knob or button with baluster ornament such as in
the earlier forms. The dome top of the later period is exceptionally
reticent. In turning back to the William III example illustrated on
page 111, in date 1701, it will be seen that the flat top did, on
occasion, have an ornament; in this example the ornament takes an
elaborate form, but as a rule the flat-topped tankard without ornament
may be said to extend from about 1640 to 1740. In the Exeter tankard,
dated 1748, the handle still follows the previous styles, and adds an
ornamental form in its terminal which gives a pleasing effect with its
terminal in double curves. The adjacent mug is the precursor of the new
form of vessel which became individual. The tankard was passed around
and followed the custom observed in the loving-cup. But the mug was
personal and exhibited a change in the drinking habits of the common
folk. It became a common utensil in inns in pewter, and its proportions
were governed by statute. The date of this silver mug is 1733, in the
reign of George II. The marks, with the Exeter date letter for the year
1733, are shown under the illustration (page 117).
The Stuart Beaker
The potter and the glassworker were always dogging the heels of the
silversmith. Now and again the silversmith borrowed an idea from
the other arts. The Stuart beakers are a class apart. We illustrate
examples from the opening years of the seventeenth century--James I,
1606, to the days of Charles II. The James I beaker, in date 1606,
shows the engraved floral design of well-balanced proportions. It is
a tall, cylindrical vessel, and the decoration is in keeping with
the surface to be ornamented. The engraving slightly suggests in its
character, though not in its technique, the strapwork decoration of the
same period. The marks of this piece are given on page 361.
These are interesting illustrations of evolution. The second example
of the time of Charles I shows a slackness in design which compares
unfavourably with the specimen of the previous reign. This is a piece
just prior to the outburst of the Civil War. Even here, slight as is
the engraving, we catch the suggestion of the later Stuart lozenge
decoration employed in other arts, as for instance in furniture,
notably in Stuart chair backs of this period. The love for the
parallelogram was not confined to the silver worker.
The Charles II beaker, in date 1671, is without ornament. It was made a
year after the infamous secret treaty of Dover, when Charles II became
a pensioner of Louis XIV to the tune of £150,000 down and £225,000 a
year.
[Illustration: JAMES I BEAKER. 1606.
CHARLES I BEAKER. 1631.
CHARLES II BEAKER. 1671.
Marks (illustrated p. 361.)
(_By courtesy of Messrs. Elkington & Co._)]
The process of evolution is plain. First the tall shape with the
spreading foot, followed by the squatter form with less ornament where
the foot disappears, and is succeeded in a short time by the plain
type. Here we have the precursor of the glass tumbler. What the
silversmith made was obviously too expensive for the ordinary person.
The glass workers introduced by the Duke of Buckingham from Venice in
the reign of Charles II found a fashion ready to their hands. This
silver beaker of the days of the Merry Monarch stands as a prototype of
the modern glass tumbler. The succession of forms is something to be
proud of in the history of a country. The peculiar usage of words, the
continuance of old observances, and the development of costume, have
each found exponents to specialize on the evolution of types and the
succession to present forms. But who has idealized the glass tumbler of
the public-house bar? Here in silver is the definite prototype, and no
glass maker has invented anything more suitable. For wear and tear he
has made the base thicker, or shall we say to disguise the fact that
the glass contains less than it purports to hold?
The Wine Cup
The Stuart wine cups of silver are of exceptional interest. They are of
graceful form and exhibit a variety of baluster ornament of pleasing
character. The tall wine cup of the time of James I is the work of
Peter Peterson, a noted silversmith of Norwich. The Norwich mark of the
castle and the maker’s mark of the orb and cross are clearly visible
in the illustration of the cup itself, and are further illustrated on
page 395. The stem is slender and of baluster form. The upper part of
the bowl has small trefoils of engraved ornament depending on the line
running around the brim. The lower part of the bowl is embossed with
leaves and floral conventional pattern. The foot is similarly embossed.
Sometimes these wine cups, or grace cups as they are termed, because
it is believed that they were used at the end of a banquet to drink a
grace, have octagonal bowls. These are found in the early seventeenth
century. Other forms are like the modern open-bowled champagne-glass.
Charles I wine cups obviously are not common. The Civil War laid
a heavy toll on such portable articles. During the Commonwealth,
according to all report, in the words of Butler in his _Hudibras_, the
Roundheads had a tendency to
Compound for sins they are inclin’d to
By damning those they have no mind to,
and we have Lord Macaulay’s well-known pronouncement that the Puritans
condemned bear-baiting not so much for the pain which it gave to the
bear, as for the pleasure which it gave to the spectators. It is not to
be supposed, therefore, that wine cups of the Commonwealth period were
much in evidence. To come to the days of Charles II, the Great Fire of
London in 1666 did enormous damage. The Clothworkers’ Hall burnt for
three days and nights on account of the oil in the cellars. The Pepys
Cup happily was saved, as we have seen. This was in September, but so
great was the area of the fire in the city that the ground continued
to smoke in December. Lady Carteret told Pepys that pieces of burned
paper were driven by the wind as far as Cranborne in Windsor Forest.
London remained in ruins till 1668. Pepys goes to Whitehall at the
outset of the fire to tell the King what he had seen, and he suggested
precautions by blowing up houses to stop the spread of the fire. Pepys
is solicitous for the safety of the Navy Office, which was between
Crutched Friars and Seething Lane, and Sir William Penn brought the
workmen from Woolwich and Deptford yards to demolish houses on the
“Tower Street and Fenchurch sides.” It is interesting to read that the
Diarist sent off his money, plate, and valuables to Sir W. Rider at
Bethnal Green, and then he and Sir William Penn dug a hole in their
garden in which they put their wine and Parmezan cheese. All this is
piquant in regard to the vicissitudes of fortune through which our old
plate has passed.
[Illustration: JAMES I TALL WINE CUP.
Norwich hall-mark. Maker, Peter Peterson.
(Marks illustrated p. 395.)
(_By courtesy of Messrs. Crichton Brothers._)]
The examples of wine cups illustrated on page 129 show two forms. One
is taller than the other, and they stand as the great prototypes in
solid silver of our modern wine glasses. Indeed, there is nothing to
indicate that they are of silver in the illustration, save the dark
surface of the bowl. It is pleasant to be able to give a Charles I
piece dated 1631. The maker of this is William Shute. This belongs to
the earlier period of the reign of Charles I, when the shadows were
deepening. It is a delicately balanced cup with slender stem and finely
proportioned baluster ornament. The marks are illustrated page 361. The
other cup is of the Charles II period, and the marks are shown beneath,
the maker’s being P. D. and the date letter being ~h~ for 1665, an
eventful year. The Plague of London was now at its height. The first
Dutch war commenced, and in June the Dutch were defeated under Van
Tromp at Lowestoft.
The adjacent illustration (page 129) shows other contemporary metal
work. Here is a brass candlestick of the middle seventeenth century.
The baluster ornament is common to the silver cup and to the brass
candlestick. No two of these candlesticks are alike, the baluster
ornament varying according to the individual mood of the maker. It is
the same factor which predominates in Jacobean furniture with turned
rails with varying ornaments. The chain is complete. The silversmith,
the brass-worker, the woodcarver, and the glassblower each found,
according to his technique, this style of ornament pleasing to his
mind. Accordingly the collector who comes after may see for himself
the influence each has had on the other. The student may see in the
established form of the stem of the modern wine glass something
tempting him to linger over the process of evolution.
The Punch-bowl
Artists and writers have made the punch-bowl of the eighteenth century
familiar. The china collector well knows that it was not always
of silver. The amateur collector is always to the fore with his
punch-ladle with silver bowl and ebony handle, and the said ladle must
always have a coin of the period soldered at the bottom of the bowl
to denote its genuineness. Alas! so few of these are authentic. The
coin, which among other things should be the stamp of veracity, does
not agree with the hall-marks--and one lie in a piece damns it in its
entirety. It is a sad story, but punch-ladles seem to be the first step
in obliquity of the faker. They are easy to make, and apparently easy
to palm off on the young collector. There are hundreds of people who
have a punch-ladle with a history--not the real history--but they have
not a punch-bowl. It is like having a bridle without a horse.
[Illustration: STUART SILVER WINE CUPS.
Taller, 1631 (Charles I). Maker, William Shute. (Marks illustrated p.
361.)
Smaller, 1665 (Charles II). (Marks illustrated beneath.)
(_In possession of Messrs. Garrard._)]
[Illustration: BRASS CANDLESTICK.
English Middle Seventeenth Century.
Height 7 in.
(_In collection of author._)]
The “Monteith” form of punch-bowl, with removable rim of scalloped
form, made thus for the insertion of wine glasses, was known as early
as 1701. Nobody can say why the term “Monteith” was applied to this,
but presumably it was taken from the inventor or first user, much in
the same manner as our current words, sandwich, orrery, cardigan,
wellington, identify objects first used by, or contemporary with, the
persons whose names they bear.
The punch-bowl is comparatively modern, inasmuch as the beverage itself
is not of ancient date. The word “punch” is said to have been derived
from the Hindustani, signifying the five ingredients--spirit, water,
sugar, lemon, and spice. “A quart of ale is a dish for a king,” says
Shakespeare in _A Winter’s Tale_; “Then to the spicy nut-brown ale,”
says Milton in his _L’Allegro_. With the advent of William III there
is no doubt that spirit drinking became prevalent, though it was not
till the middle of the eighteenth century that the evil became a
national crime fostered by the greed of the Government for taxes. The
drunkenness in the reign of George II was appalling. William Hogarth,
the great satirist of the eighteenth century, holds the mirror to
his day in the two prints, _Beer Street_ and _Gin Lane_, published
in 1751. In the former, though it cannot be said to be idyllic, the
comparative prosperity of the populace under the beer-drinking regime
is satirically compared with their condition under the dominion of Gin
in his companion picture, where for gruesome details the graver of the
satirist is unsurpassed. In the foreground of this truly horrible print
is a woman half in rags, evidently in a drunken condition, while the
infant is slipping from her arms into a cellar, from which hangs the
distiller’s spirit measure. Hogarth does not believe in half-truths.
A stupefied wretch close by is clutching a keg of gin. On an adjacent
parapet a dog is sharing a bone with a sot. The pawnbroker is shown as
doing a busy trade. A woman is giving gin to her infant from a glass.
The tottering buildings with falling bricks are symbolic of the utter
rottenness of the social fabric. The spire of St. George’s, Bloomsbury,
stands out as indicative of the aloofness of the Church to this
devilish orgy. St. Giles is triumphant. The lurid background completes
a terrible indictment of the Government of the day--the ghouls lifting
a man into a coffin with a naked child at the foot, the bandaged heads
and lifted stools of a drunken mob, the drunken man in a wheelbarrow
with more gin being poured down his throat. Hogarth with his touch of
irony combines the pathos of tears, young children standing innocently
apathetic to all this, the everyday environment of their lives. This
was Hogarth’s biting criticism on the attempt to stimulate the drinking
of spirits and decrease the consumption of beer. Hogarth is coarse, he
is offensive, he is brutal; but he deserves well of all who love truth.
Rabelais had to paint his satires in gigantic gruesomeness to reach the
ear of his day. Brutishness cannot be exorcised by the sprinkling of
rose-water.
The punch-bowl comes straight from this period. We take it as we find
it, symbolic of days when Members of Parliament did not disdain to
hiccough their drunken speeches in the House, when Cabinet Ministers
were not ashamed of being drunk.
This belongs to the early Georgian era; it is associated with Jacobite
plots, with suppers held in secret, with toasts drunk in solemn ritual
to the King over the water. It belongs to the hunting squires and
parsons too, to the nabobs from “John Company,” and to the nebulous
period of Hanoverian ascendancy. The Stuarts were dead with their
fateful, romantic, and final downfall. Their memory lingered in the
people’s hearts; it was kept alive by the old religion, and it haunted
the songs of the people. But the Georges, by law elect, had planted
their feet firmly--and the House of Hanover survived all romance.
Among the classes of punch-bowls the Monteith takes the aristocratic
place. Its decoration is pretentious. Its utility, with its removable
rim with the scalloped edge, is its claim to recognition, by the
collector. The specimen illustrated (page 135), in date 1704, comes
straight from the days when Charles Mordaunt, Lord Peterborough,
performed his marvellous exploits in Spain. He captured Barcelona in
1705. Scholar, wit, man of fashion, he was Commander-in-Chief of the
armies and the fleet in the Spanish War. He was as chivalrous as Don
Quixote. He married Anastasia Robinson, the _prima donna_ of her day.
“Brave to temerity, liberal to profusion, courteous in his dealings
with his enemies, a protector of the oppressed, an adorer of woman--the
last of the knights-errant. He lived,” says Walpole, his biographer, “a
romance, but was capable of making it a history.” This specimen comes
straight from these days of sea fight and land fight in Spain and in
the Low Countries under Marlborough, when “our army,” to quote Uncle
Toby, “swore terribly in Flanders.”
The Queen Anne soberness of design seems to have been discarded in
these Monteiths. There is something rococo and elaborate, as though in
defiance of established reticence. The heavy ornament of lion’s head
and handles, the massive gadrooned edge of the scalloped design, the
bowl deeply fluted, the embossed medallion with coat of arms, and the
foot enriched with beaded ornament, all indicate that such specimens
were regarded as the Standing Cup, so to speak, of the period.
With the punch-bowl an end practically is made of silver vessels for
drinking. The sovereignty of glass was now established. Porcelain and
even earthenware had made inroads into the silversmith’s domain. The
age of modernity was at hand.
[Illustration: “MONTEITH” PUNCH BOWL. LONDON, 1704.
Higher Standard Marks and Maker, Andrew Fogelberg.
(_By courtesy of Messrs. Elkington & Co._)]
SALE PRICES
Prices are always problematical. Specimens vary according to state, and
other factors determining the price per ounce at which they are sold.
Some of the following prices obtained at auction may be of interest to
readers:--
STANDING CUPS.
These are among the most sumptuous pieces of English silver. Prices
always range high.
£
Tudor cup, 6 oz. 15 dwt. (1525) 880
“ on foot, 14 oz. 3 dwts. (1521) 4,130@
” and cover (James I) (1640), 66 oz. 4,000@
Standing cup, Charles I, 470s. per oz. 82
“ Charles II, 1 oz. 13 dwts., 520s. per oz. 42@
Loving-cup, Charles II (1678), 170s. per oz. 69
” William and Mary (1688), 165s. per oz. 88@
“ Queen Anne (1703), 120s. per oz. 140@@
TANKARDS.
James I tankard (1504) 1,720
Elizabethan tankard and cover (1599), 21 oz. 15 dwt.
(a record price) 2,300
Elizabethan (Huth sale) (1573) 1,700
Charles I plain tankard (1629), 750s. per oz. 667
Plain tankard; York; maker, Marmaduke Best (1671),
195s. per oz. 234
Commonwealth (1649), maker AF., 290s. per oz. 413
The range of prices is: Commonwealth, about £20 per oz.; Charles II, £8
to £10 per oz.; William and Mary, £4 per oz.; Anne, £2 per oz.; George
I, 20s. per oz.
BEAKERS.
£
Henry VII, silver-gilt (1496), 6 oz. 16 dwt. sold in 1902 1,270
Elizabethan (1599), 490s. per oz. 197
Charles I (1635), 315s. per oz. 73
Charles II (1662), 290s. per oz. 46
William III (1699), 170s. per oz. 66
WINE CUPS.
£
Elizabethan goblet, 7 oz., 530s. per oz. 188
Charles I, wine cup (1638), 3 oz. 14 dwts. 88
Commonwealth Goblet (1650); maker, HS., 800s. per oz. 118
PUNCH-BOWLS.
William III “Monteith” (1701), 100s. per oz. 398
Queen Anne “Monteith” (1705), 70s. per oz. 267
Punch-bowl (1750), 23s. per oz. 15
FOOTNOTES:
[3] These initials, found on a James II mug, with the date letter for
1685, are illustrated p. 369.
IV
THE
SALT CELLAR