CURIOUS AND FREAK GLASSES
Hitherto we have confined our attention to what one may term the
legitimate drinking glass in its different varieties. But there were
many freak glasses and curious objects made of glass by our forefathers,
and these have a special fascination for lovers of the antique. In some
cases they appeal because of their quaintness and _bizarrerie_ of form,
in others because of their purpose, while other examples have little to
commend them save their antiquity.
One curious specimen which I came across not long ago was a flask in the
shape of a pair of bellows. The nozzle was closed by a cork, and there
was a hole in one handle of the bellows by which it might be suspended
from a nail in the wall. It was probably employed by some ancient
apothecary or alchemist to hold drugs. I should hardly care to dogmatise
as to its period, but it was unmistakably of English origin, and
certainly quaint and interesting enough to be worth acquiring.
Among the commoner “finds” of this kind are the glass paper weights,
made with, apparently, a bunch of flowers inside, which is visible when
viewed laterally and disappears on a vertical view, when the observer
sees nothing but clear glass. I have seen many examples of this kind on
sale in shop windows in London, and the price asked is usually modest
enough even for a good specimen.
In olden times it was customary to place names and dates upon the
bottles which held the best ale. Many of these are still in existence,
mostly, however, in collections. They are certainly by no means
beautiful as far as appearance goes, their interest being centred upon
the date, and upon the fact that the practice has now been obsolete for
many years. To a casual eye these ale bottles appear black, but if held
up to a strong light a greenish tinge is plainly marked. They are very
stout and amazingly tough, so that they may even be dropped upon the
ground without fear of breaking or chipping. This, by the way, is often
put forward by experts as the best test of their genuineness. The test
is, however, something on the drastic side. Moreover, dropping other
people’s bottles to test their _bona fides_ is a practice hardly likely
to commend itself to the seller, and one which might prove unexpectedly
costly to the connoisseur.
There are many other objects made in glass which are worthy of
note--knife-rests, rolling-pins, walking-sticks, quaintly shaped jugs,
baskets, forks, bells and horns.
The knife-rests often assume most curious forms. A not unfrequent type
was that of a hound running at full stretch, fore and hind legs widely
extended, and the body coloured to nature. Salt-cellars, too, were made,
like the paper weights before mentioned, with sprays of flowers inside.
These were made in two pieces, which were fused together after the
flowers, painted on paper or thin canvas, had been placed between them.
Small glasses made in the form of flowers or their petals, and glass
buttons and beads decorated (_sic_) with faces, names, dates, initials,
etc., are other examples of freakwork in glass which the amateur should
be glad to acquire.
Possibly one, more fortunate than his fellows, may chance across a
“toddy-lifter.” At first sight this bears a distinct resemblance to a
tiny decanter; on examination, however, it will be found to be without
either bottom or stopper.
The toddy-lifter, as its name implies, was used instead of a ladle for
filling glasses with punch or toddy from the bowl. The open bell of the
lifter was dipped into the liquid and at once filled. Then the opening
at the top was closed by the finger and the “lifter” raised out of the
bowl, the contents being retained in it by atmospheric pressure until
the finger was removed from the top, when the contents were discharged
into the consumer’s glass. One would imagine that a ladle would prove
equally useful and more convenient. Possibly, however, the fact that the
toddy-lifter never spilt a drop of its contents, however unsteady the
hand that held it, was not without its advantages in a hard-drinking
age. Similar pieces of Scottish origin may be found. These are usually
more club-shaped, and are even rarer than the English examples.
None of the foregoing pieces is particularly difficult to acquire, and
it is comparatively easy, therefore, to form an adequate collection of
really fine specimens. By fine I do not, of course, mean rare or
exceptional pieces, but specimens of sterling merit of which the
collector may be proud and which are likely to increase in value. They
are mostly in the hands of people who have no conception of their
merits, either pecuniary or artistic.
A few years ago I found in an old book shop quite a collection of old
Bristol glass paper weights. The fact that each bore upon it a view of
some object or place of interest in Bristol or its environs should have
furnished a direct clue to their identity. One particularly fine
specimen was used as the lid of an old glass ink-pot. Its owner readily
parted with it as a thing of no value, for a few pence. But it may
interest the budding collector--no less than its late owner should he by
chance read these lines--to learn that the purchaser resold it shortly
after for a very respectable sum to someone more appreciative of its
merits.
Freak glasses proper include yards and half-yards, boots, cocked hats,
frog glasses, and trick glasses designed to send their contents anywhere
but in the direction which the would-be consumer intended.
The yards and half-yards are great curiosities; they resemble nothing so
much as a coaching horn in shape and size. There are two kinds, the one
the genuine old Cambridge ale-yards, and the other trick glasses which
had the knack when partially emptied of suddenly expelling the remainder
of their contents with a splash into the drinker’s face, to his great
discomfiture and the huge delight of the onlookers, who had probably
arranged the whole thing for the benefit of some innocent person.
Unfortunately, in the sudden start with which the drinker received the
unexpected disposition of the contents of his glass, the vessel itself
was so frequently damaged that specimens of ale-yards are very difficult
to obtain. It will be noticed that in our illustration (Fig. 37) the
specimen is cracked near its mouth. It need hardly be said that any
collector who is fortunate enough to obtain an example in reasonably
good condition may esteem himself fortunate.
As to the reason of the sudden emptying I cannot do better than quote
from Mr Hartshorne, an old friend and the greatest authority on Old
English glass.
[Illustration: Masonic, Toasting, and Freak Glasses.]
[Illustration: An Early Cambridge Yard Ale Glass.]
FIG. 37.
“The trick yard glass arose from the knob at the end of the footless
one. It was found that on expanding into a bulb the ‘knob’ or ‘knot,’
the difficulty of emptying the vessel was greatly increased, because
when this feat was nearly accomplished the air passed down the tube into
the bulb and caused the remainder of the contents to fly into the face
of the drinker.”
This was by no means an uncommon occurrence in wayside inns of the
seventeenth century, the spectators often betting upon the result.
At the annual “Vinis” of the Mock Corporation of Hanley, Staffs, the
initiation of a member included the drinking of a yard of port, while
the freeman of Stoke-on-Trent had as a preliminary to admission to
dispose of a yard of ale.
To “floor the long glass” at Eton is also an accomplishment which many
never achieve.
I have seen many fine specimens, notably one belonging to my old friend,
Mr John George Mortlock of Cambridge; but it is rare to find them
undamaged, the involuntary jerk of the victim who finds the liquid
splashing into his face being usually fatal to the unwieldy glass.
Another similar example is furnished by such glasses as that shown in
Fig. 37. On the one side it is marked “King,” on the other “Tinker.” The
“innocent” invited to drink was asked to choose from which side he would
drink, and, prompted by loyalty, vanity, or pure folly, he was almost
certain to drink with the king rather than the tinker. But artfully
concealed in the band of decoration round the rim was a series of small
holes, through which, when the glass was tilted, the liquor ran, soaking
the drinker’s waistcoat instead of finding its way down his throat.
Possibly the old coaching glasses may fitly find a place in this
connection. They are without feet, the stem ending in a bulb which was
often cut. When, in the old coaching days, the vehicle pulled up at a
wayside inn, the landlord brought out his tray with the glasses inverted
upon it. They were filled from the bottle and emptied at once--the idea
being that as the drink would have to be consumed at once, there was no
need to make the glass so that it could be set down while the liquor was
only partly consumed. These are now rare, and to discover one would be a
great achievement for the ordinary collector.
One may also mention the singing glasses, which were made to vibrate to
a certain musical note, and so would repeat the note when sounded or
sung, just as the string of a piano or violin will do. This, of course,
was a great mystery to unscientific persons, but is susceptible of a
very simple explanation. Evelyn was greatly puzzled over the phenomenon.
Certain glasses, he remarked, “made an echo to the voice, but were so
thin that the very breath broke them.” The fact is, of course, that the
glass broke through the intensity of its own vibration, just as a pane
of glass in a church window will sometimes break when the organ is used.
The note played having the same period of vibration as the pane of
glass, the latter vibrates in unison with it, and if the note is
continued for sufficiently long, the vibration becomes so intense as to
break the pane. It is for an exactly similar reason that a regiment of
soldiers breaks step when marching over a bridge, for fear that the
rhythm of the march might chance to coincide with the period of
vibration of the bridge, and so set up rhythmic movements which might
weaken the structure.
Such glasses are distantly allied to the musical glasses which, when
filled up to a certain point, produce a musical note when the bowl is
thrown into vibration by the finger or a violin bow. By filling such
glasses to different heights, it is possible to produce a complete
scale, and so to play any desired tune.
Other freak glasses take the form of boots--some of these are quite
elaborate, the lacing being imitated in glass-work, as also were spurs,
straps, etc. The “boot” glass used to express the popular execration of
Lord Bute has been already referred to in the chapter on Commemorative
Glasses. Then there are cocked hats, various birds and beasts, all
highly inconvenient for the purpose for which a glass is intended, but
all associated with some idea, family crest, or particular superstition.
There are glasses from which, though apparently full, it is impossible
to drink; there are others, with tiny electric bulbs in the base, which
light up on the pressure of a button, irradiating the contents with a
glow of light and adding I know not what meretricious attraction to the
contents. These, I need hardly say, are modern, and have no real place
among Old English glass. One I remember was formed at the base into the
semblance of an eye, with the legend “Eye-water,” a description of the
probable contents, which, it is to be feared, was borne out neither by
their destination nor their character--unless, indeed, they were of so
potent a nature as to bring the water into the bibber’s eyes.
Another curious example had engraved upon the inside of the bottom the
figure of the gallows-tree, with its ghastly fruit, and the grim legend
“The last drop.” Whether the maker was a humorist or a temperance
reformer anxious to point his moral in the most effective way, I am
unable to decide.
Somewhat similar are the glasses which have a frog or a snake at the
bottom, possibly with the idea of giving a mild surprise. There are many
other varieties. Indeed, the production of freak glasses was only
limited by the imagination of the time that produced them, and by its
capacity for amusement, and had no relation to taste. They are rarely
produced nowadays: possibly we have become more exacting and less easily
amused than our ancestors. This is a serious and a utilitarian age.