Jewelers Of Renaissance

(via 5000 Years of Gems and Jewelry) Frances Rogers and Alice Beard writes:

3. Jewels For Royalty

When Cellini was at the height of his skill, he was sent for by Francis I, who gave him quarters in Paris. The splendor-loving King of France and his court delighted in extravagant display of jewelry, and Rabelais tells of magnificent bejeweled necklaces, brooches, girdle ornaments, pendants, and precious stones worn in profusion by wealthy Parisians. However, it was not to the French court but to the court of England that one must turn to find the most lavish display of personal jewelry; and although the French set the fashions it was the King of England, Henry VIII, who had the greatest purchasing power.

Henry’s fingers were always loaded with rings—he had no less than 234, and 324 brooches, when he died. His necklets were studded with diamonds and pearls, and his gold collars were hung with rich pendants. One collar and pendant worn by the King has been described by an observer as being set with a ‘rough cut diamond the size of the largest walnut I ever saw.’ And as if that were not impressive enough, Henry also wore a second gold collar over his mantle ‘with a pendent St George, entirely of diamonds.’

Accounts of pageants and court entertainments are filled with references to precious stones sewed to the garments of noblemen, who decked themselves immoderately in an extravagant desire to outshine one another.

Henry of England made great pretense of friendship for Francis I, especially when he staged the royal picnic known as the Field of the Cloth of Gold, were guests were so bedizened with jewels that, says Du Bellay, ‘they carried the price of woodland, watermill and pasture on their backs.’

In the robust time of Bluff King Hal the wearing of jewels was not considered effeminate. The male of the species was perhaps more resplendent than the female. From head to toe he glittered with all the gems he could get.

When the modern society page reports a wedding the bride’s costume is usually described at length. No one ever thinks of what the groom wears—but not so in days of yore. When Henry VIII went forth to meet his bride (number three) Anne of Cleves his costume was well worth reporting:

He wore a coat of purple velvet curiously embroidered with gold and lace. The sleeves were cut and lined with gold and clasped with great buttons of diamonds, rubies and Oriental pearls; his sword and girdle set with stones and special emeralds; his cap garnished with stones, but his bonnet was so rich of jewels that few men could value them. Besides all this he wore a colar of such Balais rubies and pearls that few men ever saw the like.

At this point the breathless reporter seems to have become speechles for lack of adjectives. He does not tell of Henry’s nether garments and his shoes, which doubtless shared in glory of gold and gems with the rest of his costume.

Henry was wont to patronize the jewelers of France and Italy, but for a number of years much of his finest jewelry was made from the designs of Hans Holbein, famous Germain painter. The majority of these drawings, belonging to the British Museum, are in pen and ink. Occasionally, however, Holbein added gold and even color to indicate decoration in enamel and precious stones.

If Holbein himself executed the jewelry there is no record of the fact. It is supposed that a goldsmith known as Hans of Antwerp made the jewels after Holbein’s designs. It was not unusual, by the sixteenth century, for one man to design and another to execute a jewel.

Cellini, who, with his own wealth of inventive ability needed no one else to set the pace for him, grumbled over the growing custom.

The draughtsmen who had been employed (by the Pope) were not in the jeweler’s trade and therefore knew nothing about giving their right place to precious stones, and the jewelers on their side had not shown them how; for I ought to say that a jeweler, when he has work with figures must of necessity understand design else he cannot produce anything worth looking at; and so it turned out that all of them had stuck that famous diamond in the middle of the breast of God the Father.

One must sympathize with Cellini’s point of view, yet even the most highly skilled craftsmen may be lacking in creative imagination, therefore it was no longer unusual for a goldsmith to buy models carved in stone or wood, or designs drawn on paper. These he would develop in gold and gemstones. He could even buy a whole pattern-book filled with miscellaneous designs for any sort of jewelry, including an odd and very fashionable gadget in the form of a whistle terminating in a case that held an earpick and a manicure knife.

The practice of using patterns designed by draughtsmen, instead of by the goldsmiths themselves, was followed also in France and Germany; and designs for jewelry were made by the leading artists of the day, Albert Dϋrer, the great German artist, among others. He was no stranger to the jeweler’s craft, for his father was a goldsmith and young Dϋrer had been trained to the trade.

Now of couse all this concentration of art, skill, and fashion turned full force on the making of jewelry produced an enormous amount of it, and necessarily the jeweler must find a market for his wares.

Henry VIII and his court provided the ideal customers, rich, splendor-loving and not too well informed concerning gemstones. England became a focus for foreign gem dealers, some of whom were not above suspicion. Cellini, with unholy glee, one gathers, tells of a merchant who sold the too-trusting Henry jewels of green glass in place of emeralds.

There came a time, however, when Henry grew ‘disinclined to buy, for,’ reports an unsuccessful salesman, ‘he has told me he has no more money, and it has cost him a great deal to make war.’

Nevertheless, shortly before his death the King, evidently unable to resist so powerful a temptation, did purchase a certain gorgeous pendant known as The Brethren.

This pendant differed from the usual type of Renaissance jewel in that its design was austerely simple, relying for beauty on the magnificence of the gemstones rather than on elaboration of setting. The central diamond was a deep pyramid, five-eighths of an inch square at the base; four big pearls adn three rich red spinels, called The Three Brethren, surrounded it.

Even before reaching the hands of Henry this jewel had become famous and gathered unto itself one of those colorful legends, part fact, part fancy, which must always be qualified by the phrase ‘tradition says.’

Tradition, in this case, says that the large diamond in the pendant was one of the earliest to be cut by De Berquem. The pendant was made by order of Charles the Bold, who, as may be inferred from such a title, specialized in military valor. He was almost continually going to war, and according to the custom of the day, he carried his most treasured jewels along with him onto the battle field. Possibly one’s precious stones were insufficiently guarded at home, but more likely it was considered well to have them at hand because of their power as amulets to insure victory and preserve life. For some years the magic of the valuable pendant seemed to work, but in 1475 it broke down. Charles, last Duke of Burgundy, met with defeat past the power of any gem to ward off, and all his treasure—including the pendant—fell into the hands of the victors. After playing a part in so many glorious conquests, The Brethren had rather a dull time of it, merely passing from one purchaser to another until once again the jewel rose to fame by becoming the property of the Magnificent Henry.

Jewelers Of Renaissance (continued)