Royal Meissen … the anniversary dish fit for a king

by Christopher Proudlove©
Español | Deutsche | Français | Italiano | Português

The first time it happened was when a picture specialist at a leading auction house stood me in front of a Victorian narrative painting and explained the story depicted on its canvas.

I was both inspired and dumbstruck in equal measure by the specialist's knowledge. Here was a charming enough painting of a family sitting around a cottage table, the mother reading a letter to her children and parents.

When the scene was explained by an expert, the picture took on a whole new meaning: the letter is bad news, the wife wears black and clearly the children have been orphaned by war or other mishap.

The father is an old soldier himself - there is a group of medals hanging above the fireplace, which is why he seems less distraught than his wife. And so on.

Narrative paintings has fascinated me ever since. But I thought that was the end of it. Not a bit.

I attended the International Ceramic Fair in London last month, where I met someone who has forgotten more about pottery and porcelain than I'll never know. He explained to me the significance of the object illustrated here.

It was made by the German manufactory Meissen in 1745 and is correctly termed a chafing dish, cover and stand.

Interestingly, it came from the collection of the Dukes of Westminster and might once have stood on display in William Porden's Eaton Hall, Chester.

My expert guide to this ceramic conundrum was Paul Crane, of London ceramics dealer Brian Haughton. Mr Crane had spent months cracking the various codes displayed on the piece - so simple to spot so long as you have eyes to see them.

The first thing that strikes the viewer is the armorials painted on the piece. They are those of Frederick-Augustus II, Elector of Saxony, King Augustus III of Poland and his wife Queen Maria-Josepha.

The second thing is the obvious domestic nature of the object. Why would such an dish, more usually found in kitchen or on a dining table, be so profusely decorated?

Simple, Research has proved that the dish, commissioned personally from Meissen by the Queen, was intended as her gift to her husband to mark their 25th - or silver - wedding anniversary.

The fact that its design was based on something more often found in silver eludes, therefore, to a strong and successful marriage which had enjoyed 25 years of domestic bliss and harmony.

This then is an important piece of Meissen, not only as an emblem of unchanging love in a royal marriage, but also a tour de force of ceramic art.

Meissen's chief modeller J.J.Kaendler (1706-1775) and his decorators were commissioned personally by the queen and between them, they produced a ceramic tour de force.

At the beginning of the 18th century, Europe was gripped by a fascination with the secret Turkish language of flowers, introduced to England by Lady Mary Wortley Montague, the wife of the ambassador from the Court of St. James to Constantinople.

Flowers had long been the sign of romance but adopting the secret language meant lovers were then able to send messages to each other and proclaim their love using specific flowers.

In simple terms, this might just mean sending a posy carefully chosen for the moment. More complex was to appear in a portrait holding certain flowers or by commissioning special objects illustrating their private thoughts.

So it is with the chafing dish. On the cover of the dish alongside the arms of the Elector and his wife appear the heartsease or wild pansy which show the twin faces of togetherness and thoughtfulness.

The iron red genista or broom on the right means a union which would refer to the happy couple, while the panel showing a stag hunt, a pursuit reserved for royal rank is linked to Venus and symbolic of love and fertility.

In this scene the stag has been chased and caught, alluding to a chase which culminates in the personal union of two lovers and the triumph of love

Other scenes are filled with vignettes of court life, each showing a courtly man kissing of the hand of a lady.

The flowers immediately flanking the armorial on the dish itself are the auricula and the pink carnation placed together with the speedwell.

Auriculas symbolise a union of primal or first love, presumably an allusion to the often prearranged marriages of the time. The pink carnation translates as woman's love and the speedwell represents fidelity or truth.

Gratitude and constancy

Finally the single white bell of the campanula flower appears to the right of the auriculas, meaning gratitude and constancy.

The side of the chafing dish shows a view of courtiers walking in pairs in various parts of a formal garden, complete with a tunnel of love.

Historically such pleasure gardens found in many European countries at the time were a place of royal and aristocratic intrigue where courtiers expressed some of their most intimate desires.

The stand to the dish itself provides the most dramatic symbols of an obviously strong union between a husband and wife.

The central armorial is surrounded by further symbols of the heart's desire: below it and to the right is an open purple cabbage rose, the ambassador of all love, beside a spray of speedwell representing the strongest symbol of true love.

To the left, the pink tinged dianthus not only denotes faithful love but also alludes to a belief in Christ as Saviour and is therefore a symbol of deep religious significance.

This alludes to the God given right to rule and the divine significance of the couple's place in society.

Another scene supports the allusion. It shows a falconry hunt in progress, traditionally associated with royalty and regarded as the sport of kings.

There was a clear hierarchical use of birds of prey at this time that had its roots in the Middle Ages.

Rank decreed that a vulture or a merlin could be used in a hunt only by an emperor, while a king was entitled to a gyrfalcon, a peregrine falcon was used by a prince or a duke, a goshawk by a yeoman and a kestrel for a knave (to coin a phrase).
Finally, another panel shows a harbour and lighthouse, dominated on the right by a huge equestrian statue showing a rearing white horse.

Apparently, the king intended to install a statue of this design and was developed at Meissen by J.J.Kaendler. The idea never got beyond a terracotta model but by including the design in the chafing dish infers that the queen was complimenting the king on his grandiose scheme.

Mr Crane declined to reveal its price, but said it was in six figures. In May, Christie's New York sold a Vincennes porcelain table fountain that had belonged to Louis XV's mistress Madame de Pompadour. It fetched $1.8 million. That's a little over £1 million.

The Meissen factory was established in 1710 near Dresden. Until then, only the Chinese were capable of making true porcelain but in 1707, an apprentice pharmacist called Johann Friedrich Bottger managed to make a fine red stoneware.
Bottger also claimed to be able to make gold from base metal and the then Elector of Saxony, Augustus the Strong, had Bottger imprisoned, to be released only when he had proved his claim.
Bottger worked for years but naturally failed. However, he accidentally hit on the process of making porcelain, which was at least as good - particularly to Augustus, who was an avid collector of Chinese porcelain.
Meissen's most famous designers were Johann Gregor Horoldt (1720-55), who produced the renowned blue onion pattern, and Johann Joachim Kandler (1706-75) who created figurines, giant animals, and elegant table services.
Still in production today, collectors should look for the famous crossed swords trademark which was used on all products from 1723.

Pictures show, top: The highly important royal armorial presentation chafing dish and stand made at Meissen in 1745. The dish was commissioned personally by Queen Maria-Josepha to give to her husband Frederick-Augustus II, Elector of Saxony, King Augustus III of Poland to mark their 25th wedding anniversary

Below: The cover or lid of the dish. It has a gold coloured artichoke finial and the royal arms are flanked by heartsease, a sprig of iron red flowering sweet pea and speedwell and three pained panels of landscapes

Bottom, three of the painted views, left to right The pleasure gardens of a huge royal palace with courtiers walking in pairs and a with a tunnel of love in the background. A stag hunt pictured at the moment of capitulation as a white deerhound pulls down a running stag (he yellow coat of the huntsman indicates that it is a royal hunt). A view of a harbour with a huge equestrian statue of a rearing white horse that dominates the right side of the scene. The statue was never built

People collect the strangest so-called antiques

Español | Deutsche | Français | Italiano | Português

by Christopher Proudlove©

Collecting is such a wonderful excuse. You can fill your home with all sorts of junk and never have to worry what friends and neighbours think. Why people collect is a complete mystery to me ... I just do it, to the exclusion of almost any other pastime.

The things people collect is also particularly amusing. Most bizarre I've ever come across was a collector of barbed wire! He was an American (of course) whose passion was the display in his 'den' of 18inch strands of the stuff fastened to highly polished mahogany plinths. Personally, I was amazed to learn there were so many different types.

A collection of antique milk bottles was another strange one, while other acquaintances of ours hoard respectively Victorian tiles; printed billheads; wrappers from paper packets of dressmaker's pins; cut-throat razors; clothes brushes with advertising slogans printed on them and ventriloquists; dummies.

I have a slightly different ambition. I want to collect, not a group of things all broadly similar, but rather an assemblage of objects whose design or intended purpose is so outrageous or unusual that they must be saved for posterity. And the curiouser the better!

I'm well on the way, already. The shelves chez nous already groan under the weight of such obtuse pieces as a hammer, a fire extinguisher, a wasp trap, a darning mushroom, a walking stick, a rolling pin and a model of a sailing ship.

What makes them unusual is that each is made from glass.

The hammer is just a jokey thing like red lamp oil and tartan paint, made by a glass blower with a sense of humour.

The fire extinguisher is more serious. On discovering a blaze, the idea was to throw the thing, which is filled with a fire retarding chemical, at the seat of the flames so that it smashes and spills out the contents to do its work.

They were effective and, therefore, quite rare nowadays. Take a trip to Erdigg Hall, the National Trust home near Wrexham.

One of the most complete late 18th century country homes in the country, the house has pairs of the so-called Harden Star Hand Grenade, hanging one each side of the doors to each room.

They cost 45 shillings (£2.25) per dozen when they were new in 1885. Today a single example - they come in either cobalt blue or green - would change hands for around £60-80.

The nice thing about the wasp trap is that no one has a clue what it's for until they're told. It's also ingeniously designed and a wonderful shape.

Interestingly, garden centres have hit on the idea and are now selling cheap and nasty copies. Pay around £3-5 for one of those or £40-60 for a wonderful hand-blown Victorian example.

The other three pieces are simply unlikely examples of glass manufacturing. They emanate probably from the Nailsea or perhaps Stourbridge glassworks of the mid19th century.

Each is part of a group of glassware collectively known as friggers. Tradition has it they were made from scrap glass at the end of the day's production that would otherwise have been wasted.

Instead, the glassblowers spent a little of their own time before going home to produce knickknacks to sell for some extra pocket money.

More likely, small glassworks were set up to produce the objects as decorative souvenirs in a cottage industry just like Staffordshire potters made flatback figures.

That's probably enough glass. Now's the time to branch out into other areas. I'm still looking for a left-handed moustache cup; a patent nose improver (a miniature leather harness contraption invented by a man called C. Lees Ray in 1908); a damp bed detector (an early 20th century pocket hygrometer, essential for the traveller in a strange hotel) and, just to double check whether or not I've finally lost my marbles, a phrenology head like the one illustrated here.

Dr Franz Josef Gall

"You want your bumps feeling," she said when I told the Business Manager of my plan to buy the other day.

Precisely, said I. And thanks to Dr Franz Josef Gall, a diagnosis shouldn't be a problem.

It was he who, in 1796, devised a system for assessing a person's capabilities by studying the shape of their skull. He called the study Phrenology.

It was based on two assumptions, one since scientifically confirmed: that particular human faculties are to some extent localised in particular areas of the brain; the other, subsequently debunked: that the size of these areas can be felt via the bumps on your head.

However, at the time the latter was a popular theory that was taken deadly seriously. Even up to the beginning of this century, it was believed there was a connection.

As a result, thousands of white glazed earthenware pottery heads - the scalp printed with a kind of road map to the 30odd zones where Dr Gall decided one's faculties were located - were a common sight in doctors' and psychiatrists' surgeries.

The most common stand just under a foot tall and date from the latter part of the 19th century when an American called L.N. Fowler - his name was printed on the front - took up the cause.

Presumably the psychiatrist would have had the thing on his desk to refer to as he ran his fingers over the patient's head.

Other more rare examples were manufactured in porcelain for the tops of sealing wax seals, while slightly larger versions doubled as inkwells.

Such heads were snapped up eagerly some years ago and prices for the larger desk top versions were around the £1,000 mark.

However, their saleroom success prompted a flood of fakes onto the market, some of which were (and still are) notoriously difficult to spot.

As a result, prices slipped and remain somewhat depressed by comparison with, say, five years ago. Expect to pay currently around the £350-450 mark for a right 'un.

If I did, I suspect there'd be an extra bump on my head ... where the glass hammer she was wielding had caught me a glancing blow!

American brothers Lorenzo Niles Fowler (1811-1896) and Orson Squire Fowler (1809-1887) travelled extensively lecturing for free and examining heads for a fee. Their sister, Charlotte, and Lorenzo Fowler's wife, Lydia, became notable phrenologists, and they subsequently opened an office in New York, establishing the Phrenological Cabinet, displaying casts, skulls, charts, and other curiosities of the movement.Branches of the Cabinet were opened in Boston and Philadelphia.
In 1843, Charlotte Fowler married a medical student, Samuel Roberts Wells, who then entered into partnership with his brothers-in-law, forming the publishing house of Fowler and Wells. The firm produced thousands of copies of phrenological texts and they sold, cranial casts, and the famous L.N. Fowler heads
Phrenology heads were made in America and some were no doubt imported to the UK. However, the majority of those found today were probably made by Charles Collinson & Son, a sanitaryware maker in the Potteries town of Burslem. They date from the third quarter of the 19th century.
However, for every right example that turns up in auction sale, antique shop or fair, there are literally hundreds of fakes doing the rounds. The easy way to spot such duffs is to put one side by side with an original - the differences are obvious. Look for unlikely glaze cracking patterns and be wary if the lines of cracking appear to be too black. Faked cracking is easy to spot. Check the weight - fakes are much lighter. Is the gold convincing? Again, modern 'gold' decoration is nowhere near as good as the original. Is the thing too perfect? Age means wear and damage, fakes are usually in good condition. Ask for a guarantee. No guarantee, no sale.

Pictures show: top, Ink heads: These phrenology heads are also inkwells. They date from the 1860s and were probably made in Staffordshire. Note the central dipping hole and the holes left and right to hold pens when not in use

Below: left to right, Scientific journals made many wild claims about the significance of phrenology and the study of the shapes of heads, as this contemporary print proves - no matter who might have been upset by the "findings"

A Charles Collinson L.N. Fowler phrenology head worth £350-450

The craze for phrenology spread to the advertising world, as these trade cards for hatter Pryor proves. The cards is worth a few pounds

The man who brought marble sculpture down to size

Español | Deutsche | Français | Italiano | Português

by Christopher Proudlove©
Remember the pantograph from your childhood? I recall using one to copy maps from atlas to geography exercise book at school.

One arm acts as a small pointer while the other holds a drawing implement such as a pencil. By moving the pointer over a diagram, a copy of it was drawn on another piece of paper.

By changing the positions of the arms in the linkage between the pointer and pencil, the scale of the image produced can be reduced or enlarged.

Since its principals are based upon Euclidean geometry, it is possible that that the pantograph has been around for thousands of years.

Artists soon adopted its use to duplicate drawings and it is believed that Leonardo da Vinci used one to duplicate his drawings on to canvas.

Sculptors and carvers also adapted the pantograph to trace the outlines of drawings on to blocks of marble or wood as guides for carving.

Towards the end of the 18th century, pantographs were used to cut wooden letter blocks for use in typeset printed material and later still, pantographs were invaluable in the engraving of gold and silver objects, especially those not flat.

Sculptors subsequently developed the pantograph to duplicate low-relief carvings and by the 19th century, the so-called swing-arm pantograph was capable of duplicating complex pieces much faster and more accurately than by hand.

Michelangelo's "David" was one of the most popular statues copied by this method as the Victorian era experienced an explosion of interest in reproductions of statuary from antiquity.

Portrait busts of famous figures in literature, politics and music of the day also became popular and the duplicating pantograph made actual marble busts affordable.

Enter one Benjamin Cheverton (1796-1876) artist craftsman, technician and entrepreneur who invented the Cheverton Reducing machine in 1836.

The great inventor and steam pioneer James Watt (1736-1819) had developed a machine to produce scaled-down copies of original works and Cheverton perfected the machine for commercial use.

Cheverton was himself a sculptor but also an engineer. His machine, not unlike an old treadle dentist's drill, used parallel arms, one terminating in a probe and the other in a rotating cutting bit.

As the probe was moved over the full sized version of the sculpture, gearing caused its shape to be duplicated by the cutting arm.

Thus, a soft material such as ivory, plaster or alabaster anchored beneath the cutting bit would be carved with the precisely the same details but on a smaller scale.

Where multiple copies of the sculpture were required, the plaster model could then be used to produce a mould.

The success of the Cheverton Reducing Machine was the key to leading artists of the day accepting the idea of their work being copied and duplicated as many times as their was demand for it.

Patented in 1844, the machine was the toast of the Great Exhibition of 1851. Cheverton displayed its capabilities by making a reduced copy in alabaster of Theseus from the Elgin collection in the British Museum, for which he was awarded a coveted exhibition gold medal.

At about the same time - the history books plump for 1845, although the exact date is uncertain - a new highly vitrified, translucent, creamy-white ceramic body appeared on the scene which the Minton ceramic company christened Parian.

This had excellent moulding qualities which enabled modellers to capture the finest of detail.

When fired, the unglazed biscuit porcelain produced a finished article closely resembling marble ... hence its name, after the marble from the mines on the Greek island of Paros.

Originally called Statuary Porcelain, the combination of Cheverton's Reducing Machine and Parian brought classical sculpture within the reach of the masses. Soon just about every pottery company in the country was producing Parian ware.

However, Minton, together with Copeland and Garret, also of Stoke, were among the most productive and possibly proficient.

Christmas present for Queen Victoria

Both had displays at the Great Exhibition and when Queen Victoria visited the former's stand, she purchased various Parian figures.

Also displayed was a parian figure of the Prince of Wales, a copy of an original by the sculptor Winterhalter. This was purchased by the Prince Consort as a Christmas present for Queen Victoria.

Many new models came into production, mainly through Herbert Minton's association with Sir Henry Cole, who ran Summerly's Art Manufacturers.

This was a marketing organisation founded in 1847 to encourage well known artists to design everyday goods for industrial production.

John Bell, Richard Redgrave and Richard Westmacott were among the designers who spent time at Minton supervising their work being made up in Parian.

The result today is an extensive array of statues and busts of characters from classical mythology, sport, politics, the arts, religion, royalty, business and industry, none of which could have been possible without Cheverton's Reducing Machine.

Wisely, Cheverton appears to have resisted the temptation to sell his rights to it, choosing instead to control its output personally.

After his death in 1876, various other similar machines appeared, notably the Profilometre made by Frederic Sauvage.

However, being first, it is Cheverton who is regarded most highly by today's collectors.

When biggest isn't always best

Sometimes biggest isn't always best. In 1992, a life-size Scottish marble bust of an unknown female sitter sold in a London auction for £825. In their last sale, Chester fine art auctioneers Byrne's sold a five-inch version of the same bust - by now identified as Lady Sophia Frances Rutherfurd - for a staggering £14,950.
The price is believed to be an auction record for a bust by Benjamin Cheverton whose Reducing Machine enabled miniature copies of a sculpture to be produced as an exact copy down to every tiny facial feature and fold of clothing.
The miniature ivory bust was sent for sale by a couple who had owned it for many years, aware that it was made by Cheverton (it was inscribed with the fact on the base) but unaware of who he was or the identity of the sitter.
Byrne's were able to shed light on both issues: Adrian Byrne studied Cheverton's work at university and wrote his dissertation on the inventor and innovator, while research by partner Jo Boucher revealed the sitter to be the daughter of Sir James Stewart of County Donegal, Ireland and wife of Scotland's Lord Advocate Andrew Rutherfurd.
Given her husband's prominent position, Lady Rutherfurd was a noted Edinburgh hostess and the family's close friends included Lord Jeffrey, Lord Cockburn, and the architect William Playfair.
The full-sized bust was the work of Sir John Steell (1804-1891) who was appointed Queen Victoria's Sculptor in Scotland, and created many of the public statues in Edinburgh. They include the equestrian statue of the Duke of Wellington outside Register House and that of Sir Walter Scott at the centre of the Scott Monument
On Lady Rutherfurd's death in October 1852, Steell was commissioned by her husband to sculpt her portrait bust in marble and Steell made a death mask to assist in the process.
Steell had recently completed portrait busts of Lord Cockburn (1851) and Lord Jeffrey (1852) and during 1853, Steell also executed a bronze bas-relief panel featuring both Lord and Lady Rutherfurd in profile for their red granite funerary pyramid designed by William Playfair in Dean Cemetery, Edinburgh.
Steell's depiction of Lady Rutherfurd as a Roman matron was probably in view of her husband's erudition and love of the antique. Lord Rutherfurd's first design for his wife's tomb was for a marble copy of an antique funerary urn on an altar.

Pictures show, top:
Benjamin Cheverton's finely carved ivory miniature bust of Lady Rutherfurd after an original sculpture by John Steell. The ivory bust measures around four inches and is mounted on a five-inch black marble column, inscribed 'J Steell, Fec.t/Cheverton Sc.'. It sold last week for £14,950. The full-size model for it fetched £825 in a London sale in 1992. (Photo: Byrne's, Chester)

Above, left:
The Scottish marble bust of Lady Rutherfurd, sold in a London auction for £825 in 1992. (Photo: Christie's Images)

Right:
A contemporary marble bust of Benjamin Cheverton, inventor of the Reducing Machine. (Photo:Science Museum, London)

Below, left:
A Copeland Parian figure of Clytie, in Greek mythology the mistress of the sun god Helios. Her jealousy of her sister Leucothea, who shared his affection, led Clytie to plot her sister's death. Losing Helios' love as a result, she died of despair and her body gradually took root and she metamorphosed into a plant, the heliotrope which always turns its head to the sun. The Victorians loved the myth and Clytie was in popular countless middle class drawing rooms. She's worth £400-600

Right: Benjamin Cheverton's reducing machine ... think of a 3D pantograph

The man who brought marble sculpture down to size

Español | Deutsche | Français | Italiano | Português

by Christopher Proudlove©
Remember the pantograph from your childhood? I recall using one to copy maps from atlas to geography exercise book at school.

One arm acts as a small pointer while the other holds a drawing implement such as a pencil. By moving the pointer over a diagram, a copy of it was drawn on another piece of paper.

By changing the positions of the arms in the linkage between the pointer and pencil, the scale of the image produced can be reduced or enlarged.

Since its principals are based upon Euclidean geometry, it is possible that that the pantograph has been around for thousands of years.

Artists soon adopted its use to duplicate drawings and it is believed that Leonardo da Vinci used one to duplicate his drawings on to canvas.

Sculptors and carvers also adapted the pantograph to trace the outlines of drawings on to blocks of marble or wood as guides for carving.

Towards the end of the 18th century, pantographs were used to cut wooden letter blocks for use in typeset printed material and later still, pantographs were invaluable in the engraving of gold and silver objects, especially those not flat.

Sculptors subsequently developed the pantograph to duplicate low-relief carvings and by the 19th century, the so-called swing-arm pantograph was capable of duplicating complex pieces much faster and more accurately than by hand.

Michelangelo's "David" was one of the most popular statues copied by this method as the Victorian era experienced an explosion of interest in reproductions of statuary from antiquity.

Portrait busts of famous figures in literature, politics and music of the day also became popular and the duplicating pantograph made actual marble busts affordable.

Enter one Benjamin Cheverton (1796-1876) artist craftsman, technician and entrepreneur who invented the Cheverton Reducing machine in 1836.

The great inventor and steam pioneer James Watt (1736-1819) had developed a machine to produce scaled-down copies of original works and Cheverton perfected the machine for commercial use.

Cheverton was himself a sculptor but also an engineer. His machine, not unlike an old treadle dentist's drill, used parallel arms, one terminating in a probe and the other in a rotating cutting bit.

As the probe was moved over the full sized version of the sculpture, gearing caused its shape to be duplicated by the cutting arm.

Thus, a soft material such as ivory, plaster or alabaster anchored beneath the cutting bit would be carved with the precisely the same details but on a smaller scale.

Where multiple copies of the sculpture were required, the plaster model could then be used to produce a mould.

The success of the Cheverton Reducing Machine was the key to leading artists of the day accepting the idea of their work being copied and duplicated as many times as their was demand for it.

Patented in 1844, the machine was the toast of the Great Exhibition of 1851. Cheverton displayed its capabilities by making a reduced copy in alabaster of Theseus from the Elgin collection in the British Museum, for which he was awarded a coveted exhibition gold medal.

At about the same time - the history books plump for 1845, although the exact date is uncertain - a new highly vitrified, translucent, creamy-white ceramic body appeared on the scene which the Minton ceramic company christened Parian.

This had excellent moulding qualities which enabled modellers to capture the finest of detail.

When fired, the unglazed biscuit porcelain produced a finished article closely resembling marble ... hence its name, after the marble from the mines on the Greek island of Paros.

Originally called Statuary Porcelain, the combination of Cheverton's Reducing Machine and Parian brought classical sculpture within the reach of the masses. Soon just about every pottery company in the country was producing Parian ware.

However, Minton, together with Copeland and Garret, also of Stoke, were among the most productive and possibly proficient.

Christmas present for Queen Victoria

Both had displays at the Great Exhibition and when Queen Victoria visited the former's stand, she purchased various Parian figures.

Also displayed was a parian figure of the Prince of Wales, a copy of an original by the sculptor Winterhalter. This was purchased by the Prince Consort as a Christmas present for Queen Victoria.

Many new models came into production, mainly through Herbert Minton's association with Sir Henry Cole, who ran Summerly's Art Manufacturers.

This was a marketing organisation founded in 1847 to encourage well known artists to design everyday goods for industrial production.

John Bell, Richard Redgrave and Richard Westmacott were among the designers who spent time at Minton supervising their work being made up in Parian.

The result today is an extensive array of statues and busts of characters from classical mythology, sport, politics, the arts, religion, royalty, business and industry, none of which could have been possible without Cheverton's Reducing Machine.

Wisely, Cheverton appears to have resisted the temptation to sell his rights to it, choosing instead to control its output personally.

After his death in 1876, various other similar machines appeared, notably the Profilometre made by Frederic Sauvage.

However, being first, it is Cheverton who is regarded most highly by today's collectors.

When biggest isn't always best

Sometimes biggest isn't always best. In 1992, a life-size Scottish marble bust of an unknown female sitter sold in a London auction for £825. In their last sale, Chester fine art auctioneers Byrne's sold a five-inch version of the same bust - by now identified as Lady Sophia Frances Rutherfurd - for a staggering £14,950.
The price is believed to be an auction record for a bust by Benjamin Cheverton whose Reducing Machine enabled miniature copies of a sculpture to be produced as an exact copy down to every tiny facial feature and fold of clothing.
The miniature ivory bust was sent for sale by a couple who had owned it for many years, aware that it was made by Cheverton (it was inscribed with the fact on the base) but unaware of who he was or the identity of the sitter.
Byrne's were able to shed light on both issues: Adrian Byrne studied Cheverton's work at university and wrote his dissertation on the inventor and innovator, while research by partner Jo Boucher revealed the sitter to be the daughter of Sir James Stewart of County Donegal, Ireland and wife of Scotland's Lord Advocate Andrew Rutherfurd.
Given her husband's prominent position, Lady Rutherfurd was a noted Edinburgh hostess and the family's close friends included Lord Jeffrey, Lord Cockburn, and the architect William Playfair.
The full-sized bust was the work of Sir John Steell (1804-1891) who was appointed Queen Victoria's Sculptor in Scotland, and created many of the public statues in Edinburgh. They include the equestrian statue of the Duke of Wellington outside Register House and that of Sir Walter Scott at the centre of the Scott Monument
On Lady Rutherfurd's death in October 1852, Steell was commissioned by her husband to sculpt her portrait bust in marble and Steell made a death mask to assist in the process.
Steell had recently completed portrait busts of Lord Cockburn (1851) and Lord Jeffrey (1852) and during 1853, Steell also executed a bronze bas-relief panel featuring both Lord and Lady Rutherfurd in profile for their red granite funerary pyramid designed by William Playfair in Dean Cemetery, Edinburgh.
Steell's depiction of Lady Rutherfurd as a Roman matron was probably in view of her husband's erudition and love of the antique. Lord Rutherfurd's first design for his wife's tomb was for a marble copy of an antique funerary urn on an altar.

Pictures show, top:
Benjamin Cheverton's finely carved ivory miniature bust of Lady Rutherfurd after an original sculpture by John Steell. The ivory bust measures around four inches and is mounted on a five-inch black marble column, inscribed 'J Steell, Fec.t/Cheverton Sc.'. It sold last week for £14,950. The full-size model for it fetched £825 in a London sale in 1992. (Photo: Byrne's, Chester)

Above, left:
The Scottish marble bust of Lady Rutherfurd, sold in a London auction for £825 in 1992. (Photo: Christie's Images)

Right:
A contemporary marble bust of Benjamin Cheverton, inventor of the Reducing Machine. (Photo:Science Museum, London)

Below, left:
A Copeland Parian figure of Clytie, in Greek mythology the mistress of the sun god Helios. Her jealousy of her sister Leucothea, who shared his affection, led Clytie to plot her sister's death. Losing Helios' love as a result, she died of despair and her body gradually took root and she metamorphosed into a plant, the heliotrope which always turns its head to the sun. The Victorians loved the myth and Clytie was in popular countless middle class drawing rooms. She's worth £400-600

Right: Benjamin Cheverton's reducing machine ... think of a 3D pantograph