One of the most eyecatching and distinctive categories of Georgian glassware - Bristol Blue glasses, decanters and tableware
As is often the case, I’m taking the inspiration for this current blog article from items that are newly listed on our website – this time, it’s
the pieces of Bristol Blue glass – a well-known phrase in glass
collecting circles, but in actual fact a bit of a misnomer.
Creative sorts had been using blue colouring to give their creations a
distinctive hue for centuries by the time Georgian glassmakers followed
suit, so it certainly wasn’t innovation which made the phrase so
enduring. The Romans had created the blue tiles (tesserae) for use in
their mosaics by using an oxide of cobalt as a colourant, as had the
Egyptians before them. The technology had been employed closer to home,
as fragments of a blue glass item were found in the grave goods packed
inside the Sutton Hoo burial ship grave, dating from the latter part of
the Dark Ages. The usage continued throughout medieval times, and was
documented in 1558 with details given of the use of smalt – a derivative
of cobalt, and used (in the specific instance in question) to colour
clothing. It was also a constituent of the paints used by Rembrandt in
the 17th century, was used to provide the blue underglaze colouring on
Chinese porcelain (which was to have specific relevance to our story)
having been introduced to the Orient by Persian traders and was
certainly known to Venetian glassmakers.
So – what exactly was
this ubiquitous “smalt”, the influence of which was spread far and wide
even before it came to the attention of Bristol’s artisan craftsmen ?
Well – for the most part it came from mines at Schneeburg in the Ore
Mountains near the present day Czech/German border. The metallic element
was pulverised, roasted, ground, combined with flint, superheated and
melted to the point that it became vitreous and then quickly cooled and
mechanically pounded to reduce it to a fine powder – the state in which
it was considered to be a tradeable commodity.
Now, back to
Blighty and the travails of the good folk of Bristol. A significant
trading centre by the middle ages due to its location on the Severn
Estuary, the city enjoyed the advantage of being proximate to sources of
many raw materials useful to industries of many sorts, and inexorably
grew over the years to become a real manufacturing powerhouse. There
were huge reserves of good quality sand to be had from Redcliffe and
also significant deposits of coal which could be mined locally, so the
resources were on hand for glassmaking to become a staple of local
manufacturing. Initially known just for the production of bottle and
window glass, the development of nearby Bath as a 17th century tourist
attraction and home to many rich potential customers saw a drift towards
higher-quality wares, and a steady trickle of more capable craftsmen in
to the city intent on taking advantage of such a potentially lucrative
marketplace. As mentioned, the wherewithal to produce blue glassware was
widely known, and Bristolian producers employed it – albeit sparingly
with regard to scale in the first instance – from the 1650’s onwards,
specifically to produce medicine and syrup bottles. The potential
quality of Bristol’s glass turnout received another boost in the wake of
Ravenscroft’s development of lead crystal, as there were lead deposits
in the nearby Mendip Hills, and the perfect storm for glass production
on a really significant scale began to gather strength. It was noted by
the early 1700’s that a view across the city would present a vista
consisting of “more glass kiln chimneys than church spires”.
So, Bristol is growing at a disproportionate rate of knots, second
only to London as a centre of manufacturing, with it’s glassmaking
industry ideally placed to assume absolute pre-eminence in Britain. Who
exactly were the two gentlemen who were to forge an auspicious union and
make the most of the feracious industrial ferment, poised to burst in
to life on the banks of the Severn ?
Richard Champion; local
potter, Quaker and merchant. With a keen eye to prevailing tastes
amongst the discerning gentlefolk of the time, Champion was looking to
refine glassmaking technology to produce high grade porcelain which he
could then sell for a premium. To give his business plan a significant
boost, he intended to emulate the style of the much sought after
porcelain imported from the Far East – widely feted by the cognoscenti
but, naturally, a scarce commodity in early 18th century England. The
defining element of this porcelain was, of course, the distinctive
blue-painted designs, so Champion needed a source of blue pigment. He
fortuitously hooked up with one William Cooksworthy, chemist, merchant,
entrepreneur - also a Quaker - and another aspirant porcelain pioneer
who had previous dealings with the aforementioned smalt producers in
Saxony. Cooksworthy discerned an opportunity for significant betterment
and went all-in when the Königlich Sächsischen facility gave notice that
it was on the brink of closure in 1753, securing himself exclusive
distribution rights for the entire remaining stock of their signature
product. Naturally, this resource was to be imported via Bristol.
Now, although Cooksworthy had a monopoly on the import of smalt, he was
not obliged to sell it on exclusively to either Champion or other local
businesses, and he had no compunction in dealing with anyone who
offered him a good price, wherever they might be based. As a result,
blue glassware was made in London and Newcastle, as well as other
provincial glasshouses, but the colourant itself all came from the one
source and was to take the name of its point of entry to the UK.
Manufacturers would therefore source Bristol Blue as an ingredient for
their wares – and anything thusly coloured would be termed Bristol Blue
glass, regardless of where it was made. And this is the misnomer to
which I refer in my opening paragraph – it ain’t the glassware itself,
but the colouring medium which gives rise to the name.
With
regard to the glass itself, now uniformly resplendent in the sumptuous
blue hue by which it was to become commonly known, the range of wares
grew exponentially. It swiftly became a signifier of wealth and
prosperity, and as Bristol’s merchant class flourished the blue
glassware which they commissioned was considered to be representative of
their opulence and affluence. Tableware, decanters, purely decorative
pieces – even hinged boxes and items of jewellery – were regularly made
from the newly fashionable material. However, there was always the need
for certain parties to go that little bit further than others when
specifying their ostentatious requirements, and some way of discerning
what were the real top of the range pieces was needed. As mentioned
earlier, Bristol was by now the home of many skilled craftsmen, and blue
glass pieces were enhanced with silver settings and adornments or
gilded in gold leaf for that overtly extravagant touch when the customer
demanded.
As ever, there were opportunists ready to take
advantage of any niche market, and a gentleman by the name of Lazarus
Jacobs did just that, acquiring Perrot’s Red Lane manufactory when it
went out of business in 1774, and immediately resurrecting it as a going
concern in order that he could put his engraving and decorating skills
to good use, embellishing the bankrupt stock. Jacobs employed his son,
Isaac, in the family business and added another dimension to his work by
signing the vast majority of items which they produced. The Jacobs
ciphers soon became the byword for the very highest quality Bristol Blue
glassware, and items with verifiable signatures are rightly considered
amongst the most collectable examples which can be found to this day.
Jacobs had no little faith in the quality of his own work, and adopted
the self-styled epithet of “glass manufacturer to His Majesty the King”.
Official endorsement or otherwise, affectation was everything in
upwardly mobile Georgian England, and the business (at least in the
short term, before eventual ruin) went from strength to strength.
In conclusion we should go back to the early days of Bristol’s glass
manufacturing history. We’ve already noted that it was initially the
production of bottle glass that was the most common pursuit of the
city’s glasshouses, entirely to supply the equally proliferant local
distilling industry. This had grown up as a result of both the extensive
importation of European wine through the port and the bringing in of
vast cargoes of sugar cane, in addition to the already extant local
breweries and cider producers, established to furnish the ever-growing
workforce with their daily draughts. One of the names at the forefront
of these imports for over 200 years now has been John Harvey & Sons,
producers of the renowned Bristol Cream blended dessert sherry. For the
last thirty years or so this has been bottled in vessels made from
Bristol Blue glass which, wittingly or otherwise, are the perfect
encapsulation of the city’s defining commercial enterprises. You do
though, of course, need to track down a signature Jacobs decanter from
which to properly dispense it, and thereby close the circle completely.
Stay tuned for a follow up in a few days when I’m hoping to get my
teeth in to the (presumably) closely associated commodity which was
Bristol Green glass – look to be yet more convolutions and complexities
on the way, but another excuse for a great many more pretty pictures,
even if any clarification may not be forthcoming…
