Small Things Can Have Big Histories

A few years ago I stumbled upon a little book in my local library that captured my imagination from beginning to end. I’d been to the British Museum a year or so earlier and seen the vase, but it didn’t stick in my mind as a thing of astonishing beauty or rarity. Like many of the items in that colossal building, their majesty is usually marked only with a small, discrete card with little or any background. You could be looking at the hand of God himself, and unless some docent or passer-by happened to point it out, you’d as likely as not pass it by unnoticed.

The fact that it is a beautiful piece of work aside it is the history of the Portland Vase that intrigues me. It has “survived” (a term that must be used loosely here) a deranged vandal in 1845, and the bombing of the British Museum by the Germans. It has been literally smashed to bits and rebuilt from the ground up twice. Lord knows how many times it has avoided complete destruction.

The 9 ¾-inch glass vase is a deep opaque violet blue-nearly black, and is overlaid with white glass in which scenes of mythological figures are cut. Notice the resemblance to Wedgwood? Yeah-there’s a reason for that—we’ll get there. While renowned for its beauty, the meaning of the decorative scenes carved into its sides have never been fully ascertained (though highly speculated and written about), and its origins remain utterly mysterious.

Scholars do not agree on who owned the vase in ancient Rome, and even its emergence during the Renaissance period is shrouded in mystery. It was said to have been discovered in a sarcophagus outside Rome in the early 1580’s, but there seems to be no documentation of its unearthing at this time. By the early 17th century it was owned by Cardinal Francesco Maria Borbone del Monte, who died in 1626, and whose heir Alessandro, promptly sold the family heirloom to Cardinal Antonio Barberini. The vase remained in their palace in Italy, along with the rest of the Barberini’s fantastic collection of paintings and sculptures for 150 years. Much to the chagrin of Italians everywhere, the vase was next acquired by a Scottish architect living in Italy named James Byres. Byres had a reputation-not all of it good. Most of the time he made his gelt by giving rich Americans and British subjects tours of the region, serving as docent, guide and expert. Not being a man of settled financial means, it is not surprising that Byres sold it to a Sir William Hamilton.

Hamilton was WILD about Roman vases. Sent them home by fairly the crate-load. Literally. When he made the hugely expensive purchase (basically on a whim) he quickly realized that getting his acquisition home would be a bit of a challenge. Byres of course had the solution, and went about getting the false documents and provenance that Hamilton would need to ship home the piece without having to pay a kings-ransom in duties, and of course-that would keep the Italian government from ceasing its exit from their shores.

So far, the vase was just called a vase, sometimes the Barberini vase. It was not until 1784, when Margaret, the duchess of Portland, saw the vase. She was instantly in love, and sought the piece for her collection. Sadly, she was unable to enjoy her new vase for long. She died on July 17, 1785 less than a year after she first saw the work. This is when the breaking begins. In 1810 a friend of Margaret’s son, the duke of Portland, broke off the base of the vase. He decided not to take any other chances with it and lent it to the British Museum, where it presumably would be safe and cold be enjoyed by a wide audience.

No such luck.

In 1845, a young man named William Mulcahy who had been drinking for several days before stumbling into the British Museum for a tour, grabbed an object, shattered the case holding the vase and then smashed the vase. The onlookers were astonished, and frankly baffled as to his motive. Its never been ascertained as to what was going through his mind when he wreaked this destruction, and because British Law did not provide penalties for destroying items of high value, he was soon released after an anonymous person posted his bail. Needless to say the British Museum was a bit embarrassed, but rather than send a personal representative, they chose to send the Duke and his family a note about the smashing in which it pronounced the culprit mad. The vase has been restored three times in its known existence. After Mulcahy broke it into some 200 pieces, it was repaired by the museum’s John Doubleday, who was left with a little box of extra shards. Over time, the color of the glue that he used to piece the vase together changed colors and the Museum decided to have a restoration attempt made again. This time they hired James H.W. Axtell, who carefully broke it apart and repaired it again using transparent glue. He too had over a dozen chips left at the end of his restoration. Lastly, in 1986 Nigel Williams, the chief conservator of ceramics at the British Museum broke the vase and restored it with modern epoxy and other materials.

From the standpoint of art history, the vase is interesting as it has twice served as a major source of artistic inspiration. One, a copy created by Wedgwood, and the second a copy commissioned by Benjamin Richardson who offered 1000 pound prize for anyone who could duplicate the cameo work in glass. It took glass maker Philip Pargeter three years with the assistance of John Northwood (who did the engraving), to win the prize. This copy stands today in the Corning Glass Museum in New York.

This lovely piece remains in the Museum today, apart from three years (1929-32) when The Duke of Portland put the vase up for sale at Christies. The vase failed to make its reserve price, but was purchased in 1945 by the British Museum with the aid of a bequest from James Rose Vallentin.