There is William Blake, who dreamed as great dreams as Joseph of old, who gave imaginary sittings to Pontius Pilate, who wrote wonderful poetry, and who died in a garret. Copper-plates were dear, but he had no poverty of invention, and since the days when as a child he saw angels following the reapers in the corn, he lived for posterity and left his record. But have gravers on silver and inventors of symmetrical goblets of gold less blood than those who drew lines on copper? There is something human missing in these strings of initials and bare names so sedulously gathered together by dry-as-dust compilers.
In furniture, makers’ names have become household words. Chippendale, Sheraton, Hepplewhite have created styles of their own. Of Sheraton we have personal details piquant enough to add fresh lustre to his satinwood creations. There is the story of the one teacup in the back street of Soho, which was handed to his Scottish apprentice in the little shop whence he issued his religious pamphlets.
In china the personal note is dominant--Josiah Wedgwood with his wooden leg smashing vases at Etruria with “This won’t do for Josiah Wedgwood.” Or Thomas Cookworthy dying of a broken heart in Virginia after his life’s failure at Plymouth. Or the Brothers Elers with their secret underground telephone in Bradwell Wood in Staffordshire.
In silver ware the Elizabethan and the Stuart periods run parallel with furniture; the names of makers are rarely known. But in the eighteenth century besides Paul de Lamerie, Paul Storr, F. Kandler, Peter Archambo, Pierre Platel, and a few others the claim to fame of the individual silversmith has been obliterated by the heart-searchings of collectors for periods, such as the Higher Standard or the style termed “Queen Anne.”
In 1739 the initials were by law altered from the first two letters of the surname to the first letter of the surname and the first letter of the Christian name. In earlier years the maker had a device--a dolphin, a star, a cross, or any other symbol to denote his individual work. Nowadays anonymity is further safeguarded by the Goldsmiths’ Company of London, who admit names of firms. Their printed form runs: “Statement to be made in writing by Manufacturers, Dealers and others, bringing or sending Gold or Silver Plate to be Assayed and Hall-Marked.” Presumably in the old days prentice work passed as that of the master. But the prentice grew older and was allowed to come out into the light. But X & Co., Y & Co., Z & Co. may send their stamps round to smaller and more original men to impress on their work. The public, caring more for the lion, _et cetera_, than for X, Y, and Z, know no better; as for the real makers the public know nought. But we ask, is this the way to encourage our workers in plate? Syndicates have no bowels of compassion, but assay offices might be supposed to minister to the interests of the art of the worker in precious metals. To kill or to stifle individuality is a crime against Art. If Sheraton had been a silversmith his name would have been unknown.