Exhibitions
Tiaras (Victoria & Albert Museum, till 14 July)
What a lot of sparklers
Selina Mills
Edward Burne Jones once said that, if you didn't want to swallow a jewel when you saw it, it probably wasn't a very good jewel. The current exhibition Tiaras at the V&A, showing over 200 tiaras belonging to royalty and to stars, as well as many European aristocrats, will not only make you wish the diamonds (or the stonking great big rocks' as one overwhelmed American visitor exclaimed) were edible, but will immediately throw you into a world of such visual and sensual intensity, you might need a large drink to recover.
While even the mention of the word tiara these days elicits a titter for its implication of ostentation, the original word came by way of Persian kings and refers to every form of headdress, including circlets, wreaths and the Russian kokoshniks. The tiara, of course, was the original credit card and worked as a visual tag to show social status or rank or as a means of offering tribute to the deities. Relied on by the women (and men) of ancient Greece and Rome as a form of adornment for special occasions, the original tiara (called the diadem — from the Greek diadein — to bind around) took the form of bound foliage and flowers, and later precious-metal bands encrusted with jewels.
The onset of Christianity (and its rejection of things Roman) lead to the decline of the mode for a while, but as the interest in classicism returned in the 18th century so too did the interest in representing status in court. Some tiaras on display, such as the emerald and diamond diadem made by Evard and Frederic Bapst for the French crown jewels in 1820, belong to a standard of aestheticism long gone. And while the
intricacy of designs are breathtaking, so too are some of the practicalities incorporated — many can be dismantled into brooches and matching bracelets, which must have been useful for escaping the odd revolution Or two.
Equally magnificent as the jewels are the histories that belong to each tiara, or 'fender bender' as Theresa, Marchioness of Londonderry fondly referred to hers. Lady Londonderry, in fact, spent the better half of the Coronation of Edward VII trying to get her family heirlooms out of the facilities at Westminster Abbey, where she had dropped them. Pity, too, the poor Duke of Portland, who in 1920 sat on the valuable Portland diamonds as he tried to talk to his beloved wife while she was dressing for dinner. 'Naturally, the tiara was broken to bits,' he wrote in his diary, 'while the lower part of my poor person resembled the diamond mines of Golconda.'
Part of the allure of this show, therefore, is the access to celebrity and royalty. But what is more intriguing and touching is how many tiaras were not made for status, but were tokens of love between men and women, fathers and daughters, and brides and grooms. Prince Albert designed at least four tiaras for Queen Victoria, which she could not bear to wear after his death; Queen Elizabeth, the Queen Mother loved the diamond wild-rose tiara her father gave her when she married the Duke of York. Even Posh Spice had one made for her wedding to footballer David Beckham.
So while it might take you a while to return to your own senses after this exhibition — some of the rubies and emeralds are so large you will think you are hallucinating on Ribena or crème de menthe — it is nice to know that even the great, powerful and pretentious can love and thankfully express it (even if it is through Asprey's, Boucheron and Cartier).
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