engraver can work as successfully upon an opal as upon harder and more homogenous substances.
This
cup was not made of solid opal, but from even more difficult material.
Thin layers of opal had been superimposed by Nature upon a matrix of
silica, and the rough piece was in the natural formation of a shallow
cup about four and a half inches long and three and a half inches wide,
its greatest depth being not more than half an inch. After prolonged
study of its possibilities, the artist had chosen for his subject the
meeting of Cupid and Psyche beneath the celestial vault at the hour of
sunrise.
This
was the finished work of art: poised in mid-air, with wings
outstretched, Psyche turned up her face to meet the gaze of Cupid, who
having overtaken her now sought her lips. Above them, but close to the
upper rim of the cup, the sun was just rising. The morning star had not
yet vanished. Below the two figures were the fast thinning
clouds of dawn, and the greyish vapours were already in process of
transmutation into burnished gold, lapis lazuli and orange. The artist
had thus taken advanĀtage not only of the original shape of his
material, of its stratification and convolutions, of the varying
thicknesses of the opal layer, but also of all its accidents of
colouring and even of its blemishes. It was a successful as well as an
ambitious work, and is a perfect example of what the sculptor of gems
can do when put upon his mettle.
I
coveted that cup long before it came into my hands. It was carved by
old William Schmidt, who had a little office with a workshop behind it
in London's Hatton Garden. How often did I climb his rickety wooden
stairs