What a Card(s)!

I recently came across more pages from the album printed by William S. Kimball and Company for its 1889 "Fancy Bathers" cigarette card series. I had read that there were fifty cards issued in this series; each album page had a place to paste five cards, but I now have a total of eleven pages with spaces for cards, which would make 55 voluptuous bathing belles. Looking back on the original post, I realized the first pictured page must have been from a different cigarette album, as it is 9 inches tall by 6 inches wide, while all the other pages are 7.5 inches by 6 inches. Checking the five bathing belles pictured on the larger page against a list I found of the beauties in Kimball's "Fancy Bather's series," I discovered that one of the pictured scenes is labeled "Nice," which was not part of the Kimball series. Further, looking closely at the ladies, although they are as lovely as those pictured in the Kimball album, they were done by a different artist. So not only do I apparently now have the complete set of Kimball's seaside sirens, I have an extra page from another cigarette card album.

Although the pages show some wear and creases, the colors of the chromolithography are still bright and vivid. The pages at one point had been tied together with red thread, but several had come loose, so without page numbers, it is not clear what, if any order, they should be placed.

I discovered a bit of an artistic cheat as well.

Ms. Helgoland, pictured on the above page. . . 

was apparently separated at birth from her long-lost twin, Ms. Dinard, displayed in the earlier post.

The Kimball album offered a bonus feature as well, with some pages portraying . . . 

a full page portrait of one of the cards. Here Ms. Trouville gets a starring role.

An extra-large Ms. Paramé showing off her lustrous locks.

Ms. Saint Malo wades in the waves.

Ms. Ostende holds on to her demure bonnet while a naughty zephyr bare the tops of her thighs.

This page offered two enlarged lovelies. . .

Ms. Saint Enegat and. . . 

Ms. Torquay.

Only one page is printed on both sides. This appears to be the end of the album, advertising various varieties of Kimball's "Finest High-Grade Smoking Mixtures." The page also features cards of comic frogs. They were the work of American illustrator and author Henry Louis Stephens (1824–1882), known for his amusing anthropomorphic animals. 

The back of the page, and the album, features a bathing beauty seated on an oversized seashell. The bottom edge is marked "Julius Bien & Co Lith." Julius Bien (1826-1909) arrived in New York City from Germany around 1848, founding a successful lithography enterprise. He was the first president of the National Lithographers Association and may be best known for his beautiful, although unfinished, chromolithographed edition of John James Audubon's The Birds of America. I wonder whether there was also a front cover printed on both sides as well. 

A Unique Maneki Neko

An update on my Maneki Neko page tells the story about how this one-of-a-kind cement kitty came to live in my garden.

Good E-Nef. . . .

A nef is an ornate table decoration in the shape of a ship. Often made of precious metal and adorned with gems or enamel, a nef was not just a fancy centerpiece, but also could hold condiments, utensils, or napkins. Sometimes the nef was on wheels, so it could be rolled to the next person who needed a little salt or a clean spoon, but often the ship was stationary, supported by some denizen of the sea, including, of course, a curvaceous mermaid. Originally dating back to the 13th century, the nef saw a new rise in popularity with the invention of electroplating base metals with silver in the 1840s, coinciding with the Victorian love of elaborate ornaments.

This leads to my newest mermaid mystery, a 21-inch tall lamp featuring a silver-plated siren rising from roiling waves as she supports a sailing vessel (being very considerate mythical maiden, she carries a life preserver, just in case any sailors fall overboard). This lamp meets all my collecting criteria for weird and wonderful.

When switched on, a soft light shines through the seashells wired onto a metal grid that serves as the ship's deck.

Although the silver plating is worn in areas, the sculpting is superb, from the swirling waters and spiraling scaled tail to her ample supple curves.

However, I do not think this lovely lady started out as a lamp. Looking underneath, it is clear that someone drilled a hole and rigged the wiring.

In fact the lamp seems to have been creatively, if not always carefully, jimmy-rigged. The upper portion of the boat lifts off, but is now screwed into place; however, for some reason, the heads of the screws were sunk into the upper deck, leaving the unsightly ends sticking out from the boat's bottom. It was a simple matter to reverse the screws, so that the heads were now flush with the hull and the ends tucked in under the shells. The shells are thin and frail, so I did not want to poke around to much, but it looks like the light itself is a short string of tiny white fairy lights, which indicates that the lighting is much newer than the base (and I sure hope that they are LEDs, because replacing them would be a nightmare). 

There are no marks, other than a small diamond-shaped paper label that reads, "M. Vernis 13." I could find no company or business by that name, and I suspect that it may refer to an address.

So, back to our word of the day, "nef." My theory is that this lamp started life as a Victorian revival of a nef, and that originally the ship offered guests sweetmeats or salt, which would explain why the upper deck once lifted off for filling and cleaning. But I am open to any other suggestions as well.