Everything has a story, some more compelling than others, some handed down over generations. Some so strong that it's nearly impossible to part with an item that's been imbued with family tradition, history, memories.
If you come to inherit something you don't like, overcoming this family lore can be guilt-inducing and stressful. But if that item is pleasing to you, the history behind makes it all the more precious and valued.
And this is where I find myself. Touched to be the current custodian of some family porcelain, pleased to continue the story.
Porcelain itself has a story, and since my pieces are of European origin, I'll start there.
Porcelain's Arrival in Europe
When Europeans first beheld Chinese porcelain in the 1500s, they didn't know exactly what it was; some thought that it was glass. Compared to their own stoneware, this new material was far superior because it:
- could be as thin as paper
- was stronger than stoneware
- didn't easily scratch
- didn't break when hot water was poured into it
- chipped cleanly
- was a brilliant white color
- didn't react with the contents (making it ideal for tea!)
Porcelain had been produced in China for centuries, possibly by 206 BCE–220 CE (Malone 1976:103). It's composed of petuntse (which contains quartz) and kaolin (from crushed granite), two materials that work synergistically. Kaolin facilitates molding while the quartz content of the petuntse results in porcelain's signature glassy and translucent surface (Malone 1976:104).
Because Europe had not yet identified a source for petuntse and kaolin, they could not produce porcelain. But the Germans were particularly enchanted with the material and, after two centuries, finally figured it out. The first true porcelain factory opened in Meissen, near Dresden, in 1710.
In my family at least, the enthrallment with porcelain never abated. My German maternal grandmother had a prized Rosenthal porcelain platter, which she presumably brought along with her when she came to the U.S. very early in the twentieth century, thus launching a family story.
The platter became a centerpiece, holding family birthday cakes, something that my mom remembered fondly. When my mom eventually inherited it, I don't remember it ever leaving its place of honor in the china cabinet—perhaps she feared that she'd break this precious platter.
My mom had made it clear that I should keep the platter upon her death (I did), and had pointed out to me that I should write about her Rosenthal tea plate, teacup, and saucer set.
But here the story eludes me. She's no longer here to explain, why, exactly, the Rosenthal. My mom had other Bavarian tea plates, teacups, and saucers, but it was always the Rosenthal that she valued the most. Perhaps it too had once belonged to her mother.
Or, perhaps it was because her mother's young adulthood in Germany had coincided with the Rosenthal company's rise into a well-known, highly regarded, and international company—possibly making this a particularly esteemed brand in her mother's eyes, something that carried over to my own mom.
Mr. Rosenthal and His Porcelain
Phillip Rosenthal was born into the German porcelain business: his father was a porcelain merchant. Phillip came to the U.S. as a teenager and bought decorated porcelain for a Detroit import company. In that position, he found that there was rather a shortage of the ware. For that reason—along with his parents' wishes for his return—he went back to Germany in 1879 and opened his own porcelain-painting business near Selb, Bavaria.
In 1891 he opened his own porcelain factory, remaining in Selb because the industry was already well-established plus the area had plentiful necessary raw materials for making porcelain (Deutsche Allgemeine Zeitung 1929).
Never content with the status quo, his motto was "I have no use for anyone who cannot look beyond the garden fence" as he embraced new technologies, forms, and design (Rosenthal.de; Deutsche Allgemeine Zeitung 1929). Drawing on his experience in the U.S., he pushed for Germany to export its porcelain globally.
His company grew rapidly, and he acquired additional factories. He opened his own art department in 1910, something that was, at the time, "a privilege reserved for royal factories" (Rosenthal.de). He treated his employees well, hiring 1,200 people by 1904 and 7,000 by 1929.
However, in 1934 he was forced to leave his company due to his Jewish ancestry. It wasn't until 1950 that his son Philip—later referred to as the country's "emperor of china"—was able to join the company. Philip carried on his father's vision, working with celebrated artists such as Andy Warhol and Salvador Dalí.
Dating antique and vintage Rosenthal ware by maker's mark seems unusually easy since the company both changed their logo and frequently made minor changes to their mark, adding dots or dashes in various places, for instance.
My grandmother's platter falls within a wide 1919–1935 range (green underglaze mark), although I'm guessing it was made in the 1920s (but it's possible that the platter had been mailed to her after she left Europe).
The tea plate and saucer date later (1938 and 1943, respectively), with the cup unknown. Although the set is clearly marked as Winifred, pattern names hold little meaning and the same name was used for multiple patterns.
German porcelain makers more often used a number system to track forms and patterns because it was easier. Names had to be unique and registered, so naming was often left to importers and distributors, who could market them however they wanted.
Selling Porcelain to Buy Food
Recently my aunt sent me an eight-serving cup-and-saucer set along with creamer, sugar, and coffeepot. A charming set, its oldest pieces date back to at least 1927; the set changed hands several times.
Named Balmoral (but see above!), the pieces are similar to each other but with an expansive combination of flowers. The pot and sugar bowl date to 1928 while the creamer is 1932.
No two saucers are identical; they're dated 1925(?), 1927, 1928, and 1935.
Of the eight cups—dated 1927, 1928, 1929, and 1930—there are four different primary motifs.
However, where the main motif on a teacup is the same (or similar) as that on another cup, either the inner flower differs or else the secondary flowers, on the back of the cup, differ. Thus, no two teacups are alike either.
After WWII, many Germans sold what they could so as to buy food. My grandmother's brother bought this set from someone around 1945/46 and sent it to my grandmother in the States. In 1959, she gave the set to one of her sons, my late uncle, upon his marriage. Treasured all these years, my aunt recently sent the pieces to me.
Having crossed an ocean and traversed multiple states over the years, these porcelain pieces symbolize many things: The aspirations and vision of porcelain maker Phillip Rosenthal; the tragedy of a war that wrought unimaginable suffering. The need for food outweighing the need for china; the transaction that alleviated want. The gift to first my grandmother, and then to my aunt and uncle in celebration of their wedding. And now to me, as a remembrance of the grandmother that I loved.
I have no way of returning this set to its original owners, possessing no information other than this. But I'll continue our family's own story of cherishing—and passing down—this very charming set.
(And if anyone's wondering, I'll be using this as a tea set despite the fact that it came with a coffeepot!)
With special thanks and much love to my Aunt Joan.
Sources:
–Collect Rosenthal, "Rosenthal porcelain marks in date sequence," accessed 7/23/24.
–Deutsche Allgemeine Zeitung (Berlin), "50 Jahre Deutsches Porzellan," interview with Phillip Rosenthal, published 8/16/1929.
–Malone, Laurence A., How to Mend Your Treasured Porcelain, China, Glass, and Pottery, p. 104. Reston, VA: Reston Publishing, 1976.
–The Old Stuff, "Porcelain and pottery marks—Rosenthal," accessed 7/23/24.
–Rosenthal.de, "The fascination of Rosenthal," accessed 7/23/24.
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