Tears for Love

It was a superstition--one of those strange beliefs as intangible as the wraiths in an old English abbey. They said that pearls were tears. . . . The tears of veiled empresses, in shadowed throne rooms. The tears of kings, lost forever to power. Tears for love, which could never be requited--for ambition, which could never be fulfilled--for hope, which could never know realization.

The occasion which called for such writing in behalf of a store, was a great one. With the pomp of an abdicating dynasty the Manhattan jewel firm of Dreicer was about to close its doors forever. Booklets opalescent with suave, serene opportunities to buy were being sent out under the guidance of Ivy Lee, unique public relations counsel (TIME, Oct. 4). As an item there was pictured modestly in a neat corner:

A pair of earrings, two perfectly matched pearls with square cut diamonds. Price thirty-five thousand dollars, less thirty-three and one-third per cent.

To cast the final spell over the last and final sale of the gems of Dreicer there were issued memorabilia of this glamorous House.

To the post-war U. S. of the '70s came one Jacob Dreicer, young pop-eyed Polish Jew, his ear-locks but recently sheared off his pious head. A sterner immigration guard would have suspected him of exopthalmic goitre. As it was, no difficulties were made against his landing at the Battery.

"Where can I get gold for all this currency of the Confederate States of America?" was his first question. But Jacob Dreicer had another recourse for livelihood. On the inside of his innermost shirt he had sewed little velvet sacks, and each little velvet sack held a pearl. He knew pearls and emeralds, rubies and sapphires. In a way he knew diamonds too, but he did not like them, least of all when he saw them wired on the stomacher of the Manhattan dame of a Civil War profiteer. And he did love pearls; liked to caress them against his cheek. He knew where he could get them. They were sewed on the bridal finery of Jewish girls in Poland; they were beaded on the silk and velvet covers of the Blessed Scroll of Laws in synagogues. Cossacks brought pearls to the Polish Jews; carried them from beyond the Caucasians, from Bokhara, and Tiflis and Bagdad; traded them to Jews for prized utensils. But these Americans, sports of war and wealth, knew nothing of pearls . . . only the jangling of diamonds. Jacob Dreicer rented a basement room, sorted his pearls, graded them, matched them into the finest necklaces. He made up a necklace of emeralds and pearls for Mrs. Isaac Bell, for $5,500. Later the centre pearl alone of this necklace brought $90,000, money that went to establish the Bell Home for Gentlewomen. Twenty years in the U. S. brought him some wealth. So he moved to Fifth Avenue. Delmonico's was next door. Bankers and merchants would be there, eager to crowd about his table. As they poured their wine, he poured his pearls on the table, rubies, emeralds and sapphires. He taught them beauty in gems and they bought for their women. Some began to buy for investment, for he proved how the values of precious stones mount. His son Michael had even a finer genius for matching jewels. Mrs. McKinley, wife of the one time President, loved to come to their store. She would be dressed in a slim-waisted jacket, with leg-of-mutton sleeves, an amiable gentlewoman whom Michael adored. One day she gave him a carnation. He wanted to pin it to his father's lapel, but Jacob told him to take it home, press it. When the boy left the store, he discovered that he had lost the flower. How meet his father's ire? At dinner that night he had a carnation in his buttonhole. It was the exact duplicate, in minute detail, of Mrs. McKinley's carnation, which Father Jacob had found. "Michael," said Jacob, who had the original in his pocket, "you're a good matcher." Michael was all Of that. It was he who brought together the pearls of a Philadelphia financier's $1,500,000 necklace. That was the Dreicers' masterpiece, and Michael spent more than half his life creating it. He died in 1921, his father a month later. During the 60 years that Dreicer & Co. has been in business, it has sold $100,000,000 of ornaments, $65,500,000 during the past 20 years. Last week it was being dissolved. Every piece of jewelry in the bronze and black-faced store at Fifth Avenue and 46th Street was being sold--like so many baubles in a bargain basement--for one-third off. There was a necklace of perfectly matched pearls, the finest piece in the store, to be sold for $250,000, with the sale's one-third to be deducted.