that he was in the market: âHurrah! For the Faussett Collection. I hope you will get them â not hearing from you I wrote to the Revd Faussett to ask about them if you refused them.â If he managed to make the acquisition, he knew he could claim to have saved the treasure for the nation: âthey ought to belong to the national collections and may yet when I have done with them,â he said. 11 In the end, he moved quickly, and with a sensitivity to public relationsâ opportunities. Three days after the collection was finally and formally rejected by the British Museum, Mayer travelled to Kent to pay a first instalment and, with Roach Smithâs help, he had the objects parcelled up and put on a train to Liverpool. He then approached Thomas Wright, an eminent historian, to give a lecture at the townâs Philharmonic Hall to the British Archaeological Association about Anglo-Saxon antiquities in general, and the Faussett collection in particular. And he sponsored Roach Smith to begin work on publishing the Faussett archive â the journal notes, observations and sketches â in an illustrated volume that placed the collection in its historical context.
Mayer had always been competitive. As a youth, he had revelled in all kinds of sports, admitting a particular fondness for bear-baiting. The purchase of the Faussett collection was an opportunity to take on his rivals, and declare victory. Acquiring such a complete set of objects was a substantial triumph in itself, but it was all the more pleasing to Mayer because he had more or less trumped the British Museum, highlighting its deficiencies and putting himself forward in its place as the saviour of a national treasure. By afterwards supporting learned research about the collection, Mayer consolidated the impression of his success, and aligned himself with modern, forward-thinking antiquarian scholars such as John Evans. He emphasized the distance between himself and dilettante, amateur collectors whose studies and drawing rooms were cluttered with random historical objects. He was no longer confined to Walter Scottâs model or Danielsâ fashionable portrait, but was beginning to cut his own distinct path, creating a unique identity as a collector.
Mayerâs purchase of the Faussett collection was a strong declaration of his intent to invest everything he had in collecting. The acquisition not only demanded the considerable financialoutlay of £700, but more significantly it demanded that Mayer reveal his ambitions to his fellow, and rival, collectors. He seemed inspired and excited, more than daunted, by the prospect of such high-profile collecting, and for a while he seemed to relish the attention that came with the Faussett purchase. Many of his friends wrote to congratulate him on the success, and Roach Smith was particularly delighted, seeing more clearly than others how the acquisition might secure Mayerâs place in history: âthe work will inevitably bring you GREAT returns in honourable fame. . . I am SURE of this:-many will envy you; and many will regret they are not in your position. There are chances, my dear Sir, which occur only once in an age, & the Faussett collection was a CHANCE OF CHANCES.â 12
But Roach Smith was wrong. This was not a âonce in an ageâ opportunity, at least not for Mayer. Only a year after acquiring the Faussett finds, Mayer again swelled his collection by acquiring a large number of objects at once. In 1855, he bought the classical and medieval ivories, some Mexican pottery and a large amount of prehistoric metalwork from the Hungarian Fejérváry collection, which belonged to Franz Pulszky, an exile living in London. Again the British Museum declined to buy the pieces, reluctant to spend its limited budget on little-known medieval Byzantine ivories at the expense of such museum mainstays as classical sculpture. Its refusal to buy drew renewed and widespread criticism
Mayer had always been competitive. As a youth, he had revelled in all kinds of sports, admitting a particular fondness for bear-baiting. The purchase of the Faussett collection was an opportunity to take on his rivals, and declare victory. Acquiring such a complete set of objects was a substantial triumph in itself, but it was all the more pleasing to Mayer because he had more or less trumped the British Museum, highlighting its deficiencies and putting himself forward in its place as the saviour of a national treasure. By afterwards supporting learned research about the collection, Mayer consolidated the impression of his success, and aligned himself with modern, forward-thinking antiquarian scholars such as John Evans. He emphasized the distance between himself and dilettante, amateur collectors whose studies and drawing rooms were cluttered with random historical objects. He was no longer confined to Walter Scottâs model or Danielsâ fashionable portrait, but was beginning to cut his own distinct path, creating a unique identity as a collector.
Mayerâs purchase of the Faussett collection was a strong declaration of his intent to invest everything he had in collecting. The acquisition not only demanded the considerable financialoutlay of £700, but more significantly it demanded that Mayer reveal his ambitions to his fellow, and rival, collectors. He seemed inspired and excited, more than daunted, by the prospect of such high-profile collecting, and for a while he seemed to relish the attention that came with the Faussett purchase. Many of his friends wrote to congratulate him on the success, and Roach Smith was particularly delighted, seeing more clearly than others how the acquisition might secure Mayerâs place in history: âthe work will inevitably bring you GREAT returns in honourable fame. . . I am SURE of this:-many will envy you; and many will regret they are not in your position. There are chances, my dear Sir, which occur only once in an age, & the Faussett collection was a CHANCE OF CHANCES.â 12
But Roach Smith was wrong. This was not a âonce in an ageâ opportunity, at least not for Mayer. Only a year after acquiring the Faussett finds, Mayer again swelled his collection by acquiring a large number of objects at once. In 1855, he bought the classical and medieval ivories, some Mexican pottery and a large amount of prehistoric metalwork from the Hungarian Fejérváry collection, which belonged to Franz Pulszky, an exile living in London. Again the British Museum declined to buy the pieces, reluctant to spend its limited budget on little-known medieval Byzantine ivories at the expense of such museum mainstays as classical sculpture. Its refusal to buy drew renewed and widespread criticism
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