On a German Egg

Peter Henlein is one of those people in history whom you don’t know, but you certainly know what he made. Peter made “eggs.” Let me explain.

He was born in 1485 and lived most of his life in Nuremburg, in what is now Germany. His father, Peter senior, was a brass smith, and the younger Peter was sent to become an apprentice to a locksmith. As you probably know, a young person would work some years (usually seven) as an apprentice in a certain trade, something akin to a long internship today. After a certain time and by proving knowledge in the trade, an apprentice could then “graduate” to become a journeyman–someone who could work in the trade and make a living. Finally, one could go on to become a master craftsman, someone who could own a business and be recognized as a true professional in that certain guild.

But, when he was only 19, young Peter was involved in a scuffle with another apprentice locksmith. The other youth was killed. At that time in history, a person who was responsible for a death but not accused as a murderer (more like involuntary manslaughter) could appeal to a monastery and be taken in there for sanctuary for a period. It was better than prison, for sure. And that’s what happened; a local Nuremburg monastery granted Peter a safe place for a few years. It was in the monastery that the young locksmith became familiar with astronomy as some of the monks were experimenting with celestial observations, using early measuring devices to track the movement of objects in the night sky. Peter was fascinated. He became interested in the passage of time, the movement of the planets and of the sun. He started tinkering with clocks–a sort of side gig that locksmiths did because they had the fine tools needed to work on the small parts contained in clocks.

With nothing else to do in the monastery than work, Peter rapidly became an expert on clocks. Instead of needing decades to become a master, the intense amount of work he was able to perform while sequestered in the monastery made him a master clockmaker by 1509 at the tender age of 24, something almost unheard of. When his time at the monastery was ended, he emerged from the confinement as a recognized expert in his field. And that’s when he turned to making “eggs.”

Peter’s eggs were designed to be work around the neck on a chain. Wealthy people paid good money for one of Peter’s eggs. They quickly became a status symbol that can be seen in paintings of Peter’s upper class clientele. Peter started his eggs by taking something called a pomander, which was a small, round, egg-shaped pendant that had holes in the top where fragrances could fill the air, fragrances that came from perfumes and spices that were placed inside the small ball. His “Nuremberg Eggs” were the first to use these balls for another purpose, however. A writer of that time remarked how the craftsmen of Nuremburg made amazing contraptions that pushed the boundaries of both science and craftsmanship. He noted that Peter, still a young man, made objects that no one thought possible on that small scale.

Remember how while Peter was at the monastery that he had become interested in time and in clockmaking? Well, we can attribute that time of sanctuary to something that you may own today. You see, Peter filled those pomanders with clocks–but on a much smaller scale than anyone had ever done before, making them wearable and personalized.

That why we recognize Peter’s eggs as the first pocket watches.

On a Ridiculous Commission

Henry Graves, Jr., was from what we usually call “old money” because his ancestry traces back to some of the wealthiest member of the group who first settled Massachusetts. By the time he came into the family’s fortune in the late 1800s, he was ready to take that money and make more. And so, he did. He invested in railroads at exactly the right time in American History that maximized his earnings, and his shrewd financial insights more than doubled his family wealth.

As one of America’s wealthiest men, Graves, like others of his ilk, was incredibly competitive. One of his major rivals in business and in other things was James Packard, the creator of the famous Packard automobile. The two business tycoons competed to outdo the other one in profit but also in possessions. In 1925, looking to best his rival, Graves commissioned the creation of a personal item that would become the envy of everyone he knew–especially Packard.

What Graves commissioned would take three years to design and five more years to complete and deliver to the wealthy man. By the time the item was delivered, of course, the United States had been plunged into the depths of the Great Depression. What seemed like a harmless jab at a rival at the time Graves had placed his order had then become symbolic of the excesses of the wealthy. Those excesses were a part of what many people felt had caused the economic downturn in the first place.

And then word spread that the commission had cost Graves $320,000 at a time when most people wouldn’t have paid more than $70 for an item that accomplished the same thing.

Graves received a piece of work that had 920 separate and individual parts. Yet, the work only weighed a little more than a pound. It boasted almost 450 screws, over 100 wheels, and 120 levers. To top it off, the piece also featured over 70 valuable jewels. On the front, the item showed the night sky over Central Park in New York City, accurately depicted in detail. Truly, it was a piece of art to behold, the most extravagant and complicated item of its kind ever produced.

But people cursed Graves and the item despite its obvious craftsmanship and beauty. Graves ignored the curses, but then, something curious happened. Soon after the wealthy man took delivery of the piece, his best friend died. Then, a few days later, his own son was killed in a car crash. Not a few people shook their heads and felt that Graves was certainly paying for the extravagance in such a commission while most people in the nation–and the world–were suffering. It seemed like justice for such a ridiculous commission.

Graves decided to put the thing away. He died in 1953.

And in 2014, the Patek Philippe Graves Supercomplication watch he commissioned sold for a record $24,000,000.