The glittering world of Jacques Cartier's jewellery empire – by his great-granddaughter

Telegraph

01-04-2025

'You know from experience that my two brothers mean everything to me. It's together that we dreamed of the greatness of our house, it's together that we developed it and spread its fame to the four corners of the globe.'
When my great-grandfather Jacques Cartier read these words from his brother Pierre during the First World War, the family's dream of creating 'the leading jewellery firm in the world' hung in the balance. The emotionally charged letter aimed to prevent Jacques, still recovering from tuberculosis, from returning to the Front by insisting that Cartier's success depended on all three brothers:
'With the deep affection that unites us, combined with our various talents, God willing, our house will be unbeatable'.
Hidden for years, this 1915 letter will soon be displayed for the first time at the V&A 's landmark Cartier exhibition, London's first major showcase of the jeweller's work in three decades. I discovered it by chance while searching for a bottle of champagne in my grandfather's cellar on his 90 th birthday. Opening a dusty trunk, I unearthed a century of long-lost family correspondence. Entire forests worth of paper have been written about Cartier – the jewels, the brand, the stars dazzling in their tiaras and tank watches – but the raw ambition, fears and hopes documented in that trunk opened a window into another world. It propelled me to leave my job in the City and embark on a decade-long research journey across the globe to uncover and chronicle the untold family story behind the glamour.
Sitting on their bedroom floor above the family's modest jewellery shop as the 19 th century drew to a close, the three young Cartier brothers studied the map of the world laid out between them. Their vision required strategy: divide and conquer. Louis, the creative eldest, marked out territories with a pencil: he would command the Parisian branch their grandfather had founded half a century earlier; Pierre, with his head for business, could look after clients in America; and gentle Jacques, wise beyond his years, would oversee Britain and its colonies, especially the jewel of India. Three brothers, three branches – no more, for like the Rothschilds who partly inspired them, the Cartiers believed family alone shared the same values. What was remarkable, my grandfather later reflected, wasn't that young boys devised such an audacious plan, but that they achieved it.
Initially opening in 1902, on the request of a soon-to-be King Edward VII so that coronation guests could buy their tiaras without crossing the Channel, Cartier London grew quickly. In 1909, Jacques opened the doors of a larger showroom at 175 New Bond Street (where it remains today), transforming it into an elegant social hub where duchesses mingled with American heiresses seeking unique treasures to wow friends back home. In 1921, several years before Cartier Paris, the London branch opened an in-house workshop, English Art Works, soon known as the best in the country, with its craftsmen repeatedly winning awards (the top prize at Goldsmiths Hall annual ceremony still bears Jacques Cartier's name).
From the corseted Edwardian era through to the mini-skirted 1960s and 70s, Cartier London maintained its distinctive identity. Yet despite its innovative designs and rich heritage, it has long dwelled in the shadow of its Parisian counterpart. It seems only fitting therefore, that this month, the V&A – in the very city where Jacques and his son, Jean-Jacques, elevated jewellery artistry to new heights – will showcase Cartier London's phenomenal creations, from art deco tiaras and royal diamond flowers to ancient Egyptian-inspired brooches, chirpy gem bird clips, rare handmade watches, and never-before-seen original designs.
Jacques embraced his adopted country, settling in Dorking with his beloved wife Nelly and their children, and soon becoming friends with many of his clients: from the arty set like Isadora Duncan and Vita Sackville West, to visiting Maharajas, European diplomats and even the British Prime minister HH Asquith. It was Asquith's wife Margot, Countess of Oxford, who, after years of friendship, captured Jacques's essence so astutely in his obituary: 'Jewellers are not always great artists, but this was not the case with M Jacques Cartier. He was rarer than a great artist, or designer in precious stones: he was a wonderful friend. Completely unself-seeking, courteous to strangers, gay, kind and the best of ambassadors between the France which he loved and the England which he admired.'
At work, Jacques believed in prioritising the training of young local talent rather than employing Parisian craftsmen, even though it cost him money and time. During the 1930s, when high unemployment led to a public outcry against foreign firms taking local jobs, the jewel-loving Queen Mary helped highlight Cartier London's British workforce in a publicity-generating visit that ended up being 'a great success' for the firm (needless to say, the earrings she liked were sold to her at a very attractive royal rate). Future royals, including Princess Margaret, continued this tradition. 'We never made much on the royal sales, if anything', my grandfather explained. But the 'influencer' effect was worth it. A spectacular 1938 diamond rose brooch that Princess Margaret Rose wore at her sister's coronation features in the exhibition.
If the British royals impressed with their jewellery, the maharajas took luxury to another level. Jacques's first trip to India in 1911 was almost comically disastrous: he attempted – and failed dismally – to teach himself the language on the three-week boat journey, was given a stubborn donkey instead of the expected luxury car, had to chase a valuable borrowed pearl across the country, and brought entirely inappropriate inventory: delicate feminine pieces when the Indian princes wanted jewels for themselves, not their wives. The silver lining was that he established connections with many Indian princes whose commissions would help keep the firm afloat when the triple blow of the Russian Revolution, the First World War and the Great Depression decimated the spending power of jewellery buyers in Europe and America.
Trace a precious stone's journey through history, and you map the world's ever-changing centres of power. Of all the thousands of jewels Jacques brought into existence, his pride and joy was a necklace for his dear friend Ranji, the Maharaja of Nawanagar. The three-year creation process reflected both men's gem-connoisseurship and patience in tracking down some of the rarest diamonds in existence. 'Had not our world witnessed an unprecedented succession of world-shaking events,' Jacques reflected, 'such gems could not have been bought at any price; at no other period in history could such a necklace have come into existence.' While this masterpiece has vanished – though it made a fictional appearance as the target of a heist in Ocean's Eight, oddly credited to Jeanne Toussaint – visitors can marvel at the Maharaja of Patiala's enormous necklace, originally containing nearly 3000 diamonds, many now replaced with replicas after it surfaced in a London antiques shop missing its main stones.
Jacques's Indian expeditions of the 1920s and 30s became legendary affairs, his entourage – Nelly, her lady's maid, the doctor and chauffeur – sweeping across the subcontinent from Surrey in the family Rolls-Royce. One Nepalese royal wedding required dismantling the car to carry it piece by piece over the Himalayas, before meticulously reassembling it on the other side to make a majestic arrival at the palace – only for the King to purchase absolutely nothing. Even more than a salesman though, Jacques was an artist, and his journeys profoundly shaped Cartier's aesthetic: the panthers he and Nelly marvelled at in the wild became iconic big cat jewels, temple sketches in his travel diaries transformed into art deco brooches and the vibrant palette birthed an entirely new jewellery style. 'Out there one does not see as in the English light,' Jacques explained to clients shivering through British winters. 'One is only conscious that here is a blaze of red, and there of green or yellow… one vivid impression of undreamed gorgeousness and wealth.'
Eager to recreate this warmth and energy, he incorporated carved rubies, emeralds, and sapphires purchased from Delhi gem markets into magnificently colourful 'tutti frutti' jewels. For those without the million-pound budget these rare treasures command today, the exhibition features perhaps Cartier London's finest example, and one of my favourites, a 1928 bandeau ingeniously convertible into two bracelets, appropriately purchased by the future Vicereine of India, Lady Mountbatten.
Throughout Cartier London's evolution, from the mind-blowing commissions of the interwar years through the hardships of post-war austerity and the rebellious swinging Sixties, the family motto – 'never copy, only create' – remained sacrosanct. Designers, following the disciplined approach of 'Silhouette, Mass, Detail,' emphasised clean lines and symmetry with 'an absence of twiddly bits'. Craftsmen spent years perfecting techniques to minimise visible mounts: 'We weren't in the business of selling metal,' my grandfather explained, showing me the skill involved in making the gems appear as if they were holding together by magic.
Heavily involved in the creative process, the visionary Jean-Jacques, like his father, was a much-loved and admired boss. Visitors to the museum will be able to see the result of his perfectionism in jewels including Queen Elizabeth II's 1950s pink Williamson diamond flower brooch, accompanied by designer Frederick Mew's original sketches for the first time; and Jean-Jacques's favourite: a breathtaking gem-encrusted stag's head in full relief that he designed for his sister-in-law, Princess Rethy of Belgium.
Jean-Jacques also left his mark on the world of timepieces. Against a backdrop of anti-establishment fervour, youth-focused fashion, psychedelic music and irreverent pop art, he revolutionised watch design by adding his own twist to classic forms. The exhibition features several rare examples made by Cartier's Wright and Davies workshop, including a never-before-exhibited rotated variation of the London Oval once owned by Cartier salesman (later head of production) Paul Vanson, and the infamous Crash, inspired not by an accident as legend suggests, but by Jean-Jacques 'pinching the ends and putting a kink in the middle' of the popular oval shape.
The first Crash took months to perfect as the unusual shape distorted time-telling, requiring head designer Emmerson to repeatedly repaint the dial by hand. Initially considered too avant-garde (actor Stewart Granger returned his), the Dali-esque design recently popularised by rappers like Kanye and Tyler the Creator, now commands astronomical prices: from £300 in the 1960s to $1.65 million at a recent LA auction.
Behind these creations were real people with colourful stories. There was the shocking 'Mayfair playboy' heist, where four polished public school boys lured a salesman to the Hyde Park Hotel on the pretence of needing an engagement ring only to violently truncheon him almost to death and flee to Oxford, where they were soon arrested at the Randolph Hotel. There was the ordinary day that ended with Elizabeth Taylor hovering in the workshop while her famous 69-carat diamond ring, a recent gift from Burton, was resized; the craftsmen, trying hard to respectfully avert their eyes from the Hollywood goddess standing over them, recalled how 'she would not let it out of her sight, as if she didn't trust us!'
Then there was the everyday reality of female employees washing their hair in sieve-fitted work sinks to retrieve gold dust and setters being given two days off work to calm their minds, and hands, before setting incredibly fragile Mughal emeralds. Through it all, there was the feeling, repeated by so many I interviewed, that Cartier London felt 'like family,' as generations worked side by side through life's highs and lows.
This rich heritage is now being celebrated. The V&A exhibition isn't dedicated to Cartier London but curators Rachel Garrahan and Helen Molesworth do give the British branch deserved recognition. Among the treasures on display, one piece holds particular significance for me: an amethyst brooch symbolising the extraordinary love story between my great-grandparents. When Jacques sought Nelly Harjes's hand, her banker father refused, dismissing him as beneath their station. Standing his ground and insisting his love was genuine, Jacques was challenged to prove it by making no contact with Nelly for an entire year. Precisely 365 days later, he returned, his devotion unwavering, promising never to touch a cent of her fortune – a vow he kept throughout their lives.
Theirs was a real love story, the stuff of movies, cut too short when Jacques died aged 57, during the Second World War. But their bond lives on through the brooch that Jacques designed for his soulmate: her birthstone, an amethyst, surrounded by four diamonds, representing their two sons and two daughters, each framed by Jacques's birthstone, sapphire. The whole family in a jewel. My grandfather remembered it as his mother's most cherished possession – a testament not only to Cartier London's inimitable design philosophy and extraordinary craftsmanship but also to their enduring love.