Last week I entered the Nelson & Nelson Antiques showroom on Park Avenue just as my co-worker was changing the window display. This stately candelabrum caught my eye and tickled my fancy.

Judging by the craftsmanship, the hallmark, and the date (1848) this piece must be the work of Benjamin Smith III, the last in a family of fine silversmiths to be working out of London in the 19th century.
It stands about three feet high and it’s topped with a glass bowl that has been engraved with a floral, leafy detail. The stem and the arms have been fashioned and textured to resemble the trunk and branches of a tree. Three women are positioned around the trunk just above the candelabrum’s solid base.
At first glance I assumed these women to be The Three Graces but I dispelled that notion with a closer inspection. The Three Graces usually appear nude. These women are fully clothed. The Graces are said to represent beauty, charm, and joy. Although these ladies are beautiful, I consider their rigid stance to be anything but charming or joyful.
Besides, as far as I’m aware, the Graces never carried any props. These women each display a different prop: one stands next to what appears to be a beehive, the second offers a chalice, and the third holds a staff bearing the Hand of Fatima.
Next, The Muses came to mind. They always carry some device that corresponds to a particular character trait, but, search as I might, I could find no reference to these devices in any article about The Muses.
For help I consulted Gus Myberg, a good friend and trivia buff. He returned my call a few days later but he couldn't offer any substantial leads. “Do you think they might be King Lear’s daughters?” he said.
“Interesting, but -” I thought it over. “No, I don’t see the connection.”
“How about the Three Fates?”
“No. Gustav, I think we’ve lost the thread here.”
I studied the women once more. Apart from the different props they are identical. It’s as though their individual personalities were intentionally de-emphasized in favour of a general solemn countenance and dignified air. I grew convinced that the key to understanding this whole candelabrum was to be found, not in the women, but in the items they are presenting: the beehive, the chalice, and the Hand of Fatima.
Already exhausted, I turned my research to the symbolism of those devices and entered a sprawling, dimly lit maze of Kabbalah, Zoroastrianism, Paganism, and the legend of the Holy Grail.
I came up with nothing.
Am I reading too much into this? Maybe the whole thing is, as the designer's initials might suggest, a load of B.S. Could it have been that Smith chose a mishmash of cultural detritus and mystical mumbo-jumbo to represent some private, neoclassical myth that we were never meant to understand?
What do you think?