I once encountered a pair of earrings that had been worn by Marie Antoinette. They were fashioned from two pear-shaped diamonds. Acquired by Cartier in 1928, they added diamond triangular tops that let them fall lower on the neck like blazing white-hot tears, a suggestion of the rage the young queen must have felt, accused of tyranny and facing the guillotine.
When I acquired these matching sapphires from a stone cutter in Ceylon, I knew at once that they should become something truly celestial. They were midnight teardrops on a starlit evening, the long gaze of a pensive woman, a delicious poignance. In homage to the earrings of Marie Antoinette, I let them fall low, linking them to two pear-shaped diamonds with two round brilliants, and surrounding them in a constellation of smaller diamonds. The result was stunning. Profound.
A faceted gemstone communicates a mood. These are like the pining of a deep winter night, tears shed by the heavens. They are what happens when the moon cries.