A stirrup cup, for those unfamiliar with such decadent pre-departure rituals (to be fair, I had to Google it), was a parting drink offered to guests as they mounted their horses, one foot in the stirrup and the other edging towards a long and bumpy journey. It was meant to be fortifying, a little swig of something boozy (I doubt craft beer, but you never know) before you trotted off into the mud and misery of early modern travel. Most surviving stirrup cups take the form of animal heads such as foxes, hounds and stags, all very hunting-lodge chic. But every so often, someone went for something a touch more eccentric, and that brings me to this rather stern-looking Tyrolean lady. The museum say it’s a girl, which is possible, but I prefer the idea that it’s a grumpy middle aged woman. I’m really not sure that I would want to be given this, but perhaps that’s ungrateful.
Dating from around 1580 and carved with exquisite skill, she was almost certainly never meant to be exactly cuddly. Made of alabaster and gilded for effect, she looks like she’s about to lecture the owner on their choice of footwear or inform them that they’ve scandalously forgotten their gloves. I imagine that it was somewhat unnerving to drink from her, which might explain why guests were encouraged to down the contents quickly before she could judge them further. If I ever get a horse, which is unlikely if I’m being honest, I might get myself a stirrup cup, but not one looking like this….