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THE STORY OF PORCELAIN
by
SARA WARE BASSETT
Author of
"The Story of Lumber"
"The Story of Wool"
"The Story of Leather"
"The Story of Glass"
"The Story of Sugar"
"The Story of Silk"
etc.
Illustrated by Isabel W. Caley
[Illustration: "IT WAS NO ORDINARY DOG"]
[Illustration]
The Penn Publishing
Company Philadelphia
1919
Copyright 1919 by The Penn Publishing Company
[Illustration]
The Story of Porcelain
_To_
_Margaret Huxley_
_this book is affectionately inscribed_
THE BOWL
Some master-craftsman, maker of porcelains, to the Emperor,
the Son of Heaven,
Having attained the paradise of artists, who mould in life and fire,
Fashioned this day:
A bowl blue as the iris within the sacred gardens,
Based with a low design of brown bare hills,
A pine or two new-tipped with tender needles,
With oak buds, pink and saffron,
And birds red, brown, and blue.
Into this bowl, exquisite and perishable,
The Patron of all artists heaps light and more light;
Then holding high the brimming chalice, quaffs,
And folds it in his altar-cloth of stars.
Carl H. Grabo. (_From the Nation_.)
Contents
I. Into the Woods
II. Mr. Croyden Keeps His Promise
III. Theo Meets with a Calamity
IV. Mr. Croyden's Story
V. The Potter Who Burned His Chairs
VI. From Vases to Drain-Pipes
VII. Porcelain at Last
VIII. The Third Famous Potter
IX. The Romance of French China-Making
X. How the Italians Made China
XI. Our English Cousins
XII. Theo Makes a Present
XIII. The Trenton Visit
XIV. The Beginning of the Porcelain Pilgrimage
XV. How Porcelain is Made
XVI. Dishes, Dishes Everywhere
XVII. The Decoration of China
XVIII. Theo's Great Choice
Illustrations
"It Was No Ordinary Dog" _Frontispiece_
"I Had Forgotten All About Bed"
"He Used Every Splinter of Wood"
"His Servants Dug Some of the Clay"
"This is a Present"
"It is a Costly Process, and Rather Slow"
[Illustration]
THE STORY OF PORCELAIN
CHAPTER I
INTO THE WOODS
Theo Swift dropped into a chair before the blazing fire in the log
cabin, and drew a long breath of delight. At last his dream had come
true; he was in the heart of the Maine woods! It was a wonderful
experience for a boy of his age to be his father's companion on a
fishing trip. Each spring when Dr. Swift had packed his tackle for his
annual vacation into the wilderness, and Theo had looked on with
hungry eyes as the rods, flies, and tramping boots had been stowed
away in the canvas grips, his father had said:
"Wait until you are a bit older, son, and you shall go with me."
And now that day had come, and here he was! It seemed too good to be
true.
He glanced up to find his father smiling down at him.
"Well?" questioned the older man. "What do you think of the camp? Does
it come up to your expectations?"
"I should say it did!" Theo managed to gasp. "It is great, Father!"
"Think you can be contented here for a month?"
"Contented!" laughed Theo.
"You won't be getting lonesome and wishing you were back in New York?"
"Not much."
"Well, I hope you'll have a good time. Certainly with plenty of
fishing and tramping you should. You will find Manuel, our Indian
guide, a never-ending source of entertainment; he can do everything
from dressing a moose to building a canoe. There isn't a trail through
these woods that he couldn't travel blindfolded. You will be perfectly
safe with him; only you must do exactly as he says, no matter how
silly his orders may seem. He knows the woods better than you do--or
than I do, for that matter. Remember you are no longer on Fifth
Avenue, where you can call a policeman or a taxicab if you get
lost. This vast forest is an entirely different proposition."
Theo nodded.
"How still it is," he said softly.
"Yes," rejoined his father; "that is why it means to me something that
no other place can. After the rush of the city, the jangle of
telephones, the constant sight of sick people, there is nothing to
compare with the restfulness of these woods."
The Doctor, who had been standing with his back to the fire, his hands
clasped behind him, drew out his pipe, lighted it, and puffed a ring
of smoke into the air.
"You have had a very busy year, Father."
"Yes, and I fancy there will be a still busier one ahead. Before I
attack it I feel that it is my duty to get a good rest. In these war
days a doctor never knows where he may be needed to serve. Thus far my
place seems to have been at a home hospital. With eight of our
operating staff in France it has meant much extra work, too. Not that
I am complaining of that. I am only too glad to do my bit wherever it
is. But I had got to the point where I felt that the man who can give
the best service is the man who does not allow himself to become too
fagged. So I determined to take my usual vacation even though on the
face of it it seemed a crime to devote myself to nothing but fishing
for a whole month."
Theo glanced into the face of the big, earnest man before him; he felt
suddenly very grown up. His father had seldom talked to him like
this.
"This war," went on Dr. Swift thoughtfully, "is going to make demands
on all of us--demands for money, work, and time. We should be proud to
give these, for it is the first time our country has ever asked
anything of our generation. We have taken unthinkingly all the
benefits America has to offer--libraries; schools; well ordered cities
to live in; the blessings of constant peace and prosperity. For it we
have returned to the government only the slight taxes demanded for the
up-keep of these things; and most of us, I blush to say, have grumbled
a great deal about it, at that. As a nation we were becoming too
comfortable, too rich, too selfish, too complacent. Now a crisis has
arisen when the United States is asking more of us, as it has every
right to do; and we should be eager to prove our gratitude for all we
have so freely received. Only those who have traveled much can fully
realize what a home and an education in a place like America mean.
Never forget, son, that all we can do, even to the sacrifice of our
lives, is none too high a price to pay for our beloved country."
"I wish I might have gone to France, Father," said Theo earnestly.
"A boy of fifteen is too young to go," returned Dr. Swift. "If you
were older I should be the first to bid you Godspeed, for it is a
great opportunity for service. Those who are not sharing it are
missing one of life's richest experiences. It means danger, privation,
perhaps death; but it means also the exercise of all that is finest in
our natures--patriotism, heroism, the dedication of ourselves to a
great cause. I should have been proud to have you in France,
Theo. However, there is much a boy can do here and now. He can begin
being a loyal unselfish citizen, and training himself to bear his part
when he shall be older. Get your education first. Prepare yourself to
be of value to humanity so that when your time to help comes it may
find you useful and ready."
There was a moment of silence.
The great logs in the rough stone chimney crackled and snapped, and up
the flue roared the blaze. Outside all was still save when the breeze
stirred the giant pines causing them to give out a mighty whisper like
the murmur of the sea.
It was a cozy interior over which the firelight flashed.
The log cabin had been sheathed to keep it warm and tight, and to
conceal its barrenness on the walls had been tacked a few gaily
colored prints. On one side of the room were several well-filled
bookshelves, while on the opposite wall were racks for pipes and
guns. From over the fireplace an elk's head peered forth, catching the
scarlet glow from the fire on its mammoth antlers. Two small bedrooms
which led out of this living-room completed the cabin. Outside stood
four others built exactly like this one, and in addition a
dining-cabin, cook-house, and two cabins for the guides.
Aside from this tiny settlement on the lake's edge there was not a
house for twenty miles. It was a wilderness indeed!
"Are there any other people staying here at the camp beside
ourselves?" inquired Theo at last.
Dr. Swift, who had seated himself before the fire, nodded.
"Yes, there is a Mr. Croyden, from Trenton, New Jersey, whom I have
met here before--a splendid man, whom you will like. He is a great
fisherman--comes back every season just about this time. At present
there is no one else, so you will not find the woods overcrowded."
Theo laughed at the bare suggestion, then yawned drowsily.
"Nor will you be troubled by not sleeping to-night, eh, son? You look
about ready to hit the pillow this minute."
"I am," replied Theo. "I never was so sleepy in my life."
"That is the Maine air."
"Some of it is the effect of the corduroy road," the boy observed with
a grin.
"It is a beastly road, that carry," agreed Dr. Swift. "It shakes
every bone in your body. When you do manage to get here, however, it
certainly is worth the trip. Do you feel as if you could worry down a
little dinner?"
"Well, rather!"
The Doctor chuckled.
"So do I. It ought to be ready soon now, for it is nearly six."
Just at this moment the sound of a horn was heard.
Dr. Swift rose promptly.
"That is dinner," he said.
"I expected a bell," Theo answered, springing up.
"Waiting for a Japanese gong, are you? Well, you won't hear it here."
Clapping a hand affectionately on his son's shoulder the elder man led
the way to the dining-cabin and pushed open the door.
Upon the hearth inside another bright fire glowed, and before it stood
a long roughly made table covered with immaculate enamel cloth, on
which was spread a smoking meal.
A man with a pair of merry brown eyes rose from his chair as the two
travelers entered.
"I am glad to see you, Dr. Swift," he exclaimed heartily, putting out
his hand. "So you are back to the fishing grounds once more!"
"I certainly am, Mr. Croyden, and thankful enough to be here. I've
brought my boy, Theodore, with me this time; Theo, we call him."
Mr. Croyden took the lad's hand cordially.
"I'm glad to see you, youngster," he said. "If you prove half as good
a fisherman as your father the two of you won't leave a trout or
salmon in these waters."
"But I'm not a fisherman at all," Theo confessed. "I never cast a fly
in my life."
"You certainly have come to the right place to learn, then. Your
father has been neglecting your education, I fear. I see there is
something we can teach you."
"I'm afraid there are a good many things," replied Theo modestly.
Mr. Croyden regarded him approvingly.
"That's right, boy," he said kindly. "Never be afraid to learn. We all
are still learning, at least I am; and I will wager your father is,
too."
"A doctor is always learning," assented Theo's father.
"And a business man as well," put in Mr. Croyden. "When we no longer
need to learn we can be pretty sure we are near the end of our
usefulness in this world. Now suppose we begin your education, Theo,
by teaching you the proper way to eat a brook trout. How would that
lesson please you?"
There was a twinkle in the stranger's eye.
"Very much indeed."
"I rather thought so," was the laughing answer. "Here, Franz, help
Dr. Swift and his son to some of the fish I caught to-day. They are
the first of the season, Doctor, with my compliments." He made a
courtly gesture with his hand. "Remember, Theo," he added, "always to
open a fish up the back. In that way you can take the backbone out
whole and save yourself a deal of trouble."
Theo nodded his thanks for the suggestion.
What a dinner it was!
The trout were fried to a rich bronze, and the crisp potatoes were
discs of golden brown; in addition there were baked beans, smoking
brown-bread, slices of creamy cheese, and a pyramid of doughnuts. At
the conclusion of the meal Franz came running from the cook-house with
a covered dish heaped high with pancakes.
It was only when the three campers were unable to crowd down another
mouthful that they rose from the table.
"Don't you and Theo want to come into my cabin and enjoy my fire for a
while?" asked Mr. Croyden.
"Why, thank you, Croyden," answered Dr. Swift; "we might make you a
short call. We are off to bed early, however, so we must not stay
long."
Mr. Croyden's cabin proved to be a replica of the Swifts' own cozy
one, except that it was more sumptuously furnished; for Mr. Croyden,
who was a hunter as well as a fisherman, had adorned both couch and
floors with great bearskins, trophies of his luck.
As his guests entered he hurried forward to put another four-foot log
on the fire, after which he dragged out three steamer-chairs and
placed them before the blaze.
"All the comforts of home, you see," he said gaily.
"More comforts than some of us get at home," smiled Dr. Swift. "There
is nothing to equal this in New York."
For a moment none of them spoke; they were watching the scarlet rise
and fall of the flame.
"What a lot of company a fire is!" mused Dr. Swift.
"I know it," came from Mr. Croyden. "And did you ever think how easily
we can produce it? Within the space of a second we can start a blaze.
A fire was quite another problem for our forefathers who lived long
before matches were invented. Think back to the time when people
rubbed dried sticks together to make a spark; or later when they were
forced to use flint and matchlock. It meant no end of work to
capture that first light, and even then it frequently went out. How
housewives struggled to keep the embers on the hearth always glowing
that a new fire might be built without so much trouble; and how men
carried from place to place coals enough to kindle other fires! When
we strike a match and so quickly get our response of flame we do not
half appreciate how fortunate we are."
"I never thought what it would mean to have no matches," reflected
Theo.
"Man's discovery of the use of fire was one of the first steps in his
civilization," Dr. Swift put in. "It meant that henceforth instead of
eating raw food as did the other animals he could have it cooked. For
man, you must remember, is the only animal who cooks his food."
"And hand in hand with the cooking came the need of dishes in which to
prepare it," rejoined Mr. Croyden. "Meats could, of course, be broiled
over the fire on a forked stick; but no stews or soups could be had
until man invented some utensil which would contain liquid and at the
same time withstand the heat of the blaze. That problem was the one
that confronted all primitive races, and set them to fashioning
pottery. The history of their first attempts is most interesting.
Probably chance led people to the discovery that they could mix clay
with water, and that it would harden in the sun. They may have seen a
print of their own feet immortalized in the sun-baked mud, and caught
at the idea of taking the clay for more useful purposes. Nobody knows
where they got their first inspiration. But every race that has
existed has had its crude receptacles for food and water."
Theo was not sleepy now; he was far too interested to think of sleep.
"Even in the Stone Age, when men lived in caves and great creatures
now extinct roamed the earth, men made bowls, pots, and vases, some of
which are in existence in our museums of to-day," continued
Mr. Croyden. "We have, too, a few specimens of clumsy vessels made
from grayish black clay which are relics of the Lake Dwellers, who
fashioned their houses on piles, and set them in the middle of small
lakes as a protection against wild animals and rival races of
savages. Then followed what is known as the Bronze Age, and we find
that the people of this era also worked with clay. Their designs
showed a decided advance, too, even some simple decoration being
attempted."
"All that was in Europe, I suppose," Theo ventured shyly.
"By no means," replied Mr. Croyden. "On the contrary, we have found in
our own hemisphere specimens of this prehistoric pottery. In some
cases baskets of twigs were woven and lined with clay, after which
they were baked in the fire and the twigs burned off. Other pieces
were built up from coils of clay wound round and round, and when
partly hardened these were worked together with a tool in order that
the cracks might be filled. All through the western part of our
country have been found clay relics of various early tribes of
Indians; and in some places are giant mounds in which have been buried
all sorts of crude clay jugs and bowls. Since these primal peoples
used for materials the natural clays and earths they succeeded in
producing some excellent colors, too."
Mr. Croyden paused.
"Was the potter's wheel in use then?" questioned Dr. Swift.
"Probably not. There is no trace of it in this early work. It is not
until the historic age that we have the potter's wheel, the oldest and
first mechanical device mentioned in history. Mexicans, Peruvians,
Egyptians, Greeks, Assyrians, Romans, Gauls, Teutons all used it."
"I have seen some of the old Mexican or Aztec pottery," declared
Dr. Swift, "and it was very interesting. It was of reddish clay, and
I was told it was much like the variety made in Peru. Not only were
there roughly modeled dishes and jars in the collection, but also all
sorts of strange clay idols. You see, instead of worshipping the gods
of goodness, Theo, these early peoples thought they could propitiate
the gods of evil if they worshipped them instead; accordingly they
made all sorts of grotesque images, some of them very hideous. None of
this clay work was glazed, of course, for at that time men had not yet
discovered that they could put a glaze over the surface of objects and
thus protect them and render them water-tight. It was a great pity
that Cortez and his followers destroyed this early Mexican
civilization, which was surprisingly advanced.
"I suppose the Peruvians had also gone quite as far if not further
than the Aztecs when in 1531 Pizarro invaded South America," rejoined
Mr. Croyden. "They were making some very good pottery decorated in
red, black, and brown; and they must have known how to bake it, or the
colors in the design would not have lasted until now."
Mr. Croyden rose to stamp out a spark that had snapped from the
fireplace onto the fur rug at his feet.
"Strange, isn't it, how much of our knowledge of the ancient races has
come down to us through their clay work?" he reflected. "What should
we have known of these western civilizations save through their
handiwork? And when we travel across seas it is the same. Much of our
acquaintance with Egyptian, Greek, and Roman life has been handed down
to posterity through tiles and pottery which have served to record
nations' customs and advancement. The march of the invading Roman
armies, for example, can be traced by the fragments of pottery left
behind them. These relics have been found in England, France,
Germany, Italy, and Spain, and prove that very early the Romans made
use of clay utensils for cooking their food. Even beneath the city of
London old Roman furnaces for firing dishes have been discovered; and
moreover, some of the very dishes themselves."
Theo seemed astonished.
"Later the Romans made much beautiful pottery; but it was never as
beautiful as that of the Greeks. Sometime, however, Theo, you should
go to one of our museums and see some Samian ware, the finest of Roman
clay work. The red in it is almost as vivid as sealing-wax, and it has
a wonderful polish not unlike that on modern Egyptian ware. No one has
ever been able to discover from what clay this marvelous pottery was
made. Some historians think the ware was first made by wandering
Greek artisans. The Romans also made a very beautiful black ware now
known as Upchurch pottery because of the location in England in which
it was found. This black color, scientists have decided, was not
produced by mixing a pigment with the clay as did the Greeks, but
resulted from an ingenious use of oxide of iron which, when burned by
a reducing fire, turned black; the Romans also gave us Castor ware, a
pottery moulded from a dark clay and having on it figures traced in a
lighter color."
"Did anybody else in Europe make as beautiful pottery as the Greeks
and Romans?" inquired Theo.
"Perhaps not so beautiful," answered Mr. Croyden. "Yet before we hear
either of Greek or Roman we find the Egyptians and Assyrians, nations
famous for their skill in the arts as well as their prowess in war,
making pottery and tiles. These have been preserved to us in tombs
and pyramids, for these races, you know, were accustomed to pay great
honor to their dead. It was a fortunate custom, too, since by means of
it much history has come down to us which would otherwise have been
destroyed. Unquestionably the Saxons, Scandinavians, Gauls, and
Teutons also made pottery, but their attempts were of a cruder
sort. Dishes, vases, toys have been exhumed in their countries, all
displaying characteristic clay designs. But no country in the world
has ever equaled the pottery of the Greeks."
"Did the Greeks----" began Theo; but his father cut him short.
"See here, young man," he declared, drawing out his watch, "this is no
time of night for you to be setting forth on a history of Greek
pottery. You are going to bed."
[Illustration: "I HAD FORGOTTEN ALL ABOUT BED"]
Theo rose with a laugh.
"I had forgotten all about bed," he said.
"That speaks pretty well for your charm as an historian, Croyden,"
observed Dr. Swift. "The boy could scarcely keep his eyes open at
dinner."
"Can't you tell me about Greek pottery some other time, sir?" asked
Theo.
"I'd be glad to, sonny," Mr. Croyden returned. "I never dreamed a boy
would be interested in such a dull subject."
"It isn't dull when you tell it," came naively from Theo.
"That is the biggest compliment I ever had in my life," exclaimed the
fisherman with pleasure. "You shall hear more of Greek pottery
to-morrow if by that time you still want to. Good-night. The most
beautiful thing I can wish you is that you dream of Greek vases all
night long."
[Illustration]