THE POTTER WHO BURNED HIS CHAIRS
It was not for some time that Mr. Croyden again had leisure for a
long talk with Theo, because with the return of pleasant weather he
and Dr. Swift went for a three days' canoe trip up Elk River, a small
stream emptying into the lake on which the camp stood. Dr. Swift had
thought of giving up this excursion, because it necessitated leaving
Theo for such a long time; but the boy was insistent that his father
should go.
"I won't be lonesome, Father," he protested. "Franz is here, and he
is as good as a vaudeville show; besides I can read, and whittle, and
write to Mother. The days will pass so quickly I shall not have time
to miss you. It would be too bad to have you stay in camp just for
me. I have made trouble enough already."
Perhaps it was because of Theo's genuine regret for what he had done
that Dr. Swift consented to carry out his original plan. The boy was
intensely sensitive, and any allusion to his accident, or any
interference with his father's pleasure because of it, immediately
brought a shadow of distress to his face. The Doctor was quick to
notice this fact; and eager, if possible, to avoid every reminder of
the disaster. Accordingly on hearing Theo's plea he packed his tackle,
and with a gentle word of caution to the invalid to be careful during
his absence, set forth with Mr. Croyden to fish Elk River.
It was no easy thing for Theo to play an unselfish part and see them
start off. How he wished that he, too, were going! But for his own
folly he might have gone. Well, he had no one to blame but himself,
that was certain. Therefore he put as brave a front on the matter as
he could, resolving to make the best of it and be cheerful.
It was not, however, much fun to be lying there in bed during those
fine spring days. From his window he could see the blue waters of the
lake between the aisles of straight pines. It was a glorious world if
one could only be abroad in it. Even the glimpse he had of it from
his bed was beautiful. But to lie still and look out upon this
alluring scene was not a satisfying role for an active boy. In spite
of the wood-carving, the books, the writing; even despite the time
Franz could spare to entertain him the hours dragged pitifully.
Furthermore, now that the severed bone had begun to knit he felt
restless and uncomfortable.
Hence when on the afternoon of the third day he awoke from an uneasy
doze to find his father standing beside him it was a joyful surprise.
"Father!" he cried.
"Right here," came gruffly from the Doctor. "Glad to have your old
dad home again?"
"Glad? Well, I guess!"
"I am glad to see you again too, son. I've thought of you a hundred
times. How did you get on?"
"All right, sir. Franz took fine care of me, and I found lots of
things to do," answered Theo bravely. "But it is much nicer when you
are here than when you're not."
His father smiled.
"You are a plucky youngster," he said huskily. "No matter how silly
and childish your accident was you certainly have shown yourself a man
since. Look! Here comes Mr. Croyden to see you. He has brought you a
fine four-pounder, the record trout of the catch."
Theo beamed.
During the time the fishermen had been gone he had sadly missed the
delicacy of fresh fish.
"Eating this trout will be the next best thing to pulling it in,
Theo," said Mr. Croyden. "I only wish you might have had that
pleasure, too."
"I shall be pretty glad to eat the trout, sir," Theo declared
promptly.
"We shall let Franz get to work cooking it then, right away, so to
have it ready for your dinner," Dr. Swift said, passing out with the
fish in his hand.
After the Doctor had gone Theo looked up into Mr. Croyden's face.
"I suppose you are dreadfully tired after your tramp," he remarked.
"I? Oh, no," was the instant answer. "Why?"
"I--I--don't know," faltered Theo. "I just wondered."
"Wondered what?"
"Whether after dinner you would be too tired to come in and talk to me
a little while?"
"No, indeed. I'd be glad to come," responded Mr. Croyden. "I'll come
and tell you all about our trip."
"If you don't mind I'd rather you'd leave that to Dad, and instead
tell me some more about china-making," Theo said naively.
Mr. Croyden seemed vastly amused at the remark.
"Bless my soul! What a boy you are," he said. "Of course I am
perfectly willing to talk to you on anything you like. Would you
rather hear about china than anything else?"
"Yes, sir, just now I should," came vigorously from Theo.
"All righty, china it shall be, then! But I am surprised that you
should be so much interested in it. How came you to be so eager to
learn about pottery and porcelain?"
"I guess because you make it all so much like a story book," answered
Theo frankly. "How did you happen to know so much about it, Mr.
Croyden?"
"Why, it chances to be my business, son," Mr. Croyden replied. "In
Trenton, New Jersey, where I live, we make quantities of earthenware
and porcelain; more of it than anywhere else in the United
States. That is the way I earn my money to come on fishing trips."
"Oh, I see! Then of course it is no wonder that you know all about
it!" cried Theo.
"I know some things, but not all," was Mr. Croyden's
answer. "However, since you like to hear about it I am ready and glad
to tell you what I can. We will have a session on French pottery
to-night, if you say so; there are some things I want you to know
before we take up the making of the English wares."
"Whatever you say!" exclaimed Theo.
"Very well. I'll be back after dinner, and unless your father wants
you for something else we'll have a nice evening together before your
bedtime."
Mr. Croyden was as good as his word.
Theo had just finished his share of the big trout when into his room
came the china merchant.
"Your father and Manuel are busy icing some fish to ship home, so here
I am," he affirmed.
After dragging a steamer chair up to Theo's bedside and stretching
himself comfortably in it the elder man began:
"Most of the pottery of the seventeenth century was an outgrowth of
the Italian Renaissance when all the arts such as painting,
wood-carving, sculpture, literature, glass and pottery-making were
revived. In France the attempt to imitate Italian Faenza ware gave
rise to the word _faience_, a term applied to French porcelains made
both from hard and soft paste. French potters at Nevers, spurred on by
Dutch and Chinese products, began to turn out a type of pottery not
unlike Delft, except that the method of coloring it was reversed, and
instead of having blue figures on a white ground it had white figures
on a background of blue. This innovation, however, was not an entirely
new variety of pottery. It still remained for France to invent its own
peculiar kind of ware, and this it soon did. Nevertheless you must not
make the mistake of thinking that these first attempts were very far
reaching, for on the contrary they were very limited. They are
significant only because they are the beginnings of that wonderful art
of porcelain-making which later the French carried to an amazing
degree of perfection."
There was a moment's delay in the story while Mr. Croyden rearranged
more comfortably the pillows behind Theo's head.
"Is that better?" he asked of the boy.
"Lots better, thank you," said Theo gratefully.
"All right, son. Then we'll go on. Two of the most important of these
beginnings are the Henri Deux ware, as it is called; and the enamel
work of Bernard Palissy."
"We read about Palissy in school," put in Theo.
"I am glad to hear that, for he was one of the three men whose names
have come down to us as being most vitally connected with pottery and
porcelain-making. But before we talk of him I am going to tell you
just a little about the Henri Deux ware, sometimes known as Faience
d'Orion. Very few pieces of it now remain; but for perfection of
workmanship and beauty of quality it has never been approached. Just
who made it we do not know; nor do we know anything of the conditions
under which it was manufactured. Only about fifty pieces of it are in
existence--half of them in England and half in France; and it is from
these, and from vague historic hints, that we have welded together the
rather uncertain tale that I am now to tell you."
A smile of anticipation passed over Theo's face.
"Long ago there lived in France a wealthy woman named Helene
d'Hengest, who was deeply interested in all the arts, and who owned a
beautiful home known as Chateau d'Orion. Here she had a library, a
rather rare possession in those days, and a librarian called
Bernard. Now many persons think that it was this Bernard who was the
maker of the now famous Henri Deux ware, or Faience d'Orion."
"Why should they think that?" questioned Theo.
"Well, there are several excellent reasons," Mr. Croyden
replied. "One is that the ware shows traces of a book-binding
tool. Book-binders, you know, use many small instruments to decorate
or tool their leather. This faience was a ware of natural
cream-colored clay, and upon it was tooled a flat design the hollows
of which were filled in with darker clays that were afterward covered
with a lead glaze. Infinite care and pains had evidently been expended
upon each piece of the ware, such pains that it must have taken much
time to complete even a single article. No manufacturer could have
afforded to do this, and therefore the inference had been drawn that
the pottery was made purely for pleasure by some one who had an
abundance of leisure. Perhaps this very Bernard, the librarian, who
may have become interested in the art as a recreation, and done the
work in his idle hours."
"What a funny thing to do as a pastime!" exclaimed Theo.
"No stranger than that now many persons take up metal work,
wood-carving, or other of the so-called arts and crafts for
diversion."
"I suppose not," admitted Theo thoughtfully.
"It certainly is possible such a thing might have happened even so
long ago as the time when the Henri Deux ware was made. History offers
us no aid in solving the puzzle, so we can only find an answer as best
we may. The ware, however, is unique, and there is no mistaking it.
Some of it bears the monogram of King Henry II, and that accounts for
the name by which the product passes. There are authorities that
assert the H does not stand for the king's name, but for Helene,
mistress of the Chateau d'Orion; others declare the king's monogram
was used merely to fix the date when the pottery was made. Hence you
will find some china collectors calling it Henri Deux ware, and others
speaking of it as Faience d'Orion; while still others refer to it as
Saint Porchaire. When examining it it is interesting to notice how
much finer the later pieces are than the earlier ones. Evidently
Bernard, if Bernard it was, improved a great deal with practice."
It was obvious that Mr. Croyden had no more to say about the elusive
Bernard, for he came to an abrupt stop.
Theo waited a second, and then remarked suggestively:
"And Palissy?"
"Palissy? Oh, he was another matter altogether. What did you learn
about him when you were at school?"
"Not much, I'm afraid," responded Theo with a shrug. "At least I do
not remember much of it now. The teacher told us that one day Palissy
saw an enameled cup of Saracen workmanship and that he was so anxious
to discover how the glaze on it was made that he worked years
experimenting; he even chopped up all his furniture as fuel for his
furnaces."
"This is quite correct," smiled Mr. Croyden. "I see you recall a good
deal. What you have told me are the main facts of the story. Palissy
did work fifteen years. He used every splinter of wood he could lay
hands on as fuel, and indeed burned up every particle of his household
furniture, until he had not a chair to sit upon. He spent every cent
he had, too, until he was so poor that he could scarcely feed his
family, and owed money to all his neighbors."
"In the end did he find out how to make the enamel?" came breathlessly
from Theo.
"No, not that particular kind of enamel the Moors made in Spain. That
is the sad part of the story," replied Mr. Croyden. "He did, however,
find out by his experimenting how to get marvelous colored enamels of
another kind, and this was a very important discovery. He colored his
glazes before putting them over the clay, instead of using a white
enamel and then painting it as had previously been done everywhere. So
you see after all Palissy did a great deal for pottery-making, since
up to this time no one had ever thought of coloring the glaze
itself. He made many vases, platters, and covered dishes adorned with
designs in this colored enamel, often putting on the cover of a dish a
fruit or vegetable in relief, tinted in its natural colors. Much of
this work now can be seen in the museums of France; but it never
became a distinctive type of art. What we chiefly remember of Palissy
is his introduction into china-making of these hitherto unknown
colored enamels."
[Illustration: BURNED HIS CHAIRS "HE USED EVERY SPLINTER OF WOOD"]
"What became of him?" inquired Theo at last. "Did he ever get any
more money?"
"He had a strange life," mused Mr. Croyden. "He was a Huguenot, and
at that time the Catholic party was in power, and an edict went forth
that all Huguenots should be killed. Many of them fled into other
countries and thus escaped death. But Palissy refused to flee, and
because he was a man skilled in pottery-making, one of the things
France was eager to perfect, the king wanted to retain him in his
kingdom. Therefore he took Palissy under his protection, and for a
long time allowed him to work unmolested in a little building in the
grounds of the Tuileries. But by and by the Catholic adherents of the
king became too strong even for their royal master's control, and so
insistently did they clamor for Palissy's death that the king was
forced to send for the potter and beg him to renounce his Protestant
faith. Now by this time Palissy was a white-haired man of
eighty. Nevertheless when the king told him he must either recant or
lose his life he did not flinch. Fearlessly he clung to his religion."
"Did they kill him?"
"No. Perhaps it was because the people did not dare displease the
king," answered Mr. Croyden. "They did, however, imprison the old man
in the Bastille and there, after years of confinement, he wasted away
and died. It was probably only the influence of his royal patron that
prevented him from being murdered in the first place. Both the
Henri Deux ware and Palissy's colored enamels brought fame to
France. In 1800 at Nevers, where the blue and white ware similar to
Delft was made, there were twelve factories. Then there was a quaint
pottery made at Beauvais with the coats of arms of France and Brittany
upon it. At Rouen, too, an extensive pottery industry sprang up, and
it was to these factories that in 1713 Louis XIV, when forced to pay
his war debts, sent his silver service to be melted up and replaced by
a less expensive earthenware dinner set. Some pieces marked with the
fleur-de-lis, and probably remnants of this set, are to be found in
French museums. There were various other small potteries in different
parts of France: some at Marseilles, others at Moustiers and Nancy.
There were a number in Paris itself. All of these were making a more
or less fine variety of earthenware. But the time was not ripe for
France's greatest contribution to china-making. Of that you shall hear
some other day. Now have I not told you quite a long story?"
"A long one and a very good one," said Theo. "I hope you'll tell me
another very soon."
"Will you never have enough of all this chinaware?"
Laughingly Theo shook his head.
"I'd like you to keep right on until----"
"Until you are on your feet again," interrupted Mr. Croyden
teasingly. "Then I suppose you will promptly run off and forget all
about it."
"Not at all, sir!" contradicted Theo. "I was going to say I wished you
would keep on telling me about it until I got well and could go to see
some of these potteries and porcelains made."
"Oh-ho! So you want to come to Trenton and steal my business away from
me, do you, you young rascal? We'll see about that."
With a broad smile Mr. Croyden rose and shaking his fist playfully at
Theo sauntered out the door.
[Illustration]