HE GREAT POTTERS—PALISSY, BÖTTGHER, WEDGWOOD.
“Patience is the finest and worthiest part of fortitude, and the
rarest too . . . Patience lies at the root of all pleasures, as well
as of all powers. Hope herself ceases to be happiness when
Impatience companions her.”—_John Ruskin_.
“Il y a vingt et cinq ans passez qu’il ne me fut monstré une coupe de
terre, tournée et esmaillée d’une telle beauté que . . . dèslors,
sans avoir esgard que je n’avois nulle connoissance des terres
argileuses, je me mis a chercher les émaux, comme un homme qui taste
en ténèbres.”—_Bernard Palissy_.
IT so happens that the history of Pottery furnishes some of the most
remarkable instances of patient perseverance to be found in the whole
range of biography. Of these we select three of the most striking, as
exhibited in the lives of Bernard Palissy, the Frenchman; Johann
Friedrich Böttgher, the German; and Josiah Wedgwood, the Englishman.
Though the art of making common vessels of clay was known to most of the
ancient nations, that of manufacturing enamelled earthenware was much
less common. It was, however, practised by the ancient Etruscans,
specimens of whose ware are still to be found in antiquarian collections.
But it became a lost art, and was only recovered at a comparatively
recent date. The Etruscan ware was very valuable in ancient times, a
vase being worth its weight in gold in the time of Augustus. The Moors
seem to have preserved amongst them a knowledge of the art, which they
were found practising in the island of Majorca when it was taken by the
Pisans in 1115. Among the spoil carried away were many plates of Moorish
earthenware, which, in token of triumph, were embedded in the walls of
several of the ancient churches of Pisa, where they are to be seen to
this day. About two centuries later the Italians began to make an
imitation enamelled ware, which they named Majolica, after the Moorish
place of manufacture.
The reviver or re-discoverer of the art of enamelling in Italy was Luca
della Robbia, a Florentine sculptor. Vasari describes him as a man of
indefatigable perseverance, working with his chisel all day and
practising drawing during the greater part of the night. He pursued the
latter art with so much assiduity, that when working late, to prevent his
feet from freezing with the cold, he was accustomed to provide himself
with a basket of shavings, in which he placed them to keep himself warm
and enable him to proceed with his drawings. “Nor,” says Vasari, “am I
in the least astonished at this, since no man ever becomes distinguished
in any art whatsoever who does not early begin to acquire the power of
supporting heat, cold, hunger, thirst, and other discomforts; whereas
those persons deceive themselves altogether who suppose that when taking
their ease and surrounded by all the enjoyments of the world they may
still attain to honourable distinction,—for it is not by sleeping, but by
waking, watching, and labouring continually, that proficiency is attained
and reputation acquired.”
But Luca, notwithstanding all his application and industry, did not
succeed in earning enough money by sculpture to enable him to live by the
art, and the idea occurred to him that he might nevertheless be able to
pursue his modelling in some material more facile and less dear than
marble. Hence it was that he began to make his models in clay, and to
endeavour by experiment so to coat and bake the clay as to render those
models durable. After many trials he at length discovered a method of
covering the clay with a material, which, when exposed to the intense
heat of a furnace, became converted into an almost imperishable enamel.
He afterwards made the further discovery of a method of imparting colour
to the enamel, thus greatly adding to its beauty.
The fame of Luca’s work extended throughout Europe, and specimens of his
art became widely diffused. Many of them were sent into France and
Spain, where they were greatly prized. At that time coarse brown jars
and pipkins were almost the only articles of earthenware produced in
France; and this continued to be the case, with comparatively small
improvement, until the time of Palissy—a man who toiled and fought
against stupendous difficulties with a heroism that sheds a glow almost
of romance over the events of his chequered life.
Bernard Palissy is supposed to have been born in the south of France, in
the diocese of Agen, about the year 1510. His father was probably a
worker in glass, to which trade Bernard was brought up. His parents were
poor people—too poor to give him the benefit of any school education. “I
had no other books,” said he afterwards, “than heaven and earth, which
are open to all.” He learnt, however, the art of glass-painting, to
which he added that of drawing, and afterwards reading and writing.
When about eighteen years old, the glass trade becoming decayed, Palissy
left his father’s house, with his wallet on his back, and went out into
the world to search whether there was any place in it for him. He first
travelled towards Gascony, working at his trade where he could find
employment, and occasionally occupying part of his time in
land-measuring. Then he travelled northwards, sojourning for various
periods at different places in France, Flanders, and Lower Germany.
Thus Palissy occupied about ten more years of his life, after which he
married, and ceased from his wanderings, settling down to practise
glass-painting and land-measuring at the small town of Saintes, in the
Lower Charente. There children were born to him; and not only his
responsibilities but his expenses increased, while, do what he could, his
earnings remained too small for his needs. It was therefore necessary
for him to bestir himself. Probably he felt capable of better things
than drudging in an employment so precarious as glass-painting; and hence
he was induced to turn his attention to the kindred art of painting and
enamelling earthenware. Yet on this subject he was wholly ignorant; for
he had never seen earth baked before he began his operations. He had
therefore everything to learn by himself, without any helper. But he was
full of hope, eager to learn, of unbounded perseverance and inexhaustible
patience.
It was the sight of an elegant cup of Italian manufacture—most probably
one of Luca della Robbia’s make—which first set Palissy a-thinking about
the new art. A circumstance so apparently insignificant would have
produced no effect upon an ordinary mind, or even upon Palissy himself at
an ordinary time; but occurring as it did when he was meditating a change
of calling, he at once became inflamed with the desire of imitating it.
The sight of this cup disturbed his whole existence; and the
determination to discover the enamel with which it was glazed
thenceforward possessed him like a passion. Had he been a single man he
might have travelled into Italy in search of the secret; but he was bound
to his wife and his children, and could not leave them; so he remained by
their side groping in the dark in the hope of finding out the process of
making and enamelling earthenware.
At first he could merely guess the materials of which the enamel was
composed; and he proceeded to try all manner of experiments to ascertain
what they really were. He pounded all the substances which he supposed
were likely to produce it. Then he bought common earthen pots, broke
them into pieces, and, spreading his compounds over them, subjected them
to the heat of a furnace which he erected for the purpose of baking them.
His experiments failed; and the results were broken pots and a waste of
fuel, drugs, time, and labour. Women do not readily sympathise with
experiments whose only tangible effect is to dissipate the means of
buying clothes and food for their children; and Palissy’s wife, however
dutiful in other respects, could not be reconciled to the purchase of
more earthen pots, which seemed to her to be bought only to be broken.
Yet she must needs submit; for Palissy had become thoroughly possessed by
the determination to master the secret of the enamel, and would not leave
it alone.
For many successive months and years Palissy pursued his experiments.
The first furnace having proved a failure, he proceeded to erect another
out of doors. There he burnt more wood, spoiled more drugs and pots, and
lost more time, until poverty stared him and his family in the face.
“Thus,” said he, “I fooled away several years, with sorrow and sighs,
because I could not at all arrive at my intention.” In the intervals of
his experiments he occasionally worked at his former callings, painting
on glass, drawing portraits, and measuring land; but his earnings from
these sources were very small. At length he was no longer able to carry
on his experiments in his own furnace because of the heavy cost of fuel;
but he bought more potsherds, broke them up as before into three or four
hundred pieces, and, covering them with chemicals, carried them to a
tile-work a league and a half distant from Saintes, there to be baked in
an ordinary furnace. After the operation he went to see the pieces taken
out; and, to his dismay, the whole of the experiments were failures. But
though disappointed, he was not yet defeated; for he determined on the
very spot to “begin afresh.”
His business as a land-measurer called him away for a brief season from
the pursuit of his experiments. In conformity with an edict of the
State, it became necessary to survey the salt-marshes in the
neighbourhood of Saintes for the purpose of levying the land-tax.
Palissy was employed to make this survey, and prepare the requisite map.
The work occupied him some time, and he was doubtless well paid for it;
but no sooner was it completed than he proceeded, with redoubled zeal, to
follow up his old investigations “in the track of the enamels.” He began
by breaking three dozen new earthen pots, the pieces of which he covered
with different materials which he had compounded, and then took them to a
neighbouring glass-furnace to be baked. The results gave him a glimmer
of hope. The greater heat of the glass-furnace had melted some of the
compounds; but though Palissy searched diligently for the white enamel he
could find none.
For two more years he went on experimenting without any satisfactory
result, until the proceeds of his survey of the salt-marshes having
become nearly spent, he was reduced to poverty again. But he resolved to
make a last great effort; and he began by breaking more pots than ever.
More than three hundred pieces of pottery covered with his compounds were
sent to the glass-furnace; and thither he himself went to watch the
results of the baking. Four hours passed, during which he watched; and
then the furnace was opened. The material on _one_ only of the three
hundred pieces of potsherd had melted, and it was taken out to cool. As
it hardened, it grew white-white and polished! The piece of potsherd was
covered with white enamel, described by Palissy as “singularly
beautiful!” And beautiful it must no doubt have been in his eyes after
all his weary waiting. He ran home with it to his wife, feeling himself,
as he expressed it, quite a new creature. But the prize was not yet
won—far from it. The partial success of this intended last effort merely
had the effect of luring him on to a succession of further experiments
and failures.
In order that he might complete the invention, which he now believed to
be at hand, he resolved to build for himself a glass-furnace near his
dwelling, where he might carry on his operations in secret. He proceeded
to build the furnace with his own hands, carrying the bricks from the
brick-field upon his back. He was bricklayer, labourer, and all. From
seven to eight more months passed. At last the furnace was built and
ready for use. Palissy had in the mean time fashioned a number of
vessels of clay in readiness for the laying on of the enamel. After
being subjected to a preliminary process of baking, they were covered
with the enamel compound, and again placed in the furnace for the grand
crucial experiment. Although his means were nearly exhausted, Palissy
had been for some time accumulating a great store of fuel for the final
effort; and he thought it was enough. At last the fire was lit, and the
operation proceeded. All day he sat by the furnace, feeding it with
fuel. He sat there watching and feeding all through the long night. But
the enamel did not melt. The sun rose upon his labours. His wife
brought him a portion of the scanty morning meal,—for he would not stir
from the furnace, into which he continued from time to time to heave more
fuel. The second day passed, and still the enamel did not melt. The sun
set, and another night passed. The pale, haggard, unshorn, baffled yet
not beaten Palissy sat by his furnace eagerly looking for the melting of
the enamel. A third day and night passed—a fourth, a fifth, and even a
sixth,—yes, for six long days and nights did the unconquerable Palissy
watch and toil, fighting against hope; and still the enamel would not
melt.
It then occurred to him that there might be some defect in the materials
for the enamel—perhaps something wanting in the flux; so he set to work
to pound and compound fresh materials for a new experiment. Thus two or
three more weeks passed. But how to buy more pots?—for those which he
had made with his own hands for the purposes of the first experiment were
by long baking irretrievably spoilt for the purposes of a second. His
money was now all spent; but he could borrow. His character was still
good, though his wife and the neighbours thought him foolishly wasting
his means in futile experiments. Nevertheless he succeeded. He borrowed
sufficient from a friend to enable him to buy more fuel and more pots,
and he was again ready for a further experiment. The pots were covered
with the new compound, placed in the furnace, and the fire was again lit.
It was the last and most desperate experiment of the whole. The fire
blazed up; the heat became intense; but still the enamel did not melt.
The fuel began to run short! How to keep up the fire? There were the
garden palings: these would burn. They must be sacrificed rather than
that the great experiment should fail. The garden palings were pulled up
and cast into the furnace. They were burnt in vain! The enamel had not
yet melted. Ten minutes more heat might do it. Fuel must be had at
whatever cost. There remained the household furniture and shelving. A
crashing noise was heard in the house; and amidst the screams of his wife
and children, who now feared Palissy’s reason was giving way, the tables
were seized, broken up, and heaved into the furnace. The enamel had not
melted yet! There remained the shelving. Another noise of the wrenching
of timber was heard within the house; and the shelves were torn down and
hurled after the furniture into the fire. Wife and children then rushed
from the house, and went frantically through the town, calling out that
poor Palissy had gone mad, and was breaking up his very furniture for
firewood! {74}
For an entire month his shirt had not been off his back, and he was
utterly worn out—wasted with toil, anxiety, watching, and want of food.
He was in debt, and seemed on the verge of ruin. But he had at length
mastered the secret; for the last great burst of heat had melted the
enamel. The common brown household jars, when taken out of the furnace
after it had become cool, were found covered with a white glaze! For
this he could endure reproach, contumely, and scorn, and wait patiently
for the opportunity of putting his discovery into practice as better days
came round.
Palissy next hired a potter to make some earthen vessels after designs
which he furnished; while he himself proceeded to model some medallions
in clay for the purpose of enamelling them. But how to maintain himself
and his family until the wares were made and ready for sale? Fortunately
there remained one man in Saintes who still believed in the integrity, if
not in the judgment, of Palissy—an inn-keeper, who agreed to feed and
lodge him for six months, while he went on with his manufacture. As for
the working potter whom he had hired, Palissy soon found that he could
not pay him the stipulated wages. Having already stripped his dwelling,
he could but strip himself; and he accordingly parted with some of his
clothes to the potter, in part payment of the wages which he owed him.
Palissy next erected an improved furnace, but he was so unfortunate as to
build part of the inside with flints. When it was heated, these flints
cracked and burst, and the spiculæ were scattered over the pieces of
pottery, sticking to them. Though the enamel came out right, the work
was irretrievably spoilt, and thus six more months’ labour was lost.
Persons were found willing to buy the articles at a low price,
notwithstanding the injury they had sustained; but Palissy would not sell
them, considering that to have done so would be to “decry and abate his
honour;” and so he broke in pieces the entire batch. “Nevertheless,”
says he, “hope continued to inspire me, and I held on manfully;
sometimes, when visitors called, I entertained them with pleasantry,
while I was really sad at heart. . . . Worst of all the sufferings I had
to endure, were the mockeries and persecutions of those of my own
household, who were so unreasonable as to expect me to execute work
without the means of doing so. For years my furnaces were without any
covering or protection, and while attending them I have been for nights
at the mercy of the wind and the rain, without help or consolation, save
it might be the wailing of cats on the one side and the howling of dogs
on the other. Sometimes the tempest would beat so furiously against the
furnaces that I was compelled to leave them and seek shelter within
doors. Drenched by rain, and in no better plight than if I had been
dragged through mire, I have gone to lie down at midnight or at daybreak,
stumbling into the house without a light, and reeling from one side to
another as if I had been drunken, but really weary with watching and
filled with sorrow at the loss of my labour after such long toiling. But
alas! my home proved no refuge; for, drenched and besmeared as I was, I
found in my chamber a second persecution worse than the first, which
makes me even now marvel that I was not utterly consumed by my many
sorrows.”
At this stage of his affairs, Palissy became melancholy and almost
hopeless, and seems to have all but broken down. He wandered gloomily
about the fields near Saintes, his clothes hanging in tatters, and
himself worn to a skeleton. In a curious passage in his writings he
describes how that the calves of his legs had disappeared and were no
longer able with the help of garters to hold up his stockings, which fell
about his heels when he walked. {77} The family continued to reproach
him for his recklessness, and his neighbours cried shame upon him for his
obstinate folly. So he returned for a time to his former calling; and
after about a year’s diligent labour, during which he earned bread for
his household and somewhat recovered his character among his neighbours,
he again resumed his darling enterprise. But though he had already spent
about ten years in the search for the enamel, it cost him nearly eight
more years of experimental plodding before he perfected his invention.
He gradually learnt dexterity and certainty of result by experience,
gathering practical knowledge out of many failures. Every mishap was a
fresh lesson to him, teaching him something new about the nature of
enamels, the qualities of argillaceous earths, the tempering of clays,
and the construction and management of furnaces.
At last, after about sixteen years’ labour, Palissy took heart and called
himself Potter. These sixteen years had been his term of apprenticeship
to the art; during which he had wholly to teach himself, beginning at the
very beginning. He was now able to sell his wares and thereby maintain
his family in comfort. But he never rested satisfied with what he had
accomplished. He proceeded from one step of improvement to another;
always aiming at the greatest perfection possible. He studied natural
objects for patterns, and with such success that the great Buffon spoke
of him as “so great a naturalist as Nature only can produce.” His
ornamental pieces are now regarded as rare gems in the cabinets of
virtuosi, and sell at almost fabulous prices. {78} The ornaments on them
are for the most part accurate models from life, of wild animals,
lizards, and plants, found in the fields about Saintes, and tastefully
combined as ornaments into the texture of a plate or vase. When Palissy
had reached the height of his art he styled himself “Ouvrier de Terre et
Inventeur des Rustics Figulines.”
We have not, however, come to an end of the sufferings of Palissy,
respecting which a few words remain to be said. Being a Protestant, at a
time when religious persecution waxed hot in the south of France, and
expressing his views without fear, he was regarded as a dangerous
heretic. His enemies having informed against him, his house at Saintes
was entered by the officers of “justice,” and his workshop was thrown
open to the rabble, who entered and smashed his pottery, while he himself
was hurried off by night and cast into a dungeon at Bordeaux, to wait his
turn at the stake or the scaffold. He was condemned to be burnt; but a
powerful noble, the Constable de Montmorency, interposed to save his
life—not because he had any special regard for Palissy or his religion,
but because no other artist could be found capable of executing the
enamelled pavement for his magnificent château then in course of erection
at Ecouen, about four leagues from Paris. By his influence an edict was
issued appointing Palissy Inventor of Rustic Figulines to the King and to
the Constable, which had the effect of immediately removing him from the
jurisdiction of Bourdeaux. He was accordingly liberated, and returned to
his home at Saintes only to find it devastated and broken up. His
workshop was open to the sky, and his works lay in ruins. Shaking the
dust of Saintes from his feet he left the place never to return to it,
and removed to Paris to carry on the works ordered of him by the
Constable and the Queen Mother, being lodged in the Tuileries {79} while
so occupied.
Besides carrying on the manufacture of pottery, with the aid of his two
sons, Palissy, during the latter part of his life, wrote and published
several books on the potter’s art, with a view to the instruction of his
countrymen, and in order that they might avoid the many mistakes which he
himself had made. He also wrote on agriculture, on fortification, and
natural history, on which latter subject he even delivered lectures to a
limited number of persons. He waged war against astrology, alchemy,
witchcraft, and like impostures. This stirred up against him many
enemies, who pointed the finger at him as a heretic, and he was again
arrested for his religion and imprisoned in the Bastille. He was now an
old man of seventy-eight, trembling on the verge of the grave, but his
spirit was as brave as ever. He was threatened with death unless he
recanted; but he was as obstinate in holding to his religion as he had
been in hunting out the secret of the enamel. The king, Henry III., even
went to see him in prison to induce him to abjure his faith. “My good
man,” said the King, “you have now served my mother and myself for
forty-five years. We have put up with your adhering to your religion
amidst fires and massacres: now I am so pressed by the Guise party as
well as by my own people, that I am constrained to leave you in the hands
of your enemies, and to-morrow you will be burnt unless you become
converted.” “Sire,” answered the unconquerable old man, “I am ready to
give my life for the glory of God. You have said many times that you
have pity on me; and now I have pity on you, who have pronounced the
words _I am constrained_! It is not spoken like a king, sire; it is what
you, and those who constrain you, the Guisards and all your people, can
never effect upon me, for I know how to die.” {80a} Palissy did indeed
die shortly after, a martyr, though not at the stake. He died in the
Bastille, after enduring about a year’s imprisonment,—there peacefully
terminating a life distinguished for heroic labour, extraordinary
endurance, inflexible rectitude, and the exhibition of many rare and
noble virtues. {80b}
The life of John Frederick Böttgher, the inventor of hard porcelain,
presents a remarkable contrast to that of Palissy; though it also
contains many points of singular and almost romantic interest. Böttgher
was born at Schleiz, in the Voightland, in 1685, and at twelve years of
age was placed apprentice with an apothecary at Berlin. He seems to have
been early fascinated by chemistry, and occupied most of his leisure in
making experiments. These for the most part tended in one direction—the
art of converting common on metals into gold. At the end of several
years, Böttgher pretended to have discovered the universal solvent of the
alchemists, and professed that he had made gold by its means. He
exhibited its powers before his master, the apothecary Zörn, and by some
trick or other succeeded in making him and several other witnesses
believe that he had actually converted copper into gold.
The news spread abroad that the apothecary’s apprentice had discovered
the grand secret, and crowds collected about the shop to get a sight of
the wonderful young “gold-cook.” The king himself expressed a wish to
see and converse with him, and when Frederick I. was presented with a
piece of the gold pretended to have been converted from copper, he was so
dazzled with the prospect of securing an infinite quantity of it—Prussia
being then in great straits for money—that he determined to secure
Böttgher and employ him to make gold for him within the strong fortress
of Spandau. But the young apothecary, suspecting the king’s intention,
and probably fearing detection, at once resolved on flight, and he
succeeded in getting across the frontier into Saxony.
A reward of a thousand thalers was offered for Böttgher’s apprehension,
but in vain. He arrived at Wittenberg, and appealed for protection to
the Elector of Saxony, Frederick Augustus I. (King of Poland), surnamed
“the Strong.” Frederick was himself very much in want of money at the
time, and he was overjoyed at the prospect of obtaining gold in any
quantity by the aid of the young alchemist. Böttgher was accordingly
conveyed in secret to Dresden, accompanied by a royal escort. He had
scarcely left Wittenberg when a battalion of Prussian grenadiers appeared
before the gates demanding the gold-maker’s extradition. But it was too
late: Böttgher had already arrived in Dresden, where he was lodged in the
Golden House, and treated with every consideration, though strictly
watched and kept under guard.
The Elector, however, must needs leave him there for a time, having to
depart forthwith to Poland, then almost in a state of anarchy. But,
impatient for gold, he wrote Böttgher from Warsaw, urging him to
communicate the secret, so that he himself might practise the art of
commutation. The young “gold-cook,” thus pressed, forwarded to Frederick
a small phial containing “a reddish fluid,” which, it was asserted,
changed all metals, when in a molten state, into gold. This important
phial was taken in charge by the Prince Fürst von Fürstenburg, who,
accompanied by a regiment of Guards, hurried with it to Warsaw. Arrived
there, it was determined to make immediate trial of the process. The
King and the Prince locked themselves up in a secret chamber of the
palace, girt themselves about with leather aprons, and like true
“gold-cooks” set to work melting copper in a crucible and afterwards
applying to it the red fluid of Böttgher. But the result was
unsatisfactory; for notwithstanding all that they could do, the copper
obstinately remained copper. On referring to the alchemist’s
instructions, however, the King found that, to succeed with the process,
it was necessary that the fluid should be used “in great purity of
heart;” and as his Majesty was conscious of having spent the evening in
very bad company he attributed the failure of the experiment to that
cause. A second trial was followed by no better results, and then the
King became furious; for he had confessed and received absolution before
beginning the second experiment.
Frederick Augustus now resolved on forcing Böttgher to disclose the
golden secret, as the only means of relief from his urgent pecuniary
difficulties. The alchemist, hearing of the royal intention, again
determined to fly. He succeeded in escaping his guard, and, after three
days’ travel, arrived at Ens in Austria, where he thought himself safe.
The agents of the Elector were, however, at his heels; they had tracked
him to the “Golden Stag,” which they surrounded, and seizing him in his
bed, notwithstanding his resistance and appeals to the Austrian
authorities for help, they carried him by force to Dresden. From this
time he was more strictly watched than ever, and he was shortly after
transferred to the strong fortress of Köningstein. It was communicated
to him that the royal exchequer was completely empty, and that ten
regiments of Poles in arrears of pay were waiting for his gold. The King
himself visited him, and told him in a severe tone that if he did not at
once proceed to make gold, he would be hung! (“_Thu mir zurecht_,
_Böttgher_, _sonst lass ich dich hangen_”).
Years passed, and still Böttgher made no gold; but he was not hung. It
was reserved for him to make a far more important discovery than the
conversion of copper into gold, namely, the conversion of clay into
porcelain. Some rare specimens of this ware had been brought by the
Portuguese from China, which were sold for more than their weight in
gold. Böttgher was first induced to turn his attention to the subject by
Walter von Tschirnhaus, a maker of optical instruments, also an
alchemist. Tschirnhaus was a man of education and distinction, and was
held in much esteem by Prince Fürstenburg as well as by the Elector. He
very sensibly said to Böttgher, still in fear of the gallows—“If you
can’t make gold, try and do something else; make porcelain.”
The alchemist acted on the hint, and began his experiments, working night
and day. He prosecuted his investigations for a long time with great
assiduity, but without success. At length some red clay, brought to him
for the purpose of making his crucibles, set him on the right track. He
found that this clay, when submitted to a high temperature, became
vitrified and retained its shape; and that its texture resembled that of
porcelain, excepting in colour and opacity. He had in fact accidentally
discovered red porcelain, and he proceeded to manufacture it and sell it
as porcelain.
Böttgher was, however, well aware that the white colour was an essential
property of true porcelain; and he therefore prosecuted his experiments
in the hope of discovering the secret. Several years thus passed, but
without success; until again accident stood his friend, and helped him to
a knowledge of the art of making white porcelain. One day, in the year
1707, he found his perruque unusually heavy, and asked of his valet the
reason. The answer was, that it was owing to the powder with which the
wig was dressed, which consisted of a kind of earth then much used for
hair powder. Böttgher’s quick imagination immediately seized upon the
idea. This white earthy powder might possibly be the very earth of which
he was in search—at all events the opportunity must not be let slip of
ascertaining what it really was. He was rewarded for his painstaking
care and watchfulness; for he found, on experiment, that the principal
ingredient of the hair-powder consisted of _kaolin_, the want of which
had so long formed an insuperable difficulty in the way of his inquiries.
The discovery, in Böttgher’s intelligent hands, led to great results, and
proved of far greater importance than the discovery of the philosopher’s
stone would have been. In October, 1707, he presented his first piece of
porcelain to the Elector, who was greatly pleased with it; and it was
resolved that Böttgher should be furnished with the means necessary for
perfecting his invention. Having obtained a skilled workman from Delft,
he began to _turn_ porcelain with great success. He now entirely
abandoned alchemy for pottery, and inscribed over the door of his
workshop this distich:—
“_Es machte Gott_, _der grosse Schöpfer_,
_Aus einem Goldmacher einen Töpfer_.” {84}
Böttgher, however, was still under strict surveillance, for fear lest he
should communicate his secret to others or escape the Elector’s control.
The new workshops and furnaces which were erected for him, were guarded
by troops night and day, and six superior officers were made responsible
for the personal security of the potter.
Böttgher’s further experiments with his new furnaces proving very
successful, and the porcelain which he manufactured being found to fetch
large prices, it was next determined to establish a Royal Manufactory of
porcelain. The manufacture of delft ware was known to have greatly
enriched Holland. Why should not the manufacture of porcelain equally
enrich the Elector? Accordingly, a decree went forth, dated the 23rd of
January, 1710, for the establishment of “a large manufactory of
porcelain” at the Albrechtsburg in Meissen. In this decree, which was
translated into Latin, French, and Dutch, and distributed by the
Ambassadors of the Elector at all the European Courts, Frederick Augustus
set forth that to promote the welfare of Saxony, which had suffered much
through the Swedish invasion, he had “directed his attention to the
subterranean treasures (_unterirdischen Schätze_)” of the country, and
having employed some able persons in the investigation, they had
succeeded in manufacturing “a sort of red vessels (_eine Art rother
Gefässe_) far superior to the Indian terra sigillata;” {85} as also
“coloured ware and plates (_buntes Geschirr und Tafeln_) which may be
cut, ground, and polished, and are quite equal to Indian vessels,” and
finally that “specimens of white porcelain (_Proben von weissem
Porzellan_)” had already been obtained, and it was hoped that this
quality, too, would soon be manufactured in considerable quantities. The
royal decree concluded by inviting “foreign artists and handicraftmen” to
come to Saxony and engage as assistants in the new factory, at high
wages, and under the patronage of the King. This royal edict probably
gives the best account of the actual state of Böttgher’s invention at the
time.
It has been stated in German publications that Böttgher, for the great
services rendered by him to the Elector and to Saxony, was made Manager
of the Royal Porcelain Works, and further promoted to the dignity of
Baron. Doubtless he deserved these honours; but his treatment was of an
altogether different character, for it was shabby, cruel, and inhuman.
Two royal officials, named Matthieu and Nehmitz, were put over his head
as directors of the factory, while he himself only held the position of
foreman of potters, and at the same time was detained the King’s
prisoner. During the erection of the factory at Meissen, while his
assistance was still indispensable, he was conducted by soldiers to and
from Dresden; and even after the works were finished, he was locked up
nightly in his room. All this preyed upon his mind, and in repeated
letters to the King he sought to obtain mitigation of his fate. Some of
these letters are very touching. “I will devote my whole soul to the art
of making porcelain,” he writes on one occasion, “I will do more than any
inventor ever did before; only give me liberty, liberty!”
To these appeals, the King turned a deaf ear. He was ready to spend
money and grant favours; but liberty he would not give. He regarded
Böttgher as his slave. In this position, the persecuted man kept on
working for some time, till, at the end of a year or two, he grew
negligent. Disgusted with the world and with himself, he took to
drinking. Such is the force of example, that it no sooner became known
that Böttgher had betaken himself to this vice, than the greater number
of the workmen at the Meissen factory became drunkards too. Quarrels and
fightings without end were the consequence, so that the troops were
frequently called upon to interfere and keep peace among the
“Porzellanern,” as they were nicknamed. After a while, the whole of
them, more than three hundred, were shut up in the Albrechtsburg, and
treated as prisoners of state.
Böttgher at last fell seriously ill, and in May, 1713, his dissolution
was hourly expected. The King, alarmed at losing so valuable a slave,
now gave him permission to take carriage exercise under a guard; and,
having somewhat recovered, he was allowed occasionally to go to Dresden.
In a letter written by the King in April, 1714, Böttgher was promised his
full liberty; but the offer came too late. Broken in body and mind,
alternately working and drinking, though with occasional gleams of nobler
intention, and suffering under constant ill-health, the result of his
enforced confinement, Böttgher lingered on for a few years more, until
death freed him from his sufferings on the 13th March, 1719, in the
thirty-fifth year of his age. He was buried _at night_—as if he had been
a dog—in the Johannis Cemetery of Meissen. Such was the treatment and
such the unhappy end, of one of Saxony’s greatest benefactors.
The porcelain manufacture immediately opened up an important source of
public revenue, and it became so productive to the Elector of Saxony,
that his example was shortly after followed by most European monarchs.
Although soft porcelain had been made at St. Cloud fourteen years before
Böttgher’s discovery, the superiority of the hard porcelain soon became
generally recognised. Its manufacture was begun at Sèvres in 1770, and
it has since almost entirely superseded the softer material. This is now
one of the most thriving branches of French industry, of which the high
quality of the articles produced is certainly indisputable.
The career of Josiah Wedgwood, the English potter, was less chequered and
more prosperous than that of either Palissy or Böttgher, and his lot was
cast in happier times. Down to the middle of last century England was
behind most other nations of the first order in Europe in respect of
skilled industry. Although there were many potters in Staffordshire—and
Wedgwood himself belonged to a numerous clan of potters of the same
name—their productions were of the rudest kind, for the most part only
plain brown ware, with the patterns scratched in while the clay was wet.
The principal supply of the better articles of earthenware came from
Delft in Holland, and of drinking stone pots from Cologne. Two foreign
potters, the brothers Elers from Nuremberg, settled for a time in
Staffordshire, and introduced an improved manufacture, but they shortly
after removed to Chelsea, where they confined themselves to the
manufacture of ornamental pieces. No porcelain capable of resisting a
scratch with a hard point had yet been made in England; and for a long
time the “white ware” made in Staffordshire was not white, but of a dirty
cream colour. Such, in a few words, was the condition of the pottery
manufacture when Josiah Wedgwood was born at Burslem in 1730. By the
time that he died, sixty-four years later, it had become completely
changed. By his energy, skill, and genius, he established the trade upon
a new and solid foundation; and, in the words of his epitaph, “converted
a rude and inconsiderable manufacture into an elegant art and an
important branch of national commerce.”
Josiah Wedgwood was one of those indefatigable men who from time to time
spring from the ranks of the common people, and by their energetic
character not only practically educate the working population in habits
of industry, but by the example of diligence and perseverance which they
set before them, largely influence the public activity in all directions,
and contribute in a great degree to form the national character. He was,
like Arkwright, the youngest of a family of thirteen children. His
grandfather and granduncle were both potters, as was also his father who
died when he was a mere boy, leaving him a patrimony of twenty pounds.
He had learned to read and write at the village school; but on the death
of his father he was taken from it and set to work as a “thrower” in a
small pottery carried on by his elder brother. There he began life, his
working life, to use his own words, “at the lowest round of the ladder,”
when only eleven years old. He was shortly after seized by an attack of
virulent smallpox, from the effects of which he suffered during the rest
of his life, for it was followed by a disease in the right knee, which
recurred at frequent intervals, and was only got rid of by the amputation
of the limb many years later. Mr. Gladstone, in his eloquent Éloge on
Wedgwood recently delivered at Burslem, well observed that the disease
from which he suffered was not improbably the occasion of his subsequent
excellence. “It prevented him from growing up to be the active, vigorous
English workman, possessed of all his limbs, and knowing right well the
use of them; but it put him upon considering whether, as he could not be
that, he might not be something else, and something greater. It sent his
mind inwards; it drove him to meditate upon the laws and secrets of his
art. The result was, that he arrived at a perception and a grasp of them
which might, perhaps, have been envied, certainly have been owned, by an
Athenian potter.” {89}
When he had completed his apprenticeship with his brother, Josiah joined
partnership with another workman, and carried on a small business in
making knife-hafts, boxes, and sundry articles for domestic use. Another
partnership followed, when he proceeded to make melon table plates, green
pickle leaves, candlesticks, snuffboxes, and such like articles; but he
made comparatively little progress until he began business on his own
account at Burslem in the year 1759. There he diligently pursued his
calling, introducing new articles to the trade, and gradually extending
his business. What he chiefly aimed at was to manufacture cream-coloured
ware of a better quality than was then produced in Staffordshire as
regarded shape, colour, glaze, and durability. To understand the subject
thoroughly, he devoted his leisure to the study of chemistry; and he made
numerous experiments on fluxes, glazes, and various sorts of clay. Being
a close inquirer and accurate observer, he noticed that a certain earth
containing silica, which was black before calcination, became white after
exposure to the heat of a furnace. This fact, observed and pondered on,
led to the idea of mixing silica with the red powder of the potteries,
and to the discovery that the mixture becomes white when calcined. He
had but to cover this material with a vitrification of transparent glaze,
to obtain one of the most important products of fictile art—that which,
under the name of English earthenware, was to attain the greatest
commercial value and become of the most extensive utility.
Wedgwood was for some time much troubled by his furnaces, though nothing
like to the same extent that Palissy was; and he overcame his
difficulties in the same way—by repeated experiments and unfaltering
perseverance. His first attempts at making porcelain for table use was a
succession of disastrous failures,—the labours of months being often
destroyed in a day. It was only after a long series of trials, in the
course of which he lost time, money, and labour, that he arrived at the
proper sort of glaze to be used; but he would not be denied, and at last
he conquered success through patience. The improvement of pottery became
his passion, and was never lost sight of for a moment. Even when he had
mastered his difficulties, and become a prosperous man—manufacturing
white stone ware and cream-coloured ware in large quantities for home and
foreign use—he went forward perfecting his manufactures, until, his
example extending in all directions, the action of the entire district
was stimulated, and a great branch of British industry was eventually
established on firm foundations. He aimed throughout at the highest
excellence, declaring his determination “to give over manufacturing any
article, whatsoever it might be, rather than to degrade it.”
Wedgwood was cordially helped by many persons of rank and influence; for,
working in the truest spirit, he readily commanded the help and
encouragement of other true workers. He made for Queen Charlotte the
first royal table-service of English manufacture, of the kind afterwards
called “Queen’s-ware,” and was appointed Royal Potter; a title which he
prized more than if he had been made a baron. Valuable sets of porcelain
were entrusted to him for imitation, in which he succeeded to admiration.
Sir William Hamilton lent him specimens of ancient art from Herculaneum,
of which he produced accurate and beautiful copies. The Duchess of
Portland outbid him for the Barberini Vase when that article was offered
for sale. He bid as high as seventeen hundred guineas for it: her grace
secured it for eighteen hundred; but when she learnt Wedgwood’s object
she at once generously lent him the vase to copy. He produced fifty
copies at a cost of about 2500_l._, and his expenses were not covered by
their sale; but he gained his object, which was to show that whatever had
been done, that English skill and energy could and would accomplish.
Wedgwood called to his aid the crucible of the chemist, the knowledge of
the antiquary, and the skill of the artist. He found out Flaxman when a
youth, and while he liberally nurtured his genius drew from him a large
number of beautiful designs for his pottery and porcelain; converting
them by his manufacture into objects of taste and excellence, and thus
making them instrumental in the diffusion of classical art amongst the
people. By careful experiment and study he was even enabled to
rediscover the art of painting on porcelain or earthenware vases and
similar articles—an art practised by the ancient Etruscans, but which had
been lost since the time of Pliny. He distinguished himself by his own
contributions to science, and his name is still identified with the
Pyrometer which he invented. He was an indefatigable supporter of all
measures of public utility; and the construction of the Trent and Mersey
Canal, which completed the navigable communication between the eastern
and western sides of the island, was mainly due to his public-spirited
exertions, allied to the engineering skill of Brindley. The road
accommodation of the district being of an execrable character, he planned
and executed a turnpike-road through the Potteries, ten miles in length.
The reputation he achieved was such that his works at Burslem, and
subsequently those at Etruria, which he founded and built, became a point
of attraction to distinguished visitors from all parts of Europe.
The result of Wedgwood’s labours was, that the manufacture of pottery,
which he found in the very lowest condition, became one of the staples of
England; and instead of importing what we needed for home use from
abroad, we became large exporters to other countries, supplying them with
earthenware even in the face of enormous prohibitory duties on articles
of British produce. Wedgwood gave evidence as to his manufactures before
Parliament in 1785, only some thirty years after he had begun his
operations; from which it appeared, that instead of providing only casual
employment to a small number of inefficient and badly remunerated
workmen, about 20,000 persons then derived their bread directly from the
manufacture of earthenware, without taking into account the increased
numbers to which it gave employment in coal-mines, and in the carrying
trade by land and sea, and the stimulus which it gave to employment in
many ways in various parts of the country. Yet, important as had been
the advances made in his time, Mr. Wedgwood was of opinion that the
manufacture was but in its infancy, and that the improvements which he
had effected were of but small amount compared with those to which the
art was capable of attaining, through the continued industry and growing
intelligence of the manufacturers, and the natural facilities and
political advantages enjoyed by Great Britain; an opinion which has been
fully borne out by the progress which has since been effected in this
important branch of industry. In 1852 not fewer than 84,000,000 pieces
of pottery were exported from England to other countries, besides what
were made for home use. But it is not merely the quantity and value of
the produce that is entitled to consideration, but the improvement of the
condition of the population by whom this great branch of industry is
conducted. When Wedgwood began his labours, the Staffordshire district
was only in a half-civilized state. The people were poor, uncultivated,
and few in number. When Wedgwood’s manufacture was firmly established,
there was found ample employment at good wages for three times the number
of population; while their moral advancement had kept pace with their
material improvement.
Men such as these are fairly entitled to take rank as the Industrial
Heroes of the civilized world. Their patient self-reliance amidst trials
and difficulties, their courage and perseverance in the pursuit of worthy
objects, are not less heroic of their kind than the bravery and devotion
of the soldier and the sailor, whose duty and pride it is heroically to
defend what these valiant leaders of industry have so heroically
achieved.