The Arcanum (14 page)

Augustus's response was to offer a reward of 1,000 thalers to anyone who could discover the successful recipe for underglaze
blue. Other workers, attracted by the promise of such a prize, joined in the chase. Among them were Samuel Stölzel and David
Köhler, both of whom had been among the first workers to join Böttger at the Meissen laboratory in 1705.

Köhler had by now risen to be an obsessively secretive but talented compounder. His refusal to collaborate with Stölzel slowed
down the overall progress in the quest for underglaze blue decoration. Nonetheless, his dedication to the task in hand was
the first to pay dividends. In 1717, Köhler managed to fire a piece decorated with a blue pigment that remained stable during
firing. But rather than heralding imminent success, this seems to have been something of a lucky fluke. Either he had difficulty
in reproducing the blue more than once or he remained unsatisfied with it, but at any rate he did not submit his claim for
the prize for another two years, by which time Stölzel claimed that he too had played a part in the discovery and was also
due a share of the reward.

True to form, Augustus was reluctant, when confronted with this inconvenient reminder of a pledge, to part with the cash.
The dispute between the two men provided him with the ideal excuse for wriggling out of his agreement. Disregarding his earlier
offer, he promised that if both men would share their knowledge with each other and continue to develop their work a “just
reward” would be theirs. The idea of collaboration was anathema to the taciturn Köhler and neither of them ever received the
promised 1,000 thalers.

The spectacle of others' misfortunes has always been a compelling attraction for opportunists. As Böttger's health became
increasingly fragile, the promise of easy pickings attracted the unscrupulous to his side. Among the most menacing of these
insidious characters were Johann Georg Mehlhorn and Gottfried Meerheim, two so-called friends of Böttger's who inveigled their
way into his inner circle and enticed him to trust them, only to betray his confidence at the first opportunity.

A trained cabinetmaker, Mehlhorn turned his back on marquetry, inlays and dovetails when he realized that porcelain promised
to provide him with a far more lucrative trade. Though unable to either read or write, he was obviously a highly accomplished
confidence trickster who managed to convince Böttger that he was an expert decorator and thus able to solve the underglaze
blue problem. In response Böttger shared with Mehlhorn his discoveries so far. Too late the realization finally dawned on
Böttger that Mehlhorn was not contributing anything to these discussions and had no real knowledge of his own. By that time
the damage was done. Mehlhorn had discovered enough to pretend that Böttger, while drunk, had given away vital secrets about
the manufacture of porcelain. The directorate were, as Mehlhorn had intended, terrified that such information might be sold
to a rival, and he managed to wheedle a job as vice-inspector for himself in the factory, with a salary of 300 thalers a year.
Eventually Mehlhorn's duplicity found the perfect employment when he was sent to spy on Samuel Kempe, the defector who had
set up a rival stoneware factory in Prussia.

Meerheim was a similarly unprincipled fraudster. He described himself as a metallurgist and also began working with Böttger
on the quest for underglaze blue. Somehow Meerheim engendered such faith in Böttger that he recommended him as his successor,
but the two soon quarreled and parted company. By then, however, Meerheim, despite being “all hot air and talk,” was able
to persuade the Meissen commission that he too knew enough to damage the factory and thus he was also able to extort a handsome
salary for the next decade.

Meanwhile, despite the disappointments and difficulties, Augustus continued to champion his factory's showpiece products,
using them as regal gifts to underline his country's, and thus his own, technological and artistic preeminence. But the more
Augustus sounded the trumpet of his porcelain success story, the more his political rivals throughout Europe became determined
to pierce his conceit and share in the potential for lucrative financial reward. First, though, they had to discover the secret
for themselves.

Thus Meissen's monopoly on the manufacture of true European porcelain was increasingly threatened by a deluge of secret agents
and confidence tricksters. The problem of keeping the arcanum safe had never been more pressing, particularly in light of
Böttger's ill health.

The dilemma, as everyone agreed, was that in order for the factory's future to be assured Böttger clearly had to tell others
how porcelain was made, but with whom and how should such information be shared? Any single individual entrusted with such
knowledge would inevitably become a target for the spies who were flocking to Meissen in ever-increasing numbers.

The arcanum involved knowledge not just of the composition of the paste, but also of the method of firing, the makeup of the
glazes and the recipes for the enamels. Obviously the safest way to ensure that these secrets were secure was by sharing them
among several trusted employees. Each would be taught part of the formula and no one, apart from Böttger himself, would fully
understand, or be able to replicate, the entire process.

Böttger first divulged the secrets of his discovery to two men, who were dubbed “arcanists,” in 1711. They were Dr. Wilhelm
Nehmitz, a chemist and brother of Böttger's enemy Michael Nehmitz, and Dr. Jacob Bartholmäi. Wilhelm Nehmitz was briefed on
how the glaze for the porcelain was made, while Bartholmäi, who had long been privy to many of the secrets of Böttger's invention,
was officially instructed on how to make the paste. He became adept himself at making porcelain, writing proudly: “In the
first year, 1708, I acquired such skill… that the pieces made by myself could well be offered for sale.”

Despite Böttger's assurances that “These are my men, who know how everything is done. I don't hold back anything,” Augustus
remained terrified that Böttger would deliberately withhold some vital detail in order to safeguard his own position, or that
a spy would somehow manage to steal any written notes. To avoid such an eventuality Bartholmäi was instructed to “transpose
everything that Böttger gives him into characters that nobody will be able to decipher.”

But the poor working conditions and the sporadic payment of wages to workers remained largely unresolved, and their dissatisfaction,
coupled with the continual presence of infiltrators eager to lure the Meissen staff away, fueled continual breaches in security.
In 1718, Peter Eggebrecht, the leaseholder of the Dresden faience factory, was lured to Russia by Peter the Great to set up
a porcelain factory in the style of Meissen. Nothing came of this attempt, presumably because Eggebrecht did not know enough
about porcelain-making, and Peter then sent a Russian spy to Meissen. He too failed to find the arcanum and returned empty-handed.

Much more serious was the defection in 1717 of Christoph Konrad Hunger, a skilled Meissen enameler and gilder, lured to Vienna
by the Austrian war commissioner Claudius du Paquier, who was eager to start a rival porcelain factory. With his knowledge
of the properties of gold, Hunger had managed to win Böttger's confidence and he too claimed that Böttger's indiscretions
when drunk had given him access to knowledge of the arcanum. When du Paquier made him the lucrative offer of a handsome salary
plus the opportunity of becoming a partner in a porcelain factory, it was clearly too tempting to turn down.

But as with so many of the other defectors, Hunger's claims to know how to make porcelain were proved false when his attempts
at successful firing continually failed. Hunger knew that the problems lay both with the clay used for the paste and in the
design of the kilns, but he could not find the correct solution. If he could tempt other Meissen workers with knowledge of
the correct composition and firing techniques to join forces with him these difficulties could be overcome.

Hunger got in touch with the duplicitous Mehlhorn, offering him a share of profits plus 100 thalers to cover the cost of the
move to Vienna if he would collaborate in the new factory. Mehlhorn responded encouragingly at first, but when the money arrived,
perhaps bearing in mind the limitations of his knowledge and the fact that he was already well provided for by the Meissen
directorate, he pocketed the travel expenses and stayed in Meissen. For the time being, at least, success eluded Vienna.

The Rivals

O cursed lust of gold! When for thy sake,
The fool throws up his interest in both worlds;
First starved in this, then damned
in that to come.

R
OBERT
B
LAIR,
The Grave,
1743

B
outs of insanity, agonizing illness and forlorn experimentation punctuated the last sad year of Böttger's life. The king,
unable to relinquish his hopes that Böttger might yet make gold, still goaded him into pursuing his hopeless dream. In response
the increasingly frail Böttger, desperate to prove himself finally to Augustus, dabbled frenziedly with his mysterious liquids,
powders and tinctures in his dimly lit laboratories. Long after it was clear to all who knew him that his mind was incapable
of the analytical genius that had led him to his first great discoveries, he remained pathetically fearful of spies and scrawled
down the results of his last bizarre trials in meandering, illegible jargon that only he could decipher.

The futile and obsessive search continued until, finally, too weak even to leave his bedchamber, Böttger was forced to accept
that the arcanum for gold would never be his to present to the king. As the new year of 1719 dawned, the thirty-seven-year-old
Böttger's descent into final illness, a raging form of consumptive fever, was witnessed by the loyal Steinbrück, who visited
him every day. In early March the epileptic spasms and cramps returned and were treated, at first successfully, with snake
venom. A week later even this treatment failed.

On March 13, 1719, at about six in the evening, as the setting sun shimmered over the rippling waters of the Elbe, Böttger,
the inventor of European porcelain, finally breathed his last, after coughing and writhing in agony for nine hours. He was
buried ten days later in a quiet ceremony in Dresden's Alter Johannisfriedhof cemetery. Only a handful of mourners attended.
The king, whose treatment of Böttger had led him to his early grave, was not among them. The cemetery along with Böttger's
grave has since been replaced with the Dresden town hall and a park.

For the last five years of his life Böttger had officially been a free man, but the grip of Augustus and Meissen extended
inexorably beyond the grave. As soon as the body had been removed from his apartments, the rooms were sealed up until the
papers and notebooks with which they were littered could be removed for safekeeping by Augustus's officials. The Meissen authorities
presumed that among Böttger's belongings they would discover notes relating to the latest developments in the manufacture
of porcelain, glazes and enamels. In fact, after careful examination of the documents, virtually nothing of use was discovered.
Böttger's porcelain-making genius had, in effect, died along with him. It was, ironically, largely thanks to his indiscretions
that the secrets of his later discoveries were passed on at all.

The full extent of Böttger's financial problems became clear only after his death. His debts, which included those he had
incurred as the factory's administrator, amounted to over 20,000 thalers; his assets came to a paltry 700 thalers. Augustus's
promise to settle Böttger's debts incurred on behalf of the factory had long been conveniently forgotten, and Böttger's modest
and erratically paid salary, when set against his appetite for luxurious living, had been hopelessly inadequate to cover the
enormous sums still outstanding. Valuables were either pawned or entailed; even his extravagant furniture and the silver plates
from which he grandly dined were rented or unpaid for.