The Arcanum (16 page)

The remarkable success, however, did little to raise its creator's spirits. Almost from the beginning Stölzel seems to have
regarded his move to Vienna with mixed feelings. Du Paquier, with his penchant for exaggeration, had painted a far rosier
picture than the reality Stölzel found. The factory was cramped, the workers were unskilled and money was in even more excrutiatingly
short supply than it had been at Meissen. Hiring proper skilled craftsmen would be an impossibility in such circumstances,
and the salary he had been promised was never reliably paid. Stölzel became increasingly unhappy with his move.

His predicament, however, seemed insoluble, for he had little alternative but to endure it. Defection from Meissen and divulging
the secrets of porcelain-making were, he well knew, treasonable offenses that could cost him his life if he ever showed his
face in Saxony.

In Dresden, Augustus, though devastated at Stölzel's defection and longing to take action to recapture him, also found himself
in an awkward diplomatic predicament. Stölzel's flight had coincided with delicate negotiations being conducted to arrange
the marriage of his son and only legitimate child, Frederick Augustus (1696–1763, later Augustus III), and the emperor's niece
Maria Josepha. The union, which was politically extremely advantageous to Augustus since it allied his family with that of
the powerful Hapsburg emperors of the Holy Roman Empire, was due to take place the same year. Augustus could not possibly
risk causing offense to Charles VI and thus jeopardize the match. So, though he did not give up his hopes of apprehending
Stölzel, he was forced to adopt the more subtle tactics of diplomacy to get him back.

Augustus's ambassador in Vienna, Christian Anacker, was instructed to monitor closely developments at the du Paquier establishment,
and report at regular intervals directly to the king. Anacker, a diligent and skilled negotiator, immediately got in touch
with the renegade Stölzel, and set about earning his confidence—not a particularly arduous task as it turned out. Finding
the sympathetic Anacker apparently concerned for his well-being, Stölzel quickly confessed both his regrets and his fears
of reprisal should he dare return to Dresden.

Meanwhile porcelain-making at Vienna enjoyed modest success. Hunger now began to develop colored enamels far superior to those
the Meissen factory had so far managed. With an increasingly varied palette at its disposal it became evident that the factory
would need to employ artists capable of skilled painting, and Hunger began to look around for suitable recruits. At some stage
he made the acquaintance of a twenty-three-year-old artist who was working as a painter in Vienna. His name, later to be immortalized
in the annals of porcelain-making history, was Johann Gregor Herold.

Little is known of Herold's family background or formative years, but the sparse information we do have paints a somewhat
improbable picture of the origins of a man who was to revolutionize the applied arts of his age. Herold was the youngest son
of a master tailor, born in Jena on August 6, 1696. Realizing early on that he had little inclination for following his father's
modest trade in fashioning elegant costumes for the wealthy, he decided to break with family tradition, put to use his natural
flair for drawing and pursue a career as a decorative artist. Having worked for a time as a painter in Strasbourg, Herold
came to Vienna around the time that du Paquier was setting up his new porcelain factory.

From the earliest days of his career the exotic images of the Far East fired Herold's artistic imagination. He visually devoured
the outlandish scenes he saw depicted on imported lacquer, textiles and topographical prints, as well as on porcelain. These
patterns and pictures were translated into his own pastiche version of Oriental imagery, sometimes fusing exotic and European
themes. By the time Hunger was introduced to him, Herold was already known by the fashion-conscious Viennese as an accomplished
painter of stylish chinoiserie murals.

Young and inexperienced though he was, Herold's innate confidence in his own ability and persuasive charms invariably enabled
him to convince others of his superior talent. Hunger was immediately certain that here was a man of great artistic aptitude,
one who would be a huge asset to the Vienna porcelain factory. Herold, it was true, knew nothing of the art of painting on
ceramics, but to Hunger this raw talent was well worth taking the trouble to school. Herold was offered a job as a junior
decorator, a position that, quickly grasping the potential of such an opportunity, he accepted.

Herold's decision to change the direction of his career so dramatically reflects his extremely shrewd business sense as well
as his all-consuming ambition. The elegant pagoda- and peony-laden landscapes he had until now passed his time so painstakingly
creating were little more than a backdrop for the priceless pieces of ornate porcelain that every fashionable house contained.
In Vienna as in Dresden collecting porcelain was the passion of the affluent, and the ambitious Herold can hardly have failed
to conclude that here was the potential for making a fortune, and the means of bringing his artistic genius from the background
to the center stage it so richly deserved.

At first he was probably employed by Hunger piecemeal to decorate occasional pieces with the new colors he was developing.
No porcelain from this time decorated by Herold has ever been identified and the genesis of his early technique remains a
mystery. From the outset, however, the young artist's talent was unquestionable and the Vienna factory made incredibly rapid
progress in the art of painting on porcelain. After just one year of production, Vienna had accomplished the unimaginable.
It had not only discovered the secret arcanum for porcelain, it was already gaining ground on Meissen.

But just as full-scale production looked increasingly feasible, financial problems once again threatened the factory's existence.
Becker, the merchant whose initial investment had made the venture possible, now found himself in straitened financial circumstances
and had to stop subsidizing the factory. Desperate for cash to pay wages and secure supplies of materials, du Paquier was
forced to turn elsewhere for help, and a merchant named Balde now became a major investor and partner in the business, buying
out Becker's share.

Stölzel, in the meantime, had reached the end of his tether with du Paquier's unreliability and failure to pay him the money
he had been promised. In a frantic attempt to clear his way to returning to Meissen, Stölzel vowed to Anacker that he had
not in fact divulged any of the secrets of the porcelain arcanum: the compounding he had done was always carried out in secret.
If, therefore, he was offered a pardon and allowed to return to Dresden, the Vienna factory would certainly collapse without
him.

This largely misleading confession prompted Anacker to write to Augustus recommending that Stölzel be taken back into the
Meissen fold. Augustus delightedly agreed, assuring Stölzel that his life would be spared if he returned to Saxony. There
were no promises of a job at Meissen but neither was such a possibility ruled out.

In the spring of 1720, Stölzel, having been paid 50 thalers to cover the cost of his journey by Anacker, was once again on
the run, this time in the opposite direction—fleeing Vienna to seek refuge in Saxony. As added proof that he now had Meissen's
best interests at heart, he resolved to take with him as traveling companion the most talented workman Vienna could offer.
Meissen, he well knew, was still being held back by lack of artistic expertise, and the man whom he invited to accompany him
was the gifted young decorator Johann Gregor Herold.

Even with Herold as his traveling companion Stölzel was still beset by guilt over what he had done and terrified that Augustus
might not keep his word and try to arrest and punish him. The strain of the last year's events had taken a toll on his health
and he now fell seriously ill. Instead of returning directly to Dresden, therefore, he went to the Freiberg home of his old
colleague and friend Pabst von Ohain. Here he recuperated slowly from his illness and waited to see what action Meissen and
Augustus would take. Meanwhile Herold, with a letter of introduction from Stölzel, journeyed on to Meissen to offer his services
as a decorator.

On the night of his flight from Vienna, Stölzel had resolved to make one last grand gesture, to prove to Meissen beyond a
doubt that he was genuinely repentant, to ensure that Vienna would be unable to compete in future with Meissen and to hammer
home to du Paquier the full extent of his disillusionment.

Under cover of darkness, when he knew the factory premises would be deserted, Stölzel crept back into the silent, shadowy
building. The turner and modeler's benches lay bare, ready for the next morning's work. Paste lay ready mixed in a cellar.
The molds stood neatly ranged on open shelves, while elsewhere porcelain was being air-dried, ready for firing in the kiln.

In an act of unmitigated vandalism Stölzel contaminated the porcelain paste he had compounded, rendering it unusable. Moving
on to the modeling rooms where the beautifully fashioned molds awaited the next day's production, he hurled each one to the
floor. Continuing unchecked he turned his attention to the demolition of the kilns. By the time he had finished this orgy
of destruction virtually all the hard-earned materials and equipment of the Vienna factory were reduced to nothing but fragments
of rubble and lumps of useless clay strewn across a workroom floor.

Before finally taking leave of du Paquier's factory, Stölzel concluded his visit by taking with him as many samples of Viennese
porcelain as he could manage, together with all the precious colored enamels that Hunger had invented. Meissen was still having
problems perfecting fired enamels and here was another useful bargaining tool.

As far as Stölzel was concerned the Vienna factory was now annihilated. It was as if the last year had never existed.

One can barely imagine the effect Stölzel's savagery had on the bewildered du Paquier when he confronted it the next day and
realized that along with his stock and equipment he had also lost two key members of staff. Ruin must have seemed inevitable,
for the damage was estimated at 15,000 thalers.

As Stölzel had hoped, Vienna's production came to a complete standstill.

No handycraft can with our art compare
For pots are made of what we potters are.

Potter's motto, anonymous, 18
^th
century

T
he fireworks that carved open the night sky proclaimed a royal marriage to the citizens of Dresden. The formal nuptials of
the Saxon heir apparent, Frederick Augustus, and the emperors niece, Maria Josepha, had taken place at the Favorita Palace,
Vienna, in 1719, after which the newly wed couple, accompanied by a vast and splendidly uniformed entourage, was escorted
to Dresden.

With characteristic ostentation Augustus was determined that the entertainments he staged in the couple's honor would completely
eclipse those Austria had put on. The festivities went on for weeks: orchestras played their most ravishing arrangements,
operatic extravaganzas dazzled, theatrical performances were unrivaled, horse races thrilled vast audiences; citizens watched
spellbound as the court arrived turbaned and clad in Oriental costume for a feast held in Augustus's exotic Turkish Palace;
and a crowd of thousands were entertained by the spectacle of an animal fight in which bulls, boars and stallions ripped one
another to pieces. But among the seemingly endless program of balls, banquets, masquerades and tournaments, the undoubted
pièce de résistance was the extraordinary series of events Augustus staged in honor of seven planetary gods, beginning with
the Festival of the Sun.

Augustus arranged this magnificent ceremony a week after the arrival of the happy couple in Dresden, on September 10, 1719.

The setting was not his primary official residence—the royal castle in the heart of old Dresden—but a far more spectacular
and newly acquired royal palace. For while Böttger had lain at death's door, while Herold had busied himself mastering the
art of painting on porcelain, and while Stölzel pondered longingly on how best to extricate himself from Vienna and return
to Meissen, Augustus had been busy dreaming up plans for the most flamboyant porcelain extravaganza the world had yet seen:
a palace made of porcelain.

The European mania for collecting Oriental porcelain had spawned an extraordinary and fantastical fashion for porcelain rooms.
In such cabinets a veritable confusion of porcelain objects was stuck to the walls, caked upon mirrors, crammed over door
frames and layered over chimney pieces to create a dazzlingly elaborate multipatterned effect.

The fad for porcelain rooms had found particular favor in the luxury-loving courts of Germany. Augustus's much prized dragoon
vases had been housed in a famously elaborate example at Charlottenburg, the Prussian king's summer palace. Another equally
renowned and extravagant porcelain room at the Oranienburg, near Berlin, had columns encrusted with porcelain cups, plate-studded
walls, cornices crammed with row upon row of Oriental vases; and still more choice examples scattered about the room on wall
brackets, shelves, tables and mantelpieces.