The Arcanum (22 page)

As if the mounting friction between the hapless Kirchner, the factory workers and his royal patron were not enough, there
were also huge technical problems to overcome. The porcelain paste in its usual form was ill suited to making such large objects,
and cracks and faults were commonplace. Stölzel tried to help by modifying the composition and developed a more granular mixture,
in which sand was added to the paste, but still it was usually riddled with firing faults and, because of its instability,
impossible to decorate with fired enamels.

Within months of Kirchner's arrival at Meissen the strain had taken its inevitable toll. Desperate to escape the constant
barrage of criticism and scorn, he began to disappear from work and seek solace in local taverns and brothels. Before long
he had contracted such severe venereal disease that he had to ask the authorities to allow him four weeks' leave. While treatment
was still under way the commission decided that Kirchner's progress and his lifestyle were so unsatisfactory that he must
be dismissed. The wretched sculptor, probably feeling a certain relief when informed of this decision, left Meissen as quickly
as possible and found work as a stone carver at the court of the Duke of Weimar.

In February 1728, a month before Kirchner's ignominious departure, the commission had taken on another supremely self-assured
sculptor by the name of Johann Christoph Lücke. Trained as a carver in ivory, Lücke came from a long line of specialist craftsmen,
and had recently returned from travels through Europe. He was, he said, an expert at sculpting in all manner of different
materials and the numerous studies and sketches he had made on his travels would provide him with a fertile source of innovative
designs.

So impressed by his confidence were the commission that they immediately employed him as a master sculptor and set him to
work. But the outcome was similarly disastrous. It soon became clear that Lücke was no better than Kirchner when it came to
modeling in clay or wood. Moreover, despite his claims to be an experienced designer, he had such difficulty in drawing designs
that his assistants said they were impossible to work from. He also quickly became the butt of numerous workshop jokes and,
realizing the hopelessness of the situation, a year after his arrival the commission unceremoniously sacked him.

Things were now so desperate that the factory supervisor, Reinhardt, began talks to secure the return of Kirchner, who was
now happily settled in Weimar and, presumably having made a good recovery from his illness, newly married. Not surprisingly,
when the first overtures were made Kirchner was reluctant to endure the ordeal of working at Meissen again. Eventually he
was persuaded by a royal order demanding his return, coupled with the temptation of being appointed to the position of model
master, in charge of all the Meissen modelers—a role in which he could exact revenge for the insults he had suffered a year
before.

But while the negotiations for Kirchner's return were still under way the frustrated Augustus had noticed another possible
candidate for the job of chief modeler closer to home.

One of the most spectacular suites in Augustus's primary residence, the Royal Castle in Dresden, was the so-called Green Vault,
a treasure chamber originally created in the sixteenth century by Augustus's forebear, the Duke of Moritz. The duke had constructed
a series of four rooms with meter-thick walls, iron gates, vaulted ceilings and walls painted emerald green as a secure place
in which to store his riches. Augustus had greatly added to this treasury and, in his perpetual quest for recognition as Europe's
most splendid ruler, decided to expand the rooms, redecorate them and open them to visitors so that they could admire the
extraordinary array of objects he had inherited or assembled. The rooms he planned were to be color-coordinated and the displays
arranged according to the material from which the treasures were made. He would cram them with precious ivory and amber, silver,
gold, lapis lazuli, agate, nautilus, shell, coc-de-mer, ostrich eggs and rock crystal. The final pièce de résistance was to
be the jewel room, in which would be displayed the dazzling royal gems, together with Dinglinger's great cabinet masterpieces,
including a massive solid gold coffee service studded with thousands of diamonds, and the extraordinary silver, gold and jeweled
centerpiece known as
The Birthday of the Grand Mogul.

The Green Vault was in effect intended to be the first ever museum of applied arts, but rather than adopt an academic approach
to the display of his treasures, Augustus with typical ostentation decided to present them as a theatrical showpiece. Each
room was decorated and arranged to look more spectacular than the next, so that by the end of their tour visitors would be
utterly awestruck by the status and power of the monarch who owned the priceless contents. It is a mark of Augustus's extraordinary
foresight that his vault, at present on view in the Albertinium in Dresden, still dazzles and delights the thousands of visitors
who troop through its reconstructed rooms every day.

During his regular tours of inspection to view the progress of the new decorations, Augustus's eye fell upon court sculptor
Benjamin Thomae's young assistant, who was occupied with the task of carving console tables and show cabinets. The brilliance
of his carving and the speed at which he worked was immediately outstanding.

Preoccupied by his need for a modeler at Meissen, Augustus began to make some inquiries about this unusually gifted young
craftsman. His name was Johann Joachim Kaendler. Born on June 15, 1706, he came not from a family of artisans or craftsmen
but, unexpectedly, from a well-educated clerical background. Kaendler's father, a pastor, had noticed that from an early age
his son showed a marked aptitude for artistic pursuits and a fascination with the legends of antiquity. Young Johann Joachim
was of pleasant appearance and demeanor, with a round intelligent face, a mischievous smile and an affable manner. When he
professed a yearning for an artistic career rather than a desire to follow his father into the Church, his family did nothing
to stand in his way. Kaendler's forebears had once worked as stonemasons, and when one considered the massive sums currently
being spent by the king on buildings and artistic works in the capital it must have seemed a field ripe with opportunity.
So Kaendler's father apprenticed his talented son to the leading sculptor of the Dresden court, Benjamin Thomae, under whose
watchful eye, as Augustus had seen, he progressed at a prodigious pace, quickly outstripping his peers in imaginative and
technical skills.

But would he be talented enough to solve the modeling problems at Meissen? Augustus was eager to find out, and under royal
command Kaendler was asked to work temporarily at Meissen, along with Kirchner. He reported to the Albrechtsburg as soon as
his work on the Green Vault was completed, in June 1731.

In order to avoid conflict and petty jealousies between the two men, Kaendler was set to work in a completely separate part
of the factory. The two were to tackle similar tasks but to remain as independent of one another as possible. Like Kirchner
and Lücke, Kaendler had never worked with porcelain before, but in contrast with the difficulties they had encountered he
took to the new medium with prodigious ease. His easy charm quickly won over Stölzel, who probably advised him about the fundamental
technical constraints of the material. Within a matter of weeks he had his first success: a large eagle nearly two meters
high with outspread wings for the king's porcelain menagerie. It was based on a heraldic design but filled with movement,
naturalism and drama. Seeing it for the first time Augustus was enchanted. Here at last was someone who both understood his
vision and had the skill to realize it.

On the king's order Kaendler was employed with the title of “model master” at a starting salary of 400 thalers a year. Both
Kirchner and Kaendler now had the same title, but Kirchner was nominally senior. When, later, he found out that he was being
paid nearly 100 thalers a year less than Kaendler he complained bitterly of the injustice to the authorities, who were forced
to increase his pay. But the favoritism rankled, particularly as Kaendler proceeded at incredible speed to produce an amazing
array of animals, objects and statues. Within the space of a year, apart from the eagle, he had successfully created two life-sized
ospreys, a sea eagle, an owl, a hawk and a heron, as well as a statue of Saint Peter for the chapel.

Kirchner was left far behind. In 1733, disgruntled and embittered, he finally left the factory of his own accord. The authorities
had no regrets. Kaendler had proved that he would easily be able to carry the responsibility of being modeler-in-chief alone,
and to supervise the modelers working under his direction. Without Kirchner the problems of conflict and rivalry would be
neatly eliminated.

Unfortunately they overlooked the fact that court commissioner Herold, ten years older than Kaendler and in overall charge
of the entire factory, had also taken exception to the ease with which the sculptor had ingratiated himself with the king
and the establishment. Kaendler's sculptural style threatened the importance of his paintings, and his novel ideas might call
into question Herold's supremacy. In order to safeguard his own position Herold determined to thwart Kaendler whenever possible.

The two titans of the porcelain world were about to collide.

The Porcelain Wars

The King found himself in a declining State several Years. During the last Dyet at Grodno, a Mortification seiz'd his Foot;
for which reason, M. de Petit, a Surgeon at Paris, whom the King sent for on purpose, cut off two toes, and set his Majesty
upon his Legs again, but told him withal, he must observe such a Regimen as he prescrib'd to him, or else it would break out
again. But the King finding himself better, neglected Petit's Advice, and died of the Mortification, as the Surgeon had foretold.

B
ARON
C
ARL
L
UDWIG VON
P
OELLNITZ,
Memoirs,
1737

I
n the autumn of 1732, Augustus left his royal castle in the heart of old Dresden to survey the building work still in progress
at the Japanese Palace. Now aged sixty-two, he was probably carried there in the comfort of a sedan chair padded with crimson
velvet and chased with gold, for the excesses of his dissolute life had taken their inevitable toll.

Augustus was no longer the dynamic and athletic figure he had once been. His muscular physique had become bloated by an excess
of wine and rich food, his legs were inflamed with abscesses and swollen by gout, and a hunting accident several years earlier
had resulted in his surgeon having to amputate two of his toes. His demeanor nonetheless remained striking. His jawline might
now be heavily jowled but he retained a “majestic presence,” according to Wilhelmina, the nineteen-year-old Prussian princess
who met him during a visit to Berlin in 1728—although one suspects she might have thought differently had she known that plans
were secretly in hand to marry her to the aging roué. Her brother Frederick, heir to the Prussian throne (and later to be
known as Frederick the Great) was also struck by the king—remarking not only his “very heavy eyebrows and a slight pug nose,”
but also that he was “polite to everybody and has considerable urbanity,” even though he was “difficult to understand, particularly
as he has lost so many teeth.” (One wonders whether he ever ordered a false set from his porcelain-makers—they are known to
have turned their hands to producing such oddities on occasion.)

Frederick also remarked that even at this advanced stage in his life the king “dances and does other things, just like a young
man.” Augustus's sexual prowess, as well as his lust for the good things in life, was to remain with him to the last.