p. 67Chapter III — The 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 2500l., 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.