The Arcanum (25 page)

In 1741 Löwenfinck was in Fulda, in the Hesse-Nassau province of Prussia, where he was joined by his brother Karl. Here his
decision to abscond must have seemed finally vindicated when he was appointed to the important position of court painter.
Five years later Herold's nightmare seemed about to come true when Löwenfinck moved to Höchst, having convinced the investors
there that he knew the secret of the arcanum and could make porcelain as well as decorate it. At last feeling relatively secure
and prosperous, he married. His wife was Maria Seraphia, the daughter of a porcelain painter and herself a decorator of great
skill.

Like so many others, however, Löwenfinck underestimated the complexities of porcelain-making and was unable to deliver on
his promises. In 1749, after an argument with the investors, he and his wife were on the move again. This final journey was
to Strasbourg, where he stayed until his premature death in 1754 at the age of forty.

Back at Meissen, meanwhile, overzealous guards, draconian punishments and the stringent supervision of outsiders could provide
no defense against the larger dangers of mounting political unrest. As the new decade of the 1740s dawned, it was to be Prussia,
the country that had brought Böttger to Saxony and set in motion the events that had led to the discovery of the porcelain
arcanum, that now also threatened its safety most seriously.

The year 1740 had seen momentous changes in the delicate balance of European power. The Holy Roman Emperor Charles VI of Austria,
who presided over the tapestry of independent German states, had died, to be succeeded, in the absence of any male heir, by
his daughter, the Empress Maria Theresa. In the same year the ruler of one of the most powerful of these German states, Frederick
William of Prussia (1688-1740), had also died and the mantle of power had fallen on his highly intelligent and rapaciously
ambitious son, Frederick II, later to be known as Frederick the Great. From the outset Maria Theresa's accession to the Hapsburg
territories was plagued by controversy, and her claim was challenged by a clutch of formidable opponents, including Frederick
of Prussia and the Elector of Bavaria, not to mention the kings of Spain and Sardinia.

Of these adversaries by far the most threatening was Frederick. His father, known as the soldier king and “drill master of
the Prussian nation,” had expanded Prussia's professional army to 83,000 men, tailored his realm into a spartan militaristic
state and brought his son up under a similarly stern regimen.

It was, of course, an approach to rulership in stark contrast with the excesses of the Saxon court, which the young Frederick
had visited for a month, while a sixteen-year-old prince, in 1728. Dresden had come as a complete revelation to the austerely
raised yet nonetheless artistic, sensual and romantically naive prince. He had mingled with Augustus the Strong's court beauties,
and fallen prey to the seductive charms of at least two of them.

The first object of his affections was the stunning Countess Anna Orzelska, an ebony-haired beauty with a penchant for dressing
up in men's riding clothes. Unfortunately for Frederick, Anna, though one of Augustus's many illegitimate daughters (by a
French milliner), was also at the time his favorite mistress. Incest seems to have presented no moral dilemma at the hedonistic
Saxon court; quite the reverse, for Augustus had been “presented” with his daughter by one of his illegitimate sons, Count
Fredrich Rutowsky, who had also been her lover. The countess, however, appeared to prefer sharing her bed with the languid
young Frederick of Prussia rather than with her rotten-toothed, gout-ridden, aged father, and Augustus, noticing the swing
in her affections, became jealous. Rather than provoke a diplomatic incident he arranged that the prince be seduced one night
after dinner by another specially provided beauty, a dusky opera singer named Formera, who was carried into his room tantalizingly
reclining on a couch, totally naked.

Such decadence was to have unforeseen and unfortunate repercussions. On his return to Berlin, Frederick's health, always frail,
began to deteriorate. According to several biographers, he had caught “an attack of [a] dangerous, insidious disease,” presumably
a venereal infection. Whatever the true nature of the malady, it was to be many months before he was fully restored to health.

When, twelve years later, Frederick acceded to Prussia's throne, the elusive charms of Anna and her riding crop were long
gone from his thoughts. Personal power and a strengthening of Prussia's position in the hierarchy of Europe were uppermost
in his mind. Under his rule the already vast Prussian army was to more than double to 192,000—some 4 percent of the total
Prussian population, at a cost of two thirds of the state revenue. But apart from his obsession with military strength Frederick
was also conscious that his kingdom lagged behind Saxony and France in industrial production, which was needed to generate
revenue for the royal purse—and to pay for its military might.

Along with the excitement of his first sexual liaisons, Frederick's visit to Saxony had also given him ample opportunity to
become enthralled by porcelain, which he noticed everywhere splendidly decorating Augustus's royal palaces. Prussia's main
industries were silk weaving and wool, but if Frederick were to make his kingdom not only the most powerful but also the most
glorious in Europe a porcelain manufactory of his own would be essential.

Frederick rarely failed to grasp at opportunity when it presented itself; “man is made to act” was to become one of the underlying
tenets of his life. The death of the Austrian emperor and the question mark that loomed over his daughter's right to the throne
gave Frederick the chance he had been waiting for to increase his territories. In the year of his accession he marched his
vast and splendidly trained army into Silesia, the most fertile and abundant in natural resources of all Austria's lands.
This act of unmitigated aggression marked the start of the Silesian Wars, which were to rage on and off for nearly twenty-five
years.

In Dresden, meanwhile, the Saxon hold over Poland had become increasingly tenuous since the death of Augustus the Strong,
who had died without managing to establish Saxony's hereditary right to the Polish crown. Stanislas Lesczynski, the father-in-law
of Louis XV of France, had won the election to the throne and Augustus had only managed to regain his Polish territory through
the support of Russia and Austria.

Brühl now persuaded Augustus that his hold over Poland would be more secure if Saxony could forge a land link with Poland—at
present Prussian and Austrian dominions separated Saxony from the Polish kingdom. So when Frederick marched on Silesia, Augustus,
rather than siding with Austria, to which he was bound by treaty, joined Prussia, along with Bavaria and France, in the hope
that by so doing he would make territorial gain.

Frederick emerged victorious. His opportunistic war culminated in the Peace of Breslau, in which Austria was forced out of
Silesia by Prussia. Charles Albert of Bavaria also prospered from the conflict, usurping the Austrian empress and having himself
elected as Emperor Charles VII in her stead. Augustus, however, despite the vast sums expended and the backing he had given
Frederick, reaped no rewards whatsoever.

Disgruntled at this humiliating failure, he made an abrupt about-face in his allegiance. Again following imprudent guidance
from Brühl, he allied his kingdom with Austrian interests. A year later simmering tensions again yielded to open hostility.
This time, Frederick, furious at Brühl's political vacillations, marched an army of sixty thousand Prussian troops southward
into Saxony.

By August 19, 1744, Frederick's columns of soldiers were making serious incursions into the Saxon heartland. Saxon defenses
were easily weakened to the point where Frederick, taking time off from the battlefield, was able to enter Meissen unopposed
to visit the factory that he had long yearned to possess, and now planned to move in its entirety to Berlin. For virtually
the first time in its existence, the Saxon guards found themselves powerless to resist an interloper. Frederick inspected
the innermost sanctums of the factory. With the vast Prussian army camped within easy reach of the town's outskirts, no one
dared stop him.

During the months that followed, Frederick's fortunes faltered when Bohemia, an ally of Saxony, forced his invading forces
to retreat to Silesia. Undeterred, Frederick retaliated, and eventually triumphed over the allied armies that opposed him.
By 1745 he was again storming Saxon territory, and, while the situation on the battlefields deteriorated, the Meissen administrators
were forced to acknowledge that Frederick had almost certainly set his inexorable sights on the town of Meissen as a strategic
base from which to attack Dresden as well as a lucrative war trophy. By November 1745 the news reaching the Meissen commissioners
had worsened still further—every report from the battlefield agreed that the Prussian invasion of Meissen was now imminent.

As the gravity of the impending situation struck home, orders were given to take the most drastic steps imaginable to prevent
the secret of porcelain falling into enemy hands. The enameling kilns were to be destroyed, the grinding machines taken apart,
and all the paste and compounded enamels concealed.

With all possible speed these instructions were carried out. The workers were sent home on full pay and production ground
to a standstill. Meanwhile key members of the staff—the kiln workers, compounders and arcanists, among them Kaendler and Herold,
who were deemed most vulnerable to Frederick's interest in porcelain—were moved to Dresden for safekeeping. Only a handful
of officials remained in the castle to guard the stock and to wait in terror for the Prussians to arrive.

The precautions came not a moment too soon. Five days later, on December 12, a spearhead detachment of Prussians arrived bristling
with weapons at the Meissen bridge over the Elbe. There was nothing the helpless inhabitants could do to defend themselves.
After the town's official surrender a solitary envoy and a guardsman were dispatched up the hill to officially take possession
of the factory on behalf of the Prussian king. As dusk fell forty thousand troops flooded up the narrow Meissen streets, a
large contingent swarming through the factory gates. Thirty guards were posted outside the storeroom and strict royal orders
were given that there was to be no indiscriminate looting; the porcelain was to be saved for the king, or for authorized gifts
to key military personnel.

Frederick himself set up headquarters in the town, taking up residence in the house of the town chamberlain, von Hachenberg.
His stay gave him ample opportunity to examine the factory more closely, and though he must have been disappointed to find
that production had stopped, this did not prevent him from trying to lure as many workers as he could to Berlin.

Three days later, on an exposed and swampy plain six miles southwest of Dresden, in piercingly cold conditions, the Saxon
army's final annihilation took place at the battle of Kesseldorf. Ironically, among those opposing the Saxon soldiers on the
battlefield were the porcelain soldiers—the regiment of dragoons that Augustus the Strong had so rashly traded with Frederick's
father in return for the exquisite collection of Kangxi porcelain for his Japanese Palace.

Frederick's army came close to defeat, his first assault incurring huge losses. He emerged victorious late in the day, when
the Saxons' attack blocked their own artillery and exposed them to Frederick's still lethal army. The casualties on both sides
were heavy. Some 1,700 Prussians were killed and 3,000 wounded, while on the Saxon side 3,800 were killed and wounded. The
scene after the battle was one of utter devastation. The frozen ground was covered with trampled snow, and burying the bodies
proved impossible. Many of the seriously wounded were taken to the Albrechtsburg, which was requisitioned as a military hospital.
A stream of casualties was transported to the castle loaded on rough wooden carts. Harrowing cries reverberated through the
vaulted halls as surgeons amputated shattered limbs with no anesthetics and only the most primitive of medical equipment.

In the battle's chaotic aftermath, the normally stringent guard on the stockroom was momentarily breached. A cluster of disaffected,
battle-weary Prussian soldiers, finding their way to the stores and refusing to turn back empty-handed, took up arms against
the guards at the door and managed to loot or destroy much of its valuable contents.

Fortunately, however, under orders from Frederick, Prussian officials had already set about examining, listing and packing
the booty in the factory stockroom. Even before the battle's outcome was known, choice pieces had been commandeered by Frederick,
who, desperately short of revenue to fund his army, fully realized the money they would bring. Plates, dishes, cups and vessels
in a gratifyingly large range of designs were discovered. There were wares decorated with landscape vignettes, others with
molded decorations as well as a plethora of Kaendler's figures, animals and birds. The porcelain had begun to be carefully
packed in wooden cases padded with wool, hay, moss and dried thistle flowers. The train of ox carts laden with porcelain began
the long journey back to the palaces of Prussia in icy conditions on December 22.

Two days before the consignment was ready to leave, Frederick revealed his satisfaction at this prize, writing to his chamberlain
in Berlin: “I send you six or eight carriages with porcelain addressed to you. Find out when they will arrive in the Garden
Dresner Strasse with an escort of four
Jaegers;
and to avoid publicity, have them unloaded in Charlottenburg, but do not unpack before I come.”

In all, Frederick was able to help himself to fifty-two cases of Meissen's finest wares. About half the acquisitions were
destined for his own use; the rest were sold and raised a considerable sum. The porcelain that was left remained locked and
guarded in the stockroom at Meissen, and one by one the pieces were distributed as gifts to Frederick's battle heroes.