The Arcanum (8 page)

As autumn yielded to winter his now compulsive quest for the porcelain arcanum continued apace, with increasingly encouraging
results. Even the king was infected by the mounting excitement and kept closely in touch with progress.

The turning point came as the new year of 1708 dawned. A handwritten sheet in Böttger's eccentric mixture of Latin and German,
dated January 15, 1708, recorded a list of seven recipes:

N 1 clay only

N 2 clay and alabaster in the ratio of 4:1

N 3 clay and alabaster in the ratio of 5:1

N 4 clay and alabaster in the ratio of 6:1

N 5 clay and alabaster in the ratio of 7:1

N 6 clay and alabaster in the ratio of 8:1

N 7 clay and alabaster in the ratio of 9:1

The results of the test firings were more startling than even he had dared hope. After five hours in the kiln, Böttger records,
the first sample had a white appearance; the second and third had collapsed; the fourth remained in shape but looked discolored.
The last three held him spellbound.

These small, insignificant-looking plaques had withstood the searing heat of the kiln; they had remained in shape and intact.
More important they were “
album et pellucidatum
” —white and translucent. In the dank, squalid laboratory the twenty-seven-year-old Böttger had succeeded where everyone else
had failed. The arcanum for porcelain for which all Europe had searched now lay within his grasp.

Allons à cette porcelaine,

Sa beauté m'invite, m'entraine.

Elle vient du monde nouveau,

L'on ne peut rien voir de plus beau.

Qu'elle a d'attraits, qu'elle est fine!

Elle est native de la Chine.

Embarras de la Foire de Beaucaire en vers burlesque,
1716

B
öttger viewed his great discovery with ambivalence. On the one hand there was the undoubted satisfaction of having solved
the elusive porcelain mystery, on the other a sense of failure that the arcanum for gold still eluded him, and that his scientific
brilliance should be wasted on such mundane research. In a characteristically self-mocking moment he scratched above the door
to his laboratory: “God the Creator has made a potter from a gold-maker.” The words, though no longer visible, have remained
in popular legend as ironic testimony to his momentous discovery ever since.

Once the gratifying sense of success had passed he also realized that his achievement posed as many questions as it answered,
and marked no more than the starting point in a laborious journey of discovery. Was the substance he had created stable enough
to be fashioned into works of art as fine as those of the Orient? Could a glaze of sufficient brilliancy be found?

Through the spring and summer of 1708 Böttger persisted with his testings of mixtures of clays and other minerals, rigorously
observing and recording the effects of heat on the various substances. By June, experimentation with various pottery and stoneware
recipes was so successful that Tschirnhaus was able to found a manufactory where earthenware pottery or faience, in the manner
of the potters of Delft, was to be made. This factory, based in the Neustadt district of Dresden, was to be run by two potters
from Brunswick: Christoph Ruhle and his stepson Gerhard von Malcem, under the direction of Tschirnhaus and Böttger. The idea
behind its foundation was partly to demonstrate the commercial value of Böttger's work, but, equally important, to give him
access to skilled craftsmen: potters, glazers and decorators who would be essential in order to establish a porcelain business.

Tragically, however, as success beckoned, the health of Böttger's staunchest ally failed. Tschirnhaus, the older scientist
who had kindled respect and affection in the captive Böttger, his assistants and even the king, fell gravely ill with dysentery,
presumably contracted from infected water or food. His worsening condition placed an added strain on the already severely
taxed Böttger and his colleagues. While experiments continued during the day, Böttger passed nights in silent vigil at the
bedside of Tschirnhaus. Augustus was also deeply moved by the news of Tschirnhaus's illness and asked to be kept informed
of events, sending Bartholmäi, the court physician, to visit him with his most effective remedies. But despite these efforts,
at midnight on October 11, 1708, Tschirnhaus died.

Even Augustus mourned his passing. This statesmanlike scientist had helped the king to realize his dream of encouraging Saxon
industry as well as being responsible for introducing to Dresden some of the most advanced philosophical and scientific theories
of his age. To Böttger, Tschirnhaus had been a father figure, mentor and friend, offering crucial protection from the kings
wrath on more than one occasion. Now that even this slender defense had fallen Böttger was more vulnerable than ever to the
royal whim. His research provided both solace from grief and the only way of now keeping Augustus at bay. So work continued.

The rudimentary kilns constructed in the Jungfernbastei had proved incapable of producing the heat necessary to fire anything
larger than simple tiles of porcelain. The new bigger one was now ready for use, but this too was problematic. Wildenstein
recorded: “We couldn't manage to make a strong fire in the new kiln; all our toil was fruitless and the fire remained weak.
While it was burning, we had to make the fire walls sometimes higher, sometimes lower, but it was no use until we finally
discovered the fault in the casing. The coals wouldn't burn all the way down, so we had to pull them out every thirty minutes.”

For six days and nights he and the other men worked “like cattle” despite the subhuman conditions in which they remained incarcerated.
The vaulted chambers of the laboratories were poorly ventilated by small windows—as a defense in medieval times against enemy
incursions—and despite the chimneys into which the furnaces were built the heat in the room became so stiflingly intense that
the men's hair was scorched. Shoes offered scant protection against the searingly hot stone floor that blistered their feet.
Wildenstein recalled that as the furnace continued to rage the very fabric of the vault that contained it threatened to collapse.
Lumps of rendering and plaster turned silver in the heat and began falling from the ceilings in large molten fragments. Stones
loosened from the rendering exploded like bullets into the vault and littered the floor. Smoke from the furnace mingled with
the moisture-laden atmosphere, filling the rooms with noxious fumes. It was barely possible to breathe, and the sweat pouring
from the brows of the men congealed the soot and dirt staining their faces and fell into their eyes, partially blinding them.

Böttger, sensing success and perhaps numbed by sorrow after Tschirnhaus's death, seemed impervious to mere physical discomfort.
Demonically he drove his assistants on. As the days and nights passed and the furnace continued to gorge itself on fuel, the
heat within it rose. Pungent gray smoke belched out of the inadequately ventilated kiln. The whole smoldering building looked
as if it might break into flames at any moment. City officials became increasingly concerned at the threat to nearby buildings.
The laboratory was beneath a wooden pleasure pavilion and orangery. It would be scandalous if everything went up in flames
as an entertainment for the Saxon court was in progress. The Dresden guards were put on standby, hosing down the exterior
walls, while inside the men still fed the flames and the furnace burned on.

The king had told Böttger that he wanted to see for himself the progress at the laboratory as soon as the kiln had reached
the correct temperature. As the wood in the kiln began to burn more steadily word was sent to the palace that the time was
auspicious.

Arriving at the vaults with Prince von Fürstenberg, Augustus entered a hellish scene. The heat in the room was unbearable,
but before they could turn back, Böttger, his face and clothes blackened with soot and sweat, greeted them and led them to
the kiln. According to Wildenstein's colorful account, “The Baron [Böttger] ordered that we stop the fire for a time and open
the kiln, whereupon the Prince repeatedly said ‘O Jesus,’ but the King laughed and said to him, ‘Indeed it is not purgatory.’
Then as the kiln was opened and everything glowed white so that one could not see anything, the King looked inside and called
to the Prince saying, ‘Look, Egon, they say that porcelain is in there!’” At first neither could see beyond the glare of the
blaze, but with the door of the kiln open the heat within subsided slightly and began to glow red. Now the royal party could
just pick out the fire clay boxes known as saggers in which the porcelain was cased before firing to protect it from the flames
of the furnace. Wildenstein was ordered to show a sample of the contents to the king. He removed a sagger and opened it to
reveal a small teapot still glowing red with the heat of the furnace. Böttger quickly stepped forward, picked up the pot with
a pair of tongs and threw it into a nearby bucket of water. According to Wildenstein's account, the exposure to such extremes
of temperature caused the submerged pot to effervesce and a loud explosion reverberated through the vault. “It's broken,”
said Augustus, but Böttger replied, “No, Your Majesty, it must stand this test.” He then rolled up his sleeves, removed the
pot from the water and handed it to the king. Astonishingly, the pot had remained intact although the glaze was imperfect.
The king, suitably impressed by what he saw, ordered Böttger to put the pot back in the kiln and instructed that until firing
was complete and the kiln perfectly cool no one should open it. He wanted to be the first to witness the results of this firing
and would attend the opening himself.

A few days later Augustus returned and the kiln was opened for examination. Inside were several pieces of white unglazed porcelain
and red stoneware, which Böttger and his associates called red porcelain. The king took away with him the teapot he had seen
in mid-firing. Satisfied with the progress made so far, he became suddenly more concerned at the plight of Böttger and the
others and, turning to Böttger, commented on the appalling conditions in which the men worked.

“My men will do anything for Your Majesty,” Böttger said with feeling, probably wondering as he did so if this was the appropriate
moment to ask for his freedom.

“Then they shall have my blessing and their livelihood.” The king was well satisfied with Böttger's achievement and in an
unusually munificent frame of mind. Soon after, a consignment of new clothes was delivered to the vault to replace the charred,
unwashed rags in which the alchemist and his helpers had slept and worked for months. From now on each was paid a modest salary,
but apart from these small concessions working conditions remained as dire as before.

Böttger's experiments continued for another year, and it was not until March 28, 1709, that he felt confident enough to write
to the king declaring himself able to make “fine white porcelain together with the very finest glaze and painting as good
as that of the Chinese, if not better.” He was ready to go into full-scale production. Porcelain, he suggested, was itself
a form of gold, and since he had found a way of making such a priceless treasure for the benefit of the king, he had fulfilled
his promises and should be granted his freedom.

Böttger's assertion was characteristically optimistic and, as usual, economical with the truth. Although by now he had undoubtedly
discovered the arcanum for a fine porcelain body, he was still nowhere close to surpassing the porcelain of the Chinese. A
large proportion of the pieces fired did not withstand the intense heat and were lost. His glazes were still far from the
brilliancy and clarity of Chinese porcelain, while underglaze blue and colored enamels were as yet undeveloped. To Böttger,
however, these seemed minor difficulties, easily overcome compared with those he had already surmounted. Given time, enough
skilled workmen and enough investment, he would solve them.

But the king was not to be easily steamrolled into financing a porcelain factory, or into granting Böttger his freedom. He
had already spent a fortune on his gold-making experiments, and so far had seen nothing in return. In response to the request
for freedom, Augustus therefore replied that the alchemist would not be free until he found the formula for gold. Starting
from December 1, 1709, he expected to be paid 50 ducats a month, until the 60 million thalers in gold Böttger had once promised
was repaid. Until then he would remain a prisoner of the king.

In the meantime Augustus pondered on how best to capitalize on the alchemist's invention of porcelain. Though always lavish
in his spending on personal luxuries, Augustus was often surprisingly cautious when it came to investing in the industries
that he wanted to restore Saxon fortunes. Developments in porcelain-making so far had pleased him, it was true, but he was
not convinced that Böttger was ready to start a full-scale manufactory, which would doubtless require yet more investment
from the royal purse. Before he would sanction such an enterprise he wanted to know more about its viability. Where would
the clay come from? How would it be transported? Would Böttger's porcelain be more expensive than that of the East? What sort
of pieces would he make? And above all, how would they ensure that the arcanum remained secret?