The Arcanum Read online

  Copyright

  Copyright © 1998 by Janet Gleeson

  All rights reserved.

  Warner Books, Inc.

  Hachette Book Group

  237 Park Avenue

  New York, NY 10017

  Visit our website at www.HachetteBookGroup.com

  First eBook Edition: September 2009

  ISBN: 978-0-446-56479-3

  For Paul, Lucy,

  Annabel and James

  Contents

  Copyright

  Introduction

  Part One: The Arcanist

  Chapter One: The Fugitive

  Chapter Two: Transmutation or Illusion

  Chapter Three: The Royal Captor

  Chapter Four: The China Mystery

  Chapter Five: Refuge in Despair

  Chapter Six: The Threshold of Discovery

  Chapter Seven: The Flames Of Chance

  Chapter Eight: White gold

  Chapter Nine: The Price of Freedom

  Part Two: The Rivals

  Chapter One: Shadows of Death

  Chapter Two: The Porcelain Palace

  Chapter Three: Deception

  Chapter Four: Crossed Swords

  Chapter Five: Scandal and Rebirth

  Chapter Six: A Fantasy universe

  Part Three: The Porcelain Wars

  Chapter One: The Last Journey

  Chapter Two: The Porcelain Soldiers

  Chapter Three: Visions of Life

  Chapter Four: The Final defeat

  Chapter Five: The Arcanum

  Postscript

  Sources

  Bibliography

  Acknowledgments

  Introduction

  Let me tell you further that in this province, in a city called Tinju, they make bowls of porcelain, large and small, of incomparable beauty. They are made nowhere else except in this city; from here they are exported all over the world. These dishes are made of a crumbly earth or clay which is dug as though from a mine and stacked in huge mounds and then left for thirty or forty years exposed to wind, rain, and sun. By this time the earth is so refined that dishes made of it are of an azure tint with a very brilliant sheen. You must understand that when a man makes a mound of this earth he does so for his children.

  MARCO POLO, Description of the World

  It all began with gold. Three centuries ago when this story begins there were two great secrets to which men of learning longed to find the key. The first was almost as old as civilization itself: the quest for the arcanum or secret formula for the philosopher's stone, a mysterious substance believed to have the power to turn base metal into gold and make men immortal. The second, less esoteric but no less desired, was the arcanum for making porcelain—one of the most coveted and costly forms of art—gold in the form of clay.

  When the first steady trickle of Oriental porcelain began to reach Europe in the cargoes of Portuguese traders, kings and connoisseurs were instantly mesmerized by its translucent brilliance. As glossy as the richly colored silks with which the ships were laden, as flawlessly white as the spray which broke over their bows on their long treacherous journeys, this magical substance was so eggshell fine that you could hold it to the sun and see daylight through it, so perfect that if you tapped it a musical note would resound. Nothing made in Europe could compare.

  Porcelain rapidly metamorphosed into an irresistible symbol of prestige, power and good taste. It was sold by jewelers and goldsmiths, who adorned it with mounts exquisitely fashioned from gold or silver and studded with precious jewels, to be displayed in every well-appointed palace and mansion. Everywhere, china mania ruled. While the demand for the precious cargo inexorably mushroomed, so too did the prices for prime pieces. The money spent on acquiring porcelain multiplied alarmingly, fortunes were squandered, families ruined, and China became Europe's bleeding bowl. Gradually it dawned on sundry ambitious princelings and entrepreneurs that if they could only find a way to make true porcelain themselves this massive flow of cash to the Far East could be diverted to their coffers and they would be preeminent among their peers. So the hunt began.

  Samples of clays were gathered, travelers' tales of how Chinese porcelain was supposedly made were dissected and analyzed. Ground glass was added in an effort to produce translucence; sand, bones, shells and even talcum powder were mixed in to give pure whiteness, myriad different recipes for pastes and glazes tested. All was to no avail until, in 1708, after lengthy experiments in a squalid dungeon, a disgraced young alchemist who thought he could make gold discovered the formula for porcelain, and Europe's first porcelain factory, at Meissen, was born.

  As in some enthralling fairy tale, the manufacture of porcelain was spawned by the age-old superstition that it was possible to find a magical way to create gold, but it was also, ironically, a technological breakthrough that represented one of the first major successes of analytical chemistry and the start of one of the earliest great manufacturing industries of Europe. Even the Chinese were eventually obliged to acknowledge Meissen's ascendancy and began copying its designs. It remains to this day the most outstanding ceramic manufacturer of all time.

  This is the incredible but true story of the lives of the three men who solved one of the great mysteries of their day and made porcelain to outshine that of the Orient: Johann Frederick Böttger, the alchemist who searched for gold and found porcelain, but ultimately paid for the discovery with his life; Johann Gregor Herold, the relentlessly ambitious artist who developed colors and patterns of unparalleled brilliance, exploiting numerous talented underlings as he did so; and Johann Joachim Kaendler, the virtuoso sculptor who used the porcelain Meissen made to invent a new form of art. It is also the story of the unimaginable treachery and greed that this discovery engendered; of a ruthlessly ambitious, spendthrift king, whose appetite for sensual pleasure included an insatiable desire for porcelain; and of the cutthroat industrial espionage, eighteenth-century style, that threatened the security of the arcanum.

  Nearly three centuries later, porcelain no longer rules the hearts and minds of leading scientists, potentates and philosophers. For most of us china does not represent a peerless treasure but something easily bought from a department store, given as a wedding present or casually admired in a shop window: a familiar accoutrement of everyday life. These days, as we lay our tables for dinner, raise a cup of coffee to our lips or rearrange the figures on a mantelpiece, it is scarcely remembered that virtually every piece of china in some way owes a debt to the endeavors of these extraordinary men—or that porcelain was once more precious than gold.

  Part One

  The Arcanist

  Chapter One

  The Fugitive

  What better in all the world than that divine stone of the Chymists, yet men in the achieving of it, doe commonly hazard both their braines and subsistence, and in case they come neer an end, it is a very good escape their glasses bee not melted or broken, or evill spirits, as Flamell admonishes, does not through envy blinde their eys, and spoile all the worke.

  JOHN HALL, Paradoxes of Nature, 1650

  Escape was the only alternative. He had failed to fulfill his promise to the king and his life now hung in the balance. On June 21, 1703, a dark-haired twenty-one-year-old prisoner gave the slip to his unsuspecting guards, stole from the confines of his castle prison and found his way to the meeting place, where his accomplice waited with a horse ready harnessed for a journey to freedom.

  With a hastily murmured farewell and scarcely a backward glance, the fugitive mounted his horse and fled speedily through Dresden's narrow medieval streets. Passing through the fortified city gates and across the bridge traversing the wide span of the river Elbe, he hastened through the towns jumbled, dilapidated suburbs and then out onto the fertile plains surrounding Saxony's capital city. Only once before had he glimpsed the lush panorama of fields filled with grain, flax, tobacco and hops, and the vineyards laden with ripening grapes. That had been nearly two years before on his heavily guarded journey to captivity. Ever since, he had been haunted by the fear that he would never be free to see it again.

  As he rode southward the terrain became increasingly contoured and the roads more perilous. Rutted by spring rains and the wheels of heavy wagons, the route wended its way toward a precipitous mountain pass skirting narrow ravines. But still the fugitive sped on, spurred by the certainty that as soon as his disappearance was noticed a search party of soldiers would be dispatched to recapture him. One did not escape the king easily, and success depended on the lead he could gain before they followed. If he was recaptured the penalty would almost certainly be torture and death.

  The name of this daredevil fugitive was Johann Frederick Böttger. At the time of his desperate escape he had been held as a prisoner of Augustus II, King of Poland and Elector of Saxony, for nearly two years. The cause of his incarceration was neither murder, nor theft, nor treason, merely his proclaimed belief that he was close to discovering the secret that virtually every European monarch craved: the formula or arcanum for the philosopher's stone, the magical compound that would turn base metal into gold. Augustus yearned to be the first to find someone who could unlock that mystery, and he was not about to let a man who had promised to supply him with limitless wealth escape his clutches. Böttger had vowed to make gold and had failed to provide it. He could not expect to be shown mercy.

  Viewed from our comfortably superior twentieth-century perspective, the notion that, by means of little more than the simplest laboratory equipment, some assorted ingredients and a few mystical word
s, any base metal might be transmuted into gold seems unquestionably absurd. We now know that the only way one element can be changed into another is by harnessing the might of nuclear technology and showering it with neutrons in a nuclear reactor. Even then the amount of gold that could be produced in such a way would be infinitesimal compared with the energy and cost expended. But however far-fetched such a concept now seems, transmutation—the ability to change one metal into another more valuable one—still obsessed men of learning and power in the Europe of Augustus's day.

  The elusive philosopher's stone had been the holy grail of alchemists since the birth of the art in the ancient civilizations of Mesopotamia, India, China and Egypt. It had subsequently flourished in ancient Greece and in the Arabic-speaking world; Arabic texts were in turn translated into Latin, and by the Middle Ages belief in alchemy had pervaded the whole of Europe.

  By the late seventeenth century, despite the dawning age of enlightenment and the huge advances being made in scientific discovery, the theory of the philosopher's stone remained by and large undimmed. Far from being seen as a remnant of medieval superstition, it was still viewed seriously even by the fathers of modern scientific theory: Robert Boyle, the first chemist to collect gases and formulate a law governing their pressure and mass, and Sir Isaac Newton, the founder of modern physics, were both fascinated by alchemy.

  The theory was rooted in the way early thinkers believed that the world functioned. According to Aristotle, on whose theories much European alchemy was based, all earthly matter was composed of four elements—air, water, fire and earth. Arabic alchemists, whose word alkimia christened the art, thought that metals were composed of various combinations of sulfur and mercury. The yellower the metal the more sulfur it must contain; hence, they reasoned, gold must be laden with sulfur, while silver would contain mainly mercury.

  Mysticism and religion were also intertwined with this vision of the physical world. Astrology provided the link between the universe and man's existence and it was logical that it too should hold sway over alchemical study; all metals were thus linked to a heavenly body: gold was associated with the sun, silver with the moon, copper with Venus and so on. It was also believed that everything in the universe was alive, and depended on God, or the power of planetary influence, in order to function. Rocks and metals, like plants and animals, were believed to grow spontaneously. While an animal grew in the womb of its mother or a plant blossomed from the soil, minerals were born from seeds of metal deep within the earth and grew with the assistance of natural forces into large nuggets and seams.

  Of all the minerals that the earth was able to produce spontaneously, gold to these early experimenters was the most sought after. The philosopher's stone, lapis philosophorum or red tincture, was, they believed, a substance contained in the earth through which metal traveled in order to transmute into gold. Thus, by finding or fabricating this compound, harnessing nature with the help of planetary or divine assistance, and speeding up the usual growth process in their laboratory, any metal might be transmuted into gold.

  This goal was a secret to which the baffling writings of ancient philosophers were believed to hold the key. Hence it was not only with mixing potions but also with attempting to decipher and understand ancient teachings that most alchemists occupied themselves. They in turn mirrored the cryptic texts they interpreted by recording their own experimental processes in terms that were shrouded in mystery. Their spidery scripts and mysterious diagrams spoke of ruby lions, of black ravens, of lily virgins and golden mantles. Their ingredients, mixtures of horse dung, children's urine, saltpeter, sulfur, mercury, arsenic and lead, were given deliberately obscure symbolic names and their findings recorded in equally esoteric language.

  Concealment and camouflage were paramount to ensure that any successful experiment remain safe from avaricious outsiders who failed to fully understand the significance of their quest. For it was not the wealth gold represented that motivated the true alchemists but its unique perfection and resistance to decay—for therein lay the key to immortality itself.

  Unfortunately, as Johann Böttger had already found to his cost, his intrinsically noble ambition was more often than not lost on those wealthy enough to sponsor such gold-making experiments. All Augustus and his royal counterparts elsewhere in Europe were really interested in was their own pecuniary gain. But in this quest they encouraged alchemists in scientific research that extended the understanding of the world around them, in order to improve technology, boost trade and add to their wealth and prestige. So alchemists developed laboratory equipment, experimental techniques and manufacturing processes such as glassmaking and the fabrication of imitation gems, and thus laid the foundation for the development of modern industrial chemistry.

  Augustus was only too aware that sponsoring the search for the arcanum was not without its attendant dangers. Credulous monarchs were easy game for the numerous charlatans and tricksters who toured the courts of Europe trying to dupe them into parting with real gold by means of little more than a promise that they would repay such investments thousandfold. The cost to those found guilty of such sharp practices was high; the penalty was likely to involve inquisition, torture and ignominious death—usually on a gallows decorated with gold tinsel. But there were many who thought the risk worth taking.

  Was Böttger a fraudster? Clearly until now the king had thought not, for over the period that he had held Böttger captive he had lavished considerable sums of money on equipping a laboratory, as well as providing him with assistants and all the materials he could need. This escape attempt, however, could not fail to make him think twice.

  This sobering thought must have preoccupied the fugitive alchemist as he fled through the night, stopping only when he needed to rest his horse. For four days he journeyed southward. Crossing the border into Austria and heading for Prague he rested on his way in the town of Enns. Here, in the anonymity of the bustling streets, he could temporarily cover his tracks before continuing his journey.

  But the tentacles of Augustus's power were not so easily evaded. His soldiers refused to give up the chase. On June 26, 1703, their tenacity finally paid off when they traced Böttger to an inconspicuous inn where he had taken lodgings. He was summarily arrested and brought back to Dresden under close guard. The soldiers, recognizing his depression, did not let their vigilance slip and there were no more chances of escape. There was, however, plenty of time to wonder how the king would punish him for his audacity.

  Back in Dresden, Augustus, now forced to consider what action to take in the light of Böttger's waywardness, called for the advice of the two men he had appointed as his prisoner's supervisors: Pabst von Ohain, manager of the royal silver mine at Freiberg, and Michael Nehmitz, royal privy secretary.

  A highly trained scientist with a particular interest in mineralogy, von Ohain had been an appropriate choice of overseer, and had helped Böttger in his experiment by providing the necessary raw materials. Nehmitz, by contrast, had taken an instant dislike to the brash, overconfident alchemist and made his feelings clear from the start; he probably would not have cared less if the recaptured prisoner had been put to death.

  Fortunately, however, von Ohain was still impressed by his troublesome charge. He put in a strong plea for clemency, begging the king to spare the alchemist's life. Böttger was not a charlatan, of that the supervisor felt sure; “something out of the ordinary and strange lay concealed within him.” Böttger, realizing the danger he was in, also implored Augustus to spare him and gave a written undertaking never to try to escape again. From now on, he vowed, he would do nothing but pursue his gold-making for the king.

  Augustus considered his options. He had already invested about 40,000 thalers, a great deal of money even by his extravagant standards, in equipping Böttger's laboratory and paying for his assistant. * Böttger seemed as confident as ever of his ability to find the arcanum, as well as suitably repentant. Von Ohain, whom the king held in great respect, believed in him. Despite his escape attempt Augustus still trusted him; his knowledge of science was formidable, his brilliance undeniable. After protracted discussions with his advisors the king at last decided to spare Böttger's neck, but ordered that he be kept under closer guard than before. Sooner or later Böttger would find a way of making gold, Augustus remained utterly convinced of it.