by Debbie Rix
‘Is all well, my dear?’
‘Yes, all is well, Cornelius. We have a daughter.’
Cornelius bent over the child and stroked her cheek.
‘She is beautiful. I wonder what her brothers will make of her?’
‘They will spoil her, I suspect.’
‘And what shall we call her?’
‘I would like to call her Maria – after my own mother. Maria Margret.’
Four days later, Caterina Cavalcanti received news of her sister’s new baby as she sat in the drawing room of her house in Bruges. Her brother-in-law’s letter spoke at length of the new baby’s virtues – the child’s blue eyes, and her full head of dark hair. Caterina had loathed childbirth and had refused to breastfeed any of her children. She had insisted on a wet nurse for each of them. To her, the thought that her sister had now given birth to her eighth child was horrific. Her sister, she felt, was too easily persuaded to do her husband’s bidding, especially when it came to sharing his bed. Caterina had learned to be firm with Carlo and had often refused him entry to her chamber as a means of protecting herself from yet another pregnancy. It annoyed him, she knew, but she could always get around Carlo. They were so alike – sharp, manipulative and quick-witted. He had done well for himself and the family. He had left the Medici bank some seventeen years earlier and struck out on his own and he had made a great fortune for the family from his silk business. He travelled a great deal and those long journeys abroad gave Caterina respite from his incessant demands. She imagined that he took advantage of his freedom when he was away from home. She didn’t resent it. As long as he returned from each buying trip with a length of expensive silk or a fashionable garment for her or the children, she was content.
Cornelius’s letter continued with news of their sons and how well they were all doing; their eldest son Jacob was to travel soon to Portugal to collect the latest shipment of porcelain. Caterina was interested enough in her nephews’ lives, of course, but she could never quite cope with the idea that her sister’s children were in some way doing better than her own four.
She and Carlo had two daughters and two sons. They were attractive young people. The boys had inherited their father’s dark Italian good looks and the two girls were fair-haired like their mother. But the boys lacked energy and she was envious of her nephew’s desire to travel the world and increase the family fortune. She laid her brother-in-law’s letter down her desk with a sigh. She would reply later that day. In the meantime, she must write to Carlo about a more pressing matter. He was in Italy on a buying expedition and was to leave Lucca, his final destination, within a week and return to Bruges.
* * *
Dear treasure, she wrote,
I ask you not to forget about my Italian coat, like the one Willhelm Imhoff brought his wife from Venice. Do not think ill of me because I always try to wheedle something out of you in every letter. I especially ask that you bring some red and saffron coloured satin, if you can find an inexpensive measure or two.
Yours ever,
Caterina.
P.S. I have just received a letter from Cornelius. It seems that Margarethe has been delivered of yet another child, a girl, who they will name Maria Margret.’
* * *
Back in Antwerp, the new baby was soon welcomed into the family. Four days after her birth, she was christened in the cathedral, accompanied by her father and her brothers. Jacob and Pieter stood as godfathers to the tiny girl.
A few days later, their mother felt strong enough to venture downstairs and re-join the family. She was anxious to spend as much time as possible with the boys, for Jacob and Pieter were soon to travel abroad to develop relationships with Portuguese merchants who would import their next big shipment of Chinese porcelain. The Portuguese and Spanish merchants dominated the direct trading routes to the East, and whilst some goods, including porcelain, could be carried overland along the Silk Road, it was a long journey and involved a complex sequence of intermediaries. The Portuguese had opened up a direct sea route to China the previous year, travelling around the Cape of Good Hope. They had returned with a shipload of porcelain from the imperial kilns and Pieter and Jacob were to make the journey to Portugal to secure the shipment. Pieter was only seventeen, and Margarethe was concerned that he was too young to travel so far, but Jacob and Cornelius had persuaded her that he was old enough, and ready and eager for the excitement.
Margarethe sat in the high-backed chair in the drawing room, her shawl wrapped around her shoulders, and the baby nestling contentedly in the little cot at her side. She sipped a little glass of wine while the boys laughed and teased one another around her. Their youngest brother Henryk was usually the butt of their jokes. A good-humoured boy of eight years of age, he had recently begun the study of Latin and had proved an able student. His elder brothers had never found learning quite so straightforward. They were better suited to a more active life. They were proud of their little brother, for he was the smartest of them all. But they were determined to rib him about it. Margarethe relished the time with her boys. She stroked her baby’s cheek and laughed as the young men teased their little brother.
‘Oh, leave poor Henryk in peace,’ she begged, wiping tears of laughter from her cheeks. ‘He is too good-natured. You’ll see when you get back from your travels. He’ll have grown big and strong and will not take any more of your ribbing.’
‘Ha! I’d like to see that,’ said Jacob. ‘He’s a thoughtful fellow, to be sure, and wise for his years, but he will never beat me with a sword, or a fist.’ And he made as if to punch his little brother, who ducked nimbly out of the way.
Surrounded by her family, Margarethe gazed up at the Ming vase that stood on the mantle-shelf. It had protected them well. She had lost two babies, and that had been a tragedy, but it was so common for babies to die. And the vase was not magic, after all, she thought. She had never quite believed her mother when she had told her of its ‘magical qualities’. But of one thing she was quite certain; she and Cornelius had had a successful and happy life. They had made a lot of money importing porcelain into northern Europe. Their sons were delighted to take the business on, and now they had a beautiful daughter. She fingered her rosary and prayed fervently that Maria Margret would survive.
The Ming vase glowed in the evening light, the flickering of candlelight reflected in its luminescent surface. The dragon seemed to dance gaily around its centre. That day she had written another entry for her mother’s ‘family history’ and it lay now by her side, ready for her to put it back into its place deep within the vase. It was filled now with information about the family. Margarethe had taken the task on with enthusiasm and had drawn up a proper family tree. She had taken great pleasure in the task, as a sister was married or a child was born, decorating the names with little drawings and sketches.
Caterina had married Carlo and had four children. Beatrice had married too – also to a member of the Medici bank. He was called Folco d’Adoardo di Giovanni Portinari, and had been made acting manager of the Bruges branch of the bank some eleven years before. They had since moved to England, where he ran the London branch. It had been many years since she had seen her sister, but Beatrice was a faithful correspondent. She had five children of her own, although two had sadly died – a son at just three years of age and her youngest daughter, Magdalena, had been lost following their journey to London. The child had contracted pneumonia on the journey across the Channel and never recovered. Beatrice had written to her elder sister of her devastation, but she had somehow survived, and her remaining three children – two sons and a daughter – were in good health.
Lastly, little Katje had married a young man named Andreas, a cousin of their Uncle Daniele’s wife, Annelise. They had met in Bruges after Daniele’s wedding. He had been persuaded to return to Bruges for a short time to help their father run the business. In that first year, Annelise had pined for her home country, and her cousin Andreas had come to visit her and keep her company. He and K
atje had met and the attraction was obvious. He was a furrier from a very successful family business in Sweden. Katje had returned to Sweden with him nearly a decade before and now had two sons. Daniele and Annelise had also returned to Sweden. Daniele had not enjoyed his time in Bruges. It reminded him too much of Venice; the narrow streets and canals were too claustrophobic for him and he pined for the Swedish countryside, where he was free to gallop through the forests with his dog at his heels. He and Annelise lived a simple but contented life in their country house outside Gothenburg. They had no children, but seemed happy enough.
All in all, Margarethe thought, as she rocked her tiny baby’s cot, the family should be content with their progress in life. How much this had to do with the Ming vase she could not say. But she had lived up to her promise to her mother Maria and had taken great care of it. Maria and Peter were due to arrive in Antwerp the following day and Margarethe was excited at the prospect. Her mother was sixty-three now, but still healthy and strong. Her dark hair was threaded with silver, fine lines edged her clear aquiline eyes. Her father Peter was in good health, although recently he had suffered from gout, which made him irritable. Margarethe hoped that Maria would be happy with her newest granddaughter and pleased that she had been named for her. She resolved, as she gazed into the flames of the fire, that if her daughter survived to adulthood, she would give her the vase. Maria Margret would be the guardian of the magical dragon.
Chapter Eighteen
Antwerp, 1515
Maria Margret studied the maiolica bowl that her husband Antonio Corsi had just finished painting. Decorated in shades of vivid yellow, green, orange and blue, its bright colours shone out on that leaden February day. Antonio had been trained by his own father initially, but his talent had been really developed through his work with the famous potter Guido di Savino. Guido had moved from his home in Castel Durante, one of the leading centres of the Italian maiolica movement, to Antwerp some seven years before. Changing his name to Guido Andries, he married a local woman, Margriet Bolleman, and set up the first of several pottery workshops in the town. He and Margriet had five sons, all of whom would go on to be famous potters in their own right. A year or so after Guido had settled in Antwerp, he wrote to his old friend:
* * *
The people here are rich, my friend. They yearn for everything that is new and colourful. They have seen the porcelain brought in from the lands of the East, but only the very wealthiest families can afford such marvels. Everyone wishes to use beautiful pieces on their table. If they cannot have porcelain, they will buy maiolica. It will be successful here. Trust me. Make the journey. You will not be disappointed. Together we will be rich.
* * *
Antonio, who had known Guido since they had been young apprentices together, made the journey to Antwerp shortly after receiving the letter. Born in Florence, he had started his apprenticeship in Venice before moving on to Castel Durante, where he met Guido. They were part of a group of potters who were determined to bring their extraordinary talent for creating useful and exquisite lustreware to northern Europe.
Maria Margret van Vaerwye had met Antonio Corso at a supper party given by her elder brother Jacob. She was twenty-one years of age; Antonio was twenty-five. They chatted easily throughout dinner and Maria Margret liked him immediately. He had an earthiness combined with an artistic temperament that she admired. Her experience of men was limited to her father and four brothers – all intelligent businessmen with a strong work ethic and vision, but not creative.
Antonio told her a little of his background. ‘I was apprenticed to a potter in Venice when I was fifteen; I lived there for three years. It is a wonderful place. Have you been there?’
‘No, but I long to go. My grandmother, Maria Haas, was originally from Venice. Her father Niccolò dei Conti was an explorer. He brought Maria back to Venice with my great uncle Daniele many years ago. She is dead now, sadly, but I am proud to carry her name. And I have one or two pieces of pottery that she brought with her from the Middle East and beyond. I could show you, if you like. We also have a beautiful Ming vase that her father brought with him from the lands of further India. I think she must have been a very special person for him to have entrusted it to her.’
Antonio was intrigued at this story of the vase and after dinner, Maria Margret took him to the drawing room where she showed him her collection of pottery.
Their courtship progressed, and the family was delighted when she announced to her father Cornelius that she wished to marry Antonio. They admired him for his energy, talent and enthusiasm. Over the following months, they learned something of his background and upbringing. His father had been integral to the development of maiolica in Italy. He too, had been a famous potter, who had made the journey to Valencia in Spain with a merchant friend, Battista di Goro Bulgarini, and disguised in poor clothes, he had masqueraded as a poor jobbing potter in order to learn the secret of creating lustred pottery. Such pieces had originally been made in the Middle East, where potters had discovered that ceramic glaze could be rendered opaque white by the addition of tin oxide. This white glaze provided a perfect base for painting and the Islamic world had long exploited the technique. The great lustred vases in the Alhambra in Malaga were made in this way, and the Spanish potters were exporting their works to the rest of Europe. Francesco di Marco Datini – the ‘Merchant of Prato’ – had been importing large consignments of lusterware into Florence for affluent families since the early fifteenth century. Even the wealthy Lorenzo de’ Medici of the banking family in Florence had been impressed by a gift of maiolica, describing it in a letter as “excellent and rare” pottery.
Jacob and Pieter liked Antonio well enough and were happy to welcome him to the family. They were now in charge of the family business, and had concentrated on three main imports: pepper and cinnamon from the islands in the Indian Ocean, and Chinese porcelain imported from traders in Portugal who had opened up a sea route to China round the Cape of Good Hope in 1498. Pepper was the most profitable commodity at that time, and Antwerp – with its large port servicing hundreds of ships a day – had a virtual monopoly on its import into northern Europe. As for Chinese porcelain, the brothers sold these pieces to the great noble families of northern Europe and it made them rich. The Chinese had a monopoly on porcelain production at that time; many had tried to recreate the pale, translucent glazed pieces, but without success. And so, they remained the preserve of the wealthy elite.
This marriage now opened up a new and lucrative business opportunity. Maiolica potters needed tin oxide to create the lustred finish on their work. Tin oxide was mined predominantly in Cornwall. Jacob and Peter imported the oxide and distributed it to potters in Antwerp and further afield. Before long, they had the monopoly in the Low Countries, adding to their already considerable fortune. And so the two arms of the family business – the rare and exquisite Chinese porcelain, and the lustreware from Antwerp – became inextricably entwined.
Antonio’s workshop in Antwerp employed twelve staff. He was the foreman; beneath him were two throwers and three experienced painters, although Antonio also decorated pieces for special clients. Two kiln men made up the experienced staff, and beneath them were four apprentices, learning the various techniques. They produced many household items such as bowls, vases and plates, but also, increasingly, tiles, which the population of Antwerp requested to decorate their fireplaces and floors. They were not only attractive, but the tidy housewives of Flanders found them easy to keep clean.
Together, Antonio and Guido’s fame spread far and wide. Guido was commissioned to provide floor tiles for a large house in England called ‘The Vyne’ and another set for a Cistercian Abbey in Flanders. Antonio produced a range of distinctive blue and white maiolica jars, which were quickly adopted by the surrounding hospitals and pharmacies for the storage of medicines. Each jar was hand-painted and labelled with the contents: Camphor for fevers, and cinnamon, nutmeg and cloves for digestion. One day, as she sat checkin
g the ledgers for the business, Maria Margret was delighted to see a large order for pharmacy jars for the hospital of St John in Bruges, the hospital of which her grandmother had been patron. Her Aunt Caterina had now taken on that role and had ordered the jars for the hospital’s new pharmacy.
Guido and Antonio’s workshops were in Kammenstraat. This street soon developed a reputation and other well-known potters such as Jan Bogaerts and the Dmoelenyser workshop set up alongside them.
Maria Margret and Antonio’s business went from strength to strength. Antonio bought the houses on either side of his workshop and he gradually created a large and comfortable family home around his workplace. Maria Margret took charge of the decoration. There were tiled floors, of course, and blue and white tiles in the fireplaces. The drawing room was arranged in the latest fashion, with costly tapestries on the walls and Turkish carpets draped over the large oak tables. The house was built around a central courtyard where Maria indulged her newly acquired passion for gardening. A small knot garden was created with box-edged flower and herb beds intersected by narrow brick paths inset with tiles. She would often sit there on a sunny day, watching the children play. They had five children in all – three boys and two girls.
As they grew, it became clear that the boys would follow their father into the business. Their eldest son, Cornelius, was a gifted painter. He would go on to be much feted, and travelled throughout his life to Spain, where he taught painting technique to Spanish potters, and on several occasions worked for the King of Spain. Their second son, Joseph, remained in Antwerp, and worked with his father. Their third son, Andries, moved to Delft, where he began to develop the maiolica business, specialising in blue and white decorative techniques. Maria Margret’s two daughters both married merchants; her eldest daughter Beatrice, named after her mother’s aunt, went on to marry one of Pieter’s sons, Thomas van Vaerwye.
