by Debbie Rix
Antoinette was delighted. Two new maids were employed, in addition to two nursery maids. At last, she felt in full control of her household. She rewarded Hans by announcing that she was, once again, expecting a baby. Hans was pleased enough. His mother was thrilled. The pregnancy initially went well, but when Antoinette was four months pregnant, she began to bleed. She took to her bed and rested, but the damage was done, and a few days later, she lost the baby.
She tried to stay cheerful, as was her nature. But a deep depression took hold of her. She withdrew from all society and would see only her children. Even Hans was excluded. He asked a doctor to visit her, but he said there was little he could do. She would eventually recover, and Hans should just be patient.
Hans threw himself into his work. He had long planned a journey to China with a fleet from the VOC; he was intent on developing trade with the porcelain exporters in Canton. The wealthy middle classes of Amsterdam had developed a taste for the beautiful clear porcelain that the Chinese produced and Hans could see an opportunity for mass production. He was concerned for Antoinette’s welfare in his absence, but his mother assured him that she would take care of her.
‘You know what your father would have said, Hans. Business first. I will take care of Antoinette. I understand her pain better than you.’
Grateful, for once, for his mother’s support, Hans finalised his travel plans.
He was away for two years in all, and stayed for the most part in Canton, where the porcelain for export was stored. There he chose thousands of pieces – bowls, plates, cups and vases. He also bought tea and silk. His family was often in his thoughts, and he wrote to them as often as he could. He received three letters from home – one from his wife and two from his mother. The children were progressing well, Clara wrote, and Antoinette was a little better. Hans also wrote to Mori, and was delighted when she replied.
* * *
My dear Hans,
I have been taught how to write by my employer. He is a kind man and I enjoy living here. The area is lively and I am allowed to go out one evening a week. I also attend a Catholic church; it is hidden away in the attic of a house on the Herengracht. I tell you this, for I know you will not reveal our secret. We do no harm wishing to worship in our own way. I went past your house yesterday, on my way to church, and I saw the nursery maid with the children. They looked well. Cornelia smiled at me and said hello. I was glad that she had forgiven me. They have all grown, especially Johan. He looked very handsome. Sometimes I visit a little tavern nearby Emanuel’s house. I have made some friends there and think, perhaps, that you were right. It was time to leave your house. But I am so grateful for all you did for me.
Your faithful servant,
Mori.
* * *
Hans finally returned home, with a valuable cargo of porcelain. It would secure the family’s wealth for years to come, he hoped. He was pleased to see that Antoinette was in better spirits. Time had done its work and she was delighted to see him. The children had grown, just as Mori had said, and hardly recognised their father. But Hans was patient with them and spent a little time with them each evening before dinner, reading and doing puzzles in the drawing room.
One afternoon, after a meeting with the Amsterdam chamber at the Oost Indisch Huis, he had arranged to visit his old friend Rembrandt, who was recently married, and living once again in Amsterdam. Hans walked down St Antonies Breeestrasse until he reached the Jewish quarter. Rembrandt had taken a house on Jodenbreestrasse. It was a large house, with room for a capacious studio on the top floor. It was less expensive than if it had been on one of the smarter canals, and he enjoyed the cosmopolitan atmosphere of the area.
As Hans approached the house, he saw a familiar figure. It was Mori; she was walking towards him, swinging a large basket of fruit that she had clearly just bought from the market. It was the first time he had seen her in nearly three years. Hans called her name. She smiled broadly as she recognised him and rushed over to him, spilling apples from her basket as she did so. Together they collected the fallen fruit.
‘Mori,’ he said at last. ‘It has been so long. You look well. Are you well?’
‘I am, Sir – very well indeed.’
‘Thank you for writing. I did so enjoy your letter.’
‘And I enjoyed yours. I have been studying. Emanuel says I have some skill for reading and writing, and he has lent me some books to read.’
‘Good, good… Shall we… Can you spend a little time with me? It has been so long, and I have so much I would like to talk to you about. We could go to the tavern you wrote about?’
‘I have to get back. The cook needs this basket of fruit. Emanuel has some customers to dinner this evening.’
‘Of course… And I am on my way to friend’s house, anyway.’
‘Well, it was nice to see you,’ said Mori, gazing up at Hans.
‘Yes – look, maybe tomorrow? Is there a time when you can leave the house?’
‘Yes, in the afternoon sometimes I can get away.’
‘Meet me? In the tavern, over there…?’
‘I will. Thank you.’
* * *
It was the first of many meeting in taverns in the Jewish quarter. Hans had a few acquaintances in that part of town – merchants and traders with whom he did occasional business. But no one from the VOC socialised there. No one in Antoinette’s circle ever saw him in the company of the beautiful Indian girl. Somehow, now that he was no longer her employer, Hans felt freed from the bonds of duty. His desire for the girl grew and he could feel that she reciprocated. She said as much one afternoon as they walked towards Emanuel’s house.
‘I wish that we could spend more time together, Hans….’
The comment hung between them as they walked along the cobbled street, their fingers just touching.
‘As do I,’ said Hans at last. ‘I shall arrange something.’
Hans took a small house on Prinsengracht. It was not large, but it was comfortable, and simply furnished. Before long, he and Mori were meeting there once or twice a week. He loved her, and she returned his love. Predictably, within a few months, she announced that she was pregnant. When she gave him the news, she stood in front of the fire in the little sitting room, anxiously twisting her hands. She was certain that he would abandon her.
‘That is wonderful, Mori,’ he said, beaming at her.
‘But how – how can we go on?’ she asked sensibly.
‘I shall buy this house. You will move in and I shall support you and the child. I won’t abandon you, Mori. I love you. You can simply tell Emanuel that you have found another position. I shall have a word with him. He needn’t know anything.’
And so began Hans’s extraordinary double life. He spent every night with his wife and family. In the mornings he worked, as usual in his study. After lunch he would go to the house on Prinsengracht. He bought Mori a ring, and they agreed she would tell her neighbours that her husband was a merchant who travelled abroad. He let himself into the house through the garden at the back so as not to draw attention to himself. Her pregnancy went well and she gave birth to a beautiful boy the following April. Hans suggested they call the boy Pieter, after one of his own ancestors.
‘He was a German merchant, and the one who started our family business. He met his wife Maria in Venice and fell in love with her. They were very happy together. And now I have my own Maria.’
‘But we cannot be married,’ said Mori dispiritedly.
‘I know, but it is as if we were.’
Each evening at six o’clock, Hans would reluctantly leave Mori and return to the house on the Herengracht. It was curious, he thought, that Antoinette never questioned him as to where he had been each day. The situation continued for a year, then another. Mori had a second child – a girl she named Isabel after her own mother. Hans loved his second family as much, if not more, than his first. He employed a serving woman named Brigitte to help Mori in the house. Although a good-natured woman, B
rigitte had a natural curiosity about her employer’s situation. She knew that things were not as they should be. It was only a matter of time before gossip began to spread along the canal.
The little family kept themselves to themselves. If Mori was in the garden at the back of the house playing with the children a neighbour would occasionally spot her and smile. She would smile back but never initiated a conversation. Of course, she went to the market and shopped for food. On one occasion, she met Emanuel’s wife, Alicia, who enquired as to her new position. Mori was forced to lie.
When Hans arrived that afternoon, she wept. ‘I feel that I am to be kept hidden. I am living a lie. I met Alicia today and I didn’t know how to answer her questions about my “new job”. I am grateful for all that you have given me, Hans, truly, but I feel so very ashamed each day. And so lonely. If you cannot come to visit me, I have no one but the children and Brigitte. And I know she is suspicious. She asks me often where you work, what you do…’
Hans was sympathetic but he was also worried. If word were to get out that he had a mistress, and worse, a mistress with children, his reputation would be destroyed, as would hers. Amsterdam was puritanical city, for all its worldliness. It welcomed people from across the world providing trade was involved. But in his private life, a man was expected to be above all suspicion. And there was another problem. Hans was building a new ship, ‘The Flying Dragon’, in which he planned to make another journey to journey to China. The last shipment of porcelain had made a huge profit and he had customers all over Europe demanding more. It would mean abandoning Mori and the children. He would ensure there was money to support her, of course, but she would be left alone for a long time.
That evening, as he sat in his study going over the figures from the shipwright, he listened to his wife singing in the next room. His children were sleeping peacefully in the nursery upstairs. The fire crackled and his dog twitched in his sleep. He thought of Mori and her children, alone in the little house on Prinsengracht. He stood up and opened the glass cabinet next to the fireplace, carefully removing the Ming vase. He opened his desk drawer and found the paper on which his family tree that had been so carefully and meticulously completed by his forbears. From another drawer, he pulled out a large sheet of fresh paper and began to copy the family tree details. He found it absorbing work. The downstairs maid brought him a glass of port, but he hardly noticed her entering the room. Finally, his copying complete, he created a new entry; one that would appear on this copy alone. Next to his name he drew a line and wrote the word ‘Mori’ beside it. Beneath their two names he drew another line and wrote the names of his two children with her – Pieter and Isabel. The work blotted and dried, he folded it carefully and placed it inside the vase. He then put the vase back on the shelf in the glazed cabinet and locked it.
The following afternoon, he took the vase, hidden in a large bag, when he went to visit Mori. He played with the children. He ate a meal with her and as they sat in front of the fire in the little sitting room, he removed the vase from the bag and stood it on the table.
‘What is that?’ she asked.
‘It is a vase that I inherited from my mother; and she from her mother. It has been in our family for over two hundred years. I would like you and the children to have it now. Family tradition has it that the vase brings good fortune to its custodian. I know you will look after it. It is very valuable.’
Mori touched the vase’s smooth white surface, her fingers tracing the dragon. ‘He looks angry,’ she said.
‘I know, but I don’t believe he is. It was made for an Emperor. The claws there – just three of them on each paw – indicate it was intended for a royal person. I believe that one of my ancestors brought it back with him from China. I don’t know who for, and I don’t know why he never gave it up. Do you remember I told you about Maria and Peter who met in Venice? They brought it with them to Bruges, where they established a very successful business. Their children and their children’s children went on to develop maiolica, using this vase as inspiration.’
‘Your mother always said it was bad luck,’ said Mori anxiously.
‘My mother is wrong. The vase was not the cause of her troubles. I don’t know if the vase brings good fortune or not. But it is valuable and it is an important part of my family’s history. I want you to have it because I love you and consider you my wife. Here, look inside. There is a family tree here. You are part of it now, as are the children.’
‘But Hans…’ Mori began.
‘Let me finish. I have to go away soon – on a long trip to China. It will be two years before I come home. I will make sure you have enough money. I have also written to Frans, one of my cousins. I have confided in him. He is a good man, a potter with his own large workshop in Delft. I have asked if you could go there and live with him while I am away. I would like Pieter to learn a craft. He seems a clever boy, and artistic. I think he has the skills to help us carry on that part of our family business. I import beautiful porcelain like this vase. But my cousins have taken their inspiration from pieces like this to create a whole new industry. The tiles around our fireplace here are made by them. The dishes we use in our kitchens are made by them. This is a huge industry and has helped to make that part of our family wealthy. If you are a good potter with a workshop of your own, you can be rich as well as lauded and admired for creating something of beauty and practicality. Pieter could work anywhere – England, France, Spain, Italy. The world will be his oyster. If you stay here, I fear for him… And you. It would be impossible for me to introduce him to the VOC. You must see that. But I will do right by him and Isabel, and by you.’
Mori’s eyes filled with tears. ‘How will I live without you? Could we not come with you, on the ship?’
‘You know that is impossible,’ he replied sadly. ‘You will manage without me. You will be happier in Delft. Frans, my cousin, is a good man – a kind man. We understand each other. We both have overbearing mothers.’ He gave her a smile, but she did not return it.
‘In Delft you will be able to live freely . . . to make friends. You can tell everyone the story that you are married and your husband is away. I am not known there. When I return, then we shall see what the future holds. Perhaps you can come back here, or maybe you will be happier there. And Pieter will have started to learn his craft and enjoy it.’
‘He is only five years old,’ said Mori.
‘I know, but in two years’ time, he’ll be old enough to start learning the trade. And for the next two years, being around Frans, watching his men at work, he will get used to it.’
‘You think he should be apprenticed as a mere child? Not to learn to read, nor develop his mind? You think he is not clever enough?’ Mori felt her eyes stinging with tears – of indignation, as well as sadness and disappointment.
‘No, I think him very clever. But can’t you see that I have a duty to ensure that he and you and Isabel have a secure future?’
‘You talk as if we will never see you again.’
‘Mori, you must know that is the last thing I would ever want. I know now that I love you more than anyone else. If I was not already married, you know I would marry you. But I am determined that while I am away no harm comes to you; that you are cared for. . . and happy. . . and have a future. I intend to return, but, you know, these journeys are not without risk. Do this for me, Mori. Trust me one more time. Have I ever let you down?’
* * *
The Ming vase is now ready to be painted with an underglaze of cobalt blue. Cobalt, or ‘sumali’ in China, is imported from the regions of West Asia. It is diluted with water and then painted onto the ceramic body of the pot. The potter must be very sure of his brushwork, for he cannot make any corrections. The designs have a soft, slightly out of focus quality. The high iron content in the cobalt results in a slight colour variation – dark specks of blue in some parts of the design, paler blue in others. This natural variation is referred to as ‘heaped and piled’ and is characteris
tic of early Ming. The base of the vase is given a six-character mark of the Xuande period. The vase is then ready to be glazed. The glaze is made of bright blue limestone. The limestone is transported many miles to Ching te Chen; it is heaped up in several layers with ferns and burned. The ashes are cleaned over and over again, and then mixed with porcelain clay, until they form a creamy substance or glaze, which is then applied to each piece.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Sheen, London, 2nd January 2016
Miranda, Jeremy and Georgie had arranged to meet at half past nine in the morning. Jeremy arrived promptly at nine twenty-five.
‘Good, you’re here,’ said Miranda, almost pulling him in through the front door. ‘I’ve been awake since about five this morning. Georgina found something on the Internet last night which I want to show you. I nearly rang you, actually, but it was rather late. I’ve not really slept since. Come into the kitchen.’
Georgie sat at the kitchen table with her mother’s laptop open.
‘Look at this,’ she said to Jeremy.
Sale of Early Ming China, Tuesday, 15th January 2016
Anstruthers, Hong Kong
* * *
A spectacular example of early Ming period blue and white china manufactured between 1426 and 1435 during the reign of Emperor Xuande.
Artist unknown.
