Crockery, or Faïence, and Porcelain.—“Crockery,” by which we commonly understand such ware as that of the blue willow plates, is far superior to terra-cotta, since its core or basis is thin, and very hard, and its gloss of a different description, and more incorporated with the body; or it is of a single superior body.
Porcelain differs entirely from the other two kinds of fictile ware, being an elaborate mineralogical compound, its base being kaolin, a friable, white, earthy substance, requiring great care in its preparation, and petunse, or feldspar, which is united with the kaolin. The result is a very delicate and beautiful diaphanous ware, or one through which light passes to a limited degree. Both crockery and porcelain are far more difficult to mend, owing to the impossibility—particularly with the latter—of making fractures disappear.
The first and most simple process of mending both kinds of ware is to make small holes with a drill along the edges of the fracture, and then, adjusting the fragments, bind them together with wire. M. Ris-Paquot claims that “the honour of this discovery belongs properly to a humble and modest workman named Delille, of the little village of Montjoye, in Normandy.” But the archæologist will say of this claim, as the English judge did of a similar one, that the plaintiff might as well apply for a patent for having discovered the art of mixing brandy with water, since there was probably never yet a savage who had wire, or even string, who did not know enough to mend broken calabashes, jars, and pipes by this solid method of sewing. From the time when large earthen punch-bowls were first used in Europe, we find them mended with silver wire. It is needless to devote whole pages with illustrations, as M. Ris-Paquot has done, to show how to effect such mending. The holes are made with either a bore or hand drill, such as can be bought in every tool shop. If the reader will obtain one and experiment with it on any penny plate or broken fragment, he will soon master all the mystery. The wire is made fast by a turn with a pair of nippers or pincers. Before fastening, wash the edges of the ware with white of egg in which a very little whiting, or finely powdered lime or plaster of Paris, has been mixed.
I may here observe that the wire for china-drilling should be half round, or flat on one side. To prepare this, take brass wire, say a length of about two feet, and, holding an old knife, draw the wire firmly and steadily against it.
There are endless cements for sale by chemists, all warranted perfect, to mend glass and china, and most of them do indeed answer the purpose very well, for nature has given us not a few materials wherewith to repair accidents. Thus, even boiling in milk will often suffice to reunite broken edges. But I believe that of all, the Turkish cement already described, which is made of gum MASTIC (a term improperly applied in France to putty, by Americans to lime-plaster on houses, and by Levantines to spirit with resin in it), is the most adhesive and resistant to heat, cold, or moisture.
The art of mending does not consist so much of knowing what to use for an ADHESIVE (since, as I have said, every chemist’s shop abounds in these) as in skill and tact with which fragments are brought and kept together, missing portions supplied, and in knowing the substance with which to fill a blank. There are cases in which, when a hole has been knocked in a china or glass plate, it can be drilled out round, and a disc of the same substance or colour, or even of another, inserted. This is almost an art by itself, and by means of it very singular and puzzling effects may be introduced; as, for instance, when a number of holes are drilled in a white china plate and then filled with discs of coloured china, agate, coral, &c. In the East, turquoise and coral beads are often thus set into porcelain, as well as wood. The mastic or acidulated glue is used to make the objects inserted hold firmly.
As the smoker, when he breaks his pipe across the stem, has it repaired with a short silver slide or tube, so when a china jar is broken across the neck, the reparation can be concealed by a silver collar, which is sometimes a great improvement; as, for instance, when the head of a china dog, or even of a china man, is taken off. But in a great many cases, or in all where this kind of concealment is advisable, it may be made, like Cæsar’s wife, beyond suspicion, by making the collar or concealing ornament, or leaf or flower, of silicate and whiting so as to resemble the ware itself, which can be done very nicely.
Silicate of Soda is sometimes sold in the form of a dry solid, which is placed in a little vinegar, and warmed. When dissolved it can be used ad libitum. It is often used as a glaze for stone.
There is a curious old story about mending broken crockery by means of magic—or rather by deceit—which, though not of a practical nature, is at least amusing. It is partially told in a book published about 1670, entitled Joco-Seriorum Naturæ et Artis Magiæ Naturales Centuriæ Tres. It happened once in Mergentheim that there was a great fair, when the whole courtyard of the palace was full of earthenware vessels for sale ab assidentibus muliebibus (by attendant women). Seeing this, the Prince of Mergentheim went about among these women, and so arranged it that they divided all their stock into two parts, or exact duplicates, half of which they hid away, while the other half was exposed for sale. While at dinner the Prince spoke much of magic, and professed to be able to produce such a delirium in people’s minds that they would act like lunatics. “Thus, for instance,” he said, pointing casually out of the window, “you see all those women. I can drive them mad at once.” Whereupon one who was present wagered a handsome carriage and four horses that the Prince could not do it. The latter smiled, waved his hand, and uttered a spell, when lo! all at once the market-women began, bacchantium more—like raging Bacchantæ—to attack their crockery with sticks and stools, and hurl it about, and dash it to pieces.
The one who had betted the chariot protested that it was a trick arranged beforehand. The Prince replied, “Well, the pots are all broken. If I can mend them again by a spell, wilt thou then believe?” The other said, “Most certainly.” Then the Prince waved his wand and said, “It is done. Let us go down into the courtyard and see.” And when there, sure enough they found the pots all whole again—at least they discovered others exactly like them in their places.