Almost every old home in Louisiana, where the family’s roots took hold over a hundred years ago, is likely to have some pieces of Paris porcelain prominently displayed or tucked away in a closet. Often referred to as “Old Paris” or with the French “Vieux Paris”, such Porcelain was brought to the U.S. by the French immigrants or imported by local fancy goods merchants (such as New Orleans’ Prudent Mallard who is better known for his Rococo Revival furniture) in the 19th century. Though these magnificent items may appear to be innocent and unassuming works of art, the story of how these items came to France and inspired collecting fervor in French royalty is not simply a merchantile tale. Rather, the history of Paris porcelain is a saga featuring conspiracy, theft and all kinds of skullduggery, involving the bluest bloods in France.

The story begins in the 16th century, when the Portuguese opened trade with China. The appearance of Chinese porcelain objects created a sensation in Europe among the nobility. They loved it, and they wanted more. So much more that Augustus II of Saxony is known to have traded 600 dragoons, their horses and equipment to the Prussian King Friedrich Wilhelm II for his 151-piece collection of Chinese porcelain. Rulers in Italy, Germany and France set about learning the secrets of creating the glittery ceramic beauties, since the Chinese would not reveal the secret. They spent fortunes hiring ceramists and all sorts of pseudo-chemists, setting up workshops for experimentation, knowing that success would bring them the objects of their desires, additional wealth and prestige. A number of the trials produced results close to real hard paste porcelain, but none duplicated it.

Finally in 1708, Johann Friedrich Bottger, a shady alchemist working under the protection of Augustus the Strong, Prince Elector of Saxony, discovered the formula at Meissen. Eventually, workmen, who learned the mysterious ways of porcelain making, were bribed to leave Meissen for their knowledge, or sought the sponsorship of other nobles.

Hard paste porcelain manufacture eventually began in France during the early 1740s at the Vincennes factory, which was moved to Sevres and taken over by King Louis XV in a deal reminiscent of modern corporate maneuvering. With the royal ownership came the monopoly to create porcelain objects. And with the monopoly came an intense struggle by the hundreds of other French factories, in particular the Paris ateliers, to overcome the restrictions against producing porcelain. The Paris ceramics community was composed not only of potteries, but also decorating studios, gilders and merchants. Their members were so vocal and persistent in their complaints that the King’s Council relaxed the rules and allowed them to produce monochrome pieces without gilding, and without colorful flowers or relief decoration. A number of the private factories used another strategy to avoid the regulations. They attracted noble patrons, which included the King’s brother, the Queen, Marie Antoinette, and their relatives, who offered influence, protection from the authorities, and a secure source of business. In fact, the royal factory at Sevres and the King’s coffers suffered from this conflict, as the Paris entrepreneurs hired away its underpaid craftsmen, who quietly stole Sevres molds and materials for their new employers. In one incident related in Plinval deGuillebon’s Porcelain of Paris, Sevres molds of figures meant exclusively for the King were executed and displayed in the Paris factory of Jean-Baptiste Locré, before the sovereign received his copies. What an embarrassment. Little by little the restrictions were relaxed by the authorities and ignored by the private companies, until the French Revolution when royal privileges ended at the guillotine.

Besides its colorful history, the appeal of Paris porcelain comes from its form and decoration. The factories of the 18th and 19th centuries were attuned to the fashions of the times, and produced a tremendous variety of tablewares and decorations. Despite the regulations, floral decoration with scattered sprigs and sprays predominated in the early 18th century pieces. Under the reign of Louis XVI in the latter part of that century, more intricate motifs including birds, figures, cupids and Chinese symbols were added to the mix. The cornflower, in bouquets and sprigs, was Marie Antoinette’s favorite and was created originally for her by the factory she patronized in the Rue Thiroux. What we mostly find in Louisiana homes, shops and auctions today are the porcelains of the 19th century. The early Napoleonic era pieces were influenced by antique shapes, elegant and opulently decorated with neoclassical ornamentation. As the 1800s progressed, France prospered, and it was a time of ferment in the decorative arts. Gothic, Rococo and Neoclassical styles all melded together in ceramics encouraging the potteries to craft imaginative creations. Jacob Petit (1796-1868) was the greatest exponent of these innovations. A self-taught painter, he launched a modest porcelain manufacturing business in 1830. By 1839 Petit employed about 200 craftsmen and enjoyed great success. His production must have been prodigious. Local auctions in Louisiana often offer a dozen of his wares which can include vases, urns, clocks, figures, inkwells and perfume bottles. Of particular interest are the figural veilleuses, or bedside tea warmers, known as personnages. These brightly painted beauties can be found in the form of exotic characters like Chinese noblemen, sultans and sultanas, and fortune tellers, or more mundane subjects, such as nuns or street vendors. Each one is made in several parts, the top being the teapot and the bottom being hollow with an opening in the back to fit the tiny porcelain oil lamp or godet.

The best part about Paris porcelain is that it is still available. The most desirable examples from the 18th century are pretty pricey, but 19th century pieces are still within reach of the average collector. Although most Paris pieces are unmarked, Jacob Petit’s factory usually marked its wares on the bottom with an underglaze blue “J.P.”. So you can feel like a professional when you turn up a piece and say, “Ah, I know that mark; its Jacob Petit”. Once you develop an appreciation for Paris porcelain, you might wind up like New Orleanian Harold Newman, author of the definitive book on veilleuses. After being afflicted with the collecting bug for years, he eventually donated an entire room of veilleuses to the Hartford Athenaeum in Connecticut.