Five figurines grace the show cabinets housing my porcelain collection.
The earliest figurine was produced in the factory of Claudius du Pacquier, which was founded in Vienna in 1718. It is a Turk, modeled and fired around 1730.
He sits crossed legged on a cushion. His right hand commands a troop or band. The Turk’s powerful, perhaps even threatening, expression belies his minute size. Porcelain experts took the view that this Turk might have been intended to serve as a tureen’s finial; but I have my doubts. He has his own vocation. He is a leader and not altogether benign. His object is to implement the Sultan’s policy. Nobody would use this Turk as the mere finial of a larger object.
To appreciate his nature, we must turn back to Austria – or the Habsburg Empire – of the 18th Century. Suleiman the Magnificent’s failed siege of 1528 might have been forgotten. But the 1648 attack, which was repelled by the Polish king who saved his Austrian Master-Emperor, had remained fresh in mind for generations. Turkey was considered a menace. In the 18th Century a substantial part of the Balkans and of Hungary was still under Ottoman control. The eventual success of the Habsburgs during the 19th Century was not, as yet, predictable.
My second Turk was modeled about two hundred years later (probably in 1925) in Meissen (near Dresden) by Paul Scheurich – a fine, itinerant, artist. This Turk, too, sits crossed legged – the “Turkish mode” – but there is no threat in him. He has just stopped smoking his hookah and his face displays a happy, broad and welcoming smile. You wonder whether, in addition to the tobacco, his intake was laced with a drug – cocaine or perhaps an opiate.
To understand this Turk, you must consider the period. WWI came to its end in 1918. The Treaty of Versailles was in place and Germany and its followers had to pay heavy reparations. Turkey lost most of its empire and – far from posing a threat – became known as “the sick man of Europe”.
Paul Scheurich’s generation had no reason to fear the Turks. They faced other problems. In general, everybody had to cope with hyper-inflation. Salaries had to be settled and renegotiated as work proceeded. People had to live day by day. Everybody depended on his street wisdom, on an unfailing wish to survive and on putting on an optimistic mask. My second Turk sums up the only feasible attitude of a survivor of these hard days: “I couldn’t care less, provided I have my smoke (or drink) and a full belly. Remember: I did my duty during the War in the trenches. I always obeyed orders without questioning their effect or wisdom. So please let me enjoy my pipe; and let me be.”
My third Turk was produced in Western Germany after the end of World War II, probably around 1950. Unlike my first two Turks, he stands erect, wears a Western uniform, clicks his heels and salutes a superior. If you remove this Turk’s goatee and his red hat, you might mistake him for a Prussian officer. He is not prepared to question his superior’s motives. He is a good subaltern and loves to carry out orders given to him. Whether the orders are civilized or brutal is irrelevant.
My latest acquisition is the Rabbi. He was modeled by Conde in KPM – a factory in Berlin – around 1980. Unlike the Nazi heroes, produced by the firm between 1933 and 1945, the Rabbi is a good Jew. He wears orthodox (old fashioned) clothes, is proud of his waving sideburns and strokes his white and lengthy beard, which saves him the need to shave. The Rabbi is immersed in the bible held by him. I suspect he is reading chapters of the book of Psalms, attributed to David ben Yishai – a ruthless opportunist, seducer and murderer.
The Rabbi willingly obeys all commandments enshrined in the bible. He will also carry out any orders given by his God. For instance, if this God asked him to assassinate an unorthodox politician, he would do so proudly. After all, how can anybody expect him to disobey the Good Lord? I pause to add that the Rabbi has interpreted the Nüremberg doctrine in his own way.
In more that one way the Rabbi resembles the Turks. All of them are obedient citizens, except that the Scheurich Turk may not hear a command. However, he, too, accepts the system; and he uses it to his own ends.
In reality, the four figurines discussed up to now are better citizens than an erect porcelain Ape, playing the clarinet enthusiastically and wearing human clothes. Undoubtedly, he is satisfied to be part of the Orchestra and carries his task out conscientiously and effectively. He deserves the chair occupied by him in Augustus the Strong’s Meissen band of musicians. He – and many other Ape-Musicians – were modeled in the 18th Century in Meissen but were copied or faked for over two hundred years.
Unlike the previous figurines, my Ape-Musician has a twinkle in his eye. He knows that everything is transient and devoid of lasting value. He is a skeptic, taking anything he is told with a pinch of salt. He follows the conductor’s baton but is unlikely to heed the instructions of others.
Please tell me: which of the five figurines is sapiens?