Dear Readers,

As you may have seen elsewhere, in mid February my wife and I suffered the loss of our home in a fire, in the hills of central Massachusetts. The good news is that we got out safely and had no animals in our care at the time. The fire crews were able to contain the fire from spreading, in what turned into a 3-alarm, 5-hour-long ordeal in subzero temperatures; they did amazing work, and no one was injured. The bad news is that all of my physical historical materials and research of 30 years have gone up in smoke. As a result I have decided to suspend this blog for the time being. It will remain online as a resource for those interested in the history of glass and glassmaking in the seventeenth century and beyond. I do intend to resume writing when I can, but for now my time and energy are required in getting us back on our feet.

Friends are providing temporary shelter for us nearby and our intention is to rebuild as soon as possible. To those who have reached out with a steady hand, to those who have opened their wallets, and offered advice in our time of need, we thank you from the bottom of our hearts. In what are already difficult times for all of us, you have made a huge difference in our lives.

Paul Engle
6 March, 2021

Friday, August 15, 2014

Neri’s Cabinet, Part 1

The many alchemical symbols used to denote crocus martis.
In addition to the usual eclectic mix of Antonio Neri related material that I bring to this space, I have decided to start a regular series of posts dedicated specifically to his chemical repertoire. 

A first encounter with the technical aspects of sixteenth and seventeenth century alchemy can be confusing, frustrating and more than a little disorienting. There is no shortage of records, letters, manuscripts and recipe books; the challenge lays in making sense of them in a way that relates to our current view of the world. It is understandable that alchemical materials and compounds had unfamiliar names; but the real difficulties arise with the realization that any given name might describe several different chemicals, and in fact, there may be several different interchangeable synonyms/symbols for any given name. As it happens, there were good reasons for this state of affairs and taking the time to understand them really opens up a window onto a strange and wonderful landscape of history. 

Antonio Neri considered himself an alchemist first and glassmaker second. Because of this "crossover," his work can help us to navigate details in both fields that might otherwise go without explanation. His writing broadly divides into two categories: one intended for generally curious readers and another intended only for those familiar with the arcane coded language of alchemy. We have examples of both styles by Neri and all within the period of about fifteen years. By comparing one group against the other, we can start to decode some of his more arcane passages and at the same time gain considerable confidence in his technical abilities. In the introduction to his famous book on glassmaking, L'Arte Vetraria, he wrote, "I have described every last detail clearly and distinctly in this work, I am sure that if you do not purposely foul up, it will be impossible to fail, after having acquired experience and practice.” Yet, in 1870, in the journal Nature, George Rodwell commented on another of his works, pronouncing him a “sensible chemist” on one hand, but on the other, noting that Neri had used “no less than thirty-five different names, and twenty-two symbols" to denote a single material, the metal mercury. 

We will start with his glass book, where his materials and methods are detailed with special consideration for those not familiar with the art. Then perhaps we can build on that and make sense of his more esoteric material.

In L'Arte Vetraria, Neri gives four different methods to make crocus martis. He explains: 
Crocus martis is nothing other that a refinement and calcination of iron. A means by which its pigment, which in glass is a deep rutty red, is opened and imparted to the glass. It not only manifests itself but makes all the other metallic colors as well, which ordinarily hide and are dead in the glass, dance in resplendent apparition. Since this is the way to make the hidden metallic colors appear, I have put down four ways to make it.
In the first method, Neri mixes iron filings with sulfur and then heats the mixture in the furnace for a long period. We can guess that the result is a mix of iron oxide and iron sulfide. These are the constituents of a popular red pigment of the same name (crocus martis) used in pottery glazes. In the second method, he takes the iron and sulfur mixture and sprinkles it with vinegar and leaves it in the sun for many days. The third method uses aqua fortis (nitric acid) for better effect. In the fourth and final method, Neri uses aqua regis, an even stronger acid. 

In all four cases the predominant result will be iron oxide and sulfide, but alas, chemistry is not that simple; there will be minor concentrations of other compounds depending on the acid used. We must consider that vinegar and the other acids in the seventeenth century were significantly different from those products today. They were made by different methods and contained a variety of impurities that would never be found in the current products. As Neri notes, each method produces different effects in the glass and therefore we must conclude that each, to some extent, differs in chemistry as well. In a number of green glass recipes he uses crocus made with vinegar, yet in chapter 71 he uses it to diminish the green in yellow lead crystal. In 124 he uses crocus made with aqua fortis for red glass. The lesson here is that the name of a material tells us only the basics, how it was made is at least as important if not more so. 

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