Certainly! Here’s your text translated into English: ---Have you ever wondered why antique Russian tableware sometimes features futuristic designs, English restraint, or the colors of a Dutch rainbow?
What lay behind the familiar plate with a bluish tint – just simple kitchenware or the imprint of a cultural revolution?
Ceramics – at first glance – are quiet and modest. But that is only a drawn curtain. Behind it are intertwined destinies, games of status, dazzling technological innovations, the echo of European fashion and, most importantly, the pulse of 19th-century Russia. Few know that the faience tableware of Arkhangelskoye near Moscow is a secret gem in the body of this vast country, blending French temperament, Russian talent, and elusive English chic.
Let’s unveil this intricate artifact
Get ready to be surprised: today you will see faience as a map of human passions and cultural codes. After this journey, even the simplest cup will never look the same to you.
A French spark on Russian soil: Auguste Lambert and ceramics as passion
Imagine the beginning of the 19th century. The smell of molten metal, clay dust, lively French conversation – all weave themselves into a strange dream amid the Russian snows. At Arkhangelskoye, a wealthy estate near Moscow owned by Prince Yusupov, where music plays and the fate of Europe is whispered about, a small faience factory suddenly starts to operate. Its inspirer is the Frenchman Auguste Philippe Lambert, by profession an artist and painter from the legendary Sèvres factory.
Creamer. Fayence Factory in Arkhangelskoye, 1820s
Bowl with lid. Fayence Factory in Arkhangelskoye, 1820s
At first, they tried to create porcelain here, but debts, failures, and the eternal Russian question—where to find the best clays?—quickly shifted the focus to the less temperamental but equally alluring faience.
Lamber was not only a craftsman, but also a visionary. He possessed what the French call "l’esprit aventureux": he knew how to spark interest around ceramics and saw them as a bridge to the world. He took up the business with conviction: organized the purchase of Gzhel clay, built kilns, set up a chain of artisans, invited the best techniques from Europe, experimented with decoration—until he became so entangled in debt that he became the hero of his own business novel. His gaze was fixed on England: he wanted Russian tableware to be no less than the famous wares from Staffordshire.
At the time, faience was considered a more democratic and "pliable" material than porcelain. Unlike porcelain made for grand ladies’ gatherings, faience was a companion of real, lively life: it was bought by both nobility and serfs. Customers came from all walks of life, the assortment depended on the whims of capital and the changing times. In the shadows by the furnace, under the clatter of intricate machines, both serf and free artisans gave birth to faience forms, trying to erase the boundaries between Russian and European styles.
Lamber’s story is a story of the struggle for style, quality, and a unique Russian identity in ceramics. His path was thorny—first the attempt to create a porcelain factory, then faience rebirth, debts, partnerships, blends of German and French models, death, and transition --- Let me know if you need the rest of the last sentence or more context!Here is the translation of your provided text into English: --- ... the business into the hands of the widow and new partners. In each cup and soup tureen, there is an imprint of this human drama: determination, failure, and newly redefined priorities. Transition to secret knowledge. Why does all this matter? By looking into the fate of Arkhangelsk faience, one can see the crossing point not only of people, but also of eras: Russia, striving to break free from English ceramic influence; Europe, tiptoeing around fashion; and the unique Russian potential. Here, faience is not just tableware. It’s a social experiment, an attempt to overcome provinciality through aesthetics. Tureen from the "Service with Bluebells" dinner set. 1829—1835. The mark in the form of an impression "LAMBERT" in the paste, which labels the pieces of the "Service with Bluebells" dinner set and plates with the portrait of the Duchess of Courland, 1827—1835. Tureen. Faience. England. Wedgwood Factory. Echoes of this struggle are still visible today. Modern interior design loves to reinvent the past: coffee shops in the style of "19th-century France," luxurious services with supposedly authentic shine. The fashion for “handmade,” for blends of traditions, for cross-cultural recipes — almost all of it is hidden away in a distant Arkhangelsk workshop. “Arkhangelsk Farm” and the Sacred Geography of Faience Let’s head deep inside the factory walls, where the past is tangible. Have any fragments survived from what the craftsmen molded and painted under Lambert’s direction? Decorative sculpture and lidded bowl (compote bowl?) inscribed "ARKHANGELSKAYA FERMA". 1827—1829. Yes, not only shards remain, but also entire sets, entire visual stories. The main pride of the factory — the famous "S... --- (Your provided excerpt was cut off at the end. Please provide the rest if you wish to continue translating!)Here is the English translation of your text: --- With “little bells” (or, more precisely, with lotus fruits, but who’s counting!), faience of delicate workmanship that was once a point of pride only in England. Here are stately soup tureens with volute handles, lidded bowls adorned with sculpted pear-shaped fruits, thick, porous pitchers imitating German and French majolica... All this stylistic variety might seem chaotic, yet it is aesthetically balanced and unified. The ornamentation of English, Dutch, French, even Chinese factories is not merely copied here, but interpreted. Every pattern holds its own Russian meaning. Plates with green and brown glaze recall the British fashion for “tortoiseshell” imitation, cups bearing the inscription “ARKHANGELSKAYA FERMA” point to the idea of local branding, while pots and salt shakers evoke handcrafted skill on the fine edge of naïveté. [Photo: Plate with a portrait of E.B. Biron, Duchesse of Courland, née Princess Yusupova. 1827–1835. Based on the engraving by J. Houbraken, 1775.] Here is the paradox: in this seemingly “cosmopolitan” art, a Russian spirit lurked behind every faience cup. Even if the form was borrowed from a catalogue of the English queen or the décor copied from Delft masters, the very existence of faience in a Russian manor already signified a revolution against dependence. Every new item was a small triumph over external fashion. A thin wall, gracefully bent handle, polychrome border, a now recognizable inscription — all this speaks: “Yes, Russia can do it too!” [Photo: Delft faience, second half of the 18th century. Rijksmuseum, Amsterdam.] The story of the set inscribed “ARKHANGELSKAYA FERMA” is an interweaving of branding, localization, and cultural self-respect. Every detail contains a graft of style, an attempt to explain that...Here is the English translation of your text: --- The Russian craftsmen would have their own ceremonial tableware, their own source of pride — no worse than the European kind. A modern perspective: we call this an "author's style," a local product, or a small batch. But when we see an old cup from Arkhangelskoye, we are surprised: the fashion for branded items, for micro-studios, for individual editions and collaborations, it turns out, began here more than a hundred years ago. Behind the Mirror: Symbols, Inscriptions, and the True Psychology of Art Let’s talk about the psychology of perception. Why do we like faience so much? Why can an antique plate, decorated with an unjustifiably intricate border and an impractical inscription, fill us with delight? Everything matters here: the right shade of the base, the slightly translucent glaze, the highlighting Latin letters — "LAMBERT", "ROMARINO", "ARKHANGELSKAYA FERMA". Plates with the inscription “ARKHANGELSKAYA FERMA”, 1827–1829 What’s so special about this? A person from the nineteenth century, just like us today, seeks authenticity in the details. It’s precisely through the nuances that one recognizes the true author, the genuine work; it’s by the stamp that not only the technique, but also the honesty of the ceramist is determined. The dream of serious craftsmanship always goes hand in hand with a thirst for experimentation. Sugar powder vessels with the inscription “ARKHANGELSKAYA FERMA.” 1827–1829. Their shape repeats similar products from Rouen faience of the late 17th century from the Museum of Decorative Arts in Paris. A pâté dish with a lid in the form of a pigeon and a dove with the inscription “ARKHANGELSKAYA FERMA.” 1827–1829. In the marks and symbols of the Arkhangelsk factory, both imitation (features of the Delft school, mystical letters and numbers, direct quotations from European workshops) and protest are hidden — the inscription in Russian as a sign of true...Here is the English translation of your text: and independence, the certification of one’s achievements. Here you have the gap between imitation and self-sufficiency. Symbolism is in the details: each handle of the soup tureen echoes the struggle between arduous beauty and newfound composure, each embossed flower is a sign of the desire to live beautifully, but in a distinctly Russian way. Faience tableware ceases to be utilitarian and becomes a bearer of status, a symbol of the heroic fight for independent art. The play of cultural codes only makes it more fascinating. Intricate underglaze patterns and emphasized baroqueness are not only a tribute to western fashion, but also, seen from the 21st century, the first version of “cultural identity”: to be trendy, but not to lose oneself. The craftsmen of Lambert knew how to create an object that you’d want to keep as a memento, like a photograph of an era. [Image caption:] Vessel, or oyster dish, two butter dishes with lids shaped as turtle doves in a nest, and a salt cellar inscribed “ARKHANGEL FARM.” 1827–1829 The mystery of disappearance and revival of interest Lambert’s production was small and, it would seem, barely noticeable in vast Russia. Few pieces survived — many vanished with time, were lost, dispersed into collections, lost their markings… After Lambert’s death, others ran the factory, new names emerged, and only some pieces bore a Russian signature, some Latin lettering, and most are now easily confused with Western European faience. The fairytale often ends where inscriptions fade. [Image caption:] Cup with saucer from the ‘ARKHANGEL FARM’ service. 1827–1829 But, as is always the case with true art, revival is only a matter of time. The value of Arkhangelsk faience today is measured not only by its rarity. It has become a symbol of cultural synthesisHere is the English translation of your text: --- A history of craftsmanship in which there are no losers: there is only the evolution of taste. Parisian cafes order handmade tableware from Russia, street artists use color schemes from old dinner sets, designers search for new brand identities inspired by the ornaments of past eras.
