The Story of Glass

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Up in an elevator they sped, and alighting at one of the upper floors
Uncle Bob led the way into a room rich with silken hangings and rare
oriental rugs; all about this room were vases, plates, lamp-shades, and
ornaments of beautiful hues. There were great golden glass bowls
glinting with elusive lights of violet, blue, and yellow; there were
vases opalescent with burning flecks of orange and copper; there were
green glass plates and globes which shaded into tones of blue as
delicate as mother-of-pearl.

"Oh!" sighed Jean rapturously, "I never saw anything so lovely! Look at
these plates, Uncle Bob, do look at them. How ever did they get the
color? It is like a sunset."

"The Tiffanys, like Blaschka the flower modeler, are not telling the
world how they get their results. Rest assured, however, many and many
hours must have been spent in experiments before such artistic products
could be obtained."

"Think of the struggles with color and with firing," Giusippe murmured.

"And the pieces that must have been spoiled!" put in Jean.

"But think of the triumph of at last taking from the lehrs such gems as
these! The results which air, soil, and age have by chance produced in
the ancient Egyptian and Graeco-Syrian glass the Tiffanys have created
in a modern ware. It is a great achievement, and a royal contribution
to the art of the world."

The children would have been glad to linger for a much longer time in
the vast shop had not the chime of a clock warned them that the noon
hour, when they were to meet Miss Cartright, was approaching. She had
promised to lunch with them all at the Holland House.

Yes, she looked just the same, "only prettier," Jean whispered to
Giusippe. Certainly there was an added glow of beauty on her cheek and
a new sweetness in her smile. How glad she was to see them! And how
glad, glad, glad they were to see her. Miraculously from somewhere
Uncle Bob produced a great bunch of violets which she fastened in her
gown and then amid a confusion of merry chatter and laughter they went
in to luncheon.

It was indeed a royal luncheon!

Uncle Bob seemed inclined to order everything on the menu, and it was
not until Miss Cartright protested that not only the young people but
she herself would be ill, that he was to be stayed. And what a joke it
was when the waiter bent down and asked her if both her son and
daughter would take some of the hot chocolate!

Oh, it was a jolly luncheon!

And after it was finished and they all had declared that not until next
Thanksgiving could they think of eating anything more, off they shot in
a taxicab to the studio of Uncle Bob's friend, Mr. Norcross, who had
promised over the telephone to show them the window he was making for a
church in Chicago.

They found the studio at the top of one of New York's high buildings,
and it was flooded with light from the west and south; on one side of
the room was an open space large enough to allow an immense stained
glass window to be set up.

Mr. Norcross, who was an old college friend of Uncle Bob's, greeted
them cordially and when Miss Cartright remarked on the airiness of his
workshop he answered:

"Yes, I have plenty of air up here; of course I enjoy it, too. But air,
after all, is not the important factor which I consider. My stock in
trade is light. Without it I could do nothing. Through the medium of
strong sunlight I must test my work, for stained glass is beautiful
chiefly as the light plays through it. It is not a tapestry nor a
picture--it is primarily a window. Its colors must be rich in the light
but not glaring; and its design must be so thoughtfully executed that
the telling figures will stand forth when there is a strong sunset, for
instance, behind them."

"Of course, then, you must take care that the colors you use do not
prove too powerful and overshadow your central figures," said Miss
Cartright.

"Ah, you paint?"

"Yes, but not as I want to," was the wistful answer. "I do portraits.
So I can readily see that your problem is a unique, and far more
difficult one than mine. I have only a changeless color scheme to
consider, while your colors shift with every cloud that passes across
the sky."

Mr. Norcross nodded with pleasure at her instant appreciation of his
difficulties.

"Have you ever seen stained glass in the making?" he asked.

She shook her head.

"Neither have any of the rest of us, Norcross," put in Mr. Cabot. "That
is what we came for. I have been toting these two youthful friends of
mine all over the world and together we have investigated almost every
known form of glass, from the Naples Vase down to an American lamp
chimney."

Mr. Norcross smiled.

"So you see," Uncle Bob went on, "I wanted them to witness this phase
of glass-making."

"They certainly shall. How did you chance to be so interested in the
making of glass?" inquired the artist, turning to Giusippe.

"I am a Venetian, senor. For over six generations my people have been
at Murano."

"Oh, then, what wonder! And that accounts for your own personal color
scheme."

The artist let his eyes dwell upon the Italian's face intently: then
glanced at Miss Cartright.

"I did a portrait of Giusippe," she responded quietly, "when I was in
Venice a few years ago. He did not look so much like an American then."

"Modern clothing certainly does take the picturesqueness out of some of
us," answered Mr. Cabot.

In the meantime Giusippe had wandered off to the distant side of the
studio and now stood before a large glass panel calling excitedly:

"Is this the window you are making, senor? How beautiful! The violet
light behind the woman's head, and that yellow glow on her hair--it is
wonderful! And her white drapery against the background of green!"

Mr. Norcross came to his side, flushing with gratification.

"The mellow tones playing on her hair were hard to get. I spent a lot
of time working at them. It isn't easy to get the results one wants
when making stained glass."

"What did you do first, Mr. Norcross, when you began the window?" asked
Jean timidly.

"I will show you every step I have taken in doing it if you would like
to follow the process. In the first place I went to Chicago and studied
the light and the setting which it was to have. Then I made this small
water-color design and submitted it for approval to the persons who
were ordering the window. The drawing accepted, I set about making a
full-sized cartoon which I sketched in with charcoal on this heavy
paper; the black lines represent the leading and the horizontal
stay-bars necessary to hold the glass in place. After that I sliced up
my cartoon into a multitude of small pieces from which the glass could
be cut and the lead lines decided upon. All this done I went to work
planning my color scheme--thinking out what dominating colors I would
use and where I would place my high lights."

"And then you were ready for your glass?" inquired Mr. Cabot.

"Yes. Now selecting the glass is not alone a matter of color; it is
also a problem of thickness. Sometimes a variation in tone can be
obtained merely by using a bit of heavier glass in some one spot. Again
the effect must be obtained by the use of paint."

"What kind of glass do you use, Mr. Norcross?" Giusippe questioned.

"What we call bottle, or Norman, glass. We get it from England, and
strangely enough there is a heavy duty on it in its raw state. One can
import a whole window free of duty because it is listed as an art work;
but the glass out of which an art work is to be constructed costs a
very high price. Odd, isn't it? As soon as I reach the point of using
glass I arrange it on a large plate glass easel, using wax in the
spaces where the lead is to go. Then I experiment and experiment with
my colors. You probably know that in making modern stained glass a
great deal of paint is used in order to get shading and degrees of
color. It was toward the end of the thirteenth century that the old
glass-makers began to introduce the use of paint into their windows.
First came the grisaille glass, as it was called, where instead of
strong reds and blues most of the window was in white painted with
scroll work in which a few bits of brilliant stained glass were set
like jewels. Then with the fourteenth century came those elaborate
painted canopies and borders within which were the main figures of the
window in stained glass. From that time on the combination of stained
and painted glass was used. Accordingly we all work by that method now.
So, as I say, I paint in my glass and afterward it has to be fired, all
the small pieces being laid out on heavy sheets of steel covered with
plaster of paris."

"Do your colors always come out as you mean to have them?" inquired
Giusippe, his eyes on the artist's face.

Mr. Norcross shrugged his shoulders.

"You know, don't you, how the firing often changes the tone, and how
you frequently get a color you neither intended nor desired. That is
one of the tribulations of stained glass making. Another is when the
cutters must trim down the glass and put the lead in place. You may not
realize that there are three widths of lead from which to select; it is
not always easy to choose for every part of the design the thickness
which will look the best. For instance, sometimes the leading will be
too strong and overwhelm the picture; again it will be too weak and
render the window characterless."

"It must be a fascinating puzzle to work out," mused Miss Cartright.

"Yes; but it is also a great test of the patience."

"Were the old glass windows made in this same way, do you suppose?"
asked Jean after a pause.

"I presume the old glass-makers worked along the same general plan,
although they may not have followed exactly the present-day methods;
certain it is, however, that they knew all the many tricks or devices
for getting color effects--knew them far better than we do now. And
they put endless time and thought into their work, no artist feeling it
beneath his dignity to follow the humblest detail of his conception. He
watched over his art-child until it got to be full-grown. This is the
only way to get fine results. For, you see, there is no set rule for a
glass designer to apply. Each window presents a fresh problem in the
management of light and color. There is no branch of art more elusive
or more difficult than this. I must be able to construct a window which
will be satisfactory as a flat piece of decoration; it must be
sufficiently interesting to give pleasure even when it stands in a dim
light. Then presto--the sun moves round, and my window is transformed!
And in the flood of light that passes through it I must still be able
to find it beautiful."

"I think that I should like to learn to make stained glass," declared
Giusippe, who had become so absorbed that he had moved close beside Mr.
Norcross.

"Would you?"

The artist smiled down kindly at him. "In your country you have many a
fine example of glass. France, too, is rich in rose windows which are
the despair of our modern craftsmen. But we glass-makers are working
hard and earnestly, and who knows but in time we may give to the world
such glass as is at Rheims, Tours, Amiens, and Chartres."

"What sort of paint do you use?" asked Mr. Cabot as he took up a brush
and idly examined it in his fingers.

"A kind of opaque enamel containing fusible material which is melted by
heat and thereafter adheres to the surface of the glass. It must,
however, be used carefully, as it possesses so much body that too much
of it will obscure the light--the thing a stained glass window should
never do. We should have many more successful windows if the people
making them would only bear in mind that a window is not a picture, and
should not be treated as one. For my part, I make my window a window. I
join the pieces of glass frankly together, not trying to conceal the
lead that holds them. I cannot say that I get the results either with
colors or lights that I want to get; but I am trying, with the old
masters as my ideal."

"Certainly you are a long way on the road if you can turn out a window
as beautiful as this one promises to be. None of us reaches the ideal,
Mr. Norcross, but in the past is the inspiration that what man has done
man can do. Perhaps not now, but in the future," Miss Cartright said
softly.

"I wish I might try stained glass making," Giusippe said again.

"Perhaps some time you will, my boy," answered Mr. Norcross, "and
perhaps, too, your generation may succeed where mine has failed, and
give to the world another Renaissance. Remember, all the great deeds
haven't been done yet."

CHAPTER X

TWO UNCLES AND A NEW HOME

Uncle Tom Curtis arrived in New York toward the end of the children's
visit, good-byes were said to Miss Cartright and to Uncle Bob, and
within the space of a day Jean and Giusippe were amid new surroundings.
Here was quite a different type of city from Boston--a city with many
beautiful buildings, fine residences, and a swarm of great factories
which belched black smoke up into the blue of the sky. Here, too, were
Giusippe's aunt and uncle with a hearty welcome for him; and here,
furthermore, was the new position which the boy had so eagerly craved
in the glass works. The place given Giusippe, however, did not prove to
be the one his uncle had secured for him after all; for during the
journey from New York Uncle Tom Curtis had had an opportunity to study
the young Italian, and the result of this better acquaintance turned
out to be exactly what Uncle Bob Cabot had predicted; Uncle Tom became
tremendously interested in the Venetian, and before they arrived at
Pittsburgh had decided to put him in quite a different part of the
works from that which he had at first intended.

"Your nephew has splendid stuff in him," explained Mr. Curtis to
Giusippe's uncle. "I mean to start him further up the ladder than most
of the boys who come here. We will give him every chance to rise and
we'll see what use he makes of the opportunity. He is a very
interesting lad."

Accordingly, while Jean struggled with French, algebra, drawing,
history, and literature at the new school in which Uncle Tom had
entered her and while she and Fraeulein Decker had many a combat with
German, Giusippe began wrestling with the problems of plate glass
making.

The factory was an immense one, covering a vast area in the
manufacturing district of the city; it was a long way from the
residential section where Jean lived, and as the boy and girl had
become great chums they at first missed each other very much. Soon,
however, the rush of work filled in the gaps of loneliness. Each was
far too busy to lament the other, and since Uncle Tom invented all
sorts of attractive plans whereby they could be together on Saturday
afternoons and Sundays the weeks flew swiftly along. There were motor
trips, visits to the museums and churches of the city, and long walks
with Beacon wriggling to escape from the leash which reined him in.

Uncle Tom's home was much more formal than Uncle Bob's. It stood, one
of a row of tall gray stone houses, fronting a broad avenue on which
there was a great deal of driving. It had a large library and a still
larger dining-room in which Jean playfully protested she knew she
should get lost. But stately as the dwelling was it was not so big and
formidable after all if once you got upstairs; on the second floor were
Uncle Tom's rooms and a dainty little bedroom, study, and bath for
Jean. On the floor above a room was set apart for Giusippe, so that he
might stay at the house whenever he chose. Saturday nights and Sundays
he always spent at Uncle Tom's; the rest of the time he lived with his
uncle and aunt.

To Giusippe it was good to be once more with his kin and talk in his
native language; and yet such a transformation had a few months in the
United States made in him that he found that he was less and less
anxious to remain an Italian and more and more eager to become an
American. His uncle, who had made but a poor success of life in Venice,
and who had secured in his foster country prosperity and happiness,
declared there was no land like it. He missed, it is true, the warm,
rich beauty of his birthplace beyond the seas, and many a time talked
of it to his wife and Giusippe; but the lure of the great throbbing
American city gripped him with its fascination. It presented endless
opportunity--the chance to learn, to possess, to win out.

"If you have brains and use them, if you are not afraid of hard work,
there is no limit to what a man may do and become over here," he told
Giusippe. "That is why I like it, and why I never shall go back to
Italy. Just you jump in, youngster, and don't you worry but you'll
bring up somewhere in the end."

There was no need to urge a lad of Giusippe's make-up to "jump in"; on
the contrary it might, perhaps, have been wiser advice to caution him
not to take his new work too hard. He toiled early and late, never
sparing himself, never thinking of fatigue. Physically he was a rugged
boy, and to this power was linked the determination to make good.
Before he had been a month in the glass house he was recognized by all
the men as one who would make of each task merely a stepping-stone to
something higher. His uncle was congratulated right and left on having
such a nephew, and very proud indeed he was of Giusippe.

In the meantime Uncle Tom Curtis, although apparently busy with more
important matters, kept his eyes and ears open. Frequent reports
concerning his protege reached him in his far-away office at the other
end of the works. Indeed the boy would have been not a little surprised
had he known how very well informed about his progress the head of the
firm really was. But Uncle Tom never said much. He did, however, write
Uncle Bob that to bring home a penniless Italian as a souvenir of
Venice was not such a crazy scheme after all as he had at first
supposed it. From Uncle Tom this was rare praise, a complete
vindication, in fact. Uncle Bob chuckled over the letter and showed it
to Hannah, who rubbed her hands and declared things were working out
nicely.

"Some day, Giusippe," remarked Uncle Tom one evening after dinner, when
together with the young people he was sitting within the crimson glow
of the library lamp, "I propose you take Jean through the works. It is
ridiculous that a niece of mine should acquaint herself with the
history of the glass of all the past ages and never go through her own
uncle's factory. What do you say, missy? Would you like to go?"

"Of course, Uncle Tom, I'd love to. I wrote Uncle Bob only the other
day that I wanted dreadfully to see how plate glass was made and hoped
some time you'd take me. I didn't like to ask you for fear you were too
busy."

"I have been a little rushed, I'll admit. We business men," he slapped
Giusippe on the shoulder, "live in a good deal of a whirl--eh,
Giusippe?"

"I know you do, sir."

"And you? You have nothing to do, I suppose. It chances that I have
heard to the contrary, my lad. You've put in some mighty good work
since you came here, and I am much gratified by the spirit you've
shown."

Giusippe glowed. It was not a common thing for Mr. Curtis to commend.

"I didn't know, sir, that you----"

"Knew what you were doing? Didn't any one ever tell you that I have a
search-light and a telescope in my office?" Uncle Tom laughed. "Oh, I
keep track of things even if I do seem to be otherwise occupied. So
look out for yourself! Beware! My eyes may be upon you almost any
time."

"I am not afraid, sir," smiled the boy.

"And you have no cause to be, either, my lad," was Uncle Tom's serious
rejoinder. "Now you and Jean fix up some date to see the works. Why not
to-morrow? It is Saturday, and she will not be at school."

"But I work Saturday mornings, Mr. Curtis."

"Can't somebody else do your work for you?"

"I have never asked that."

"Well, I will. We'll arrange it. Let us say to-morrow then. Take Jean
and explain things to her. You can do it, can't you?"

"I think so. Most of the process I understand now, and if there is
anything that I need help about I can ask."

"That's right. Just go ahead and complete the girl's education in
glass-making so she can write her Boston uncle that she is now
qualified to superintend any glass works that may require her
oversight."

Jean laughed merrily.

"I am afraid I should be rather a poor superintendent, Uncle Tom," said
she. "There seems to be such a lot to know about glass."

"There is," agreed Mr. Curtis. "Sometimes I feel as if about everything
in the world was made of it. Of course you've seen the ink erasers made
of a cluster of fine glass fibres. Oh, yes; they have them. And the
aigrettes made in the same way and used in ladies' bonnets. Then there
are those beautiful brocades having fine threads of spun glass woven
into them in place of gold and silver; it was a Toledo firm, by the
way, that presented to the Infanta Eulalie of Spain a dress of satin
and glass woven together. To-day came an order from California for
glass to serve yet another purpose; you could never guess what. The
people out there want some of our heaviest polished plate to make the
bottoms of boats."

"Of boats!"

"Boats," repeated Uncle Tom, nodding.

"But--but why make a glass-bottomed boat?"

"Well, in California, Florida, and many other warm climates boats with
bottoms of glass are much in use. Sightseers go out to where the water
is clear and by looking down through the transparent bottom of the boat
they can see, as they go along, the wonderful plant and animal life of
the ocean. Such reptiles, such fish, such seaweeds as there are! I have
heard that it is as interesting as moving pictures, and quite as
thrilling, too."

"I'd like to do it," said Giusippe.

"I shouldn't," declared Jean with a shudder. "I hate things that
writhe, and squirm, and wriggle. Imagine being so near those hideous
creatures! Why, if I once should see them I should never dare to go in
bathing again. I'd rather not know what's in the sea."

"There is something in that, little lady," Uncle Tom answered, slipping
one of his big hands over the two tiny ones in the girl's lap.
"Giusippe and I will keep the sea monsters out of your path, then; and
the land monsters, too, if we can. Now it is time you children got to
bed, for to-morrow you must make an early start. You'd better telephone
your aunt or uncle that you are going to stay here to-night, Giusippe.
If you do not work to-morrow you will not need to get to the factory
until Jean and I do; it will be much simpler for you to remain here and
go down with us in the car. I'll call up your boss and explain matters.
Good-night, both of you. Now scamper! I want to read my paper."

* * * *

The next morning the Curtis family was promptly astir, and after
breakfast Uncle Tom with his two charges rolled off to the factory in
the big red limousine.

"Your superintendent says you are welcome to the morning off,
Giusippe," Mr. Curtis remarked as they sped along. "But he did have the
grace to say he should miss you. Now it seems to me that if you are to
give Jean a clear idea of what we do at the works you better begin with
the sheet glass department. That will interest her, I am sure; later
you can show her where you yourself work."

The car pulled up at Mr. Curtis's office, and they all got out.

"Good-bye! Good luck to you," he called as the boy and girl started
off.

Jean waved her hand.

"We will be back here and ready to go home with you, Uncle Tom, at one
o'clock," she called over her shoulder.

"We won't be late, sir."

"See that you're not. I shall be hungry and shall not want to wait. I
guess you'll have an appetite, too, by that time."

"Is sheet glass blown, Giusippe?" inquired Jean, as they went across
the yard. "I hate to ask stupid questions, but you see I do not know
anything about it."

"That isn't a stupid question. Quite the contrary. Yes, sheet glass is
blown. You shall see it done, too."

"But I do not understand how they can get it flattened out, if they
blow it."

"You will."

The boy led the way through a low arched door.

Before the furnaces within the great room a number of glass-blowers
were at work. They stood upon wooden stagings, each one of which was
built over a well or pit in the floor, and was just opposite an opening
in the furnace.

"Each of these men has a work-hole of the furnace to himself, so that
he may heat his material any time he needs to do so. The staging gives
him room to swing his heavy mass of glass as he blows it, and the pit
in the floor, which is about ten feet deep, furnishes space for the big
cylinder to run out, or grow longer, as he blows. The gathering for
sheet glass is done much as was that for the smaller pieces. The
gatherer collects a lump on his pipe, cools it a little, and collects
more until he has enough. He then rests it on one of those wooden
blocks such as you see over there; the block is hollowed out so to let
the blower expand the glass to the diameter he wants it."

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