LEGENDS OF THE GLASS-HOUSE, ETC.
Enough has been adduced to show the peculiar estimation in which the art of glass-making was formerly held, and the privileges conferred on it by the various governments of Europe.
The art was thus almost invested with an air of romance; and a manufacture commanding so much attention on the part of the governments was regarded with a great share of awe and wonder.
It is not strange that, in this state of things, various legends should have been identified with the manufacture and its localities. Among these legends was that which ascribed to the furnace-fire the property of creating the monster called the Salamander. It was believed, too, that at certain times this wonderful being issued from his abode, and, as opportunity offered, carried back some victim to his fiery bed. The absence of workmen, who sometimes departed secretly for foreign lands, was always accounted for by the hypothesis that in some unguarded moment they had fallen a prey to the Salamander. Visitors, too, whose courage could sustain them, were directed to look through the bye-hole to the interior of the furnace, and no one failed to discover the monster coiled in his glowing bed, and glaring with fiery eyes upon the intruder, much to his discomfiture, and effectually as to his retreat. Some gallant knights, armed cap-a-pie, it is said, dared a combat with the fiery dragon, but always returned defeated; the important fact being doubtless then unknown or overlooked, that steel armor, being a rapid conductor of heat, would be likely to tempt a more ready approach of the fabled monster.
There was another current notion, that glass was as easily rendered malleable as brittle, but that the workmen concealed the art, and the life of any one attempting the discovery was surely forfeited. An ancient writer on glass, "Isidorus," states that, in the reign of Tiberius, an artist, banished from Rome on political considerations, in his retirement discovered the art of rendering glass malleable; he ventured to return to Rome, in hopes of procuring a remission of his sentence, and a reward for his invention; the glass-makers, supposing their interest to be at stake, employed so powerful an influence with the Emperor (who was made to believe that the value of gold might be diminished by the discovery), that he caused the artist to be beheaded, and his secret died with him. "Blancourt" relates that, as late as the time of Louis XIII., an inventor having presented to Cardinal Richelieu a specimen of malleable glass of his own manufacture, he was rewarded by a sentence of perpetual imprisonment, lest the "vested interest" of French glass manufacturers might be injured by the discovery. Even at the present day the error is a popular one, that if the art of making glass malleable were made known, it would have the effect of closing nearly all the existing glass-works; while the truth is, that quite the reverse would be the result. Whenever the art of making glass malleable is made known, it will assuredly multiply the manufacture to a tenfold degree.
It was formerly the custom for the workmen, in setting pots in the glass-furnace, to protect themselves from the heat by dressing in the skins of wild animals from head to foot; to this "outre" garb were added glass goggle-eyes, and thus the most hideous-looking monsters were readily presented to the eye. Show was then made of themselves in the neighborhood, to the infinite alarm of children, old women, and others. This always occurred, with other mysterious doings, on the occasion of setting the pot, or any other important movement attendant on the business. The ground was thus furnished for very much of the horrible diablerie connected with the whole history of the manufacture.
A belief was long prevalent that glass drinking vessels, made under certain astronomical influences, would certainly fly to pieces if any poisonous liquid was placed in them; and sales of vessels of this kind were made at enormous prices. Another idea pervaded the community, that vessels of a certain form, made in a peculiar state of the atmosphere, and after midnight, would allow a pure diamond to pass directly through the bottom of the vessel. Various articles, such as colored goblets, were thought to add to the flavor of wine, and to detract materially from its intoxicating quality.
All these, and many other popular notions, added greatly to the mystery and renown of glass manufacturers. We close this number with an extract from "Howell's Familiar Letters." "Murano," says he, "a little island about one mile from Venice, is the place where crystal glass is made, and it is a rare sight to see whole streets where on one side there are twenty furnaces at work. They say here, that although one should transfer a furnace from Murano to Venice, or to any of the little assembled islands about here, or to any other part of the earth beside, to use the same materials, the same workmen, the same fuel, and the selfsame ingredients every way, yet they cannot make crystal glass in that perfection for beauty and lustre as at Murano. Some impute it to the circumambient air, which is purified and attenuated by the concurrence of so many fires, that are in these furnaces night and day perpetually, for they are like the vestal fires, never going out."
There is no manufacturing business carried on by man combining so many inherent contingencies, as that of the working of flint glass. There is none demanding more untiring vigilance on the part of the daily superintendent, or requiring so much ability and interest in the work. Unlike all other branches of labor, it is carried on by night and day, is governed by no motive power connected with steam or water, and has no analogy to the production of labor by looms or machinery.
The crude material of earth being used, each portion requires careful refining from natural impurities, and when compounded, being dependent upon combustion in the furnace for its completion, (which combustion is effected by change of the atmosphere beyond the power of man to direct, but exercises a power to affect the heat of the furnace acting for good or for evil,) much responsibility rests upon the furnace-tenders; constant care on their part is required. A slight neglect affects the quality of the glass. A check upon the furnace in founding-time will spoil every pot of metal for the best work. Overheat, too, will destroy the pots, and the entire weekly melt will be launched into the cave, at a loss of several thousand dollars. Even with the utmost care, a rush of air will not uncommonly pass through the furnace and destroy one or more pots in a minute's space. And when the furnace has yielded a full melt, and is ready for work, many evils are at hand, and among the ever-jarring materials of a glass-house, some one becomes adverse to a full week's work; vigilance is not always the price of success.
Again: no branch of mechanical labor possesses more of attraction for the eye of the stranger or the curious, than is to be witnessed in a glass-house in full play. The crowded and bee-like movements of the workmen, with irons and hot metal, yet each, like the spheres of his own orbit, presents a scene apparently of inextricable confusion.
It is a difficult task to describe the curious and interesting operations of the glass-blowers; for the present we may say, that there is no other employment so largely dependent upon steadiness of nerve and calm self-possession. The power of manipulation is the result of long experience. The business of the glass-blower is literally at his "fingers' ends." It is most interesting to witness the progress of his labor, from the first gathering of the liquid metal from the pot, and the passing it from hand to hand, until the shapeless and apparently uncontrollable mass is converted into some elegant article. Equally interesting is it to witness with what dexterity he commands, and with what entire ease he controls the melted mass; the care, also, with which he swings it with force just enough to give it the desired length, joins it to other pieces, or with shears cuts it with the same ease as paper. The whole process, indeed, is one filled with the most fascinating interest and power.
Of all the articles of glass manufacture, none command a greater degree of attention than the article called the salver, and no other develops so pleasing and surprising effects in its processes. When seen for the first time, the change from a shapeless mass, the force with which it flies open at the end of the process, changing in an instant into a perfect article, all combine to astonish and delight the beholder.
Mystery is as much a characteristic of the art now as at any former period; but it is a mystery unallied to superstition,—a mystery whose interpreter is science,—a mystery which, instead of repelling the curious and frightening the ignorant, now invites the inquiring and delights the unlearned.
By the following, we find that the romance of glass-making has not yet died out. We copy from the "Paris Annual of Scientific Discovery," for 1863, the following:—
"It would appear there is yet some secret in glass-making unknown to the world at large, as the manufactory of Mr. Daguet, of Soletere, France, is known to be in possession of an undivulged method, which enables them to make glass of a purity which all other manufacturers are not able to rival. A railway, recently constructed and running past Mr. Daguet's works, has so affected the glass-pots, by the tremor occasioned by the locomotives and trains, that work has had to be suspended. For this Mr. Daguet brought an action, during the past year, against the railway company for damages; but when the case came on for trial, the court held that it would be impossible to assess damages unless it were made cognizant of the secret, and its pecuniary advantage to Mr. Daguet. The latter declined imparting this, and the court refused to proceed further."
We have shown that glass, while it has contributed so largely to the material well-being of man, has also administered profusely to the pleasure of woman. The belle enjoys the reflection of her beauty in its silvered face,—a pleasure peculiarly her own, as we all know,—and if we may believe poesy, the mermaid, her rival of the coral groves in the fathomless ocean, looks with equal satisfaction upon her dubious form, as seen in her hand-mirror. And what would Cinderella be to the nursery without her glass slipper!
But leaving poetry to its own prolific devices, where would science find itself without the aid of glass? The astronomer's and chemist's vocation would be gone. Suns, planets, and stars would have no exact existence to us, and their laws be unknown. The seaman would blunder his way on the ocean, lucky if he guessed aright his course, and cursing his "stars," when he did not. In short, glass is the indispensable servant of science in almost all its forms, and where it does not discover it protects. Its loss would throw back the world into antediluvian ignorance, not to mention the countless eyes it would deprive of sight, of their intellectual food, and freedom of way.