CHAPTER XXXIV. DIAMOND-CUTTING AT AMSTERDAM.
There is something in the business of diamond-cutting that appeals strongly to the imagination.
It must be extremely interesting to see the precious stones at the mines disclosing themselves to the anxious seekers. Any chance blow of the pick may bring to light a mate for the Koh-i-noor, the Orloff, the Shah, the Sancy, the Pitt, the Hope, or any other of the great diamonds of the world. In a moment the digger may become a rich man. His occupation has all the excitement of gambling, with the essential difference in his favor that he can make a steady living at it, though he may fail to draw one of the capital prizes. Work in the diamond-fields of Brazil and South Africa is a legitimate pursuit, and, when well directed, wrests a subsistence from the stony earth as surely as from a corn-patch or a cabbage-garden. It is, perhaps, more seductive to the outside observer than to the fellow down there in the pit who does all the grubbing.
The traveler who can not make it convenient to go to South Africa or Brazil to see diamonds found, may, by visiting Amsterdam, see them cut. That old Dutch city—famous for its grave men, its plump women, its dikes, its canals, its quaint houses, its commercial push, its thrift and consequent wealth—enjoys the unique distinction of cutting the diamonds of the world. Within a few years some other cities have engaged in the business in a small way. But Coster, of Amsterdam, still handles most of the rough stones which reach Europe. At his establishment the Koh-i-noor was recut, and its latent fire fully revealed. He gave to the Star of the South—the largest stone ever unearthed in Brazil—the blaze of light which justifies its brilliant name. He may truly be said to find the real diamond under the dull, opaque crust which often hides its glow in the native state. He is even more the discoverer of its beauties than the man who picked it out of its gravelly bed.
If Baedeker had given me some account of Coster’s way of cutting diamonds, I might not have taken the trouble to look him up in Amsterdam, where there are so many other things to claim the tourist’s attention. But, in the absence of such information, I was impelled to seek it for myself.
In books one may see pictures of diamond-mining in Brazil, where the slaves are represented as toiling with shovels and hoes in rich gravel, while overseers stand in sentry-boxes all about, watching every movement of the men lest they may conceal some gem in their scanty clothing. He wonders if they keep up that kind of espionage at Coster’s, where the opportunities for stealing diamonds must be very great. I supposed there would be some difficulty in gaining admission to a place where pecks of stones were lying round loose in various stages of treatment, and even the air was full of diamond-dust. This was romance. Now let us look at the reality.
Coster offers no obstacle to the inquiring mind. It is only understood that a small sum of money—a guilder (thirty-eight cents) is the proper size of it—must be paid to the superintendent, who turns it over to a fund for the good of the workmen. Every person who bears in his face and clothes evidence of his ability to stand that assessment is admitted and made welcome; and, if he has a lady with him, that is the best voucher of his pecuniary responsibility.
The man who piloted us about Coster’s spoke English, and made himself agreeable. He first showed a handful of stones in the rough. As he tossed them down carelessly on a table, I thought they were bits of gum or grains of tapioca. Not one of them sparkled. Their hue was generally a dirty yellow; only a few were milk-white; some were cream-colored. Invited to examine the stones, I took them into my hand with some reluctance, and kept my eye all the time on the exhibitor, being afraid he might turn his head, or be called off to another part of the room, and leave me in possession of those treasures, with a blind confidence in my integrity. I trust it would not have been misplaced, but do not want to take charge of a handful of diamonds, even temporarily, for anybody else. There was no need of anxiety on this score, for the man’s gaze was never once withdrawn from that valuable property.
It was hard to realize that those poor-looking scraps of mineral were diamonds—some worth one thousand dollars apiece when cut. Not one of them was a perfect crystal, a pair of pyramids set base to base, of which we see diagrams in the books. The edges had mostly been worn away by much rolling in water, as one would say, their general appearance being that of pebbles smoothed in a brook. But, on close inspection, remains of the original crystalline shape were always detected. Every diamond still retained rudimentary cutting edges, which are all that is left of the old sharp lines. As they rested in my palm, they felt cold as ice. As they struck against one another in moving them about, they emitted faint, musical sounds; and their weight was remarkable for their bulk. These peculiarities would attract the notice of the most ignorant person. He would know that the stones in his hand were out of the common. But it would be safe to bet that, if they were thrown down by the quart in the streets among other stones, they would pass unnoticed by persons not familiar with the appearance of uncut diamonds. The experiment, however, is not likely to be made.
After examining this handful of diamonds, one has no desire to see any more in the rough. He could look at a cart-load of them without the least emotion. They do not excite that feeling of cupidity which is said to exist, however passive, in every human breast.
Our guide then led us into a room where we saw the first process of cutting. Several men were engaged in this work, which requires great experience, judgment, and skill. It is there that the shape of the polished stones is decided upon—whether it shall be a brilliant with many flashing facets, or a rose with but few. Here the faults, if any, of each stone are discovered by unerring eyes, and the defective parts chipped away. We stood by the side of one of the men while he disposed of what seemed a very knotty question. He held between thumb and finger a stone as large as a filbert. To the uninstructed eye it was a lump of gum arabic, with a certain symmetry of outline showing its old octahedral form. After turning it over and inspecting it critically, he put it in a little vise before him, and screwed the jaws tightly together. Then he took a light, sharp chisel in one hand and a small hammer in the other. He could not have looked more unconcerned if he had been about to crack an after-dinner walnut. My heart was in my mouth when I saw him apply his chisel to the diamond and give it a smart tap with the hammer. What if he should break the stone in pieces, instead of removing a defective fraction of it! The guide had said it was a twenty-carat diamond, and believed to be of the first water. But the operation, hazardous as it appeared, was easy to the skilled artisan, and was successful. He had struck the diamond exactly on the line of cleavage, and a thin piece fell into a box sunk into the table just beneath the vise, and intended for the reception of the chips. The man picked it out, and I saw at a glance that it was full of black specks. These were uncrystallized carbon, like coal-dust, the presence of which would have spoiled the stone when cut. He then showed me the freshly exposed surface of the diamond. The rough, yellowish scale of the imperfect portion having been removed, one could see something of the true sparkle of the gem, though its full luminous effect would be evoked only by the polishing process. Sometimes it is necessary to detach a spotty part by working in a direction other than the cleavage-line; then the hammer and chisel are of no avail. The operator resorts to a saw, which, strangely enough, is toothless. It is nothing more than a fine steel wire, perhaps double the thickness of a hair. This wire is kept moistened by olive-oil, in which diamond-dust has been mixed. As it is moved forth and back, saw-like, across the surface, the dust supplies the place of teeth, and the metallic thread slowly buries itself in that hardest of stones.
The truth of the adage, “Diamond cuts diamond,” was made clear to us by the spectacle of six men illustrating it. Each man held in each hand a short stick, having at the end a socket filled with lead or some easily melted alloy. The diamond to be cut is partly sunk below the surface of this fusible metal while it is still in a molten condition, and just before it cools; and, when the metal “sets,” there is the diamond immovably imbedded, with enough of its surface exposed to enable the operator to attack it with another diamond, which is fixed in another stick the same way. Each diamond is to cut the other, and thus two stones are simultaneously prepared for the market. When the exposed parts of the two diamonds have been cut by each other as far as possible, then the soft metal in the iron sockets is melted, the stones are released and turned to bring the uncut sides uppermost, and the work proceeds as before. This is the most tedious stage of the business. One watches the men by the half-hour, and sees them make but little progress as they press one diamond against the other with all the power in their arms, and rub the two slowly together with a faint, crunching noise. If the sunlight falls upon the scene, one may notice certain glistening motes dropping into a little pan beneath their hands. This is the dust of diamonds, which is most carefully saved up to be used in the polishing, the final stage; and, whatever chippings or splinters are obtained here or elsewhere in handling diamonds, are pulverized in agate mortars for the same purpose.
At intervals the workmen pause to look at the diamonds, to see how they are getting on. We observe them at a little distance, and notice the adamantine luster of the facets. Already it is possible to pick out an uncommonly fine stone by its cold, steel-blue light.
The most interesting department of Coster’s is the one where the polishing is done. Here, at last, you may look into the hearts of the diamonds freed from their grosser vestments. Here, if anywhere, the spectator is apt to be stirred with unholy covetousness. If he has a lady with him, she would be more than human if she did not sometimes cry out, “How splendid!” “Just too lovely for anything!” and ask the guide how much a pair of such diamonds would cost, pointing at a perfect beauty that would weigh ten carats, sure. Cases are reported in which husbands, at that stage of the rounds, have hurried up their investigations, suddenly finding that they have no time to “look it all through, my dear.” And, even when they have torn themselves and the partners of their lives away from the scene of fascination, they have not heard the last of Coster’s diamonds by a great deal. At any moment, anywhere, while looking at the marble or bronze effigies of a cathedral, or hunting among church-yard tombs for quaint inscriptions, or rapturously gazing at some Madonna which is the glory of a picture-gallery—when the mind ought to be filled with the most solemn thoughts—one may hear the question, “Weren’t they splendid?”
“What, my dear?” says the dull being who never takes a hint.
“Why, those diamonds at Coster’s!”
“Oh, yes, I remember—quite pretty.” And then the insensate husband, perhaps, instead of pursuing the interesting subject, begs leave to recall the fair one’s wandering attention to the beautiful carving on that ancient tomb, or the seraphic expression of the Virgin’s eyes, etc.
It has been said that there is one way to stop a mouth which babbles too much of Coster’s. A kiss will do it, without fail, if followed up by a gift of something in diamonds, according to the means or generosity of the donor. But this is doubtless the slander of a cynic, and repeated here only under protest.
The polishers are about twenty strong. They are mostly young fellows, who do not require glasses. Sharp eye-sight is the indispensable qualification for their work. They are all hanging over horizontal wheels which are driven at tremendous speed. Upon these revolving disks they are pressing something very forcibly with both hands. It is a stick with a diamond imbedded in the head thereof—the same that we have seen in the cutting-room. Sometimes the workman releases one hand, and takes a feather from a cup by his side. This has been soaking in olive-oil, in which there is an ingredient of diamond-dust. He lets a few drops of it fall on the flying wheel at a point near its center or axis of motion. The centrifugal force at once scatters the oil and the included dust all over the surface in a barely perceptible film. Its tendency is to be thrown off the edge of the wheel but this is prevented by a raised rim, which keeps it all somewhere on the disk. Without the application of this mixture the diamond would never get a polish.
As we stood looking down the line of the polishers, who in turn glanced from their work at us, the guide made a signal to one of them. He at once withdrew his diamond from the wheel, wiped it on a leather apron, and brought it to us for examination. It was a large stone—fifteen carats, perhaps—which had been polished enough to show its native worth. Its color was a yellow, so deep as to convert into a merit what would otherwise have been a great defect. Had the tint been that of straw instead of orange, its selling value would have been small. But as it was extremely yellow, even for a South African stone, connoisseurs would be sure to want it for their collections. There would, perhaps, be a competition for the treasure. Strange caprice of fancy which elevates a fault into a virtue!
Another signal from the guide brought forward a diamond of a very different sort. It was much more to my taste than the other. As the man put the stick into my hand, the end of it seemed to blaze. It shone so vividly that its size could not clearly be made out. Apparently it was larger than the yellow one. But the guide informed me that the polished surface of this stone was much the smaller. Its finer water imparted the wonderful brilliancy I had noticed. From its facets leaped coruscations that dazzled the eye like gleams of lightning. It needed no expert to tell one that here was a diamond of the rarest quality—something that might fairly be claimed to stand first on the list of those twenty-odd grades into which the white stones are divided by the dealers. I could not refrain from touching it with the tip of a finger before the guide could warn me. The contact, which was but for an instant, blistered the skin, so great was the heat caused by the friction of polishing. It was a pleasure to know that this peerless gem—about eight carats when finished—would be worth far more to adorn the neck or bosom of beauty than the bigger yellow one of the rare shade, destined only for the cabinet of some whimsical male collector.
After the exhibition of this perfect diamond to our wondering gaze, anything of lesser splendor would have failed to please. So we bade farewell to Coster’s, after paying a visit to the graceful steam-engine which supplies the motive power for all the disks that are kept whirling on the busy second floor. There are other floors of the same establishment where other work is done. There is a great safe down in the basement, which is opened for you, disclosing boxes and bags holding treasures to the extent of as many million dollars as you choose to imagine. Every well-regulated visitor at Coster’s is pleased to pay the complimentary fee expected of him, when he knows that it goes to the benefit of the workmen; for, if his eyes have been open to anything besides diamonds, he must have noticed intelligence, sobriety, and honesty written in their faces. Then he understands that at Coster’s there is a better guarantee for the security of diamonds against theft and loss than if an overseer stood watching each squad of men with pistol in hand.