The Story of Glass

by Sara Ware Bassett

"Indeed he was! Before he left he won a promise from Blaschka and his son to send to Cambridge a few flowers to serve as specimens of what they could do. Now you may fancy the rage of the Harvard authorities when on the arrival of the cases of flowers they found that almost all of them had been broken to bits in the New York Custom House. There was, however, enough left of the consignment to give to the Cambridge professors the assurance that the two Bohemians were well equal to the task demanded of them. Those who saw the shattered blossoms were most enthusiastic, and Mrs. Ware and her daughter told the authorities to order a limited number as a gift to the University. This second lot came safely and were so beautiful that Harvard at once arranged that the two Blaschkas send over to America all the flowers they could make for the next ten years."

"My!"

"Yes, that seems a great many, doesn't it?" Mr. Cabot assented, nodding to Jean. "But after all, it was not so tremendous as it sounds. You see Harvard needed a copy of every American flower, plant, and fruit. The making of them would take a great deal of time. Of course unless the collection was complete it would be of little use to students. So the Blaschkas began their work, and for a few years averaged a hundred sets of flowers a year. Then the father died and Rudolph was left to finish the work alone. You remember I told you that in true mediæval fashion they had kept the secret of their art to themselves; as a consequence there now was no one to aid the son in his undertaking. Twice he came to our country to get copies of flowers from which to work, toiling bravely on in order to finish the task his father had begun. He said he considered it a sort of monument or memorial to the elder man's genius. There you have the story," concluded Mr. Cabot. "No other such collection exists anywhere else in the world. Even with a microscope it is impossible to distinguish between the real flower and the glass copy."

"How were they made?" Giusippe demanded. "Was the glass blown?"

"No; the flowers were modeled. That is all I can tell you. The brittle glass was in some way made plastic so it could be shaped by hand or by instruments. Some of the coloring was put on while the material was hot; some while it was cooling; and some after it was cold. It all depended upon the result desired. But one thing is evident—the Blaschkas worked very quickly and with marvelous scientific accuracy."

"It is simply wonderful," said Giusippe. "Even at Murano there is nothing to equal this."

"I thought you, who knew so much of glass-making, would appreciate what such a collection represents in knowledge, toil, and skill. Furthermore it is beautiful, and for that reason alone is well worth seeing," answered Mr. Cabot.

"It is wonderful!" repeated the Italian lad.

All the way home the young Venetian was peculiarly silent. His national pride had received a blow. Bohemia had surpassed Venice at its own trade, the art of glass-making!