The Story of Glass Part 11

"Cambridge! Oh, I know. It is the University, Mr. Cabot. It is Harvard!" exclaimed Giusippe, very proud of his knowledge.

"Not quite," Mr. Cabot said, shaking his head, "although, being a Harvard man, I naturally feel that the equal of my Alma Mater cannot be found elsewhere. But you are on the right track. It is something which is out at Harvard. Guess again."

"I don't know," confessed Giusippe.

"Well, you may be excused because you have not been in this country long enough to be acquainted with all its marvels. But Jean should know. Where are you, young lady? You at least should be able to tell what treasures America possesses."

"I am afraid I can't."

"Then we must excuse you also; you are so young. I see plainly that we must appeal to Hannah. She who is ever extolling Boston can of course tell us what it is that Harvard University possesses which is unsurpa.s.sed in any other part of the world."

Hannah looked chagrined.

"You do not know?" went on Uncle Bob teasingly. "Oh, for shame! And you such an ardent Bostonian! Well, so far as I can see there is nothing for it but for me to take you all three to Cambridge as fast as ever we can get there. Such ignorance is deplorable."

You may be very sure that during the ride out from the city every means was employed to get Uncle Bob to tell what particular wonder he was to display. At last, driven to desperation by Jean's persistent questions, he answered:

"I will tell you just one fact. The things we are going to see are made of gla.s.s."

"Gla.s.s! But we have already seen everything that ever could be made from gla.s.s, Uncle Bob," cried Jean in dismay.

"No, we haven't."

"Is it stained gla.s.s windows?"

"No."

"Mosaics?"

"No."

"A telescope?"

"No."

"What is it, Uncle Bob?"

"Never you mind. You would never guess if you guessed a lifetime. You better give it up," was Mr. Cabot's smiling answer.

Cambridge was soon reached, and after a walk through the College Yard that Giusippe might have a peep at Holworthy, where Uncle Bob had spent his student days, the sightseers entered a quiet old brick building and were led by Mr. Cabot into a room where stood case after case of blooming flowers. There were garden blossoms of every variety, wild flowers, tropical plants, all fresh and green as if growing. And yet they were not growing; instead they lay singly or in cl.u.s.ters, each bloom as perfect as if just cut from the stalk.

"How beautiful! Oh, Uncle Bob, it is like a big greenhouse!" exclaimed Jean.

"This is what I brought you to see."

"But you said we were coming to see something made of gla.s.s," objected Giusippe.

"You did say so, Uncle Bob."

"Behold, even as I said!"

"Bu-u-t, these flowers are not gla.s.s. What do you mean?"

"On the contrary, my unbelieving friends, gla.s.s is precisely what they are made of. Every blossom, every leaf, every bud, every seed here is the work of an expert gla.s.s-maker."

Mr. Cabot watched their faces, enjoying their incredulity.

"_Gla.s.s_!"

"Even so. Shall I tell you about it?"

"Yes! Yes!"

"This collection of flowers is called the Ware Collection, the name being bestowed out of compliment to Mrs. and Miss Ware, who generously donated much of the money for which to pay for it. Sometimes, too, it is known as the Blaschka Collection of Gla.s.s Flower Models, for the making was done by Leopold Blaschka and his son Rudolph, both of whom were Bohemians. It happened that several years ago Harvard University wished to equip its Botanical Department with flower specimens which might be used for study by the students. The question at once arose how this was to be done. Real flowers would of course fade, and wax flowers would melt or break. What could be used? There seemed to be no such thing as imperishable flowers."

Mr. Cabot paused a moment while the others waited expectantly.

"There were, however, in the Zoological Department some wonderfully accurate gla.s.s models of animals made by a Bohemian scientist named Blaschka, who was a rather remarkable combination of scholar and gla.s.s-maker. Accordingly when it became necessary to have fadeless flowers one of the professors wondered if this same Bohemian could not reproduce them. So he set out for Blaschka's home at Hosterwirtz, near Dresden, to see."

"Did he have to go way to Germany to find out?"

"Yes, because in the first place he did not know that Blaschka could make flowers at all; and if he could he was not certain that he could make them perfectly enough to render them satisfactory for such a purpose. So he traveled to Germany and found the house where lived the famous gla.s.s-maker; and it was while waiting alone in the parlor that he saw on a shelf a vase containing what seemed to be a very beautiful fresh orchid."

"It was made of gla.s.s!" Jean declared, leaping at the truth.

"Yes; and it was so perfect that the Harvard professor could hardly believe his eyes. At that moment the scientist entered. He confessed that he had made the flower for his wife; indeed, he had made many gla.s.s orchids--one collection of some sixty varieties which had been ordered by Prince Camille de Rohan, but which had later been destroyed when the Natural History Museum at Liege had been burned. Since then, Blaschka explained, he had given all his attention to making models of animals. He said that his son Rudolph helped him, and that they two alone knew how the work was done. It was their knowledge of zoology and of botany added to their skill at gla.s.s-making which enabled them to turn out such correct copies of real objects."

"Of course the Harvard professor was delighted," Jean ventured.

"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 a.s.surance 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 a.s.sented, 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 mediaeval fas.h.i.+on 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 gla.s.s copy."

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

"No; the flowers were modeled. That is all I can tell you. The brittle gla.s.s 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 gla.s.s-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 surpa.s.sed Venice at its own trade, the art of gla.s.s-making!