GIUSIPPE TELLS A STORY
When Uncle Bob heard of Jean's adventure he lost no time, you may be
sure, in hunting up Giusippe Cicone. A note was sent to Murano asking
that the lad call at the hotel; and as the following day chanced to be
a festa day the glass works were closed and Giusippe presented himself
directly after breakfast. He was neatly although poorly clothed, and
had he had no other claim to Mr. Cabot's good will than his frank face
that would have won him a welcome. Perhaps added to Uncle Bob's
gratitude there was, too, a measure of the artist's joy in the
beautiful; for Giusippe was handsome. Thick brown hair clustered about
the well-formed head; his eyes were of soft hazel; and into his round
olive cheek was steeped the rich crimson of the southern sun. More than
all this, he was a well bred lad--manly, courteous, and proud. When Mr.
Cabot began to thank him for his service to Jean the boy made light of
what he had done and once more refused to accept any reward.
Uncle Bob's curiosity was aroused.
Never before had he met an Italian who would not take money when it was
offered him.
"Perhaps you would be willing, young man, to tell us more about
yourself," said he at last. "You work in the glass factory, you say.
Have you been long there?"
Giusippe smiled, showing two rows of dazzling white teeth.
"So long, señor, that I cannot remember when I was not there. And
before me was my father, and my grandfather; and before that his
father; and so on back for years and years. There was always a Cicone
at Murano. For you must know, señor, that glass-making has ever been
the great art of Venice. When paintings began to take the place of the
glass mosaics then came the height of fame for Venetian glass. For you
will remember that for many years before artists could paint people
made pictures out of bits of glass, and in this way represented to
those who had no books scenes from the Bible or from history. Then
wonderful painters were born in Italy and they crowded out the mosaic
makers, who had previously decorated the churches, palaces, and public
buildings. The making of glass mosaics died out and it was then that
the Venetian artisans turned their attention and their skill to the
making of other glass things--beads, mirrors, drinking cups, and
ornaments. In fact," went on Giusippe, "there soon became so many glass
houses in Venice that the Great Council feared a terrible fire might
sweep the island, and in 1291, with the exception of a few factories
for small articles, all the glass houses were banished to the island of
Murano a mile distant where, if fire came, no destruction could be done
to the city of Venice itself. Those factories which were allowed to
remain had to have a space of fifteen paces around them. By the decree
of the Council the other glass houses were torn down."
"And it was thus that your great-great-great-great-great-grandfather
was driven to Murano, was it?" queried Mr. Cabot.
"Yes. He was a member of the guild of bead-makers. For you know,
señor, that in those days workmen were banded together in guilds,
and kept the mysteries of their trade to themselves. The precious
secret was handed down from father to son. So it was with my
great-great-great-great-great-grandfather."
Giusippe drew himself up.
"Oh, it was a grand thing to be a glass-maker in those days, señor!"
continued the boy, his eyes glowing. "The members of the guilds were so
honored in Venice that they were considered equal in birth to the
noblest families. They were gentlemen. A titled woman felt only pride
in uniting herself with a glass-maker's family."
"Perhaps that is what your great-great-great-great-great-grandmother
did," Jean said, half aloud.
"Yes, señorita," was Giusippe's simple answer. "And they say, too, she
was beautiful. My ancestor was of the _pater-nostereri_; he was a maker
of beads for rosaries. Then there were the _margaritai_, who made small
beads; and the _fuppialume_, who made large blown beads. Each man was a
skilled artist, you see, and did some one special thing. The _phiolari_
made vases, cups, and glass for windows; the _cristallai_ optical
glass; and the _specchiai_ mirrors. No strangers were allowed to visit
the glass works, and all apprentices must pass a rigid examination not
only as to their skill, but as to their previous personal history. In
1495 the glass houses at Murano extended for a mile along a single
street and the great furnaces roared night and day, so you can imagine
how much glass was made on the island."
"My!" gasped Jean breathlessly.
"Absolute loyalty to the art was demanded of every man engaged in it,"
Giusippe said. "And you can see, señor, that this was necessary. Any
workman carrying the secrets elsewhere was first warned to return to
Venice; then, if he refused, his nearest relative was imprisoned; if he
still refused to obey he was tracked down and killed. Often glass-makers
were found in Padua, Ravenna, and other places stabbed through the
heart, and the word _Traitor_ was fastened to the dagger."
Jean shuddered.
"Do not tremble, señorita," Giusippe said. "It was a just punishment.
You see the Council of Ten felt that the prosperity of the Venetians
depended upon keeping their art away from all the outside world which
was so eager to learn it. All knew the penalty for disloyalty. The
decree read:
"'_If any workman conveys his art to a strange country to the
detriment of the Republic he shall be sent an order to return to
Venice. Failing to obey his nearest of kin shall be imprisoned. If
he still persists in remaining abroad and plying his art an
emissary shall be charged to kill him._'
"In this way the secrets of glass-making were kept in Venice and the
Republic soon became famous and prosperous. As the reputation of the
Venetian glass-makers spread an immense trade was established. My
grandfather has often told me of the great numbers of beads which were
sent everywhere throughout the East--sometimes to Africa and even to
India. In 1764 twenty-two great furnaces were kept busy supplying the
beads that were demanded. Frequently, they say, as many as forty-four
thousand barrels were turned out in a single week."
"Why, I should think that everybody in the world would have been
covered with beads!" Jean exclaimed, smiling.
"Ah, I can tell you something stranger than that, señorita. So popular
did Venetian glass of every variety become that a foreign prince
created a great sensation by appearing in Paris with curls of finely
spun black glass."
Jean and Uncle Bob laughed merrily.
"I think myself he was silly," Giusippe declared, echoing their
amusement. "He, however, was not alone in his admiration for the
beautiful and ingenious workmanship of the people of my country, for
even as far back as 1400 Richard the Second of England gave permission
to our Venetian merchants to sell glass aboard their galleys, duty
free; and King Henry the Eighth owned as many as four or five hundred
Venetian drinking goblets, vases, dishes, and plates, some of which,
they say, are still in the British Museum."
"We must see them when we go to London, mustn't we, Uncle Bob?" cried
Jean eagerly.
"We surely must. All this is very interesting, Giusippe. You do well to
remember so much of your country's history," said Mr. Cabot.
"I am proud of it, señor. Besides I have heard it many, many times. My
people were never tired of telling over and over the story of the old
days; the golden days of Venice, my father called them. The Republic
might have retained its fame much longer had not some of our countrymen
been persuaded to go to other lands and sell their secrets for gold. It
was thus that the art of making mirrors was taken into France and
Germany."
"Tell us about it, Giusippe," pleaded Jean.
"Why, as I think I told you, the Venetians began to make mirrors as
early as 1300. Of course, señorita, they were crude affairs--not at all
like the fine ones of to-day, but to people who had nothing better they
were marvels. And indeed they were both clever and beautiful. For you
must remember that ages ago there was no such thing as a looking-glass.
Men and women could only see their reflections in streams, pools, and
fountains. Then the Egyptians, Greeks, and Romans began to make mirrors
of burnished metal, using bits of brass or bronze often beautifully
decorated on the back with classic Grecian figures. Rich women carried
such mirrors fastened to their girdles or sometimes instead had them
fitted into small, shallow boxes of carved ivory; sometimes too the
mirror was set in a case of gold, silver, enamel, or ebony with
intricate decoration on the outside. That was the first of
mirror-making."
"How curious!"
"Later the Venetians experimented and began backing pieces of glass
with mercury or tin. The surface was first covered with tinfoil and
then rubbed down until smooth; then the whole was coated with
quicksilver, which formed an amalgam with the tin. It does no harm to
tell you about it now, señorita," added Giusippe a little sadly, "for
every one knows. This process was slow and unsatisfactory, but it was
the best the workmen then knew. These mirrors they set in elaborate
frames of glass, silver, carved wood, mother-of-pearl, coral, tarsi, or
into frames of painted wood. Some of them were sent by Venetian nobles
as gifts to kings and queens of other countries; often they were
purchased by royalties themselves. You can see many in the museums of
France, Germany, or England."
"We will hunt them up, Jean," Uncle Bob declared.
"I'd love to see them," replied the girl.
"My father has told me that there were frequent quarrels between the
glass-makers and the mirror-framers because, you see, the framers
wanted to learn the secret of making the mirrors, and the mirror-makers
were jealous of the skill of the framers and feared the frame would be
more beautiful than the mirror itself and so overshadow it. Then in
1600 the French stole from our people the secret of mirror-making and
began turning out mirrors not only as good, but in some respects better
than the Venetian ones."
"Oh, Giusippe, how did they steal the secret?" Jean cried. "How
dreadful!"
"It was through the treachery of our own countrymen, señorita,"
Giusippe confessed. "Yes, sorry as I am to say so, it was our own
fault. The French, you see, as well as the Venetians, had long been
experimenting with glass-making and since it was considered there, as
here, an art, many penniless Huguenot gentlemen who had lost their
fortunes took it up; for one might be a glass-maker and still retain
his noble rank. Such was Bernard Palissy----"
"The potter!" interrupted Jean. "I learned all about him in my
history."
Giusippe nodded.
"So? Then you know how he struggled for years to solve the secret of
making the enamel he had seen on a Saracen cup. Palissy also made some
fine old stained glass, although few people seem to know this. Many
another Frenchman tried to discover the Venetian's great secret. They
sought to bribe our people to tell the process, but without success.
Then Colbert, the chief minister under Louis the Fourteenth, wrote the
French ambassador at Venice that he must obtain for France some
Venetian workmen. The ambassador was upset enough, as you may imagine,
when he received the order. He said he could not do it. He dared not.
If found out he would be thrown into the sea."
"He ought to have been!" Jean cried. "He would have deserved it."
"I think so too," Uncle Bob agreed.
"It would have been far better for Venice had he been drowned in the
Adriatic," Giusippe answered slowly. "But he wasn't. Instead he began
cautiously to look about. There are always in the world, señor, men who
have no pride in their fatherland and can be bought with money. The
next year the ambassador succeeded in bribing eighteen glass-makers to
go to France and make mirrors for Versailles, the palace of the French
king. And no sooner had these men got well to work and passed the
mystery on to the French than Colbert forbade the French people to
import any more mirrors from Venice, as mirrors could now be made at
home. Some of these early French mirrors are now in the Cluny Museum in
France, my father told me. In consequence of the treachery of these
workmen Germany also soon learned how to make mirrors, and the fame of
the Venetian artisans declined just as the Council had predicted it
would. But it will be long before any other country can equal mine in
the making of filigree or spun glass. You will, señorita, see much of
this beautiful work while you are here in Venice."
"I want to, Giusippe; and I want to get some to take home. May I, Uncle
Bob?"
Mr. Cabot nodded.
"Your story is like a fairy tale, Giusippe," said he.
The boy smiled with pleasure.
"It is a wonderful story to me because it is the story of my people.
And, señor, there is much more to tell, but I must not weary you. Some
of our filigree glass, it is true, became too elaborate to be
beautiful. It is simply interesting because it is wonderful that out of
glass could be fashioned ships, flowers, fruits, fish, and decorations
of all kinds. It shows most delicate workmanship. But the drinking
glasses with their fragile stems are really beautiful; and so are the
vases and tazzas from white glass with enamel work or filigree of
delicately blended colors. It was the Venetians, too, who invented
engraved glass, where a design is scratched or cut into the surface
with a diamond or steel point of a file. And our mille-fiori glass,
which came to us way back from the Egyptians, is another famous
variety. This is made from the ends of fancy colored sticks of glass
cut off and arranged in a pattern. You will see it in the shops here."
"I think you Venetians are wonderful!" Jean exclaimed.
"Ah, señorita, you have yet to see one of the finest things we have
done," was Giusippe's grave reply. "You have to see the San Marco with
its mosaics!"
"Yes, we surely want to go there," put in Mr. Cabot. "Do you think you
could be our guide, Giusippe?"
"I could go to-morrow, señor; because of the festa I am free from work.
I would like to show you San Marco, of all things, because I love it."
"I am sure no one could do it better," replied Mr. Cabot, well pleased.
"To-morrow at nine, then. We will be ready promptly. You shall tell us
the rest of your fascinating Venetian history and make Venetians of
us."
"I will come, señor."
"You shall be paid for your time, my boy."
"Alas, señor! That would spoil it all. I could not then show it to you.
Forgive me and do not think me ungrateful. But my San Marco is to me
the place I love. I show it to you because I love it. I have played
about it and wandered in and out its doors since I was a very little
child. I am proud that you should see it, señor."
"As you will. To-morrow then."
"Yes, señor."
Another moment and Giusippe was gone.
"A remarkable boy! A most remarkable boy!" ejaculated Mr. Cabot. "He
knows his country's history as I fancy few others know it. Could you
pass as good an examination on yours, Jean?"
Jean hung her head.
"I'm afraid not."
"Nor I," Uncle Bob remarked, patting her curls kindly.