A REUNION
At length all too soon for Uncle Bob and Hannah, and indeed far sooner
than Jean and Giusippe had realized, October came, and the time for
starting for Pittsburgh was at hand. To the young people their
departure was not without its anticipations. Jean longed to see Beacon
and Uncle Tom, and Giusippe burned with eagerness to take up the
position his uncle had secured for him at Mr. Curtis's factory.
"How odd it is, Giusippe," Jean mused one day, "that we each have an
uncle waiting for us. And besides that you have an aunt, too, haven't
you? I wish I had. I'd love to have an aunt! As it is I have only
Beacon."
"Maybe you'll have one some day," was Giusippe's vaguely consoling
answer. "But anyway I shouldn't think you would care much. You have
Miss Cartright, and she is almost as good as an aunt."
"I suppose she is something like one," admitted Jean, "only, you see,
she doesn't live where I do, so I can't see her very often. Of course
she has sent me nice letters since she got home to New York and
sometimes she writes Uncle Bob, too; but it isn't really like seeing
her. When I think that the day after to-morrow she is to meet us in New
York it seems too good to be true. Won't it be fun? I love Miss
Cartright! Do you suppose she looks just the same as she did when she
was with us on the steamer?"
"I suppose so. Your uncle said she did when he saw her in New York."
"I know it. He has had lots of chances to see her because he has been
over there so many times on business trips. I wish we had. But we shall
see her now, anyway. Oh, I am so glad!" Jean whirled enthusiastically
round the room. "I think we are to have a pretty nice visit in New York
if we do all the things Uncle Bob is planning to. He says he is going
to take us to the studio of one of his friends and show us how stained
glass windows are made. I shall like to see that, sha'n't you?"
So the boy and girl chattered on little dreaming, in the delight of the
pleasures in store for them, how lonely at heart were Mr. Cabot and
poor Hannah.
"If it wasn't that Jean is coming back in the spring I should be
completely inconsolable," lamented Hannah. "I cannot bear to part with
the child. But she will surely be back again, won't she, Mr. Bob? There
won't be any other plan made? You'll certainly insist that Mr. Curtis
send her home to us in May, won't you?"
"There, there, Hannah, dry your eyes. Of course Jean will be back. I
have no more mind to lose her than you have. No one knows how I love
that child! I'd no more let her leave my home than I would cut off my
right hand," was Mr. Cabot's vehement reply.
"The boy is a splendid fellow, too," Hannah went on. "He has the
makings of a fine man, Mr. Bob."
"Yes. Giusippe is a very unusual lad. As time goes on I am more and
more convinced that we made no mistake in bringing him to America. I am
sure that we are adding a good citizen to the country. I have a feeling
that Mr. Curtis will be much interested in him."
"I wish he'd be sufficiently interested to adopt him and send Jean home
to us," suggested Hannah, smoothing out the edge of an apron she was
hemming.
"I am afraid such a scheme as that would be too good to be true,"
laughed Mr. Cabot. "If, however, he helps place Giusippe in a fine
business position I shall be satisfied. That is all I shall ask."
Nevertheless, brave as Uncle Bob tried to be, he was very solemn the
morning he saw the trunks brought down-stairs and strapped on the back
of the waiting cab.
"Cheer up, Hannah!" he called from the sidewalk. "Why, bless my soul,
if you're not crying! Come, come, this will never do! May will be here
before you know it, and the child will be back again. She is only going
on a visit--remember that. Her home is here. Say good-bye to Hannah,
you young scamps. She somehow seems to have the notion you are never to
return. Tell her she is not to get off so easily. Before many moons she
will find you two in the pantry raiding the cookie jar just as you
robbed it yesterday--you bandits!"
And so with a gaiety he did not feel Mr. Cabot hustled his charges into
the carriage and slammed the door.
The trip to New York was a blur of new impressions and the city itself,
when they reached it, another blur--a confusion of madly rushing
throngs; giant sky-scrapers; racing taxicabs; and clanging bells. To
the children it seemed a maelstrom of horror. Their one thought was to
get safely out of the crowd, have something to eat, and go to bed. But
with the morning light New York took on quite a different aspect. It
proved to be not such a bad place after all. The solitary fact that it
harbored Miss Cartright was quite enough to redeem it in their eyes.
Then there was so much to see which was new and strange! Directly after
breakfast Uncle Bob took them out for a stroll and after a walk in the
brisk air he led them into Tiffany's.
"While we have time and are right here I want to show you one of the
most wonderful glass products of America," said he. "It is called
Favril glass and is made at Coronna, Long Island. Just how, I do not
know. The process is a secret one. You remember, don't you, the
marvelous iridescent colors of the ancient Egyptian glass we saw in the
British Museum? And you recall how exquisite was the turquoise glaze on
some of the old pieces? Well, the Tiffany people have tried to imitate
that, and so well have they succeeded that they have received many
medals in recognition of their skill. Museums all over the world from
Tokio to Christiania have purchased collections of the glass that it
may be exhibited and enjoyed by young and old. I am going to show you
some of it now."
Up in an elevator they sped, and alighting at one of the upper floors
Uncle Bob led the way into a room rich with silken hangings and rare
oriental rugs; all about this room were vases, plates, lamp-shades, and
ornaments of beautiful hues. There were great golden glass bowls
glinting with elusive lights of violet, blue, and yellow; there were
vases opalescent with burning flecks of orange and copper; there were
green glass plates and globes which shaded into tones of blue as
delicate as mother-of-pearl.
"Oh!" sighed Jean rapturously, "I never saw anything so lovely! Look at
these plates, Uncle Bob, do look at them. How ever did they get the
color? It is like a sunset."
"The Tiffanys, like Blaschka the flower modeler, are not telling the
world how they get their results. Rest assured, however, many and many
hours must have been spent in experiments before such artistic products
could be obtained."
"Think of the struggles with color and with firing," Giusippe murmured.
"And the pieces that must have been spoiled!" put in Jean.
"But think of the triumph of at last taking from the lehrs such gems as
these! The results which air, soil, and age have by chance produced in
the ancient Egyptian and Græco-Syrian glass the Tiffanys have created
in a modern ware. It is a great achievement, and a royal contribution
to the art of the world."
The children would have been glad to linger for a much longer time in
the vast shop had not the chime of a clock warned them that the noon
hour, when they were to meet Miss Cartright, was approaching. She had
promised to lunch with them all at the Holland House.
Yes, she looked just the same, "only prettier," Jean whispered to
Giusippe. Certainly there was an added glow of beauty on her cheek and
a new sweetness in her smile. How glad she was to see them! And how
glad, glad, glad they were to see her. Miraculously from somewhere
Uncle Bob produced a great bunch of violets which she fastened in her
gown and then amid a confusion of merry chatter and laughter they went
in to luncheon.
It was indeed a royal luncheon!
Uncle Bob seemed inclined to order everything on the menu, and it was
not until Miss Cartright protested that not only the young people but
she herself would be ill, that he was to be stayed. And what a joke it
was when the waiter bent down and asked her if both her son and
daughter would take some of the hot chocolate!
Oh, it was a jolly luncheon!
And after it was finished and they all had declared that not until next
Thanksgiving could they think of eating anything more, off they shot in
a taxicab to the studio of Uncle Bob's friend, Mr. Norcross, who had
promised over the telephone to show them the window he was making for a
church in Chicago.
They found the studio at the top of one of New York's high buildings,
and it was flooded with light from the west and south; on one side of
the room was an open space large enough to allow an immense stained
glass window to be set up.
Mr. Norcross, who was an old college friend of Uncle Bob's, greeted
them cordially and when Miss Cartright remarked on the airiness of his
workshop he answered:
"Yes, I have plenty of air up here; of course I enjoy it, too. But air,
after all, is not the important factor which I consider. My stock in
trade is light. Without it I could do nothing. Through the medium of
strong sunlight I must test my work, for stained glass is beautiful
chiefly as the light plays through it. It is not a tapestry nor a
picture--it is primarily a window. Its colors must be rich in the light
but not glaring; and its design must be so thoughtfully executed that
the telling figures will stand forth when there is a strong sunset, for
instance, behind them."
"Of course, then, you must take care that the colors you use do not
prove too powerful and overshadow your central figures," said Miss
Cartright.
"Ah, you paint?"
"Yes, but not as I want to," was the wistful answer. "I do portraits.
So I can readily see that your problem is a unique, and far more
difficult one than mine. I have only a changeless color scheme to
consider, while your colors shift with every cloud that passes across
the sky."
Mr. Norcross nodded with pleasure at her instant appreciation of his
difficulties.
"Have you ever seen stained glass in the making?" he asked.
She shook her head.
"Neither have any of the rest of us, Norcross," put in Mr. Cabot. "That
is what we came for. I have been toting these two youthful friends of
mine all over the world and together we have investigated almost every
known form of glass, from the Naples Vase down to an American lamp
chimney."
Mr. Norcross smiled.
"So you see," Uncle Bob went on, "I wanted them to witness this phase
of glass-making."
"They certainly shall. How did you chance to be so interested in the
making of glass?" inquired the artist, turning to Giusippe.
"I am a Venetian, señor. For over six generations my people have been
at Murano."
"Oh, then, what wonder! And that accounts for your own personal color
scheme."
The artist let his eyes dwell upon the Italian's face intently: then
glanced at Miss Cartright.
"I did a portrait of Giusippe," she responded quietly, "when I was in
Venice a few years ago. He did not look so much like an American then."
"Modern clothing certainly does take the picturesqueness out of some of
us," answered Mr. Cabot.
In the meantime Giusippe had wandered off to the distant side of the
studio and now stood before a large glass panel calling excitedly:
"Is this the window you are making, señor? How beautiful! The violet
light behind the woman's head, and that yellow glow on her hair--it is
wonderful! And her white drapery against the background of green!"
Mr. Norcross came to his side, flushing with gratification.
"The mellow tones playing on her hair were hard to get. I spent a lot
of time working at them. It isn't easy to get the results one wants
when making stained glass."
"What did you do first, Mr. Norcross, when you began the window?" asked
Jean timidly.
"I will show you every step I have taken in doing it if you would like
to follow the process. In the first place I went to Chicago and studied
the light and the setting which it was to have. Then I made this small
water-color design and submitted it for approval to the persons who
were ordering the window. The drawing accepted, I set about making a
full-sized cartoon which I sketched in with charcoal on this heavy
paper; the black lines represent the leading and the horizontal
stay-bars necessary to hold the glass in place. After that I sliced up
my cartoon into a multitude of small pieces from which the glass could
be cut and the lead lines decided upon. All this done I went to work
planning my color scheme--thinking out what dominating colors I would
use and where I would place my high lights."
"And then you were ready for your glass?" inquired Mr. Cabot.
"Yes. Now selecting the glass is not alone a matter of color; it is
also a problem of thickness. Sometimes a variation in tone can be
obtained merely by using a bit of heavier glass in some one spot. Again
the effect must be obtained by the use of paint."
"What kind of glass do you use, Mr. Norcross?" Giusippe questioned.
"What we call bottle, or Norman, glass. We get it from England, and
strangely enough there is a heavy duty on it in its raw state. One can
import a whole window free of duty because it is listed as an art work;
but the glass out of which an art work is to be constructed costs a
very high price. Odd, isn't it? As soon as I reach the point of using
glass I arrange it on a large plate glass easel, using wax in the
spaces where the lead is to go. Then I experiment and experiment with
my colors. You probably know that in making modern stained glass a
great deal of paint is used in order to get shading and degrees of
color. It was toward the end of the thirteenth century that the old
glass-makers began to introduce the use of paint into their windows.
First came the grisaille glass, as it was called, where instead of
strong reds and blues most of the window was in white painted with
scroll work in which a few bits of brilliant stained glass were set
like jewels. Then with the fourteenth century came those elaborate
painted canopies and borders within which were the main figures of the
window in stained glass. From that time on the combination of stained
and painted glass was used. Accordingly we all work by that method now.
So, as I say, I paint in my glass and afterward it has to be fired, all
the small pieces being laid out on heavy sheets of steel covered with
plaster of paris."
"Do your colors always come out as you mean to have them?" inquired
Giusippe, his eyes on the artist's face.
Mr. Norcross shrugged his shoulders.
"You know, don't you, how the firing often changes the tone, and how
you frequently get a color you neither intended nor desired. That is
one of the tribulations of stained glass making. Another is when the
cutters must trim down the glass and put the lead in place. You may not
realize that there are three widths of lead from which to select; it is
not always easy to choose for every part of the design the thickness
which will look the best. For instance, sometimes the leading will be
too strong and overwhelm the picture; again it will be too weak and
render the window characterless."
"It must be a fascinating puzzle to work out," mused Miss Cartright.
"Yes; but it is also a great test of the patience."
"Were the old glass windows made in this same way, do you suppose?"
asked Jean after a pause.
"I presume the old glass-makers worked along the same general plan,
although they may not have followed exactly the present-day methods;
certain it is, however, that they knew all the many tricks or devices
for getting color effects--knew them far better than we do now. And
they put endless time and thought into their work, no artist feeling it
beneath his dignity to follow the humblest detail of his conception. He
watched over his art-child until it got to be full-grown. This is the
only way to get fine results. For, you see, there is no set rule for a
glass designer to apply. Each window presents a fresh problem in the
management of light and color. There is no branch of art more elusive
or more difficult than this. I must be able to construct a window which
will be satisfactory as a flat piece of decoration; it must be
sufficiently interesting to give pleasure even when it stands in a dim
light. Then presto--the sun moves round, and my window is transformed!
And in the flood of light that passes through it I must still be able
to find it beautiful."
"I think that I should like to learn to make stained glass," declared
Giusippe, who had become so absorbed that he had moved close beside Mr.
Norcross.
"Would you?"
The artist smiled down kindly at him. "In your country you have many a
fine example of glass. France, too, is rich in rose windows which are
the despair of our modern craftsmen. But we glass-makers are working
hard and earnestly, and who knows but in time we may give to the world
such glass as is at Rheims, Tours, Amiens, and Chartres."
"What sort of paint do you use?" asked Mr. Cabot as he took up a brush
and idly examined it in his fingers.
"A kind of opaque enamel containing fusible material which is melted by
heat and thereafter adheres to the surface of the glass. It must,
however, be used carefully, as it possesses so much body that too much
of it will obscure the light--the thing a stained glass window should
never do. We should have many more successful windows if the people
making them would only bear in mind that a window is not a picture, and
should not be treated as one. For my part, I make my window a window. I
join the pieces of glass frankly together, not trying to conceal the
lead that holds them. I cannot say that I get the results either with
colors or lights that I want to get; but I am trying, with the old
masters as my ideal."
"Certainly you are a long way on the road if you can turn out a window
as beautiful as this one promises to be. None of us reaches the ideal,
Mr. Norcross, but in the past is the inspiration that what man has done
man can do. Perhaps not now, but in the future," Miss Cartright said
softly.
"I wish I might try stained glass making," Giusippe said again.
"Perhaps some time you will, my boy," answered Mr. Norcross, "and
perhaps, too, your generation may succeed where mine has failed, and
give to the world another Renaissance. Remember, all the great deeds
haven't been done yet."