The Glassmaker by Tracy Chevalier

Author:Tracy Chevalier [Chevalier, Tracy]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2024-06-18T00:00:00+00:00

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DESPITE THE GROWTH in glass figurines, Orsola’s beadwork stagnated. Over the years Klingenberg had gradually increased his bead order as he consolidated regular customers who preferred the quality of Murano glass to the cheaper, brasher glass from other continental workshops. However, at a certain point he maintained the order but didn’t increase it. Orsola had plateaued, her work predictable and less exciting. It felt to her like that moment in a story where it seems nothing is happening, awaiting the arrival of the dark stranger to enliven things.

One day she went to see Klingenberg to bring him her latest order, and with an idea. After congratulating him on his daughter Klara’s recent marriage, and the merchant asking after Angela—professionally remembering her daughter’s name—they got down to business. Orsola handed over her beads to Jonas, who took them away without even inspecting them, for they trusted her work now.

“I wanted to make a suggestion, Signor Klingenberg,” she said. “About my beads. I wondered if I might do something a little different. Perhaps make necklaces with my beads rather than sell them singly?” Orsola sometimes made necklaces, for the women in her family and others on Murano, but the merchant had never asked her to do so.

“The buyers prefer individual beads,” Klingenberg replied, batting away her idea without seeming to consider it. Seeing her face fall, he added, “However, we have had a request for a new bead, from a new market for me. Perhaps that will interest you.”

Orsola had once asked where her beads went, and he had listed many cities. Some she could have guessed: Amsterdam, Paris, London. Others were farther afield: Damascus, Aleppo, Constantinople. Some she had never heard of: Baku, Boston, Lima. She had not even been to terraferma, but her beads had traveled far.

And now: “West Africa. Tribal chiefs wear them,” he explained. “Glass is rare there. It sets them apart from other beads made from clay or seeds. Scarcity is what makes commerce work—it sets the price. The Africans do not know how to make glass, at least not yet, so they pay dearly for the privilege of wearing glass beads. And now they want millefiori beads.”

Millefiori flowers were made from different colors of cane bundled into a pattern, usually with one color in the center and another color for its petals. They were then melted together, and when cool the new cane was chopped crossways to create tiny flower discs. These were then pressed in rows into an opaque bead. The result was a bit gaudy for Orsola, who preferred simpler patterns.

“How much are millefiori beads worth?” she asked.

“Five soldi a bead, though of course they pay with goods, there being no soldi in Africa.”

“What goods?” She was curious what came from Africa.

“Skins of exotic animals. Gold. Slaves.”

Orsola stared at him. “They trade their own people?”

“Sometimes. It brings wealth to the tribe.”

As much as there were neighbors who annoyed her, other glass workshops that stole Rosso ideas, beadmakers she would be happy to see go out of business, Orsola would never betray them in that way.

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