We are proud of this. We ought to be ashamed
of it. The old Venice glass was muddy, inaccurate in all its forms, and
clumsily cut, if at all. And the old Venetian was justly proud of it.
For there is this difference between the English and Venetian workman,
that the former thinks only of accurately matching his patterns, and
getting his curves perfectly true and his edges perfectly sharp, and
becomes a mere machine for rounding curves and sharpening edges; while
the old Venetian cared not a whit whether his edges were sharp or not,
but he invented a new design for every glass that he made, and never
moulded a handle or a lip without a new fancy in it. And therefore,
though some Venetian glass is ugly and clumsy enough when made by
clumsy and uninventive workmen, other Venetian glass is so lovely in
its forms that no price is too great for it; and we never see the same
form in it twice. Now you cannot have the finish and the varied form
too. If the workman is thinking about his edges, he cannot be thinking
of his design; if of his design, he cannot think of his edges. Choose
whether you will pay for the lovely form or the perfect finish, and
choose at the same moment whether you will make the worker a man or a
grindstone.
Nay, but the reader interrupts me,--"If the workman can design
beautifully, I would not have him kept at the furnace.
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