The Glassblower(82)
A moment later, she discovered that number 345 was Tobias Neuner, one of the few glassblowers who didn’t yet have a gas main and still worked with the old-style lamp. He hardly had enough money to feed his family, much less to spend on technical innovation. Fate had not been kind to his family. Tobias’s parents were bedridden and looking after them took up a good deal of his wife Sieglind’s time. They had eight children, two of whom were not quite right in the head and a burden on the family. Of the other six, only one was a boy. Tobias had a great many mouths to feed and nobody to help him do it. As far as Johanna knew he had never taken a commission that needed colored glass rods, for the simple reason that he could not afford to put down the money for expensive stock. Most of the time Tobias didn’t even work directly for a wholesaler, but rather for Wilhelm Heimer and other suppliers who had more work than they could handle. He was a very good glassblower, and there were always enough crumbs from other people’s tables to keep his family from starving, but he never had much more than that.
And Tobias was suddenly supposed to blow these elaborate glass roses? For just a few pence each? Besides, the rose bouquet was Karl Flein’s invention!
Johanna’s blood was boiling when she found Strobel and confronted him with her questions.
He wasn’t in the least bit perturbed.
“I simply changed my mind and decided to take the roses after all. Three dozen pieces—it’s chicken feed.”
But Johanna didn’t see it that way at all.
“You can’t just take a glassblower’s invention and give the order to someone else without asking him! That’s a swindle!”
“Be careful using words like that, Johanna Steinmann,” Strobel replied, picking up an item at random from the counter. “Here, have a look at this vase. Is there a name on it anywhere? Or here”—he held up a drinking glass—“is there a name on this?”
Johanna didn’t bother to answer, knowing that Strobel didn’t expect her to anyway.
“Anyone can blow glass once they’ve learned how. There’s no law that says that only one glassblower can use a particular design. Oh, wouldn’t that be a lovely world to live in! No, my esteemed Johanna, that’s not how business works.”
Johanna glared at him, bitterly upset. “You’re quite right that there’s no law that states who blew what first,” she answered coldly. “But the way I see it, there are such things as unwritten laws. And they’re just as important as whatever’s in the law books!”
“Unwritten laws?” Strobel wouldn’t hear of such a thing. “Look at your precious glassblowers: they would cut the very ground out from each other’s feet! Every one of them blows to meet the orders he gets. Nobody worries his head over whether someone else might have blown such and such a piece before he did. They all spend their time plotting how to get a glimpse of their rivals’ workshops—after all, you never know what you may see there. And you’re blathering about some kind of honor code?”
Johanna stubbornly held her tongue. He wasn’t entirely wrong.
“Besides, if you are really so concerned about the good folk of Lauscha, you should be glad I gave this job to one of the poorest of the poor. And just so that you understand I’m not the heartless devil you take me for, I’ll tell you something else: I’ve advanced Neuner the money he needs to buy the color rods. So what do you say to that?” Strobel seemed to be reveling in her disapproval. His tongue was loosened now. “And another thing: Karl Flein hasn’t been left empty-handed. He’s making good money with his Christmas tree globes!”
Of course Johanna could have told him then and there precisely what motivated his so-called generosity: he was exploiting Neuner, nothing more. No glassblower who could afford otherwise would ever have agreed to blow such an elaborate design for a laughable forty pence apiece. Only someone desperate would do such a thing—someone like Thomas Neuner. And just as importantly, Johanna knew that not everyone would be able to make the delicate roses. But she said nothing. Friedhelm Strobel had laid out his arguments, and she knew him well enough to realize that he would not back down.
From that day forward she watched the way Strobel did business with a more critical eye.
She had always known of course, even before she went to work for him, that Strobel was a hard bargainer and always ready to trample on suppliers in his price war against the other wholesalers. She had always told herself that this was just the price of success. After all, the glassblowers didn’t come out of it all that badly, did they? Without the wholesaler’s far-flung networks, most of the glassblowers would be sitting and watching their wares gather dust. She had used such arguments again and again with Peter. And although he never tired of telling her that she worked for a cutthroat, she had admired Strobel. Over the course of the year her appreciation had only grown as she observed his eye for a deal, his knowledge of English and French, his worldly manner, and salesmanship.