THOUGH I saw no political issue in the work I was doing, I definitely believed that through glass and china I could help release some of the long-stifled potential of my country. My good fortune lay in the fact that my work was part of a wider and more significant national pattern. The more I came to realize this, the more pleasure I took in the long and painstaking hours I gave to it.

It was no longer merely the glass of Carlsbad Crystal, or the china of the Bohemian Ceramic Works that I was selling. These were the products of Czechoslovakia’s highest form of folk art and I was the custodian for their future appreciation throughout the world. As this conviction grew, I decided that my glass and china must have a home which would give it a fitting background, a place where it could be seen to full advantage, surroundings commensurate with the pride I felt in this aspect of my country’s future.

Toward the end of 1933 I learned that the private banking firm which had for many years occupied the second floor above the shop on Příkopy was about to move into a new building of its own. As soon as the news reached me I went to the superintendent of the building and got him to show me through the empty rooms.

This old patrician house had been built and occupied for many years by a man named Leon Bondy who had been president of the Prague Chamber of Commerce and one of the wealthiest industrialists in the former empire. In spite of the fact that the house had been converted to other uses, the marks of his expensive taste were still upon it. All the rooms on the second floor had enormously high ceilings, for one thing. They were masterworks of hand-carving, and the windows were high, Gothic apertures filled with hand-painted Bohemian glass of ruby colors. The walls were composed of hand-carved mahogany panels and the floors were laid with some of the finest parquetry in the whole of Europe. Outside the ruby-glass windows a balcony of medieval wrought iron ran the width of the house in front.

Bondy had been one of the most notable collectors of glass in the Austrian Empire. So in the large main room at the front of the second floor, which he had used as a banquet hall, the wood panels were carved with the shapes of famous old Bohemian drinking goblets. I had known the rooms were spacious and beautiful, but I had never before seen this carving, or known of its existence. When I saw it my plans were settled. I walked through the rooms, one by one, refurnishing them in my mind. I was almost breathless with excitement, but I made notes of all the changes that would be necessary and considered every minute detail before I prepared to lay my plans before Hardt.

During the occupancy by the bank many desecrations had been committed in the lovely old rooms. Heating pipes had been installed directly through the priceless parquet floors to connect with ugly radiators that defiled their surroundings. Electric wires had been hung carelessly on the wood carvings along the walls, and doors of valuable hand-carved mahogany had been removed from their hinges and stacked in corners, to give easier access for the bank traffic. All this unsightly devastation would have to be repaired and righted. And I must also think of a way to unite the downstairs shop with this upper floor.

I was deliriously happy when I finally went across the street to call on Antonín Hardt. He listened to my proposition without interruption until I had given him every detail for this new combined showroom which would eliminate the shop on Revoluční třída. I watched his sphinxlike face carefully as I talked, but there was neither encouragement nor displeasure to be found in its expression.

He began to remind me that there was a depression in Czechoslovakia, a backwash from America. Factories were panic-struck because they thought they had lost the luxury trade forever. They were turning to cheaper goods, and both our factories were still inclined to doubt that I could keep up our luxury trade much longer.

My grandfather’s stubborn refusal to leave his handwork for mass production was echoed in my answer. I told Mr. Hardt that I had no intention of losing what we had built up. I was in no fear of joining the panic as it spread over the world. I felt it was up to us to keep cool and not rush for an exit because a fire had broken out. We would either find an easier way out or the fire would be quenched.

Hardt countered by saying that it was possible the crisis would become a chronic state of affairs. I replied that we would then accommodate ourselves to it. All the other factories in the country had joined in the rush to produce a cheaper line of goods. With fewer competitors there was no reason why our own production should not continue to climb steadily. And that meant we would be the sole representatives of the best glass and china in the country. Our wares deserved a proper setting.

“I suppose you realize that the shop you want to open would be unlike anything in the whole of Central Europe?” he said at last.

“Yes,” I replied. “But it will be known as a showroom. Never a shop. I don’t want it to be like any other. It will be a museum.”

“I don’t believe you can get people to walk upstairs to buy goods. Shops have to open directly off the street.”

I waited a moment, to take the critical edge off my reply. “If I could bring people to Revoluční třída, don’t you think I can find a way to make them walk upstairs? I want a beautiful stairway built from the old shop to connect with a reception room above. I’ll keep the two small showcases on the street, to hold a few choice pieces. Perhaps we’ll have an awning from the door to the curb, and a uniformed doorman. Why not? It’s never been done before in Prague, but all the more reason to do it now and give added distinction to our glass and china.”

There was the play of a faint smile at the corners of his mouth, almost as though I were a headstrong lad of seventeen instead of a man of thirty-seven. “Have you considered how much it would cost to remodel the building in the way you describe?” he said.

“I’ve consulted a contractor,” I said. “According to his estimate it would be in the neighborhood of two hundred thousand crowns.”

He thought about this for a time. It was an enormous figure, considered in terms of relative value. But I must have managed to transfer some of my own high enthusiasm to this cool banker as I went on talking. He promised to lay the proposition before the board of directors of the bank and let me know as soon as they reached a decision. I knew he would be my ally throughout the discussion.

Less than a week later I was in Hardt’s office again. The board had decided that my project was sound. Both factories had given their permission to carry out my suggestions. Architects and contractors would be engaged at once, and I was to oversee their work. After explaining all this, Hardt came back to my own position in the new venture. “You’ve reached another dangerous corner in your career with both these firms. I suppose you know that?”

“Yes, I know.”

“If this project fails, you’ll lose all the credit you’ve accumulated up to now in both concerns. And in such a situation, since this whole project is yours, I wouldn’t be able to do anything more for you. I’m sorry, but that’s how it is. You’ve either got to make this an outstanding success, or you’re finished.”

I admired the man for his frankness. “I understand,” I said. “If you still have confidence in me, I’ll take those risks. I made a name for a street, as you said I could. Now I’ll make a second-floor showroom known as the most outstanding center of glass and china in the history of the industry. Maybe in the whole world. . . .”

There was nothing more for either of us to say. I believed I could do it. The others waited to see. And the work on the building got underway.