He listened politely to Grisell's introduction of Master
Ridley, exchanged silent greetings with Vrow Clemence, and insisted
on their coming into the chamber within, where a repast of cold
pasty, marchpane, strawberries, and wine, awaited them--to be eaten
while as yet there was nothing to see save the expectant multitudes.
Moreover, he wanted to show Mistress Grisell, as one of the few who
cared for it, the manuscripts he had collected on the history of Troy
town, and likewise the strange machine on which he was experimenting
for multiplying copies of the translation he had in hand, with blocks
for the woodcuts which Grisell could not in conscience say would be
as beautiful as the gorgeous illuminations of his books.
Acclamations summoned them to the front, of course at first to see
only scattered bodies of the persons on the way to meet the bride at
the gate of St. Croix.
By and by, however, came the "gang," as Ridley called it, in earnest.
Every body of ecclesiastics was there: monks and friars, black,
white, and gray; nuns, black, white, and blue; the clergy in their
richest robes, with costly crucifixes of gold, silver, and ivory held
aloft, and reliquaries of the most exquisite workmanship, sparkling
with precious jewels, diamond, ruby, emerald, and sapphire flashing
in the sun; the fifty-two guilds in gowns, each headed by their
Master and their banner, gorgeous in tint, but with homely devices,
such as stockings, saw and compasses, weavers' shuttles, and the
like.
Pages:
199
200
201
202
203
204
205
206
207
208
209
210
211
212
213
214
215
216
217
218
219
220
221
222
223