Friedel however excelled in delicacy of touch and grace
and originality of conception, and produced such workmanship that
Master Gottfried could not help stroking his hair and telling him it
was a pity he was not born to belong to the guild.
"I cannot spare him, sir," cried Ebbo; "priest, scholar, minstrel,
artist--all want him."
"What, Hans of all streets, Ebbo?" interrupted Friedel.
"And guildmaster of none," said Ebbo, "save as a warrior; the rest
only enough for a gentleman! For what I am thou must be!"
But Ebbo did not find fault with the skill Friedel was bestowing on
his work--a carving in wood of a dove brooding over two young eagles-
-the device that both were resolved to assume. When their mother
asked what their lady-loves would say to this, Ebbo looked up, and
with the fullest conviction in his lustrous eyes declared that no
love should ever rival his motherling in his heart. For truly her
tender sweetness had given her sons' affection a touch of romance,
for which Master Gottfried liked them the better, though his wife
thought their familiarity with her hardly accordant with the
patriarchal discipline of the citizens.
Pages:
256
257
258
259
260
261
262
263
264
265
266
267
268
269
270
271
272
273
274
275
276
277
278
279
280