VI
AT THE SIGN OF THE GOLD FINCH
HOW GUY, THE GOLDSMITH'S APPRENTICE, WON THE DESIRE OF HIS HEART
Bang--slam--bang-bang--slam! slam! slam!
If anybody on the Chepe in the twelfth century had ever heard ofrifle-practice, early risers thereabouts might have been reminded ofthe crackle of guns. The noise was made by the taking down of shuttersall along the shop fronts, and stacking them together out of the way.The business day in London still begins in the same way, but now thereare plate-glass windows inside the shutters, and the shops open betweeneight and nine instead of soon after day-break.
It was the work of the apprentices and the young sons of shop-keepersto take down the shutters, sweep the floors, and put things in orderfor the business of the day. This was the task which Guy, nephew ofGamelyn the goldsmith, at the sign of the Gold Finch, particularlyliked. The air blew sweet and fresh from the convent gardens to theeastward of the city, or up the river below London Bridge, or down fromthe forest-clad hills of the north, and those who had the first draftof it were in luck. London streets were narrow and twisty-wise, but notoverhung with coal smoke, for the city still burned wood from theforests without the walls.
On this May morning, Guy was among the first of the boys who tumbledout from beds behind the counter and began to open the shops. Theshop-fronts were all uninclosed on the first floor, and when theshutters were down the shop was separated from the street only by thecounter. Above were the rooms in which the shop-keeper and his familylived, and the second story often jutted over the one below and madea kind of covered porch. In some of the larger shops, like this oneof Goldsmiths' Row, the jewelers' street, there was a third storywhich could be used as a storeroom. There were no glass cases or glasswindows. Lattices and shutters were used in window-openings, and thegoods of finer quality were kept in wooden chests. The shop was also awork-room, for the shopkeeper was a manufacturer as well, and a part ifnot all that he sold was made in his own house.
Guy, having stacked away the shutters and taken a drink of water fromthe well in the little garden at the rear, got a broom and began tosweep the stone floor. It was like the brooms in pictures of witches,a bundle of fresh twigs bound on the end of a stick, withes of suppleyoung willow being used instead of cord. Some of the twigs in the broomhad sprouted green leaves. Guy sang as he swept the trash out into themiddle of the street, but as a step came down the narrow stair he hushedhis song. When old Gamelyn had rheumatism the less noise there was,the better. The five o'clock breakfast, a piece of brown bread, a bitof herring and a horn cup of ale, was soon finished, and then thegoldsmith, rummaging among his wares, hauled a leather sack out of achest and bade Guy run with it to Ely House.
This was an unexpected pleasure, especially for a spring morning as fairas a blossoming almond tree. The Bishop of Ely lived outside LondonWall, near the road to Oxford, and his house was like a palace in afairy-tale. It had a chapel as stately as an ordinary church, a greatbanquet-hall, and acres of gardens and orchards. No pleasanter placecould be found for an errand in May. Guy trotted along in greatsatisfaction, making all the speed he could, for the time he saved onthe road he might have to look about in Ely House.
For a city boy, he was extremely fond of country ways. He liked to walkout on a holiday to Mile End between the convent gardens; he liked towatch the squirrels flyte and frisk among the huge trees of EppingForest; he liked to follow at the heels of the gardener at Ely Houseand see what new plant, shrub or seed some traveler from far lands hadbrought for the Bishop. He did not care much for the city houses, evenfor the finest ones, unless they had a garden. Privately he thoughtthat if ever he had his uncle's shop and became rich,--and his unclehad no son of his own,--he would have a house outside the wall, witha garden in which he would grow fruits and vegetables for his table.Another matter on which his mind was quite made up was the kind ofthings that would be made in the shop when he had it. The gold finchthat served for a sign had been made by his grandfather, who came fromLimoges, and it was handsomer than anything that Guy had seen there inGamelyn's day. Silver and gold work was often sent there to be repaired,like the cup he had in the bag, a silver wine-cup which the Bishop'ssteward now wanted at once; but Guy wanted to learn to make such cups,and candlesticks, and finely wrought banquet-dishes himself.
He gave the cup to the steward and was told to come back for his moneyafter tierce, that is, after the service at the third hour of the day,about half way between sunrise and noon. There were no clocks, and Guywould know when it was time to go back by the sound of the church bells.The hall was full of people coming and going on various errands. One wasa tired-looking man in a coarse robe, and broad hat, rope girdle, andsandals, who, when he was told that the Bishop was at Westminster onbusiness with the King, looked so disappointed that Guy felt sorry forhim. The boy slipped into the garden for a talk with his old friend thegardener, who gave him a head of new lettuce and some young mustard,both of which were uncommon luxuries in a London household of that day,and some roots for the tiny walled garden which he and Aunt Joan weredoing their best to keep up. As he came out of the gate, having got hismoney, he saw the man he had noticed before sitting by the roadsidetrying to fasten his sandal. The string was worn out.
A boy's pocket usually has string in it. Guy found a piece of leatherthong in his pouch and rather shyly held it out. The man looked up withan odd smile.
"I thank you," he said in curious formal English with a lisp in it."There is courtesy, then, among Londoners? I began to think none herecared for anything but money, and yet the finest things in the worldare not for sale."
Guy did not know what to answer, but the idea interested him.
"The sky above our heads," the wayfarer went on, looking with narrowedeyes at the pink may spilling over the gray wall of the Bishop'sgarden,--"flowers, birds, music, these are for all. When you go onpilgrimage you find out how pleasant is the world when you need notthink of gain."
The stranger was a pilgrim, then. That accounted for the clothes, butold Gamelyn had been on pilgrimage to the new shrine at Canterbury, andit had not helped his rheumatism much, and certainly had given him nosuch ideas as these. Guy looked up at the weary face with the brillianteyes and smile,--they were walking together now,--and wondered.
"And what do you in London?" the pilgrim asked.
"My uncle is a goldsmith in Chepe," said the boy.
"And are you going to be a goldsmith in Chepe too?"
"I suppose so."
"Then you like not the plan?"
Guy hesitated. He never had talked of his feeling about the business,but he felt that this man would see what he meant. "I should like itbetter than anything," he said, "if we made things like those theBishop has. Uncle Gamelyn says that there is no profit in them, becausethey take the finest metal and the time of the best workmen, and the payis no more, and folk do not want them."
"My boy," said the pilgrim earnestly, "there are always folk who wantthe best. There are always men who will make only the best, and whenthe two come together----" He clapped his hollowed palms like a pairof cymbals. "Would you like to make a dish as blue as the sea, withfigures of the saints in gold work and jewel-work--a gold cup garlandedin flowers all done in their own color,--a shrine threefold, framingpictures of the saints and studded with orfrey-work of gold and gems,yet so beautiful in the mere work that no one would think of thejewels? Would you?"
"Would I!" said Guy with a deep quick breath.
"Our jewelers of Limoges make all these, and when kings and their armiescome from the Crusades they buy of us thank-offerings,--candlesticks,altar-screens, caskets, chalices, gold and silver and enamel-work ofevery kind. We sit at the cross-roads of Christendom. The jewels come tous from the mines of East and West. Men come to us with full pursesand glad hearts, desiring to give to the Church costly gifts of theirtreasure, and our best work is none too good for their desire. But herewe are at Saint Paul's. I shall see you again, for I have business onthe Chepe."
When the shadows were growing long and the narrow pavement ofGoldsmith's Row was quite dark, someone wearing a gray robe and a broadhat came along the street, slowly, glancing into each shop as he passed.To Guy's amazement, old Gamelyn got to his feet and came forward.
"Is it--is it thou indeed, master?" he said, bowing again and again.The pilgrim smiled.
"A fine shop you have here," he said, "and a fine young bird in trainingfor the sign of the Gold Finch. He and I scraped acquaintance thismorning. Is he the youth of whom you told me when we met at Canterbury?"
It was hard on Guy that just at that moment his aunt Joan called him toget some water from the well, but he went, all bursting with eagernessas he was. The pilgrim stayed to supper, and in course of time Guy foundout what he had come for.
He was Eloy, one of the chief jewelers of Limoges, which in the MiddleAges meant that his work was known in every country of Europe, for thatcity had been as famous for its gold work ever since the days of Clovisas it is now for porcelain. Enamel-work was done there as well, and thecunning workmen knew how to decorate gold, silver, or copper in colorslike vivid flame, living green, the blue of summer skies. Eloy offeredto take Guy as an apprentice and teach him all that he could for thesake of the maker of the Gold Finch, who had been his own good friendand master. It was as if the head of one of the great Paris studiosshould offer free training for the next ten years to some pennilessart student of a country town.
What amazed Guy more than anything else, however, was the discovery thathis grumbling old uncle, who never had had a good word to say for him inthe shop, had told this great artist about him when they met five yearsbefore, and begged Eloy if ever he came to London to visit the GoldFinch and see the little fellow who was growing up there to learn theancient craft in a town where men hardly knew what good work was. Evennow old Gamelyn would only say that his nephew was a good boy andwilling, but so painstaking that he would never make a tradesman; hespent so much unnecessary time on his work.
"He may be an artist," said Eloy with a smile; and some specimens of thework which Guy did when he was a man, which are now carefully kept inmuseums, prove that he was. No one knows how the enamel-work of Limogeswas done; it is only clear that the men who did it were artists. Thesecret has long been lost--ever since the city, centuries ago, wastrampled under the feet of war.
UP ANCHOR
Yo-o heave ho! an' a y-o heave ho! And lift her down the bay-- We're off to the Pillars of Hercules, All on a summer's day. We're off wi' bales of our Southdown wool Our fortune all to win, And we'll bring ye gold and gowns o' silk, Veils o' sendal as white as milk, And sugar and spice galore, lasses-- When our ship comes in!
In the Days of the Guild Page 13