London - Edward Rutherfurd [448]
For three years O Be Joyful had worked in St Paul’s, and they had been the best of his life. Every skilful joiner and woodworker in the city seemed to have gathered there for the great task. The atmosphere was quiet and pleasant. Once, at the start, he had complained to Gibbons about some of the profane language of the labourers; within a day Wren had issued an order forbidding all bad language. So great was the atmosphere of dedication that he could almost believe, despite the fact that it was still an Anglican church, that he was doing God’s work by carving there.
Though the two children knew, of course, that their grandfather was a skilful carver who had worked in many places, they had never seen any large examples of his craftsmanship. It was with some pride therefore that he now led them along the gleaming stalls, explaining their features. “See this panel?” he asked. “This is of English oak. But that one,” he pointed to another, more richly carved, “that came from Danzig in Germany. The German oak is less knotty, easier to carve.” Then pointing up: “See that cherub?” It was normal for Grinling Gibbons to make a master model for a feature like this, which O Be Joyful and the other assistants would copy. “I did that one,” he told them. “And that.”
“Now this panel,” he explained, as they came to one of the most elaborate pieces of carving, “is not oak at all. It’s lime-wood, which is softer. This is the wood Mr Gibbons likes to work with best.”
He showed them the stall where the Lord Mayor sat, and the organ casing, but finally they came to the place which made him proudest of all. For at a corner of the stalls, surmounted by a splendid canopy carved with great festoons, stood the grandest seat of all, the masterpiece of the entire stalls: the bishop’s throne.
“Mr Gibbons and I carved this seat together,” he announced. Triumphantly he indicated the fantastic workmanship of the area above. “See the mitre; and below, a pelican in her piety as they call it. An old Christian emblem, that. And see the fine palm leaves? You can’t even tell,” he proclaimed, with perfect truth, “where his work ends and mine begins.” It was the best work of his life.
The two children stared in silence. Then, glancing all around the magnificence of St Paul’s, they looked at each other. Finally, young Martha spoke. “It is very fine, grandfather,” she said quietly. “It is,” she searched for a word, “very ornate.” He could hear the doubt and disappointment in her voice. But now Gideon was tugging at her sleeve and pointing up to the mitre.
“Who sits here, grandfather?” he asked.
“The bishop,” Carpenter answered, and saw the boy lower his solemn eyes in embarrassment.
“You made a throne for a bishop?” he asked. And then: “You could not refuse?”
Of course, he had failed them. What a fool he had been, in his pride over his workmanship, to neglect the essential. God knows, in a way the boy was right. Old Gideon would certainly have refused such a commission. “When you work for a master like Mr Gibbons,” he answered lamely, “you must work as he directs, and still do the best work you can.” But he could see that they were both confused and unconvinced.
Nobody said anything as they left the choir and entered the cathedral’s central crossing again. Martha looked pale, the little boy thoughtful. But then, as they walked under the great dome, it seemed that little Gideon had an inspiration. Embarrassed by his grandfather