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Article THIS TAPESTRY-WEAVER OF BEAUVAIS. ← Page 3 of 6 →
Note: This text has been automatically extracted via Optical Character Recognition (OCR) software.
This Tapestry-Weaver Of Beauvais.
at silken robes , and all the jewelled bravery of fashion-mongers ; but smiled , with unfeigned complacency , if his dull eye glanced at a monming suit . " Alack ! " cried Michel Sous , a withered money-scrivener of Beauvais— " I hear ' twas a brave sight ; and , plague On my shanks , I have missed it . Which way went the procession ? " The man of bonds and
pieces remained gaping for the answer of the tapestry-weaver , who stood , cross-legged , leaning on his-staff , with a'face immoveable as granite . It was a day of triumph , a time of holiday , and Michel had for once quitted his bags and dgsk to sun himself in the glory of his fellowtownsmen . " Weaver , " I say , which way went the procession , and where shall I find it ?"
. " It went , after some turnings , into the churchyard : take up a handful of mould , and , in truth , you clutch a part of what you seek . " "Why , thou art drunk , merry , or mad!—The churchyard-and mould!—I ask you where went , where is , the procession ?" " Where I tell you . I saw it pass by me , and after some windings and shiftings , I saw each brave puppet—who strutted as though the
angels were looking at him—I saw him shrink , and bend , and totter , and the yellowness of age crept over him , and his eye faded , and his hair whitened , ancl he crawled into the earth as the fox slinks beneath his cover . The trumpets lay dumb and cankering in the soil — the rustling flags dropt like tinder at the breeze—the rust-eaten sword crumbled beneath the mattock of the digger , and rank grass grows
above the pomp of the last hour . " " Why , Schatten , thou art dreaming . Blessed St . Mary ! thou surely didst not see the sight , else thou hadst told me a truer story of its progress . "
" Not so : trust me , I saw the revel—but I beheld it from the pinnacle of time ; and I tell you again , all the men who passed me I watched into the churchyard . Their haughty eyes—their trophies , flags , anil clamorous pipes—I say to you , they are dust ! The shout of triumph hath died in the distance , and hicjacet is now the only tongue . " " So , so—a riddle , " crowed the scrivener ; and he hobbled on , to seek
a less perplexing respondent . Such were , at times , the answers of old Schatten , who , when he pleased , could be as grave and oracular as a father confessor ^ Such were his reflections on pageants , whicli , to many thoughtless and mercurial minds , were the symbols of all earthly greatness . It was his pastime to analyse appearance—to unravel the glossy web of policy—to unfold the swathings of vain pomp and ceremony , and point to the foul mummy they encased . Yet , would he vary this custom with smiles and laughter—and witty sayings , which gave a savoui .
Note: This text has been automatically extracted via Optical Character Recognition (OCR) software.
This Tapestry-Weaver Of Beauvais.
at silken robes , and all the jewelled bravery of fashion-mongers ; but smiled , with unfeigned complacency , if his dull eye glanced at a monming suit . " Alack ! " cried Michel Sous , a withered money-scrivener of Beauvais— " I hear ' twas a brave sight ; and , plague On my shanks , I have missed it . Which way went the procession ? " The man of bonds and
pieces remained gaping for the answer of the tapestry-weaver , who stood , cross-legged , leaning on his-staff , with a'face immoveable as granite . It was a day of triumph , a time of holiday , and Michel had for once quitted his bags and dgsk to sun himself in the glory of his fellowtownsmen . " Weaver , " I say , which way went the procession , and where shall I find it ?"
. " It went , after some turnings , into the churchyard : take up a handful of mould , and , in truth , you clutch a part of what you seek . " "Why , thou art drunk , merry , or mad!—The churchyard-and mould!—I ask you where went , where is , the procession ?" " Where I tell you . I saw it pass by me , and after some windings and shiftings , I saw each brave puppet—who strutted as though the
angels were looking at him—I saw him shrink , and bend , and totter , and the yellowness of age crept over him , and his eye faded , and his hair whitened , ancl he crawled into the earth as the fox slinks beneath his cover . The trumpets lay dumb and cankering in the soil — the rustling flags dropt like tinder at the breeze—the rust-eaten sword crumbled beneath the mattock of the digger , and rank grass grows
above the pomp of the last hour . " " Why , Schatten , thou art dreaming . Blessed St . Mary ! thou surely didst not see the sight , else thou hadst told me a truer story of its progress . "
" Not so : trust me , I saw the revel—but I beheld it from the pinnacle of time ; and I tell you again , all the men who passed me I watched into the churchyard . Their haughty eyes—their trophies , flags , anil clamorous pipes—I say to you , they are dust ! The shout of triumph hath died in the distance , and hicjacet is now the only tongue . " " So , so—a riddle , " crowed the scrivener ; and he hobbled on , to seek
a less perplexing respondent . Such were , at times , the answers of old Schatten , who , when he pleased , could be as grave and oracular as a father confessor ^ Such were his reflections on pageants , whicli , to many thoughtless and mercurial minds , were the symbols of all earthly greatness . It was his pastime to analyse appearance—to unravel the glossy web of policy—to unfold the swathings of vain pomp and ceremony , and point to the foul mummy they encased . Yet , would he vary this custom with smiles and laughter—and witty sayings , which gave a savoui .