I've seen our Torrisany lay a 'prentice down with one buffet and raise
him with another--to make a mason of him. I worked under him at building
a chapel in London--a chapel and a tomb for the King.'

'I never knew kings went to chapel much,' said Mr Springett. 'But I
always hold with a man--don't care who he be--seein' about his own grave
before he dies. 'Tidn't the sort of thing to leave to your family after
the will's read. I reckon 'twas a fine vault?'

'None finer in England. This Torrigiano had the contract for it, as
you'd say. He picked master craftsmen from all parts--England, France,
Italy, the Low Countries--no odds to him so long as they knew their
work, and he drove them like--like pigs at Brightling Fair. He called us
English all pigs. We suffered it because he was a master in his craft.
If he misliked any work that a man had done, with his own great hands
he'd rive it out, and tear it down before us all. "Ah, you pig--you
English pig!" he'd scream in the dumb wretch's face. "You answer me? You
look at me? You think at me? Come out with me into the cloisters. I
will teach you carving myself. I will gild you all over!" But when
his passion had blown out, he'd slip his arm round the man's neck, and
impart knowledge worth gold. 'Twould have done your heart good, Mus'
Springett, to see the two hundred of us masons, jewellers, carvers,
gilders, iron-workers and the rest--all toiling like cock-angels, and
this mad Italian hornet fleeing one to next up and down the chapel. Done
your heart good, it would!'

'I believe you,' said Mr Springett. 'In Eighteen hundred Fifty-four, I
mind, the railway was bein' made into Hastin's. There was two thousand
navvies on it--all young--all strong--an' I was one of 'em. Oh, dearie
me! Excuse me, sir, but was your enemy workin' with you?'

'Benedetto? Be sure he was. He followed me like a lover. He painted
pictures on the chapel ceiling--slung from a chair. Torrigiano made
us promise not to fight till the work should be finished. We were both
master craftsmen, do ye see, and he needed us. None the less, I never
went aloft to carve 'thout testing all my ropes and knots each morning.
We were never far from each other. Benedetto 'ud sharpen his knife on
his sole while he waited for his plaster to dry--wheet, wheet, wheet.
I'd hear it where I hung chipping round a pillar-head, and we'd nod to
each other friendly-like. Oh, he was a craftsman, was Benedetto, but his
hate spoiled his