By the same token,
did ye ever hear o' one Torrigiano - Torrisany we called him?'
'I can't say I ever did. Was he a Frenchy like?'
'No, a hectoring, hard-mouthed, long-sworded Italian
builder, as vain as a peacock and as strong as a bull, but, mark
you, a master workman. More than that - he could get his best
work out of the worst men.'
'Which it's a gift. I had a foreman-bricklayer like him once,'
said Mr Springett. 'He used to prod 'em in the back like with a
pointing-trowel, and they did wonders.'
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.
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