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99 pages, Paperback
First published January 1, 1910
When the rattling of the gates resounded in the courtyard, she herself opened the heavy portals of the palace, without help from the servants. But at the echoing of all those feminine voices coming towards her, she took a step back and fell silent: how could she ever have thought to control and command that number of women and lead them to completion. And suddenly the spectre of chaos flashed before her, the infernal chaos of a work done arrogantly.
On the other hand her appearance silenced the voices and the needlewomen stood poised and breathless, waiting for the commands of the queen whom none of them had seen or heard before.
The cathedral of Amiens has, so to speak, the big and rough voice of peasant wealth when it celebrates its ceremonies; the thick-set God of the main portal has the same voice, affecting as He does the sturdy and distinct features of a man of Picardy. He is barely credible as the son of the golden Virgin with the swaying hip and fine, delicate face.
Ruskin had dedicated himself to her for some time, from his first visits to Amiens, drawing her repeatedly. He had penetrated carefully every feminine feature of the small Picardy Lady, and had finally seen the kinship between her and the man. And in some young woman or girl he came across in the town, he would notice the beginning of that maturity that flowered in the statue. The Virgin seemed younger than her son: in the Annunciation she had the shadow of a pout, and now from her still place in a niche warmed by the sun, she gloried in the past travail, presenting to mankind the fruit of her labor and hope, and imagined her son already a man with his hand raised to bless his Picardy brethren.