Читать книгу Walda. A Novel онлайн

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“We have come to see thy books,” said Adolph Schneider, when he had taken the only chair in the room and placed his cane against the black-board. “Is that thy Bible that thou hast put so much work upon?” He pointed to the big volume from which Walda had been reading. It had a linen cover neatly sewn upon it, and might have been the wordbook so much thumbed by the pupils.

Gerson Brandt went to the desk, and, putting his hand on the book, answered:

“This is my Bible, and I have been making the letters that begin the chapters. I learned the secret of the colors long ago from a monk. It is no sin to make the Holy Book beautiful, for I have put in it no images, only the letters in colors that are symbolic.”

He spoke as if he were making excuse for some transgression, but the Herr Doktor laughed leniently.

“Surely Zanah hath no fault to find with thy book,” Adolph Schneider said. “I want the stranger to see the letters in it.”

Gerson Brandt opened the Bible, and as he turned the pages Everett, who stood beside him, felt an overwhelming desire to possess the volume. The old German text was printed upon parchment. The pages had broad margins, and the letters beginning the chapters were illuminated with designs so delicate and so minutely worked out that each repaid long study. The coloring was exquisite, and gold, of a brilliancy equalled in few books Everett had ever seen, was applied with a generous hand.