The Rejected Virgin

Extract

It was finished. As far as his narrow workshop would allow, the artist stepped back, brush still in hand, to look at his work.

It was full sunset, and the crimson rays stole through the open window, filling the untidy room with a warm glow. Opposite the window the brilliantly-coloured, sharp-cut statue stood out in bold relief against the glowing light. The artist gazed at it with critical pride. It was his great work, the tour de force of his many struggling years. Not that he wanted public recognition for his masterpiece; but he was glad that in his own eyes he had justified himself as a cutter of wood and stone. These things, dead to most men, he had learnt to touch with reverence and treat with patience. They had their moods almost like human beings; moods that commanded respect and consideration. Undue liberties were not to be taken with them. Humility had gradually taught him how to approach them, and in return they had yielded obediently to his touch.

When the commission had come to him from St. Faith’s to carve a statue in wood of the seated Madonna and Child, he knew this was to be the supreme test of his art. He thanked God for the privilege of such a holy subject, and chose the piece of birchwood with loving care. His thoughts turned to the Mother and Son. She was to be a Queen on her throne, with the Little King standing on her knees.