THE AMULET.
BY HENDRIK CONSCIENCE,
AUTHOR OF "THE CURSE OF THE VILLAGE,"
"THE HAPPINESS OF BEING RICH,"
"VEVA,"
"THE LION OF FLANDERS,"
"COUNT HUGO OF CRAENHOVE,"
"WOODEN CLARA,"
"THE POOR GENTLEMAN,"
"RICKETICKETACK,"
"THE DEMON OF GOLD,"
"THE VILLAGE INN-KEEPER,"
"THE CONSCRIPT," "BLIND ROSA,"
"THE MISER,"
"THE FISHERMAN'S DAUGHTER," ETC.
Translated Expressly for this Edition.
TRANSLATOR'S PREFACE.
In the "Amulet," Hendrick Conscience has worked up an incident which
occurred at Antwerp, in the 16th century, into a story of great power
and deep interest. It was a dark and bloody deed committed, but swift
and terrible was the retribution, strikingly illustrating how God
laughs the sinner to scorn, and how the most cunningly devised schemes
are frustrated, when He permits the light of His avenging justice to
expose them in their enormity. On the contrary, it forcibly proves that
virtuous actions, sooner or later, bear abundant fruit even in this
world. If a man's sins bring upon his head a weight of woe, so do his
good deeds draw down the benedictions of heaven and serve as a shield to
protect him from his enemies.
S.J.F.
_Baltimore_.
CONTENTS.
CHAPTER I. PAGE
ANTWERP 9
CHAPTER II.
SIGNOR DEODATI 30
CHAPTER III.
THE PALACE OF SIMON TURCHI, AND WHAT OCCURRED THERE 43
CHAPTER IV.
THE ATTEMPTED ASSASSINATION--THE ASSASSINATOR SLAIN 64
CHAPTER V.
VAN DE WERVE'S RECEPTION--SIMON TURCHI'S JEALOUSY
AND HATRED 79
CHAPTER VI.
SIMON TURCHI WREAKS HIS VENGEANCE ON GERONIMO 96
CHAPTER VII.
GRIEF AT GERONIMO'S ABSENCE--TURCHI'S HYPOCRISY 112
CHAPTER VIII.
SIMON TURCHI TRIES TO CONCEAL HIS CRIME 128
CHAPTER IX.
GERONIMO RESURRECTED 143
CHAPTER X.
SIMON TURCHI'S ALARM--CRIME BEGETS CRIME 157
CHAPTER XI.
FOOD AT LAST--DEATH OF JULIO 171
CHAPTER XII.
IS IT HIS GHOST?--THE GUILTY EXPOSED 180
CHAPTER XIII.
MARY VAN DE WERVE'S (NOW MADAME GERONIMO DEODATI)
DEPARTURE FOR ITALY--THE PUNISHMENT OF SIMON
TURCHI 193
THE AMULET.
CHAPTER I.
Previous to the close of the fifteenth century, the direction taken by
European commerce remained unchanged. America had not been discovered, and
the only known route to India was by land.
Venice, enthroned by her central position as queen of commerce, compelled
the nations of Europe and Asia to convey to her port all the riches of the
world.
One single city, Bruges in Flanders, serving as an international mart for
the people of the North and South, shared, in some measure, the commercial
prosperity of Venice; but popular insurrections and continual civil wars
had induced a large number of foreign merchants to prefer Brabant to
Flanders, and Antwerp was becoming a powerful rival to Bruges.
At this period two great events occurred, by which a new channel was
opened to trade: Christopher Columbus discovered America, and Vasco de
Gama, by doubling the Cape of Good Hope, pointed out a new route to India.
This latter discovery, by presenting another grand highway to the world,
deprived Venice of the peculiar advantages of her situation, and obliged
commerce to seek a new emporium. Portugal and Spain were the most powerful
nations on sea; countless ships left their ports for the two Indies, and
brought back spices, pearls, and the precious metals for distribution
throughout the Old World. This commercial activity required an emporium in
the centre of Europe, halfway between the North and the South, whither
Spaniards, Portuguese, and Italians, as well as French, English, Germans,
Swedes, and Russians, could resort with equal facility as to a perpetual
mart for all the commodities exchanged between the Old and the New
World.[1]
A few years before the commencement of the religious wars which proved so
disastrous to the country, Antwerp was in a most flourishing condition.
Thousands of ships of every form and size covered its broad river like a
forest of masts, whose many-colored flags indicated the presence of
traders from all the commercial nations of the globe.
Portuguese gallions carried thither the gems and spices of the East;
Spanish gallions the gold and silver of America; Italian vessels were
laden with the delicate fruits and rich stuffs of the Southern countries;
German vessels with grains and metals; and all returned to their own
countries heavily freighted with other merchandise, and made way for the
ships which were continually arriving, and which, according to
contemporary chronicles, were often obliged to wait six weeks before they
succeeded in approaching the wharf.[2]
Small craft, such as _hers_, ascended the Scheldt, and even ventured out
to sea in order to trade with the neighboring people. Transportation into
the interior of the country was effected by means of very strong wagons,
several hundred of which daily left Antwerp. The heavy vehicles which
conveyed merchandise through Cologne to the heart of Germany were called
_Hessenwagens_.[3]
This extraordinary activity induced many foreigners to establish
themselves in a city where gold was so abundant, and where every one might
reasonably hope for large profits.
At the period of which we speak, Antwerp counted among its inhabitants
nearly a thousand merchants from other countries, each of whom had his own
attendants; one chronicle estimates, perhaps with some exaggeration, the
number of strangers engaged in commerce at five thousand.[4]
Twice a day these merchants met on Change, not only for purposes of trade
and for information of the arrival of ships, but principally for banking
operations.
To convey an idea of the amount of wealth at the disposal of the houses of
Antwerp, it suffices to say that the king of Portugal obtained in one day
in this city a loan of three millions of gold crowns, and Queen Mary of
England contracted a debt of seventy millions of francs.
One merchant, called the rich Fugger, left at his death legacies amounting
to nearly six millions of gold crowns, a sum which for that period would
seem fabulous, if the fact were not established by indisputable documents.
This wealth and the presence of so many nations vying with each other had
carried luxury to such a height that magistrates were frequently obliged
to publish edicts, in order to restrain the lavish expenditure. This was
not done on account of the foreign inhabitants of the place, but for the
advantage of many noble families and the people of the middle classes, who
were tempted by the example of others to a display of magnificence which
might have seriously injured their fortunes.
The greater part of the Italian merchants from Lucca, Genoa, Florence, and
other cities beyond the Alps, were noblemen, and from this circumstance
they were thrown into intimate intercourse with the noble families of
Antwerp, all of whom spoke fluently three or four languages, and who
particularly studied to speak with purity and elegance the soft Italian
idiom.[5]
In the _Hipdorp_, not far from the Church of St. James, stood an elegant
mansion, which was the favorite resort of the élité of the Italian
merchants. It was the residence of William Van de Werve, lord of Schilde.
Although this nobleman did not himself engage in mercantile transactions,
because the aristocratic families of Brabant regarded commerce as an
occupation unsuitable to persons of high birth,[6] he was very cordial and
hospitable to all strangers whose rank entitled them to admission to his
home circle. Moreover, he was extremely wealthy, luxurious in his manner
of living, and so well versed in three or four different languages, that
he could with ease enter into an agreeable and useful conversation in
either of them.
The house of Mr. Van de Werve had still other attractions to noble
foreigners. He had a daughter of extraordinary beauty, so lovely, so
modest, notwithstanding the homage offered to her charms, that her
admirers had surnamed her _la bionda maraviglia_, "the wonderful blonde."
One morning in the year 1550 the beautiful Mary Van de Werve was seated in
her father's house in a richly sculptured arm-chair. The young girl had
apparently just returned from church, as she still held in her hand a
rosary of precious stones, and her hood lay on a chair near her. She
seemed to be engrossed by some pleasing thought which filled her heart
with a sweet anticipation, for a slight smile parted her lips, and her
eyes were upraised to heaven as if imploring a favor from Almighty God.
Against the wall behind her hung a picture from the pencil of John Van
Eyck, in which the great master had represented the Virgin in prayer,
whilst she was still ignorant of the sublime destiny that awaited her.
The artist had lavished upon this masterpiece the most ardent inspirations
of his pious and poetic genius, for the image seemed to live and think. It
charmed by the beauty of feature, the majestic calm of expression, the
sweetness of the smile, the look full of love cast from earth to heaven.
There was a striking resemblance between the creation of the artist and
the young girl seated beneath in almost the same attitude. In truth, the
youthful Mary Van de Werve was as beautiful as the poetical representation
of her patroness. She had the same large blue eyes, whose expression,
although calm and thoughtful, revealed a keen sensibility and a tender,
loving soul; her golden hair fell in ringlets over a brow of marble
whiteness, and no painter had ever traced a cheek of lovelier mould or
more delicate hue; her whole being expressed that calm recollection and
attractive gravity which is the true poetry of the immaterial soul, and
which was comprehended only by the believing artists of the North before
the material inspiration of pagan art had been transmitted to them from
the South.
Mary Van de Werve was most richly attired; but there was in her dress an
absence of ornament which appeared strange at that period of extreme pomp
and show. A waist of sky-blue velvet encircled her slender form, and a
brocade skirt fell in large folds to her feet. Only on her open sleeves
appeared some gold thread, and the clasp which fastened the chamois-skin
purse suspended from her girdle was encrusted with precious stones.
All her surroundings betokened her father's opulence: large stained-glass
windows, covered with the armorial bearings of his ancestors, cast their
varied hues upon the inlaid marble floor; tables and chairs of oak, slabs
supporting exquisite statuary from the chisel of the most celebrated
artists, were ranged along the walls; an ivory crucifix surmounted a
silver basin of rare workmanship containing holy water. Even the massive
andirons, which stood in the broad fireplace, were partly of gold and
ornamented with the coat of arms.
Her prayer was finished, or it might be that her thoughts had taken
another turn; she arose and walked slowly towards the large window which
overlooked the garden. She fixed her eyes upon the beautiful blue sky; her
countenance was bright, as though a sweet hope filled her heart, and a
rosy hue suffused her cheeks.
An old man at this moment entered the room. Heavy moustaches shaded his
lips, and a long beard fell upon his breast. There was something grave and
severe in his imposing appearance and even in his dress; for although his
doublet was of gold cloth, his whole body was enveloped in a long cloak,
whose dark color was relieved by a lining of white fur.
"Good morning, Mary," he said, as he approached the young girl.
"May the blessing of God always be with you, dear father," she replied.
"Come, see how lovely the sky is, and how brightly the sun shines."
"It is charming weather; we might almost imagine ourselves in the month of
May."
"It is the eve of May, father." And with a joyous smile she drew her
father to the window, and pointing to the sky, said: "The wind has
changed; it blows from the direction of England."
"True; since yesterday it has been south-east."
"So much the better; the ships which have been kept out at sea can ascend
the Scheldt with to-day's or to-morrow's tide."
"And you hope," said Mr. Van de Werve, shaking his head, "that among these
vessels will be found the _Il Salvatore_, which is to bring the old Signor
Deodati from Lucca?"
"I have so long implored of heaven this favorable wind," replied the young
girl. "I thank the God of mercy that my prayer has been heard!"
Mr. Van de Werve was silent; his daughter's words had evidently made a
disagreeable impression upon him.
She passed her arm caressingly around his neck, and said:
"Dear father, you are sorrowful; and yet you promised me to await
tranquilly the arrival of Signor Deodati."
"It is true, my child," he replied; "but, as the time approaches when I
must come to a decision, my soul is filled with anxiety. We are the
descendants of an illustrious family, and our style of living should be so
magnificent as to reflect credit on our rank. The Signor Geronimo, whom
you seem to prefer to all others, lives very economically; he dresses
simply, and abstains from all that kind of expenditure which, being an
evidence of wealth and chivalric generosity, elevates a man in the eyes of
the world. That makes me fear that his uncle is either in moderate
circumstances or very avaricious."
"But, father, permit me to say that the Signor Deodati of Lucca is very
rich and of high birth," replied the young girl, sadly. "Did not the
banker Marco Riccardi give you satisfactory information on that point?"
"And should he be miserly, Mary, will he accept the conditions I propose?
I shall demand of him the renunciation of a considerable portion of his
possessions in favor of his nephew Geronimo. Would it not be an insult to
you, which your brothers would avenge, were your hand to be refused from
pecuniary motives? I regret that you have so irrevocably fixed your
affections on the Signor Geronimo, when you might have chosen among a
hundred others richer and of higher estate. The head of the powerful house
of Buonvisi had more claim upon my sympathy and yours."
"Simon Turchi!" said the young girl, sorrowfully bowing her head.
"What has this poor Signor Turchi left undone during the past three years
to prove his chivalric love?" replied her father. "Festivals, banquets,
concerts, boating on the Scheldt, nothing has been spared; he has expended
a fortune to please you. At one time you did not dislike him; but ever
since the fatal night when he was attacked by unknown assassins and
wounded in the face, you look upon him with different eyes. Instead of
being grateful to the good Turchi, you comport yourself in such a manner
towards him, that I am induced to believe that you hate him."
"Hate the Signor Turchi!" exclaimed Mary, as if frightened by the
accusation. "Dear father, do not indulge such a thought."
"He is a handsome, dignified gentleman, my child."
"Yes, father; he has long been an intimate friend of the Signor
Geronimo."[7]
Mr. Van de Werve took his daughter's hand, and said, gently: "Geronimo may
be finer-looking to a woman's eye; but his future depends upon his uncle's
kindness. He is young and inexperienced, and he possesses nothing himself.
The Signor Turchi, on the contrary, is rich and highly esteemed in the
world as partner and administrator of the well-known house of Buonvisi.
Think better of your choice, Mary; satisfy my desires and your brothers':
it is not yet too late."
Tears filled the eyes of the young girl; she replied, however, with a
sweet resignation: "Father, I am your submissive child. Command, and I
will obey without a murmur, and humbly kiss the venerated hand which
imposes the painful sacrifice. But Geronimo! poor Geronimo!"
At these words her fortitude forsook her; she covered her face with her
hands, and wept bitterly; her tears fell like bright pearls upon the
marble floor.
For some moments Mr. Van de Werve contemplated his daughter with
ever-increasing pity; then overcome by the sight of her grief, he took her
hand, and tenderly pressing it, he said to her: "Cheer up, my dear Mary,
do not weep. We will see what answer the Signor Deodati will return to the
conditions I will propose to him. Geronimo is of noble birth; if his uncle
will consent to bestow upon him a suitable fortune, your desires shall be
fulfilled."
"But, dear father," said the still weeping girl, "that depends upon the
magnitude of your demands. If you ask impossibilities of the Signor
Deodati--"
"No, no, have no anxiety," said Mr. Van de Werve, interrupting her. "I
will endeavor to fulfil my duty as a father, and at the same time to spare
you any future sorrow. Are you satisfied now?"
Mary silently embraced her father, and her eyes expressed such gratitude
that Mr. Van de Werve was deeply moved, and said, tenderly:
"Who could refuse you anything? Age, experience, prudence, all yield
before one glance of your eye. Conceal your emotion; I hear some one
coming."
A servant opened the door, and announced, "The Signor Geronimo."
The young nobleman thus introduced was remarkable for his fine form, and
the graceful elegance of his manners and carriage. His complexion was of
that light and clear brown which adds so much to the manly beauty of some
Southern nations. The dark beard and hair, his spirited black eyes, gave a
singular charm to his countenance, while his calm and sweet smile
indicated goodness of heart.
Although upon his entrance he strove to appear cheerful, Mary's eye
detected a concealed sadness.
The dress of Geronimo was simple in comparison with the rich attire of the
other Italian nobles, his compatriots. He wore a felt hat ornamented with
a long plume, a Spanish cloak, a cloth doublet lined with fur, violet
satin breeches, and gray boots. His modest attire was relieved only by the
sword which hung at his side; for the hilt glittered with precious stones,
and the armorial bearings engraved upon it proved him to be of noble
birth.
"Che la pace sia in quelle casa!" (May peace be in this house!) he said,
as he entered the hall.
He bowed profoundly to Mr. Van de Werve, and saluted him most
respectfully; but the traces of tears which he perceived on Mary's face so
startled him that he interrupted his ceremonious greetings, and fixed his
eyes inquiringly upon her. She had been weeping, and yet she smiled
joyously.
"Mary is naturally very susceptible, Signor Geronimo," said Mr. Van de
Werve. "I was speaking to her of her beloved mother, and she wept. You
appear, and she smiles as though she knew no sorrow."
The young girl did not await the conclusion of this explanation; before
her father had finished speaking, she led her lover to the window, pointed
to the weathercock, and said: "Look, Geronimo, the wind is from the west."
"I noticed it last night," replied the young man, with an involuntary
sigh.
"Rejoice then, for to-day your uncle may be in sight of the city."
"I do not think so; however, it is possible," said the young man, sadly.
"How coldly you speak, Geronimo!" exclaimed the young girl, in surprise;
"what cloud obscures your soul?"
"I myself notice something extraordinary in your manner, signor," remarked
the father. "You seem dejected; have you received bad news of your uncle?"
Geronimo hesitated for an answer; then, as though endeavoring to drive
away unpleasant thoughts, he said, in a faltering voice: "No, no, it is
not that. I witnessed just now near the Dominican Convent something which
touched me deeply, and I have not yet recovered from the shock. Have you
not heard of a Florentine merchant named Massimo Barberi?"
"Is he noble?" asked Mary. "I do not remember him."
"No, a commoner, but a man highly esteemed."
"I know him well," said Mr. Van de Werve. "I met him lately in company
with Lopez de Galle, for whom he had attended to some financial affairs.
What have you to tell us concerning him?"
"Something terrible, Mr. Van de Werve. I saw the corpse of poor Barberi
taken out of a sewer; he had two dagger-wounds in his throat. He was
undoubtedly attacked and slain last night."
"It is had to see so many murders committed in Antwerp," said Mr. Van de
Werve. "This is the fourth during the past month. The victims each time
have been either Spaniards or Italians, and that vengeance or jealousy was
the cause is sufficiently proved by the fact that in no case have the
bodies been despoiled of their money or jewels. This custom of lying in
wait, attacking and killing each other, often without cause, is an outrage
both against God and man. And do you not yourself sometimes fear, Signor
Geronimo, the assassin's dagger?"
The young man shook his head.
"For instance," continued Mary's father, "this is the eve of May, I need
not ask if you intend to offer to Mary the homage of a serenade. It is the
custom of your countrymen to pay this attention to young girls, and you
would not omit this opportunity were it not for the advice of a man of
experience. Geronimo, listen to the words of calm reason: do not rashly
expose yourself to the danger of death; abandon your design this time.
Many of your compatriots have aspired to Mary's hand; they have been less
successful than you, and on this account they may harbor unkind feelings
towards you."
The young man received this advice with a smile which indicated its
refusal.
"It is difficult, sir, to speak of such things in the presence of the one
who is to be the object of our homage. Permit me, however, the liberty to
decide upon the manner in which I will acquit myself of my duty to this
young lady."
"But permit me, signor, to tell you," said the old man, in an offended
tone, "that it does you no honor to reject the advice of a man of
experience, in order to carry out an unimportant fancy. Rashness does not
indicate courage, but rather an absence of good sense."
"Father," exclaimed Mary, in a supplicating tone, "be not angry with
Signor Geronimo; he will incur no danger."
"Foolish confidence!" said the old man. "Why should Geronimo think himself
less exposed to danger than others? That Geronimo should be rash is
excusable; but, Mary, you deserve a severe reprimand for encouraging your
friend in his perilous design."
The young girl bowed her head at this reproof of her father, and murmured
as if to excuse herself: "Geronimo has a relic, father."
This revelation embarrassed the young man, and he glanced reproachfully at
Mary.
She said, caressingly:
"Don't be displeased, Geronimo; show the relic to my father, and he will
then know why you do not fear that any accident will happen to you."
The young man felt that he could not refuse Mary's request. He drew from
under his doublet an object suspended on a steel chain, and, approaching
Mr. Van de Werve, he placed it in his hand.
It was a flat medal of greenish copper, on which were engraven unknown
letters and signs. A cross between two bent sabres, and beneath them a
crescent, filled up the centre of the medal. At the foot of the cross was
a gray stone, rudely inlaid. The whole was rough and heavy.
Mr. Van de Werve examined this medal attentively for some time; he turned
it over and over, as though he sought to comprehend the signification of
this singular emblem.
"A relic!" he murmured. "Here are two cimeters, a crescent, and cabalistic
characters. It is a Mohammedan talisman, and, perhaps, an emblem shocking
to our holy religion!"
"You are certainly mistaken, sir," replied Geronimo.
"Is not the cross placed above the crescent, and would not that signify
that the faith of Christ has triumphed over the doctrines of Mahomet?"
"But why do you call it a relic?"
"Mary so named it, not I. It is an amulet, and if it has any power, it
derives it from the gray stone beneath the cross. This stone is a
_draconite_, taken, at the risk of life, from the head of a dragon in the
country of the negroes."
A half contemptuous smile curled the lips of the old man as he
contemplated the talisman in silence. At last he said: "I remember, Signor
Geronimo, to have read in Pliny curious details of the draconite and its
extraordinary powers, but I also remember that the great naturalist
forgets to tell us the inherent qualities of the stone. Alas! signor,
would you trust in this talisman, and believe that it could protect you
against the dagger of the assassin? The people of the South have a strange
piety: in their superstition they confound what is holy with things which
owe their efficacy, if they possess any, to the conjurations of
sorcerers."
The young noble colored slightly, and replied: "You are mistaken, sir, as
far as I am concerned. For my justification allow me to tell you that this
amulet belonged to a pilgrim; that it rested one entire night of Good
Friday upon the tomb of our Lord at Jerusalem; but I will be candid, and
say to you that I do not consider it possessed of the power to preserve me
from danger. And yet I always wear it with the firm and unshaken
conviction that it will protect me in a critical hour from some
misfortune."
"Perhaps it belonged to your deceased parents," said Mr. Van de Werve,
struck by the singular explanation of the young man.
"No, sir," replied Geronimo; "this amulet is to me a cherished souvenir of
a day upon which God gave me the grace to perform a good action. I would
willingly tell you how the amulet fell into my hands, and why I believe in
its power to protect me, but it is a long story."
"I would, nevertheless, be much pleased if you would satisfy my
curiosity," said the old noble.
"If you desire it," replied Geronimo, "I will comply with your wishes.
"You know that five years ago, when I undertook for the first time the
voyage from Lucca to Antwerp, I was made prisoner by Algerian pirates, and
carried as a slave to Barbary. I was sold to a Moorish lord, who made me
work in the fields until my uncle should send the ransom which would
restore me to liberty. In the same field in which some light work was
appointed me, I saw an old blind woman attached like a mule to a plough,
and driven on by blows from a heavy stick. She was a Christian slave,
whose eyes had been put out in wanton cruelty. I learned that she was an
Italian by birth, a native of a small village in the environs of Porto
Fiero, a seaport not far from Genoa. She had no relatives who could pay
her ransom, and she had consequently been fastened to the plough like a
beast of burden until death should come to deliver her. The frightful fate
of this miserable slave so filled me with compassion, that I shed tears of
grief and rage when I heard afar off her piercing cries as the rod of the
overseer descended upon her. One day my indignation was so roused, when
the pagan wretches had knocked her down and were treating her even more
cruelly than usual, that I dared to defend her by force. Had not my master
expected a large sum for my ransom, a frightful death would have been the
punishment of my audacity. After being kept a few days in prison and
harshly treated, I was sent back to the fields to work as before. The
condition of the blind slave was not in the least changed; she was still
inhumanly beaten. Her misfortunes pierced my heart, and I was maddened by
my inability to protect from pagan cruelty a woman who was my sister by
our common faith and a common misfortune. No longer venturing to have
recourse to force, I sought other means to mitigate her sufferings. During
the few hours of repose granted to us, or rather to our overseers, I
hastened to the blind woman and shared with her the best of my food; I
strove to fortify her by the hope that God would liberate her from this
terrible slavery; I told her, that should I ever become free, I would
procure her liberation, even were it necessary to renounce for years my
own pleasures that I might amass sufficient for her ransom. I spoke to her
of our country, of the goodness of God, and of the probability of my
liberation. The poor blind woman kissed my hands, and called me an angel
sent by God to illumine the darkness of her life by the sweet rays of
consolation and piety. I was only a few months her fellow-slave. My uncle,
learning my captivity through messengers I had employed, sent to Algiers
an armed vessel to liberate me. Besides the amount of my ransom, he sent
me means to transport some valuable merchandise from Barbary to Italy.
When I took leave of the blind woman, I was so deeply touched by her
sorrow, that I pondered upon the means of restoring her to liberty. It is
true that in order to effect this, I would be obliged to employ a large
portion of the money sent me by my uncle for the purchase of merchandise,
and I was convinced that my uncle, who was inflexible in exacting fidelity
to commercial regulations, would overwhelm me with his anger, but my heart
gained the ascendency over my reason, and Christian charity triumphed.
Listening only to my compassion, I ransomed the unfortunate woman, and
with my own hands I unbound her chains. That was the happiest moment of my
life."
Mary and her father were both touched by the recital of the young man.
"Oh, Geronimo," exclaimed Mary, "may God bless you for having been so
compassionate to the poor Christian slave!"
"You did well, Geronimo," said Mr. Van de Werve, "and I esteem and love
you more for your generosity to the unfortunate blind woman. How happy her
unexpected liberation must have made her!"
"When I told her she was free, and that she could accompany me to her
native land, she was almost wild with joy; she laughed and wept by turns;
she cast herself upon the ground, and raising her hands to heaven, thanked
God; she embraced my knees and watered my feet with her tears. Not knowing
how to testify her gratitude, she drew this strange amulet from her bosom
and presented it to me, conjuring me to wear it always. She told me that
it possessed the power of protecting and saving the one who carried it on
his person, when all human aid failed or was insufficient. As to the
origin of the amulet, she only knew that it had been brought back from
Jerusalem by one of her ancestors, who had made a pilgrimage thither in
expiation of an involuntary homicide, and from that time it had been,
religiously guarded in their family as a precious relic. She had no doubt
of its power, and related many strange things to justify her faith. She
maintained that she owed to the amulet her unexpected return to Italy."
"Does she still live?" asked Mary.
"When in sight of Italy, I put her on board of a boat bound to Porto
Fiero; I gave her a small sum of money, and begged the boatman to attend
to her comforts. Poor Teresa Mostajo--that is her name--I doubt not, is
living peacefully in her native village, and prays much for me. This is
the only reason why I attribute any virtue to the amulet; I believe in the
protection of this sign because it has been sanctified by an act of
Christian charity, and by the grateful prayers of the poor blind woman
tormented by the pagans for the name of Christ."
The old cavalier remained a moment silent, absorbed in thought. Then
taking the hand of the young man, he said to him: "I did not know you
before, Geronimo. I hope it may be in my power to prove to you how much
your generosity ennobles you and elevates you in my esteem; but although
your confidence in the amulet rests on so laudable a sentiment, I would
not rely too much upon it. You know the proverb says: 'Help yourself, and
Heaven will help you.'"
"Do not suppose, Mr. Van de Werve, that on that account I would be guilty
of any foolish imprudence. I know that the eye and sword are good
sentinels. When I pass through the streets at night, I am always well
accompanied, and my hand never leaves the hilt of my sword. Therefore have
no anxiety on this point, and permit me to perform my duty to her to whom
I owe homage and respect."
At that moment the painted--glass windows trembled under the stroke of a
large clock from some neighboring belfry. This suddenly turned Mary's
thoughts into another channel.
"The clock of St. James is striking ten," she said.
"Father, will you walk with me to the dock-yard to see if any new ships
have arrived?"
"What is the hour of high tide?" her father asked Geronimo.
"At noon," he replied.
"Why need we go so soon to the dock-yard?" asked the old cavalier. "Many
days may yet pass before the _Il Salvatore_ appears in the Scheldt. Do not
fear, Mary, that the Signor Deodati will take us by surprise. Don Pezoa,
the agent of the king of Portugal, has given orders that I shall be
notified as soon as the galley we are awaiting is signaled in the river,
at noon."
He was interrupted by the entrance of a servant, who announced that the
Chevalier John Van Schoonhoven,[8] the bailiff, desired to speak with him.
Geronimo was about to withdraw, but Mr. Van de Werve said to him,
cordially:
"Remain, signor; I will send Petronilla, Mary's duenna as a companion for
her; the interview with the Chevalier Schoonhoven may not detain me long.
We will afterwards go to the dock-yard, and we will at least enjoy the
fine weather. Stay, I beg you."
Hardly had he left the hall when an old woman entered, and seated herself
near the door. She drew a chaplet from her pocket, and commenced praying
in a low voice. This was apparently an habitual act with her, for neither
the young girl nor the young man took the least notice of the duenna.
Mary approached her lover, and said, gaily: "Rejoice, Geronimo! My father
has just promised not to propose very heavy conditions to your uncle."
"I am most grateful for his kindness," said the young man, sadly.
"What can be the matter?" asked Mary, surprised by his indifference. "I
noticed you were depressed when you first came. Be more hopeful; perhaps
the _Il Salvatore_ will ascend the Scheldt to-day."
"God grant it may not arrive!" said Geronimo, heaving a deep sigh.
"Do you then fear your uncle's arrival?" exclaimed Mary, in an agitated
voice.
"Do not speak so loud, Mary; your duenna must not hear what I am about to
communicate to you. Yes; since yesterday morning I have dreaded my uncle's
arrival. Previously I implored it of Heaven as the choicest blessing, and
now the thought of it makes me tremble."
"Have you then heard from your uncle?"
"Alas! my friend, at the very moment when all seemed the brightest, when I
was thanking God for a happiness which I thought already mine, a dark
cloud comes to overshadow my life. I seem even now to hear my uncle's
voice pronouncing the cruel sentence which condemns me to a life-long
sorrow."
The young girl turned deadly pale, and anxiously awaited an explanation
of the mystery.
"My beloved Mary," he whispered, "it is a secret which I can only confide
to you in part, and which in strict honor I should perhaps conceal
entirely. Four weeks ago a merchant, highly esteemed, was left by a
curious train of circumstances without funds, and he begged me to lend him
ten thousand crowns. Should I refuse his request, the credit of his house
would be irretrievably ruined. His name I considered sufficient security
for ten times the amount he wished to borrow. At all events, although it
pained me to disobey my uncle's positive injunctions, I could not deny the
assistance which was asked of me. I lent the ten thousand crowns, and
obtained a receipt with a written promise of payment in one month.
Yesterday the note fell due; my debtor asks a delay until to-morrow. I met
him an hour ago, and he has not yet obtained the money."
"But if your debtor is rich and powerful, you need not indulge your fears
to-day; to-morrow, perhaps, he will fulfil his promise," remarked the
young girl, with ill-concealed anxiety.
"My fears may mislead me, Mary, but I am sure that my debtor's affairs are
in a very bad condition. At his urgent entreaty I made no entry of the
loan upon the books, in order to conceal the transaction from the clerks;
but still I have not the amount in hand. O Mary! my uncle has an eagle eye
in business affairs; he will at once discover the deficit of ten thousand
crowns--a deficit resulting from my lending money: a thing he has always
warned me against, and which, even recently, he strictly forbade. My uncle
is a good father to me, but this act of disobedience is sufficient to
deprive me forever of his favor. I foresee many future evils."
"Why were you so imprudent, Geronimo? You ought to have refused so large a
loan."
"I could not possibly refuse, Mary."
"But you hold an acknowledgment of the debt and a promise of payment.
Summon this merchant before the magistrates; at Antwerp justice is
promptly and impartially dealt to all."
"Impossible!" replied the young man, in a plaintive voice; "my debtor is a
man to whom I owe many obligations; a complaint from me would be the cause
of irreparable ruin to him. Let us hope that he will succeed in procuring
the ten thousand crowns. He told me even this morning that he would
endeavor to give me bills of exchange on Spain."
"But of whom are you speaking?" said Mary; "your language is so
mysterious."
"I will not tell his name. Be not offended by my reserve; there is between
merchants a law of secrecy which honor forbids us to violate."
Mary appeared to respect this law; but she was evidently absorbed in
bitter reflections.
Either the communication of his difficulties to his beloved had given him
new strength, or the sight of her sorrow made him affect a confidence he
did not feel, for he said to her in a cheerful manner:
"Come, Mary, you must not yield to discouragement. Perhaps I exaggerate
the danger. My debtor is a member of a house which equals any other in
consideration and wealth. In a few days, to-day even, or to-morrow, he may
acquit himself of the debt, and should my uncle arrive before the
restitution, I will endeavor to delay his examination of the books."
He took the young girl's hand, and exclaimed, with joyous enthusiasm: "O
Mary, my beloved, may Heaven be propitious to our vows! May the
benediction of the priest descend upon our union! We will pass in Italy
the first months of our happy life; Italy--that earthly paradise where God
has lavished all the treasures of nature, and man all the treasures of
art."
They heard Mr. Van de Werve's voice in the hall giving urgent orders to
the servants.
"Mary," said Geronimo, "your father is coming. I implore you not to
divulge, in any manner, what I have told you. Keep my secret even from
your father; remember that the least indiscretion might cause the ruin of
an honorable merchant."
"Make haste, Geronimo; Mary, prepare for a drive," exclaimed Mr. Van de
Werve, as he entered the hall. "Signor Deodati has arrived; the _Il
Salvatore_ is in sight. Don Pezoa has just sent me information to that
effect, and he has placed his gondola and boatmen at our service. The
weather is beautiful and calm; we will go to meet the _Il Salvatore_."
Mary, as though forgetting in this unexpected news all that Geronimo had
told her, ran joyfully and put on her hood before her duenna had time to
approach her. Geronimo also looked happy, and prepared to meet his uncle
without loss of time.
In a few minutes all was ready; the horses were harnessed to the carriage,
the great gate was flung open, and the equipage was driven rapidly through
the street.