The Spell of Belgium Part 17

At the moment he p.r.o.nounced these words, expressed with such profound despair, he arrived at the Ca.n.a.l St. Jean, not far from the river. At that time, there stood at this place a water mill. Suddenly the noise of the water pouring over the wheel attracted his attention, and drew him from his somber reverie. He raised his head, his eyes sparkled, the expression of his features became nearly radiant, his steps were firmer, and with a species of cruel joy he directed himself towards the ca.n.a.l.

It could not be doubted that the unfortunate young man wished to put an end to his sufferings, which he believed would terminate only with his life. He was already on the banks of the Scheldt. One step farther and he would have disappeared in the waves, when suddenly the bells of the city recommenced their funeral knell.

These lugubrious sounds had a singular effect upon his spirit. He recoiled with fright, his thoughts suddenly changed. He was astonished to think he had contemplated committing a crime to put an end to his troubles. He turned away and was soon far from the place where he had so nearly put into execution his fatal project. A quarter of an hour after, he was near the church of St. Andre, calmer, but still despairing.

"Ungrateful," he said to himself, "to commit a crime that would have brought affliction upon the last days, and covered with shame the white hairs of the worthy old man, your father, who loves you so tenderly, and has only yourself in the world. G.o.d knows if he would have survived your suicide, if sorrow would not have brought him to the grave. And why? For a woman that you have loved, that you still love more than words can express! How do you know she merits your love? And has she ever loved you? Foolish to doubt! She still loves you--Oh, no! she has lost all interest in you and treats you as if there never existed the least sympathetic sentiment between you."

Saying this, he turned, stopped, and appeared to consider anew whether he should return to the ca.n.a.l. It was the last attempt of the spirit of evil upon his heart enfeebled by suffering. Happily his good angel watched over him and gave him strength to resist.

After a moment of hesitation he continued his route, murmuring, "But no, that cannot be; she cannot have forgotten me, she must love me yet--Katharina, this angel with looks so pure, voice so sweet, expression so celestial, thoughts so candid, she could never deceive me.

For her I would give my life. She cannot abandon me thus; but why does she not let me hear from her? She must realize that her silence and this uncertainty make me suffer torments."

Thus reasoning, by turns filled with hope and despair, he gradually approached the princ.i.p.al entrance of the church. Divine service had long since commenced. The majestic tones of the organ rang through the vaulted roof, floating over the heads of the kneeling faithful. He entered more through curiosity and to distract his grief, than through piety, or to pray for the souls of the dead, as he felt that in his distracted state of mind it would be impossible for him to elevate his thoughts above the earth, and to invoke G.o.d with any other intention than that of seeing his well beloved.

The church of St. Andre at this period was a remarkable edifice, built in the Gothic style, and of an imposing appearance. Its origin was as follows: In 1519 the Augustinian monks possessed on this spot a magnificent cloister from which the street takes its name. Several of these friars, being suspected of heresy, and of following the example of their colleague, the famous monk of Wurttemberg, were expelled from the city. The cloister was demolished and sold, with the exception of the church that the order was building, which was finished with the authorization of Pope Adrian VI, under the invocation of St. Andre. The spectacle which the interior of the church presented at this moment was not calculated to inspire our hero with less sorrowful thoughts or more consoling reflections. Everything there spoke of death, eternity and purgatory. The nave was draped with black; upon all sides, upon the pillars, on the altar, on the candelabra, were funeral emblems, death's heads and cross bones, and skeletons, speaking of punishments and expiations of the other life. He felt ill at ease in the midst of all these lugubrious decorations. This colossal edifice, partially lighted by innumerable wax candles, this compact crowd kneeling on the marble and buried in prayer, these gigantic columns hidden under the funeral drapings, and, more than all, the mournful strains of the organ and the solemn character of the chants, saddened him and filled him with an indefinable and mysterious fear.

All this only served to recall more vividly his own situation, and he felt he could no longer endure it. As he advanced towards another door of the church he noticed in the shade of a pillar a female who, while appearing to pray with fervour, watched all his movements and endeavoured to attract his attention. Before her two persons were kneeling, one a young girl with an angelic countenance, whose elegant figure was not entirely hidden by the ample folds of her black silk cloak. He recognized her whose silence had made him suffer so cruelly.

The other, an old man whose features were strongly marked with sternness and severity, was the father of Katharina. The female who had at first attracted his attention was the servant, whose eloquent gestures had caused to disappear, as if by enchantment, the sorrow and discouragement of the desolate lover, who thought no more of leaving the church.

Drawing his cloak around him, so as to conceal as much as possible his features, he placed himself behind the persons upon whom all his thoughts were concentrated, and decided to wait until the close of the services, hoping he should succeed in learning something of the inexplicable conduct of the daughter of the banker. The service was finished, the last modulations of the organ had died away, when the old man and his daughter prepared to leave the church.

The young man followed as near as possible, without being noticed. Near the door he felt some one press his arm and at the same instant put in his hand a letter, which he took without p.r.o.nouncing a word. He continued to follow the three persons instinctively. It was only after seeing them enter their dwelling and close the door that he thought of returning home.

II

To those acquainted, however slightly, with the history of Antwerp it will be superfluous to recall the immense prosperity of the city at the time of our little drama. To give an idea of its ancient wealth and magnificence, it will suffice to say that five hundred vessels ascended and descended the Scheldt daily. The river near the city was literally covered with ships at anchor, waiting their turn to discharge; they often extended as far as the village of Hoboken, three miles from the city, which gave rise to the Flemish saying "Op de Hobooksche hei liggen" (To remain in the fields of Hoboken). This saying is used to designate persons who are obliged to wait a long time for the accomplishment of their desires. Nearly every nation had its representatives in the fine and celebrated city of Antwerp, and one of the writers of the time said that the Antwerpians could study the customs, language and costumes of all the nations of the globe without leaving their city. We will not attempt to explain the causes of this gigantic prosperity, which caused Antwerp to be the rival of Genoa and Venice. Its admirable situation, which still contributes to its prosperity, was one of the princ.i.p.al reasons. The fairs, like those of Leipsic and Frankfort, were endowed with many valuable privileges; one of these guaranteed to its visitors a species of inviolability. They could not be molested for debt during the continuance of the fair and while making their return trip to their homes. It is not astonishing that with the freedom and facility which foreign merchants enjoyed they preferred Antwerp to other cities, and that it attained such a degree of splendour.

Among the foreign bankers the most noted was a German named Wolfgang Frugger. He was descended from the famous Fruggers of Augsburg, who had representatives in France, Spain, Italy and Antwerp. They were the richest bankers of Europe, the Rothschilds of the epoch. He had inherited from his father a sum of six million crowns, a fabulous amount at that time. His house had the reputation of containing more treasures than the palace of a king. He was called by every one "Frugger the Rich." He lived in a very simple, miserly manner.

Frugger had been for a long time connected with another German banker, immensely rich, named Hochstetter, whose mode of living differed essentially from that of the father of Katharina. He lived in a princely manner in a palace which he had built in the street that still bears his name. It appears that notwithstanding the difference in their manner of living, they agreed marvelously, and visited each other frequently.

Their names were inseparable upon the Bourse, as all believed that there existed between the two houses a secret partnership, and why should they not have believed so? For when the name of one alone was cited in a transaction it was soon known that the other partic.i.p.ated in it. When the loan of 152,000 sterling was made to Henry VIII, King of England, ostensibly by Frugger alone, it was soon known that it was an operation of the two houses. Later, when Hochstetter concluded his loan of 3,000,000 crowns of gold, to the King of Portugal, Frugger, which was a mystery for no one, took part for at least one-half.

Thus it had been for many years, when suddenly without any apparent cause the union of the rich Germans was interrupted in the most complete manner. They ceased to visit and became as strangers. Although no one knew the reason of this sudden change they did not doubt that Frugger was the cause, as it was known that Hochstetter had been to visit him and had not been received. This happened a few days only before the ceremonies at the church for the repose of the dead. Frugger had not for several days appeared at the Bourse, which had filled all the merchants with astonishment.

III

The same evening of the ceremonies two persons conversed together in one of the salons of the superb mansion of Hochstetter. One of them was a man of about sixty years of age, of a venerable aspect, whose features expressed mildness and benevolence. This was Hochstetter. Not far from him was seated in a heavy oaken chair the young man whom we have followed from the river to the church; he appeared a prey to great despair and tried vainly to repress his tears. The father was reading the letter which the servant of Katharina had given to the lover of her mistress, and from time to time he stopped to bestow upon his son a regard full of tenderness, but the contents of the letter were not of a nature to calm his sorrows, or to give him courage. It ran as follows:

"It is eight long days that I have not seen you, nor your worthy father, and I have not even been able to send you any word. Perhaps you have already accused me of forgetfulness and ingrat.i.tude. If it is thus, ask G.o.d to pardon your unjust suspicions, for never were reproaches less merited. If you knew my situation you would feel only pity for my unhappy fate, and you would not impute sentiments to me which are far from my heart. Since the day your father, my esteemed guardian, came to demand my hand, my father has changed so much that I can hardly recognize him. Not contented with forbidding me all communication with you, he will not even allow me to talk with any one; even my own maid is a prisoner like myself. Not a word from you or your father have I had. I have only been told you asked my hand in marriage. When I asked my father for an explanation he answered me that it was not yet time but that he would give me one later. I cannot comprehend it--my father who has appeared to love me so tenderly and has always gratified all my wishes--to treat me suddenly with so much severity, so much cruelty. What can I say? He knows that I love you, and what adds to my grief is not to be able to tell you my troubles, and not to see you. He is not ignorant that I suffer and weep almost continually. I fear you will ascribe my silence to other sentiments. He has kept me from your father and all my friends who could speak to me of you. He has also changed so much that it astonishes me; he is always agitated, filled with a continual fear which it is impossible for me to understand; he trembles and turns pale at the slightest noise, speaks of thieves and robbers as if the city contained them by thousands; in the evening he dares not retire until he has a.s.sured himself that the doors are well fastened. His long, strange absences, of which I have formerly spoken to you, become more and more frequent, and they often last for hours. No one sees him go out, but he is nowhere to be found. Then suddenly he appears without any one being able to say how he has entered. He has forbidden me to go to the morning ma.s.s as I have always done, and it was with great reluctance that he accompanied me to the church of St. Andre to pray for the repose of the soul of my deceased mother, whose loss I have never felt more deeply than now. As I have the hope of seeing you there, I know not why, I have written these lines, and confide them to Clara and pray that she may find means of giving them to you."

This letter did not appear to astonish Hochstetter much, but his discontent was none the less visible.

"Decidedly he is losing his senses," murmured he, throwing it upon the table. Then, turning towards his son, "Carl," said he, taking his hand, "calm yourself, you see that all is not lost as you feared, and you were wrong to doubt Katharina. The poor child loves you more than ever."

"But her father," sighed Carl, "her father. I avow that his conduct...."

"But I think I understand it. I have been connected with him twenty years and I think I know him well enough to flatter myself that he had much friendship for us, and that it must cost him something to sacrifice it for an idea; but still he shows himself uncivil, refuses to have any more transactions with me, and when I visited him to demand an explanation he would not receive me. He forbids his daughter, my ward, all communication with us, and for what?--because I have asked of him her hand in marriage for my only son, whose fortune is larger than that of any other in the city! He has seen this attachment in the games of your infancy and has always approved of it. If I regret one thing it is not the interruption of our commercial relations, or the loss of his friendship, but the sudden disappointment of the hopes which this union had made me form for you. Alas! do not be discouraged, my son; you have not so much to complain of, it appears to me. The young girl loves you, you cannot doubt it, and in spite of the severity of her father she finds means to communicate with you, and then she says that she does not comprehend her father's strange conduct, and gives us to understand that he must labour under some aberration of mind. I am sure that when he is reestablished in health we shall find him the same old friend and tender father, who will be pleased to have you for a son-in-law. For where will he find one more suitable in every respect? Besides, you will be immensely rich."

"If Frugger will not accord me the hand of Katharina of what use will all the riches of the earth be to me?"

"Lover's words! Riches are always useful; you will learn that later. He will consent; but if he persists in his absurd obstinacy will you consent to marry her without any dowry, or even the fortune which belongs to her from her mother?"

"Instantly, even if she were the daughter of the most humble artisan."

"I will make another attempt. I know him well enough to prophesy that my offers will be accepted. Console yourself; all will be well." After this they separated, each to retire to his apartment.

IV

At the rue des Tailleurs de Pierres, in one of the rooms of the house of Frugger, took place almost at the same moment, a scene which, although of another character, still related to the same subject as the one which had just occurred at the house of Hochstetter.

"My child," said Frugger to his daughter, "you know that since the death of your mother I have loved no one but yourself in this world, and have endeavoured to augment my fortune only in order to make you the richest heiress of all the provinces reunited under the scepter of the Emperor Charles V. You, for whom I have done so much, for whom I continue to ama.s.s wealth, in order to elevate you so high that misfortune can never reach you, and whom all the world shall envy; you can do nothing for me? Why refuse me, who have never refused you the accomplishment of the slightest desire? Why refuse me the obedience that every child owes to its parents, even when they have not done for it what I have done for you?"

"Father," responded Katharina in a firm tone, "I have never refused to obey you, and have always endeavoured to prove by my obedience that I have not ceased to love and respect you, which is my wish and duty."

"It is probably with this intention," said the old man bitterly, "that notwithstanding my express will you still persist in loving the son of Hochstetter."

"Oh, Father," interrupted the young girl, blushing deeply.

"Try not to deny it," answered he with anger. "You love him, you love him madly, in spite of me or my strict orders, and the obedience which you declare you owe me."

Katharina was too much agitated to answer immediately. She hesitated, and then said with a trembling voice, which grew firmer as she proceeded:

"I love him more than I can say, more than I know myself, which renders me incapable of obeying you, when you require that I shall forget him.

Can you make me commit a crime? Is it not you yourself who have taught me from my most tender youth to esteem and love Hochstetter as your friend, and the friend of my deceased mother, and to consider him as my second father? Is it my fault if in obeying you I have ended by loving his son, the friend of my infancy, the companion of my youthful days, the only child of my guardian? No, the fault is yours at first, yours alone, and in commanding me to change my sentiments you demand an impossibility and render me the most unhappy of all beings!"

"It is true," murmured Frugger, striking his forehead. "It is my fault, it is my fault. I have had too much confidence. I have delivered myself to them bound hand and foot, like an old fool that I was. But if with an effort you can satisfy me, render me happy?" questioned he, raising his voice.

"Render you happy, Father? I do not understand you. Why is your interest so great?"

"What interest, child," cried he, with a frightful expression upon his features, "what interest!--You know you are sure of my affection for you, but I believe, nevertheless, that sooner than let you persevere in this love I prefer to see you dead. Oh, yes, dead! Ask of me all you wish, demand my blood, my life, but I plead with you, renounce this detested Carl, whom I hate as my enemy," continued he, seizing her arm and pressing it with savage energy. "Renounce him, I pray you; say that you will love him no more, that you will think of him only as an enemy--as the enemy of your father."

Katharina burst into tears. "I wish I could promise what you exact of me, but I feel it impossible to keep a promise to forget him."

"Oh! say to me that you will never abandon me, never leave me alone in my solitary dwelling," pursued the merciless old man, without appearing to have heard the words of his daughter; "say that you will not marry while I live. You wish not my death, do you?"

"Your death!"

"Yes, my death! Listen! I lost your mother while you were an infant. It is needless to say what a terrible blow her loss was to me, but I have consoled myself with the idea that you remained to me, and with the hope of finding in you all her virtues. This hope has not been deceived. I see in you today my regretted Anne, with her beauty, all her precious qualities, and her incessant cares for my happiness. If in losing you I lose a second time all that is dear to me I shall not survive it."

"Father, I pray you."

"Oh, I know what you wish to say, that your husband would be my friend, would prove a most tender and respectful son; perhaps even through pity he would consent to leave you with me; but the idea alone of knowing that when he wished he could take you from me would embitter my life.

And now," said he, perceiving with joy that his words had made a profound impression upon the young girl, "Katharina, I appeal to your heart. Will you abandon the poor old man who lives only by you and for you? Can you reduce to despair and fill with bitterness the few days which yet remain to me? Would you kill me slowly and force me to curse in my last moments, my only daughter, whose abandonment will have caused my death?"

"Never, oh, never!" she cried, throwing herself in tears upon his breast. "Pardon me, my poor father."

"Thus you will remain? Always! You will never think of marrying while I live?"