The Spell of Belgium Part 19

"I must away," said the girl; "if Quentin's affection is pure he will condemn me for lingering."

"Farewell, then, sweetest. If I lose thee I will wander to some distant clime and strive to bury my regrets in new cares and new companions."

He imprinted a kiss upon her willing lips. He watched her retiring form as it appeared and disappeared amid the foliage at intervals until it was finally lost to his anxious view; then he turned slowly and sadly away.

Never did father love his daughter with more fondness than Algini his child Elzia. Her good was his great aim. He was an enthusiast in the art of the pencil, and deemed that one of that profession would be most worthy of his child. The two pa.s.sions of his soul mingled in such a manner that they became one. He considered the canvas a lasting monument to genius, and that he would best secure his daughter's happiness by uniting her to one who would be alive to all posterity in his works.

Algini had therefore selected van Deg, as he was the boast of his country, and the figures of his creation wanted nothing but motion to make them the exact counterpart of the living originals. Besides, he was wealthy and would add to the riches of the family. Finally, his daughter was not old enough now to judge for herself, and though she had confessed that she was prejudiced against her proposed husband, a few years of connubial intercourse would overcome that, and she would ultimately be benefited.

Just as the father was at this point of reflection a letter carrier entered the apartment and handed him a letter, saying he would wait without for an answer, that he had been bound by oath not to disclose who had commissioned him to deliver this communication. Algini was astonished at these words, and as soon as the man retired broke the seal and read.

"If the parent consulted the daughter's happiness would he not find out from her whether she loves another? I think she does.

May it not be a mistake for van Deg to possess the fair being?

May her marriage to the man of your choice not hurry her to another world? Her obedience causes her to submit. I lay claim to her affections, but do not pretend to alter your determination. You have the reputation of patronizing merit as it appears in painting. Defer the nuptials to this day twelve month, and let van Deg on that day place his chef d'oeuvre on the left of the altar. If the one which appears on the right does not tell of a more skilful master I abide the result. If it does, then it is fair to leave your daughter the privilege of choosing her husband."

The father was delighted with the proposal, and agreed to the trial of skill in his favourite pursuit. He accordingly returned word of his acceptance of the terms and notified van Deg thereof.

A year pa.s.sed away, during which the lovers never met. Elzia had lost sight of Quentin, and in answer to her inquiries concerning him, all that she had been able to learn was that shortly after their last interview he had left the city and had gone no one knew whither.

The wedding day arrived. Elzia kept a smiling face, although her soul was weighed down by grief.

The chapel was thronged with people anxious to view the ceremony, and as the bride, richly clad, was led to the altar by her father the latter announced that her hand was to be bestowed on the artist whose skill was to be determined by the merit of the pictures which stood veiled on either side of the altar. At the proclamation van Deg glanced triumphantly around, and striding to the picture he had painted, uncurtained it to their view. A burst of applause rose from the audience as he did so, and well merited was the cry of approval. The painting was of the chapel and the company a.s.sembled for the marriage.

There was the priest all but breathing, while the bride and groom and their friends appeared as if in the full flush of joy.

Algini was about to speak in rapture of the performance when suddenly the other curtain was drawn aside and a cry of horror burst from the mult.i.tude as they pressed forward to behold it better. Van Deg gazed in breathless wonder and Algini uttered a wild shriek of despair--"My daughter!"

The picture represented Quentin's dream; each face in it was easy to recognize, except that of the youth, which was buried in the bosom of the bride. But before they had fully scanned it, it was thrust aside and another appeared in its place. This represented a lonely arbour in which Algini in his old age dangled a beautiful infant which bore a likeness to Elzia, who sat on an opposite seat with her head resting on the bosom of a young man, whose arm encircled her waist.

Every one was charmed and delighted beyond measure, and as they beheld the youth, every tongue cried, "The Blacksmith!"

[Ill.u.s.tration: WELL OF QUENTIN MATSYS, ANTWERP.]

"Blacksmith no more," said Quentin, stepping from behind the canvas, "but the artist who demands his reward."

It is unnecessary to say more than that genius was rewarded, and to the happy husband Quentin Matsys, the Blacksmith of Antwerp, the world owes some of the finest relics of art.

V

THE MILK GIRL

I

Long, very long before the city of Antwerp had attained the extent which it now has, the milk-women, who supplied the city with this indispensable liquid, met every morning in a public square, which was soon designated by the name of "Marche-au-Lait" (Milk Market). These women, like all business people at that time, belonged to a corporation which had its rules, rights and privileges. They were too proud to serve the "bourgeois" upon the steps of his door, so each servant was obliged to go to their stands to buy milk.

The pump now situated in the Milk Market is a very pretty monument. It is surmounted by a carved statuette representing a milk-woman, with the peculiar bra.s.s milk can of the country upon her head. It is the history of this statuette which we propose to relate.

There still exists on the Milk Market an old house, which is, one would say, in nearly the same condition that it was three hundred years ago.

Like all the houses of that period (which are so faithfully represented in the admirable paintings of the celebrated artist, Baron Leys) the front is of wood, ornamented with carving in the Gothic style, one story projecting over the other, and surmounted by a triangular gable. One would think it had not undergone the slightest alteration since the day it was built. The same small iron knocker hangs upon the old oaken door.

There is not the slightest doubt that the same stone forms the threshold, it is so worn and polished; it was formerly a square but has now become nearly a cylinder. The whole aspect of the house is so little changed, that if the first person who dwelt in it should come back to earth today he would easily recognize it. The interior as well as the exterior is unaltered. There are the same straight somber stairs, the same large fireplaces, and gilded leather upon the princ.i.p.al room. Not a stone has been replaced, not a piece of wood removed. The repairs which must have been made in the course of three hundred years, have only served to retain everything in its original state. But what is still more singular, the individuals who have successively occupied this house, and their number must have been considerable, all resembled each other, in their manners and morals. Was it accident, predestination, or the unvarying aspect of the house, continually making the same impression upon its inhabitants, which finally made them nearly identical beings?

The present inhabitant is a basket maker, as was the first, three centuries ago, and as have been all those who have occupied the house between these two periods. They were from the first to the last, people whose ideas were at least half a century behind the times. If we should search the history of this antique dwelling, we should probably find that the biography of one would answer for all. The basket maker who occupied this house in 1530 was named Klaes Dewis--his wife Gertrude.

They were, as we have said, at least half a century behind, in their manners, opinions and dress. His neighbours called him the man of the good old times. Although possessed of a moderate fortune and without children, he was such a miser that he would, as the Flemish saying is, "split a match in four pieces," which is certainly the height of meanness.

A young peasant girl, fresh and blonde, with large blue eyes, and picturesque costume, came every morning and placed herself before his house, to sell the milk which she brought in a fine bra.s.s can, polished like a mirror. The custom of seeing her a few hours every day had gradually caused an affection between her and this worthy couple; although in part based upon personal interest, still it was deep. As the basket maker sometimes said, he had for Lyntje, (which was the name of the pretty peasant), a paternal love, and as for Gertrude, his wife, she said she loved her as she would a daughter.

When the weather was bad, if it rained or snowed, Dewis could not display his baskets, which were usually installed at the door, consequently Lyntje occupied their place and was sheltered from the elements. When it was cold, she came from time to time to warm herself in the kitchen. The milk girl was touched by these delicate attentions, and showed it by giving good measure to Mother Dewis, who for one _liard_ had often more milk than her neighbours for two. These agreeable relations had existed for several years, when suddenly an unforeseen event terminated them.

One morning in the month of August, 1530, Dewis did not see the young peasant arrive at her accustomed hour. He waited until the middle of the day before he put his baskets out, as it threatened to rain. Such a thing had not happened since the day he first made her acquaintance.

Mother Dewis was so affected that she forgot to buy milk of another.

This gave her husband an opportunity of saying that the use of milk was only a luxurious habit. But it made no impression upon his better half, to whom the absence of Lyntje was a cause of great inquietude.

"Can she be sick?" she asked him with anxiety. But then she recalled her robust const.i.tution, her rosy cheeks, and dismissed that thought as impossible.

The next day no Lyntje. This was extremely grave, and their anxiety was at its height. The basket maker was on the point of going out of the city (which he had not done for perhaps twenty years) to the village where Lyntje lived. He would have executed this design if his wife had not observed to him, that he would gravely compromise the soles of his shoes. This judicious remark caused him to postpone his excursion until the next day. The next morning a countryman came to inform them of the death of Lyntje. The poor girl had been taken ill and died the same night. Before dying, she had remembered her friends in the city, and had expressed the desire that some one would carry them the fatal news. The basket maker and his wife, smitten in their dearest affection, wishing to do something for the repose of her soul, formed the resolution that they would never again use milk!

II

Several weeks had pa.s.sed since the death of the generous milk girl, and her old friends had not been able to recover the calm of their former life. They seemed on the contrary to become more melancholy as the days and weeks wore on after that unfortunate event. Instead of taking the air upon their doorsteps and conversing with their neighbours, as they had been in the habit of doing, they never sat there now, and had become nearly invisible. They went regularly every morning to the cathedral, where as exemplary Christians, they attended the first ma.s.s. Then they had such a depressed air, the expression of their faces showed a grief so bitter, that not an inhabitant of the market dared to speak to them.

When, however, one bolder than the others ventured to question them, he obtained only a few syllables in response. The neighbours, who all felt a great sympathy for them, would have been glad to console them. They did not know what to think of such singular conduct, so contrary to all their habits.

"I cannot believe that grief alone, for a friend like Lyntje, could affect them to such a point," said Mynheer Schuermans, the plumber, one day to his friend, Mynheer Dorekens, the baker upon the corner, who in the morning came to chat with one or the other of his neighbours while his last oven of bread was baking.

"It is true that they lost something," responded he, "because my wife says so, and she is incapable of telling a falsehood. You know, neighbour, Mother Dewis had more milk for her _liard_ than we for two."

"And have you noticed," said the wife of Schuermans, joining in the conversation held before her door, "that Dewis completely neglects his business? Only yesterday he forgot to put out his baskets when he returned from the cathedral. They have not opened their door during the day. It is thirty years since we have lived upon the market, and I cannot remember such a thing to have happened. If it had rained--but such superb weather. Is their business in a bad state? I do not think so. He has money."

"What can it be?" said all three.

At the same instant the basket maker's door slowly opened, and he came out with so much gravity, even solemnity, that the neighbours were struck with astonishment and suddenly ceased their conversation. There was reason for it. It was the middle of the week, notwithstanding which he had on his Sunday suit, which at this time never occurred except upon important occasions. To the friendly nod of his neighbours he responded by a silent and melancholy salutation, and advanced with slow and measured steps in the direction of a very fine mansion situated near the cathedral. They watched him until he had reached the mansion.

"Myn Gott! what does that mean?" gasped the plumber, leaning towards Dorekens, who was stupefied like himself. "I hope he is not going to knock at that door. That will be"--but before he had time to finish his sentence, Dewis already had the knocker in his hand, and let it fall heavily. The blow made the attentive neighbours shudder, and had the same effect upon their nervous systems as an electric shock.

"May all the saints come to aid us!" cried Schuermans. "How will this end?"

"Has Gertrude had an attack of apoplexy?" exclaimed his wife.

"Then,"--But, before she could finish, the door in question had been opened, and the basket maker had entered.

In order to understand the astonishment of the neighbours, it will suffice to say that the mansion which Dewis had so audaciously entered was the residence of the archbishop. As it was generally understood that a person must be in an excessively critical position before daring to address this high ecclesiastical functionary, one will easily understand the impression upon the neighbours of such an important act upon the part of the basket maker, who was generally known as rather a timid man.

We will leave them for a moment discussing their opinions, to follow Dewis, but before all, we must make known to the reader the reasons which had induced the basket maker to take such an important step.

III

It was hardly three days after the death of Lyntje, when one night they were awakened by a strange noise, occasioned it seemed to them by some one who had opened the door of their dwelling. They listened attentively. Nothing! The clock of the cathedral was just striking.

They counted the strokes. As Dewis was preparing to rise, he heard the cry of the watchman, "Midnight, and all is well," which convinced him that he was deceived. An instant after, however, he thought he heard the noise of some one slowly ascending the stairs which led to his room. He sat up in bed, listened with anxiety, and tried to find an explanation for these sinister and incomprehensible sounds. They became more and more distinct, and approached nearer the door.