SIGNOR DEODATI

On that day the Scheldt presented at Antwerp a striking spectacle.  Many ships which had been detained in the North Sea by the east wind were approaching the city, with their various colored flags floating on the breeze, while, far as the eye could reach, the broad expanse of water was covered with sails, and still, in the dim horizon, mast after mast seemed to arise from the waves as harbingers of an immense flotilla.

The sailors displayed gigantic strength in casting anchor and manoeuvring their vessels so as to obtain an advantageous position.  The crews of the different ships vied with each other, and exerted themselves so energetically that the heavily laden crafts trembled under the strained cables.  From each arose a song wild and harsh as the sharp creaking of the capstan, but joyous as the triumphant shout of a victorious army.  These chants, sung in every tongue of the commercial world by robust sailors, seemed, as they were wafted over the river to the city, like the long, loud acclamations of a vast multitude.

The only sounds which could be heard in the midst of these confused cries were the voices of the captains speaking through the trumpets; and when a Portuguese gallion, coming from the West Indies, appeared before the city, a salvo of cannon rose like the rolling of thunder above all other sounds.

The sun shone brightly upon this animated scene of human activity, and broke and sparkled in colored light up in the rippling waves of the broad river.

Hundreds of flags floated in the air; gondolas and longboats furrowed the waters; from boat and wharf joyous greetings of friends mingled with the song of the sailors.  Even the wagoners from beyond the Rhine, who had ranged their strongly-built wagons near the cemetery of Burg, in order to load them with spices for Cologne, could not resist the influence of the beautiful May-day and the general hilarity; they collected near the gate of the dock-yard, and entoned in their German tongue a song so harmonious and sweet, and yet so manly, that every other sound in their vicinity was hushed.

At this moment an elegant vehicle passed the gate of the dock-yard, and stopped near the German wagoners as the last strain of their song died upon the air.

A young man, and after him an old man and a young girl richly attired, alighted from the carriage.

Those immediately around, merchants as well as workmen, stepped respectfully aside and saluted Mr. Van de Werve, whilst glancing admiringly at his daughter.  Some Italians of lower rank murmured loud enough to reach Mary’s ears:  “Ecco la bionda maraviglia.”

Mr. Van de Werve ordered his people to await him at the gate of the dock-yard, and passed on, saluting those whom he met, to the place where the Portuguese flag indicated the gondola of Lopez de Galle, which was prepared to receive him.  They threw a carpet across the plank upon which Mary was to step in passing into the gondola.  Mary, her father, and Geronimo entered the boat; the six oars dipped simultaneously into the water, and, pushed by the strong arms of the Portuguese sailors, the gondola sped rapidly through the waves.  Swift as a fish and light as a swan, it skimmed the surface of the Scheldt, and made many a turn through the numerous vessels until it had succeeded in finding an open way down the river.  Then the sailors exerted all their strength, as if to show the beautiful young girl what they were capable of in their trade.  The gondola, obeying the impulse given it by the oarsmen, bounded forward under each stroke of the oars, and gracefully poised itself on the waves caused by its rapid passage.

Complete silence reigned in the gondola; the sailors looked with timid admiration upon the beautiful countenance of the young girl.  Mary, with downcast eyes, was persuading herself that Geronimo’s uncle would undoubtedly consent to their union.  The young man was absorbed in thought, and yielded by turns to joy, hope, and fear.  Mr. Van de Werve contemplated the city, and seemed to enjoy the magnificent spectacle presented by Antwerp when seen at a distance, and which, with its lofty towers and splendid edifices, rose from the river like another Venice.

Suddenly Geronimo rose and pointed in the distance, exclaiming, joyously, “See, the Il Salvatore!”

Mary, glancing around, eagerly asked:  “Where?  Is it the vessel bearing a red cross on its flag?”

“No, Mary, it is behind the ships of war; it is that large vessel with three masts-on its flag is a picture of the Saviour:  Il Salvatore.”

While the gondola rapidly sped on its way, the eyes of all were fixed upon the galley, in order, if possible, to distinguish the features of those who stood on deck.

Suddenly Geronimo clapped his hands, exclaiming, “God be praised!  I see my uncle.”

“Which is he?” inquired Mr. Van de Werve.

The young man replied, joyously:  “Do you not see standing on the forecastle five or six passengers who wear parti-colored dresses, with plumed hats?  In the midst of them is a man of lofty stature, completely enveloped in a brown cloak.  He has long white hair, and his silvery beard looks like snow-flakes resting on his dark mantle.  That is my old uncle, Signor Deodati.”

“What a superb-looking old man!” exclaimed Mary, in admiration.

“In truth,” said Mr. Van de Werve, “as well as I can judge at this distance, his appearance is very striking.”

“My uncle inspires respect wherever he goes,” said the young man, enthusiastically.  “His sixty-five years appear on his brow as an aureola of experience and wisdom; he is learned, good, and generous.”

And waving his hat, he cried out:  “Ah, he recognizes us!  He salutes us; he smiles.  At last I see him after four years of separation.  My God, I thank thee for having protected him!”

The young man’s joy was so great that Mary and her father were also moved.

“So lively an affection for your uncle does you credit, Geronimo,” said Mr. Van de Werve.  “God loves a grateful heart; may He grant you to-day the desires of your heart!”

But the young man did not hear these words of encouragement; standing in the gondola, he waved to his uncle as if endeavoring to express to him by signs his joy at seeing him.

The gondola approached the galley, which slowly ascended the Scheldt in a favorable wind and with a rising tide.

The light boat soon gained the large ship.  Before the ladder was lowered, Geronimo caught the cable of the galley, and ere Mary had recovered from her terror, he had reached the deck and was in his uncle’s arms.

Mr. Van de Werve mounted the ladder cautiously, and approached Signor Deodati, with whom he exchanged the most cordial salutations.

Mary remained in the gondola; she saw Geronimo embrace his uncle repeatedly; she rejoiced to perceive that the eyes of the old man were filled with tears of emotion.  She was still more happy when she saw the affability with which her father and Geronimo’s uncle conversed together, as though they were old friends.

Very soon the Signor Deodati descended into the gondola to accompany Mr. Van de Werve and Geronimo to the city.

The Flemish cavalier introduced his daughter to the Italian noble.

The old man gazed upon the ravishing beauty of the young girl in speechless admiration.  Mary’s lovely features were illumined by an enchanting smile which moved the old man’s heart; her large blue eyes were fixed upon him with so soft and supplicating an expression that the Signor Deodati, extending his hand, murmured:  “E la graziosa donzella!” (The beautiful girl!)

But Mary, encouraged by his look of affection, and unconsciously urged by a mysterious instinct, extended both hands to the old man, who folded her in his arms and pressed her to his heart.

Geronimo, overjoyed at the reception given to Mary by his uncle, turned aside to conceal his emotion.

“Iddio vi dia pace in nostra patria! May God grant you peace in our country, Signor Deodati!” said Mary, taking the old man’s hand.  “Come sit by me; I am so happy to know you.  Do not think me bold; Geronimo has spoken so much of you, that I have long respected and loved you.  And then, in our Netherlands we always welcome a stranger as a brother.”

Signor Deodati seated himself by her as she desired, and as the gondola returned to the city, the old man said, in surprise:  “But you speak Italian like a native of Lucca.  How soft and musical my native tongue sounds from your lips!”

“There is my teacher,” said Mary, pointing to Geronimo.

“That is not true, my uncle.  Her modesty causes her to mislead you.  Miss Van de Werve speaks equally well both Spanish and French, nor is she ignorant of Latin.”

“Can that be so?” asked the elder Deodati, with an incredulous smile.

“That is nothing extraordinary in our city of Antwerp,” said Mr. Van de Werve.  “Most ladies of noble birth, and even merchants’ daughters, speak two or three foreign languages.  It is a necessity rather than a pleasure for us; for since the people of the South will not or can not learn our tongue, we are obliged to become familiar with theirs.”

The Signor Deodati, as though a new and sudden thought possessed his mind, seized his nephew’s hand, and fixing his eyes affectionately upon him, said in a calm tone:  “I am pleased with you, Geronimo.  Young as you are, you have conducted prudently the affairs of a large commercial house; you have acted as an experienced man; in order to please me, you have denied yourself pleasures which are so seductive to youth.  Taking the place of your father, I have kept a vigilant eye upon you, and it gladdens my old heart to know that I have in my successor a virtuous cavalier and a prudent merchant.  I know your desires, my son.  Be not disturbed, but hopeful.  I undertook a long voyage only to recompense you, if possible, for your gratitude.”

He arose, and said to Mary:  “I am loath to leave you, my dear young lady; but I have a few words to say privately to your father.  You will excuse me more readily, as I yield my place to Geronimo.”

Saying this, he walked with Mr. Van de Werve to the extremity of the boat, where both seated themselves upon a bench.

Trembling with fear, hope, and joyous anticipations, Mary and Geronimo watched the two parents, endeavoring to divine from the expression of their countenances the result of their conversation.  At first both were perfectly calm; by degrees they grew more excited; the derisive smile on the lips of Mr. Van de Werve betrayed the bitterness of his feelings, as the Signor Deodati in a decided manner counted on his fingers.  They were discussing the great affair-the dowry and inheritance.  Their only thought was money!

Geronimo turned pale as he saw his uncle shake his head with evident dissatisfaction; and Mary trembled as she noticed the displeased expression of her father.

The private conversation lasted a long time, and still took no favorable turn; on the contrary, the two old men ceased speaking, as though displeased with each other.

Signor Deodati addressed a question to Mr. Van de Werve, to which the latter replied negatively.

Both then arose, and approaching Geronimo and Mary, sat down in silence.  Their countenances betrayed vexation and mutual displeasure.

The young man, with tearful eyes, looked inquiringly at his uncle.  Mary bowed her head, but her heaving bosom gave evidence of the struggle of her heart.

For some time there was a painful silence in the gondola.  Mr. Van de Werve contemplated his daughter, who seemed overwhelmed by sorrow.  Signor Deodati was deeply moved by Geronimo’s earnest gaze.

The Italian noble was the first to break silence.  “Come, sir,” he said, “let us make these young people happy.”

“With all my heart, signor; but what will you do?  My daughter is descended from an illustrious house; she must live in the world in a manner to do honor to her birth; as her father, I have duties to fulfil which I cannot disregard.”

“Poor Geronimo!” said the Signor Deodati, in a tone of compassion, and with a deep sigh.  “You would accuse me of cruelty, would you not? and this lovely young girl would hate the old man for his insensibility.  It was not for that I crossed the seas in my old age.”

He reflected a few minutes, then extending his hand to Mr. Van de Werve, he said:  “My lord, I wish to show my good-will.  I accept entirely your conditions, and in recompense for my sacrifices I ask only your friendship.  Shall our children then be happy?”

Mr. Van de Werve grasped cordially the hand which was extended to him, and said to his daughter:  “Mary, embrace this good gentleman; he will be your second father.”

Mary cast herself into the arms of the old man; a cry of joy escaped the lips of Geronimo; even the sailors, although they comprehended but little of what they saw, were touched.

Whilst they were yet exchanging félicitations, the gondola swept around the point of land which had concealed the city from view, and Antwerp, with its thousand vessels, its lofty spires and noble edifices, lay spread out in all its majestic beauty before the eyes of Signor Deodati.

A cry of admiration burst from his lips.

“O che bella città! What a beautiful city!” he exclaimed.

“What is that magnificent tower, which like sculptured lace lifts its beautiful spire proudly to heaven, and like a giant looks down upon all others?  What are those singular buildings whose rounded cupolas and pointed roofs so far exceed in height the surrounding houses?  Oh! let the gondola float with the current; your city enchants me, and I wish to enjoy the view for a few moments.”

Mr. Van de Werve gratified the curiosity of the Italian gentleman by pointing out to him the most remarkable buildings of the city, saying:  “Before you now is the new city constructed at his own expense by Gillibert de Schoonbeke-a man to whom Antwerp owes its later increase and the creation of countless streets and houses. Those large and massive towers, in which you may notice loopholes, and which stand immediately upon the Scheldt, were the ancient fortifications of the city.  That small, graceful spire is the Convent of Faucon; it is called here, Our Lady of Valkenbroek.  Yonder, near the river, is the church of Borgt, the oldest temple of our city; for in 642 a wooden chapel stood on the spot, and in 1249 it was consecrated as a parish church, just as it now is. That lofty edifice at the foot of the gigantic tower of Notre Dame is the entrepôt of Spain.  Every nation has its own manufactories and magazines, where every one may claim the protection of his flag.  The massive, unfinished tower belongs to the church of Saint James; the original plan was to elevate it above the spire of Notre Dame, but the work has been long discontinued for want of funds.  Do you see, a little further on, that square building surmounted by a dome?  It is the palace of Fugger, the Croesus of our times:  he was elevated to the nobility by Maximilian on account of his wealth.  Furnishing money to kings and nations, he sees gold daily pouring into his coffers, and if God does not interfere, the royal power will bow before that of the opulent banker.  On the right you have the church of Saint Andrew, and near it the convent of Saint Michael, where our Emperor Charles stays when he visits his good city of Antwerp."

While the gondola was skimming over the surface of the water, and Mr. Van de Werve was explaining to Signor Deodati the various edifices which were worthy of remark, there stood upon the shore, at a corner of the dock-yard, a man who coolly followed the boat with his eyes, and who endeavored to comprehend what was passing in the gondola, and to discover what might be the emotions of the young man and the young girl who were seated within it.

Notwithstanding the fine weather, the man was enveloped in an ample cloak, and wore a hat with broad brim, over which fell a purple plume.  His doublet was of gold cloth, and his breeches were of brown satin.  At his side glittered the jewelled hilt of a sword.

He was of lofty stature, and his whole bearing indicated noble birth; his style of dress and black hair and eyes attested his Italian origin.  The most remarkable thing about his person was a long narrow scar across his face, as though he had been wounded by a sharp blade.  The mark was not disfiguring, particularly when his features were in repose; but when he was agitated by some violent passion or uncontrollable emotion, the edges of the scar assumed different hues, and appeared of a dull white mixed with red and purple.

At the moment of which we speak his eyes were fixed upon the gondola with an expression of irritated jealousy, and his lips were strongly contracted.  The color of the scar had changed with his increasing emotion, and it was of a deep red.  He stood so near the water that his feet touched it, and thus he prevented any one from passing before him and witnessing the tumult of his soul.

Even the peculiar expression of his countenance did not betray the current of his thoughts; but certainly he was preoccupied by no good design, for his whole demeanor bespoke a wild despair and burning jealousy.

For some time he watched in the same attitude the course of the gondola, which drifted with the current, until he saw the oarsmen seize their oars, and he supposed they were about to land.

Then his whole frame shook convulsively under his efforts to control his emotion.  He became exteriorly calm, the scar on his cheek paled, and in an unconcerned manner, with a light step and bright smile, he walked along the wharf to the spot where he supposed the gondola would stop.

Geronimo, who had seen him approaching, sprung upon the bank before the boat was moored, and ran to him with singular haste.  He took his hand, and said in an undertone: 

“Ebbene, caro mio Simone? Have you obtained the money, Simon?  My uncle has arrived.  Should he discover that the money-vault lacks so considerable a sum, you and I are both lost.  But you have the money, have you not?  You will give it to me to-day?”

“Pity me, Geronimo,” said the other, sighing.  “Various fatal circumstances render all my efforts unavailing.”

“You have not the money?” murmured the young man, despairingly.

“No; to-morrow, or perhaps day after to-morrow."

“Good heavens! suppose my uncle reproves me in anger.  I implore you, Simon, to procure the amount.  Do not cause my destruction!”

“Oh!” muttered the other, in a hoarse, altered voice, “were I to be the cause of any misfortune to you, I would avenge you upon myself in a bloody manner.”

“No, no,” said the young man, in a compassionate tone, “banish these horrible thoughts.  I will wait; I will seek a delay, and endeavor to divert my uncle’s attention for a few days.  Alas!  I am filled with anxiety:  at the very moment, too, that my uncle has consented to my marriage with Mary!”

Simon’s face became fearfully contorted.

“Your uncle has consented?” he said, in a stifled voice.

“And Mr. Van de Werve?”

“He agrees to it also.  O Simon! pardon me my happiness.  I know, my poor friend, that this news is most painful to you; but did we not loyally promise each other, that were one of us to succeed in our suit, it should not break our long-tried friendship?”

“Fool!  God has abandoned me!” muttered the other between his teeth.

“There is my uncle with Mr. Van de Werve,” said Geronimo.

“Cheer up, Simon; hide your emotion.  When I am my own master, I will aid you in your affairs.  In the meantime put your trust in God.”

The man with the scar made a powerful effort to control himself, and advancing cheerfully to meet Mr. Van de Werve, he said to his companion: 

“My emotion was natural under the circumstances; now that the blow has fallen, it is all over.  Pained as I am, Geronimo, I congratulate you cordially.  If I could only obtain the money, and spare you anything disagreeable!  I will do all in my power.”

Mr. Van de Werve joined them, and after the first salutations said to the old Deodati:  “I am happy to present to you my friend, the Signor Simon Turchi, who is at the head of the house of the Buonvisi, and who frequently does me the honor to visit me.”

“Ah!  I know him well,” said Deodati, cordially taking Simon’s hand.  “The signor is from Lucca, and the son of an esteemed friend.”

“You are welcome this side of the Alps, Signor Deodati,” replied Simon Turchi.  “My father often spoke of your mutual friendship.  May God grant you prosperity in Brabant!”

“I am under many obligations to you, signor,” replied the old Deodati, “for the affectionate interest you have shown in my nephew.  That my business affairs have been as well transacted in this country as though I had been here myself, I am indebted to your experience and wise counsels.  I know from Geronimo’s letters that he is sensible of the favor and deeply grateful for it.”

Simon Turchi was about to disclaim the praise bestowed upon him, but the carriage drew near, and Mr. Van de Werve said: 

“I hope, signor, that you will honor us with your company this evening.  We will pass together a few hours with our noble guest.”

Simon excused himself, saying that some important commercial affairs demanded his attention; but as Mary and Geronimo urged him to accept the invitation, he promised to see them, at least for a short time.

They bade adieu as the carriage drove out of the gate of the dock-yard.

Simon Turchi followed it with his eyes, immovable as a statue, until the sound of the rolling wheels was lost in the distance.  Then he convulsively crossed his arms and dropped his head, as though the certainty of a terrible misfortune had overwhelmed him.

He remained a long time plunged in thought; but he was startled from his reverie by a vehicle which dashed along near him, and by the call of the driver warning him of his danger.  He stepped aside and looked around him, as though seeking a way of escape from the wharf and the crowd of workmen.  He walked slowly towards the church of Saint Walburga, and around the wall enclosing the cemetery.  He entered, wandered awhile among the tombs, until reaching an obscure spot, where he was concealed by an angle of the church, he paused.

He pressed his brow with his hands, as if to shut out painful thoughts; the scar on his face frequently changed color, and at intervals his whole frame shook with emotion.  At last, as if his reflections had assumed a determined form, he muttered: 

“The arm-chair? it is not completed!  And then he would be too late.  A dagger, a sword, an assassin lying in wait?  If Julio were only more courageous; but he is a cowardly boaster.  Why did I take into my service such a poltroon?  He would not dare run the risk of striking a fatal blow; but I can force him to it, force him even to be bold.  I need but pronounce his real name; but the murder of a friend is a frightful crime; and then, perhaps, to be discovered, betrayed-to die on a scaffold like a common felon-I, the head of the house of the Buonvisi!"

This thought made him shudder.  After a few moments’ reflection, he said, more calmly:  “I will go to the bailiff Van Schoonhoven; he has espoused my cause with Mr. Van de Werve; he will, perhaps, be offended that Mary’s hand has been disposed of contrary to his urgent solicitations.  Perhaps he may have influence to prevent the marriage.”

An ironical smile curled his lip.

“Fool that I am!” he muttered.  “And the ten thousand crowns? and the disgrace of bankruptcy?  Oh, the infernal thought! might I not take from a corpse the acknowledgment of the debt?  I will go to Mr. Van de Werve’s; I must speak with Geronimo; I must know where tins evening he-”

The words died upon his lips, and a sudden terror shook him from head to foot.

He had heard behind him the voice of a man who spoke in a low tone, and who seemed to be a spy.

Could he have heard what Simon Turchi had so imprudently spoken in this solitary corner of the cemetery?

Turning in his anguish, he saw two persons, three or four steps behind him, looking at him with a mocking air.

Under other circumstances the Italian cavalier would certainly have called the unknown men to account for their insolent curiosity; but fear deprived him of all courage and energy.

He dropped his head, concealed his face as far as possible, crossed the cemetery with long and rapid strides, and disappeared behind the wall of the enclosure.