The Storyteller

New Zealand Tablet, Volume XXX, Issue 29, 17 July 1902, Page 23

The Storyteller

THE BLACKSMITH OF ANTWERP.

On an Autumnal evening, in a narrow, obscuro but picturesque street of the old town of Antwerp, more than 300 years ago, a blacksmith's forgo whs thnowing out bright, sudden flashes of light, which cast/ at intervals a ruddy glow on the faces of the workmen, whose strong, Flemish arms were making the anvil ring with their sturdy blows. The scene was an animated one, tho noise and warmth within the precincts of the forgo presenting a marked contrast to tho gloom of the ill-lighted and unfrequented street, where a drizzling rain was beginning to fall.- Attracted by the influenco of tho light within, some idlers had assembled at the entrance of this swarthy region, under the shelter of its projecting roof, and, as far as the noise would permit, carried on a desultory conversation with the men who were at work. Amongst tho group was a young girl of about 17 or 18 years of ago, accompanied by a mard, hor face and sunny hair just visible under tho black hood und mantilla, worn in tho Spanish fashion, prevalent at that period in tho L«w Countries. She stood at tho door, hesitating to advance and reluctant to withdraw As the spanks flew from the anvil, like rockets on a birthday night, and a broad flickering illuminated for an instant the whole interior of tho forge, she cast a hasty glance into its inmost recesses. Having done so once or twice, she at last put down her veil, and, making a sign to her companion, was moving away. At that instant an old man, ono of tho most inveterate gossip-mongers of the town, happened to be entering. Her first impulse was to wrap her mantilla moro closely around hen and to avoid his notice, but on second thought &ho turned back and asked him ' Has Quintin Matsys been hero today ? ' ■ Quintin Matsys, maiden ? Yes, indeed, he was here this morning. T happened to be passing this way as thoitown clock was striking, and observing that a crowd had gathered round the door of the forge, 1 stopped to inquire what was the matter, and I hoard that Quintin Matsys had been taken ill and fninted, after spending some hours at work at the anvil.' ' Again ' ' ejaculated tho maiden, wringing her hands. 'Tt is but two days ago that he was carried homo in a dead swoon.' ' Of course he wns, and how should it be otherwise ° The stripling is too weak for this sort of work. Ho will kill himself , there can be no doubt of it. I)r Ariuen has said so even since last Michaelmas, when ho sickened with the ague. It is always the same story. He must needs sup- 1 port his mother. Much good it will do hen to havo him lying in tho churchyard. He is making his way thero ns fast as he can, for ho is liko the steward in the Gospel : ho cannot work and to beg ho is ashamed. But whither aro you hurrying, Mistress Genevieve Ciaes "> Let mo hold an umbrella over your head and escort you home. Is it true that your father has in\ited to Antwerp Master von Da:xis, of Haarlem, and that he is to exhibit in tho Town Hall his great picturo of the "liaising of Lazarus 9 " Oh v you/ arc not going- straight homo ! You ha\e a call to make on your way It is a wet evening for young damsels to bo visiting about tho town. Perhaps I may look in on your father in an hour or two, when tho rain has abated.' VGene\ iovo had glided out of sight Thilst her companion was still apeaking. With hurried stop she has-

tened down a narrow little street at tho back of the forgo. Gretchen, her maid, had great trouble to keep up with her. The rain was beating against tbeir faces, but there wero tears as well as drops of rain on tho young girl's cheeks. The words of the old man had deeply afiectea her. The mother of tho blacksmith had been her nurse, and the littlo low house behind the forge the home of her childhood. Her fathor, Hans Claes, a painter of some reputation, who had risen by means of his talents from an obscure station in life, was noted in his native town of Antwerp as well for his eccentricities as for his passionate devotion to his art. Ho had lost his wife soon after the birth of his little girl, and had consigned the latter to the care of Madame Matsys, the blacksmith's wife, whilst through great hardships and poverty ho had pursued his studies at Homo and at Bologna. Quintin Matsys wi\«* the foster-bro-ther of Genevieve Claes They had been playmates in infancy and companions in childhood. The forge had been a kind of fairy world to the two children, and Genevieve, who since her father's return from Italy had dwelt under his roof, often timidly made her way to the favorite haunt of her ealier days, and still thought tho spanks very beautiful as thoy flew upward in fiery spangles, and tho sound of tho hammer as it fell on tho anvil pleasant music to thd ears, and the face of Quintin Matsys, her old playmate, with his fair ham and ruddy complexion besooted and begrimed by the labors of the forge, tho handsomest she had ever set eyes on. Sho never shook off these old impressions. They had become part and parcel of her nature. She had suspected for some time that those! sho so dearly loved wero in poverty. Old Matsys, Qumtin's father, had been dead about a year, and since then his son had had to work far harder than ho had ever done before. Indeed, ho worked hard for the first time in his life, for he had always been of a delicate constitution, and his strong and loving father had been wont to take tho hammer out of his hands on hot summer days and to send him to walk in tho green fields on the margin of the Scheldt, wher.o ho often met Genevieve and her maid Gretchen, and watched by her side the br.ight red sunset clouds fading away into the gray hues of twilight) and tho barges gliding lazily along the sluggish stream even aa they had been used when children to watch tho sparks dying in the embers, or the ever-sounding, ever-restless bellows. ITo had never known what it is to toil with aching limbs, to labor with sinking strength, until that tender, fatherly heaxti had' ceased, to, bead in, tho strong frame, and tho hands which had so long worked for others wero mouldering in the grave. But if Quintin was weak in body, ho was not faint-hearted. Patiently and manfully ho strove to mako up by emirgyr of w"il'l 'for 4bq physical strength which he lacked Day after day he worked at the anvil in that forgo where he had been so happy as a child till tho light seemed to grow lurid in his eyes, and the sound of the hammer's strokes reverberated through his brain with a maddening: force At last his shrunken, wasted arm sought m vain to wield tho heavy, sledge, tho hectic spot on his cheeks wore a deeper hue and he fainted away at his work, as the old man had told Conevicve Now, with his eyes mournfully closed, he was lying on a low trestle-bed in his mother's littlo chamber, and a feeling of despair was creeping- into his heart, as when the first chill of an ague fit in-vades-a sick man's frame. Poverty

was atarirtff blta in the' face ; no, net) poverty—that ho had always- known' and never drieaded— but wtat and starvation in their sternest form. Genevieve had suspected that it was even so, and pondered deeply on the means of relieving, Without wounding, those she was so devoutly attached to. Her father was a parsimonious man, and though he furnished her with whatever was necessary for her support and proper appearance amongst those in her own rank and life, she had seldom any money at her own disposal. If she wanted to buy a new kirtlo or to give an alms, she had to make her request at a well-chosen mbment ; when, for instance, Hans Claes hatf just put the finishing touch to a picture purchased by the town councillors or received an order for eon. altar piece in his favoiHte 1 style. She had now Hoarded a; little' sum out of her own expenditure, and'hVT been watching for an opportunity of giving- it to Quintin for his mbther'a use. She thought it would be easiei 4 to mako him accept it in this; way, and had gone to the forge in thq J hope of seeing him privately and making her little offering in such a manner as would insure his not refusing it. But having been dis* appointed in her expectation, she re* solved at all events to satisfy herself by a visit at their house' that he and his mother were notl in actual want, and if possible to press upon ono of them, for the sake- of the othor, the small purse which 1 ' she held ' tightly in her hand. When she had knocked at the door and Madame Matsys had opened it and exclaimed, ' Hero is GenevieVe Claes ! ' her son started up and held out his hand to her witth an attempt at a smile. ' You aro ill,' sho said, placing her cold hand, wet with the rain, in his burning one. ' What ails you, Quintin ? ' ' I believe the work is too hard for mo just at present.' he answered, ' but in a short time I dare say I shall bo stronger.' ' Tho truth is ' began Madame Matsys. ' Don't talk nonsense, mother,' interrupted her son. ' How do you know what I am going to say ? The truth is that ' ' No,, it iil? noti tho tr-urth.t ' The fact is, Genovievo ' ' No, it is not the fact.' ' Genevieve knows as well as I do ' ' Sho knows nothing about it.' ' Ho is broaking his heart, Gene\ic\c, because he has not strength to go on working as a forger, and that he foresees that I shall havo to go to tho almshouse.' 'No such thing, mother ; you don't know what you are talking about. Just open the window, will you, and let in the fresh air ; there, now I breathe better. I thought you never meant to come and see us again, Geneviove. My mother has been fretting at your staying away.' ' But, Quintin, you know you said ' ' Ah, I know what you are going to say. The day you told me of your father's writing in his Missal that he would never give you in marriage to any ono but a paintdr, I was so vexed, so angry, that I was fool onough to exclaim that if that was truo wo had better not meet again as I could not bear to see you and think that I was nover to bo your husband. Well, T have found out since that thcivi is something, still more difficult to bear — novor to sco you at all ; not for days together to bear the sound of your voice. I am afraid it makes me hate your fathor vi hen I think of this cruol fancy of his.' ' Oh, that is dreadful, Quintin. I shall not love you any more if you hate my father.' 'But it is very wrong of him to have written such words as those in a book, and a holy book, too.'

* Yes ; in the beautiful Missal painted by the monks of Bruges, which he values as the apple of his eye, and this makes me so afraid thet he will never change his mind.' ' That book ought to be burnt, pictures and all.' ' I should like very much to throw it into the fire, only it would be a sin ; and then, you know, it would not prevent his keeping to his resolution.' ' People have no business to make such resolutions.' ' Well, I don't think they should. It is very hard upon a girl who does not care at all for pictures to bo obliged to marry a painter ; but, Quintin, you must not hate my fath«n, for all that. Promise me notj to hate him.' ' Genevieve, as long as 1 thought I might have married you if it had not been for his mania about paintings and painters I could hardly keep down th« bitter, angry thoughts that were ever rising in my mind. But perhaps, just because of those thoughts, Almighty God has humbled me by taking away my strength and making us poor. 1 used to talk of supporting a wife by my labor, and now I am become a burden on my mother in her old age. Oh, it is a great and bitter trial ! ' He covered his face with his hands and tears trickled down his cheeks. ' Quintin, suppose it were God's will that we should never marry ? ' Mid Geneviove, earnestly, as if her very soul was looking out of her clear, calm blue eyes. ' Well, and if it were so, how would it mend the matter ? ' he asked, sorrowfully and half reproachfully. ' Why, you know, we could not be angry with him. The young man reverently looked up to heaven and in a low voice said ' No.' ' God is so good, and ho loves us so much,' continued Genevieve, leaning her head against the back of tho chair on which he was sitting. 'I know it,' Quintin answered in a subdued manner , ' I know ho is good. Did he not make you, Genevieve ? Ho must bo very good Himself to have made any one as good as you. I ha\e always felt that. After a pause he added : ' Now, Genevieve, I will tell you a thought that has come into my head even whilst we have been talking ; I think it must have been my good angel inspired it. To-morrow, you know, is the festival of our Lady of Antwerp. Numbers of sick people come and pray at her altar and many of them ana cured. I will go with the rest and get the Archbishop's blessing and the picture which he gives to all tho members of the confraternity You have always been a great hand at praying, Genevieve I am sure your prayers will be heard ; and then as the priest told us last Sunday when he was preaching about the confraternity, when two or three have agreed to ask something of God, Ho gives it to them. And you and my mother and I, we make three besides all the other people who will bo praying too.' ' But, dear Quintal, if God should think it better for you not to get strong again at present, you will be patient, won't you 9 ' A cloud passed over tho young man's face. ' It is not for my own sake' ho somewhat bitterly said, ' that 1 want my strength. It is easy to speak of patience.' ' Oh, Quintin ' ' exclaimed Genovieve, her eyes filling with tears, ' do you think I do not feel for you 9 ' " I know you do, dearest ; forgivo my hasty words But if you will think of all that is involved m the word "health " ' — ho glanced at his mother, who was crossing tho room with feeble steps — ' you would indeed pity and excuse mo. But don't weep so bitterly, dear love ; I think our Lady will do something for mo to-morrow.' Genevieve wiped her eyes, kissed Madame Matsys, forced into her hand

the little green purse which she had held concealed in her own during her, whole visit, silenced her with another kiss on the lips when she tried to remonstrate and glided out of the house, followed by the son's loving) glance and tho mother's murmured blessing. On the following day the .sun shono forth brighilv, gilding with its autumnal rays the quaint, picturesque buildings of the old Flemish city. Its inhabit, mis were stn ring at an early hour, and crowds from the neighboring -villages kept flocking in at tho gates, dressed 111 their best Sunday clothes, xuany a peal from church and convent tower gladdened the air with silvery tones whilst the procession formed 111 the principal streets. From every window and over every doorway hung rich carpets and; rare tapestry and damask silks of gourgeous colors decking and adorning tho grim, sober old town in a bright and fanciful attnve. The Church of Oiir Lady of Antwerp was soon filled to overflowing. There were reserved seats in front of the altar for the members of tho Confraternity and for infirm and sick persons who weio joining in the devotions with tho iiopo of obtaining relief. Quintin w.ts aaiongst them. and looked flushed and ex*ited. His mother and Genevieve, who occupied seats in another part of the church, kept watching him with anxiety. Geneviove could scarcely endure tho sight of his eager countenance, fixed with feveush intensity on the preacher about to begin his sermon When mention v\as made in the discourse of thu answers to prayer which had often been vouchsated on such occasions, his eves Hashed with joy and his whole face brightened up , but when the pnest spoke of resignation, of denials sometimes sent in mercy and patience under disappointment, his lips q 111 voted and his countenance became delected. At last Genevieve could no longer bear to watch tho wild, varying expression of the face she loved Bowing down her head, she poured forth silent supplications — pure, ardent and unsellish as those of a guardian angel for his human chaige iSho had no hopes of happiness for hersell , Hers was no fond, imaginative dream, Gilding the future with illusive beam Soriow seemed before her vv Inchever way she looked, and her father's dectee, to which it never occiiii<ed to her that it would bo possible to offer any opposition, so sti ict at that peilod was considered tho duty of filial obedience — tubbed tho future of all glad anticipations. One sentence of tho sermon she carried away w itli her and laid up 111 her heat t ' cveiy pi aver js heaid,' the pieacher had said, 'oven though it may remain, apparently unanswered ' Once mom she bowed her head 111 intense supplication. When -^ho raised it again the Archbishop was distributing little pictuies to thoso who knelt m rows before the altar An instant afterwards Quintin rose and left tho church JSho followed him with her e.ves, but soon lost sight of him m tho crowd The evening came, and tho sun, which had shono bi llliantly all day, was now sinking peacefully to rest 111 a bank of purple clouds Tho flat , level plain which surrounds Antwerp was studded with groups of country people slowly wending their way home through the green, misty meadows or alongside the banks of tho ' lazy (Scheldt , ' little children run-; nmg to and fro gathering daisies and singing songs about cows and buttercups. The streets had become solitary Tho chur.ches were shut up , the sound of footsteps on tho uneven. pavement less and less frequent. Peace and stilness reigned over tho old city so full of animation a few hours before. (To bo concluded next week )