The Heretic's Daughter

Chapter I

Page x 11 5 HI n „ IV „ l6 " * fi 22 VI „ 3i vn „ 38 viii n 49 IX ., 59 x 65 >> XI n 11 XII H 8l XIII „ oo XIV , 97 n XV p io4 XVI IIO XVII n 120 XVIII „ I32

CHAPTER XIX

CHAPTER I.

fgg p[ T was early April, and a soft, warm, steady «|j( yc* j rain had been falling since dawn. The 0$ «g moisture seemed to permeate everything r I SS ill animate and inanimate, and all Seville looked limp and dejected. Not a sound was heard to break the monotonous patter, patter, splash, splash of the rain drops, for it was a Holy Day, the eve of Good Friday, and the devout Sevillians would not permit the day to be desecrated either by business or pleasure. On the morrow they would even forbid carriages or wagons to pass over their streets for twenty-four hours or more, for they could not be distracted by the rolling of wheels and the clatter of hoofs ; they must devote themselves to prayer and pious thoughts, for so the church decreed. In one of the numerous, narrow, tortuous streets, was a house which in no way differed from its neigh bours, its bare whitewashed walls seeming hoary with the many years, yea, centuries, which had passed over them, yet showing no evidences of tottering, or decay, but as erect and firm as when first built; each one of its lower apertures grated and barred, as though it would zealously guard its occupants from contact with the outside world with its sins and pitfalls, and keep them pure and spotless within.

The one window on the ground floor was always closed, no one could ever remember having seen it otherwise, but through the grated door the passer by caught a glimpse of a narrow passage leading into a small court, whose paving of black and white marble and wainscoting of bright tile, its palms and other large leaved plants in pots, its homely but comfortable chairs, a stray piece or two of matting, and several copies of Murillo's paintings on the walls, gave a cozy and inviting appearance to the interior which contrasted strongly with its sullen exterior. The court served as a family sitting-room, as is usually the custom in southern Spain, where the architecture is still distinctly Moorish in character, and the rooms all open into the court instead of on the street, and where the court takes the place of the large hall in old English homes, which we are so found of copying to-day.

In winter, or during inclement weather, it is covered with a sky-light, in the homes of the well-to-do, but during the warm summer months is thrown open, and free play is given to the balmy air and bright sunlight. Across the court is a door through which one reaches some brick stairs which lead to the upper story, and there crossing a room, one passes through a narrow hall leading, into the one room looking on the street. There are two windows opening on to very small balconies, which have been inclosed in glass and answer for bow-windows. These are evidently additions made by some ambitious proprietor, who desired to modernize his dwelling in conformity to the then prevailing ideas of Spanish architecture, and the old house astonished at having its eyes opened in its old age, appears, in the sunlight, to be blinking like some great owl, and at night to be ever on the alert for marauders and depredators.

The room was furnished plainly. The floor, like that of all the other rooms, was of brick. An iron bedstead of comfortable dimensions stood on one side of the room, its several mattresses and downy pillows giving it a somewhat elevated appearance, and the coverings being very white, the whole was alluring by its suggestion of repose. It seemed to be tempting one to slumber. A chest of drawers, over which hung a copy of one of Murillo's numerous "Immaculate Conceptions," a low table, a sofa, several chairs, a mirror, a portrait, and a small rug on each side of the bed completed the apartment. The room had two occupants, the elder of whom, a woman apparently about forty years of age, short, stout, with bright black eyes and straight glossy hair, seeming from its intense blackness to be tinged with blue, stood at one of the windows impatiently tapping on the panes, and after sighing once or twice, she exclaimed — " Santa Maria 1 how it rains !

To think I should have stayed away from all the processions this week in order to better enjoy the one to-day, which will be so much grander, and now it rains, and I shall see nothing. They cannot venture out in such weather with the Virgins, it would ruin all their beautiful robes, and I did hear the Queen had presented them with some new jewels, which they would wear to-day." She waited a moment for a reply, and then turning toward her companion, ejaculated querulously : " Inez, reading again?" and shrugging her fat shoulders continued, " I might as well be quite alone for all the good thou doest me. One never sees thee with out a book." Inez had been so absorbed in the perusal of the one which she then held, that on hearing her name called she gave an irrepressible start, then putting the book aside, she rose from the low chair on which she had been sitting and approached her mother.

"What troubles thee, Madre?" she asked, putting her arm carressingly around her and imprinting a kiss upon her forehead. "Troubles me?" she answered, " can'st not see the rain ? We shall have no procession to-day." Inez glanced down the narrow street and up at the clouds, then replied : " Perhaps though, Madre, it does not rain as hard as when we returned from mass, and it is but two o'clock, and by four, who knows? Look, there is even a small bit of blue sky. I will see if Maria has dried our dresses, we got them very wet this morning." So saying she left the room. Her mother turned and gazed fondly after her. " Que preciosa .'" she murmured. "She is pretty, «' muy bonita, but of late she is changed. She is more affectionate, but not so merry, and her eyes look almost sad. And always reading, reading; it must be those books that make her so serious," and she cast a reproachful glance at the one Inez had just had.

Chapter II

4jg|J s£$i NEZ Vidal well deserved her mother's i M j^Hs Pra'5es'ie wa3 ver>' pretty. A little t|| &3,h ' above medium height, her erect carriage, I == J and slender willowy figure made her seem taller than she was. Her eyes were large and dark, like her mother's, but softer, more wistful in expres sion, and shadowed by heavy dark lashes ; her nose was straight, her mouth well formed, but indicative of great will power and determination, and her teeth were white and even. Her pale and very fair skin, and rich auburn hair showed that she was not altogether Spanish, though she had all the natural grace of the Spaniard. Her father, Jules Vidal, was a native of Strass burg, though born of Swiss parents, his father, a watch-maker of Geneva, having moved there in his youth, hoping to better his fortunes.

He had, by dint of hard work and economy, amassed a modest competence, had given his one child a fairly good education, and hoped to make him some day his successor in the watch-making trade. Jules, however, evinced no taste for anything so mechanical. The intricacies of the works, the revolutions ofthe wheels, the monotonous ticking, exasperated him to such a degree, that whenever an opportunity offered itself, he would fly from the workshop to the fields, or the open country, feeling that another fifteen minutes of that enforced confinement and uncongenial work in the close, ill-ventilated shop would have driven him mad. An hour in the open air and he would return home, slip in as quietly as possible, shut himself up in his small room at the top of the house, with its little window opening on to the roof, whence he had an endless vista of tall chimneys and red tiles, and there taking up his much prized violin would play for hours.

He was of a thoroughly artistic temperament, and above all else he loved music. When quite a child his mother, with the thrift of her race, wishing to add to the earnings of the household, took as lodger and boarder in the family a musician, and it was little Jules' greatest delight to sit in the room while the professor was playing, and his first sous were hoarded and saved until he had sufficient wherewith to buy a toy violin. The professor, as he was commonly called, had talents of no mean order, and was truly an excellent musician, being a skilful performer upon several instruments, but why he had chosen to hide his light under a bushel, and dedicate himself to instructing music to the children of the Strassburg bourgeoisie, was a mystery no one had ever been able to penetrate. Even Madame Vidal, who on several occasions had tried to extract some inform ation from him concerning his past, had met with such rebuffs that she confessed afterwards to be unwilling to broach the subject again.

She said he reminded her of a porcupine, seemingly harmless until one tried to touch him, when suddenly one found a ball covered with sharp spikes. However, he was full of anecdotes of the musical world, and seemed to have known personally all the contempo raneous musicians of note, and many a pleasant evening was spent by Madame Vidal and little Jules in listening to the professor's stories. He in turn, lonely and apparently without kindred, was capti vated by the devotion of the child to him and to his art, and began amusing himself by giving him some lessons. He soon found him such an apt pupil, so eager to learn and with talents so remarkable, that he became greatly interested, and determined to shine some day through his scholar, for he never doubted but what he had discovered the great musical star of the future which was by its effulgence to dim the brilliancy of all the other luminaries.

Jules' father shrugged his shoulders contemptuously, thinking it a mere childish whim which he would soon outgrow, and that for the present it kept the boy out of mischief, for that any rational being should prefer a musical career to the manufacturing of watches, or the tuning of a violin to the regulating of clocks, was to him incomprehensible. Thus it was that Jules was allowed unhindered to follow his own inclinations, and every moment that could be spared from school, was spent in perfecting himself in the manipulation of some instrument. At fourteen he became recognized as a local prodigy, to be invited to play at all concerts and musicals, and even had an offer to make a tour with a company of distinguished artists and give concerts in various large cities. His father began to be annoyed, said his boy's head was being turned, that he would never be anything but a conceited prig, a useless vagabond, and that he should shortly take him into the workshop, for he hoped in a few years to retire from business and leave to his son the management of his affairs.

Jules did not appear to be dazzled by the prosaic prospect pictured to him by his dull, but well-mean ing father. However, he said but little, deeming it more discreet not to provoke his father too much. He no longer played in public, but practised more assiduously than ever at home, and occasionally accompanied the professor to a restaurant much frequent ed by a small coterie of musicians, where they had engaged, for one evening during the week, the one private salon of the establishment, and there met to try together the various new compositions as soon as they were published, criticize their merits and the proper manner of interpreting the music of the various composers, etc. There Jules felt him self in a congenial atmosphere, his ideas could blend harmoniously with the thoughts expressed around him, and his mind was maturing under the influence.

At the expiration of another year his father an nounced his intention of taking him from school and placing him in the workshop, and great was his surprise when Jules openly rebelled, and declared with all the vehemence of youth, that he would never consent to become a watch-maker. His father chided and upbraided him, threatened him with various dire punishments, and deprived him of his much loved violin, but he was confronted by a will as obstinate as his own. The professor attempted to remonstrate with the father, but his well-meant intercession was answered by angry words, old Vidal accusing him of causing the trouble. A quarrel ensued in which words might have been followed by blows, had not Madame Vidal interfered, and the professor packed his music and his clothes, left the house which had been his home for the past nine years, and took up his abode elsewhere.

When his anger had sufficiently cooled, he sent for Jules and told him that the wisest plan would be to comply, for the present, with his father's wishes, and they could later devise some scheme by which to carry out their own, but that he must, in the meantime, manage to devote a few hours each day to his music. It has been stated by some one that frequently "talents hindered or restrained in one generation culminate and flower in the next", and it was from his mother that Jules inherited his love of music. She, poor woman, had never had either the time, the money, or the opportunity to study music, but her love for it was innate, she was proud of her son's talents and all her sympathies were with him. She stood too much in awe of her stern husband to overtly advocate her boy's cause, but surreptitiously restored the violin to his room, and, when Jules escaped from the workshop in order to practise, she feigned neither to see nor to hear him, professing perfect ignorance as to his whereabouts when his irate father sent after him.

Some months had passed in this manner, when poor Madame Vidal fell ill. Her health had been failing gradually for some time, but no one had noticed it, and she had never complained; though knowing that she would soon have to leave this world, she had been putting things in order as fast as her strength would permit. And now, when the husband and son saw it, it was too late, she faded visibly from day to day, and medical science could not help her. Jules' grief was intense, his mother he had always idolised, and he now never left her side, having constituted himself her sole nurse. On her death-bed she implored her husband to yield to Jules' wishes and allow him to fit him self for a musical career, and the father having already convinced himself that he would never amount to anything else, though unwilling to acknow ledge his mistake, was therefore glad of a plausible excuse for giving in.

After his mother's death Jules and his father rarely met except at their meals. The latter spent his days in his shop and his evenings at a small club, and Jules, as may be imagined, was working hard at his music. The professor soon advised him to go to one of the large conversatories to perfect himself, professing that he was now unable to do anything more for him. After much delib eration and several times changing their plans, it was finally decided that Jules should go to Vienna. There he remained for three years, meeting with much encouragement, and also with much com petition, for he soon found that there were other youths as talented as himself and every whit as ambitious. At the expiration of that period he was recalled suddenly by a telegram announcing his father's severe illness, and he reached home but a few days before his death.

He then found himself the pos sessor of what seemed, to one of his frugal tastes, a small fortune, and, being now alone in the world he put all of his inheritance into money, as being easier to lay hold of when needed, and left Strass burg for ever. To one of so sensitive an organiza tion, the place which had been his birthplace had become unbearable when once deprived of all that had been dearest — family and home.

Chapter III

[«*"B fjgi ULES next directed his steps to Paris ; j?fj ra| it was the goal to which he had been PPjJNf Pav'ing the way for some time. Paris of "*^ SgJ which he had heard so much, Paris, the gay, the beautiful, then in all the glory and mag nificence of the second empire, seemed to him to be the sun from which all the urban planets derived warmth and light. Other cities shone but by reflect ed light, but Paris was the magnet to which all mankind was being drawn. What might not be possible to a man endowed with youth, health, and talents in a country whose emperor, a few years before, had been a mere adventurer. One might aspire to almost any height by industry and perseverance. The first few months he spent as in a dream ; the gaiety contaminated him, and he plunged into it in a manner that would have alarmed his gentle mother or his stern father.

But one morning, after having passed a bad night, and finding on awaking, a number of bills awaiting, the amount of which staggered him, he began to take a retrospect of the manner in which he had passed his time since reaching Paris. He had indulged in a great deal DA UGHTER. 13 of dissipation, which had afforded him some transi tory pleasure; he had spent so much money that he had made heavy inroads upon his capital, which had, a few months before, seemed quite a fortune to him; he had made acquaintances, few of which were creditable to him; he had neglected his music, and instead of mounting the ladder of fame, he had slipped down a round. He was perfectly unknown, had wasted both time and oppor tunities, for, in the morning paper, he had just read the announcement of a grand concert soon to take place, at which one of his companions from Vienna, whose talents and proficiency in no way excelled his own, was advertised as the star of the evening, and it was also stated that he had been invited to play at a court musical the following week.

That galled his pride more than anything else could have done. Here was the rival, whom he had flattered himself he would soon distance, taking the lead, and he was far behind. However, he determined it should not be for long. First he went to the bank and drew sufficient money to pay his bills ; then he bethought himself of some letters of introduction given him, by his friend the professor, to people prominent in the musical world, but decided not to deliver them until he had taken cheaper lodgings, and had spent some days in recovering all he was conscious of having lost in brilliancy of execution by want of practice, so he began rapidly packing his effects. In this he was soon interrupted by a loud rap on the door, "Come in," he called out crossly. The door was flung open and a young man of about five and twenty entered brusquely.

He was of medium height, slightly built, with thick black hair and dark piercing eyes, and a large mouth ever ready to open for a hearty laugh, and show two rows of perfect white theeth. He was not particularly handsome, and yet most persons thought him so. His dress was unostentatious, but differed sufficiently from the prevailing conventional ideas of the proper style for one to wonder wherein the the difference lay. He wore at this time, instead of an overcoat, a large round cape of black cloth, which being very full, enabled the wearer to throw the end of the right side over the left shoulder, showing, as it overlapped the other, a trifle of the red lining. His name was Fernando Romero, a young Spanish artist, who, though he had met so far with no success, still hoped to achieve it, and struggled on cheerfully, always looking on the bright side of everything, overcoming all obstacles and unpleas antnesses by simply ignoring them, and making his own life and that of his friends always merry.

For this young man, whom he had met casually, Jules had conceived a sincere liking, which was warmly reciprocated. Seeing who his visitor was, Jules uttered a surly, " Bon jour," without interrupting his occupation. The smile on Fernando's face changed into a prolonged whistle and a look of astonishment. He drew up a chair, and seating himself astride with his elbows resting on the back, he silently contem plated his friend for some minutes. At last as Jules volunteered no information, he said," Sapristi, Jules, what are you up to now?" "Packing, as you see." "But, wherefore, you are surely not going away ? " "Yes, to another apartment." "Why, only two days ago, you told me how comfortable you were here." "Unfortunately, too much so," and then Jules gave him a short explanation of the cause of his sudden resolve to move, and ended by asking him if he would assist him in finding other lodgings. And so it came to pass that he moved into the same house with Fernando, where the mutual liking was transmuted into a firm friendship.

Chapter IV

' Kg$ [gl&i N due time Jules became recognized as one fSjS of the most brilliant violinists of the day. Ills i% serv'ces were in constant demand at I "*** *^ 8| concerts, and he had as many pupils as he wished. He lived quietly, and his bank account was grad ually increasing; he had some friends and many admirers, but he was not satisfied — he had not yet reached that pinnacle of fame to which he aspired. It angered him that he should constantly hear his name coupled with those of other violinists, his style and execution compared with theirs, and not always were the crit icisms in his favour. He did not take his youth into con sideration and the fact that many others had already established their reputations while he was yet in his cradle. He worked all the harder, he gave himself na recreation, no rest ; he became nervous and irritable and, after an unusually busy winter, found his strength was failing.

The many hours spent with the violin were not as prolific of desirable results as formerly ; he tried as conscienciously, but could not accomplish as much; he grew morbid and depressed, and at last yielded to Fernando's reiterated entreaties, and consulted a physician. The latter told him that if he desired to avoid a severe spell of sickness, from which he might perhaps not fully recover his strength for years, he must give up his work immediately, and go where he might have a complete change of air and scene, and no incentive to work. Fernando was just preparing to return to Spain for a few months to see his mother and sister. He had at last attracted some notice by a painting, the subject and treatment of which was thoroughly Spanish, and he thought that by continuing in the same line he would make a name for himself, and wished to combine profit with pleasure by visiting his family and, at the same time, making studies in his native land.

So he induced Jules to accompany him, and the two set off for a merry holiday. They travelled by easy stages, stopping wherever their fancies dictated, or Fernando wished to make a rapid sketch, and visiting all places of interest on the road. Jules entered into every pastime with the fervour of an enthusiastic nature, and with all the buoyancy of a schoolboy. Every one of Fernando's sallies he greeted with a hearty laugh and a merry repartee. At the end of two weeks, he seemed like a new man. This complete relaxation and freedom from care after four years of incessant toil caused such a reaction, that he would undoubtedly have rushed to the other extreme and plunged recklessly into all kinds of dissipations had it not been for Fernando, who knew how to be temperate even in pleasure-making, and whose friendly admonitions, uttered jestingly, always restrained Jules' wild im pulsiveness.

The violin, which had been so carefully packed and was carried wherever they went, had never yet been taken out of its case. Fernando was astonished, for Jules seemed almost to fear it ; but he refrained from any comments, thinking that Jules would play all the better afterwards; for such a radical change, he knew, was only an evidence of a weak and unsettled nervous system. Over a month had passed when they reached Seville, that home of art and poetry, of the guitar and midnight serenades, lying in a sunny valley, amid groves of orange and olive trees, breathing of the past, of chivalry and fanaticism, the very place to form a hold upon a nature as impressionable as Jules'. Fernando's mother, the widow of a captain killed during one of the numerous insurrections in Spain, lived quietly with her daughter, Francisca, content to do nothing but go to mass, nurse her rheumatism, and zealously guard her pretty daughter.

Francisca, or Paquita as she was usually called, just as we change our Elizabeths into Bessies, was a pretty feminine edition of her brother. Her hair was just as glossy and as black, her eyes as bright and saucy, her teeth as white and even, her mouth as merry and her disposition as sunny. Her figure was round and plump, and her hands soft and dimpled, and it is not surprising that her charms soon cast a spell over Jules. He had taken rooms near their home, and all his evenings were spent with them and many of his mornings too, for he was never content to remain long away from the bewitch ing Francisca, to whose fascinations he had so easily become a victim; and she, little coquette, took the utmost delight in tormenting him, and in inciting his jealousy. She had a small train of admir ers whom she was constantly alluring and then holding at bay, and to these flagrant manœuvres DA UGHTER. 19 Jules was often an angry witness.

She never let him for an instant suppose that she thought more of him than of any of the others ; one day she would encourage him so openly that he would feel sure of her affection, and the next he would be snubbed unmercifully. At last, goaded to desperation, he asked for her hand, and insisted upon an immediate answer. Francisca demurely referred him to her mother, giving him, however, to understand that he was very dear to her. In reality, she was much pleased with the tall fair stranger, with blue eyes and flaxen hair, who discoursed such sweet music in the eve nings ; for the violin had been brought into requisi tion, and once more restored to the place of honour, was generally called upon to give expression to all Jules' varied moods. Francisca's mother consented to the marriage, after having minutely inquired of Fernando regarding Jules' prospects and fortune, and assured her self that he was an eligible parti, upon one condition, and that was, that he should take up his resi dence in Seville and that she should live with her daughter.

Jules was staggered by such a stipulation. How could his musical career advance in Seville, and how could he give up all hope of fame now that he was so near the pinnacle that it seemed as though but a year or two more were needed for him to attain the height to which he aspired. He argued, he pleaded, he tried to compromise by promising that six months of every twelve should be spent in Seville, but the Senora was obdurate, and Francisca, ignorant of the enormity of the sacrifice she was demanding, petulantly told him that if he thought more of his music than he did of her, there were others who would prize her hand more high ly, and she forthwith began to shower her smiles upon a certain young officer who had been treated rather coldly, by this capricious beauty, since the advent of the musician.

Jules was in despair. To give up now, when it was almost within his grasp, that for which he had been striving since his childhood, seemed beyond his strength. Yet, on the other hand, even if honours and successes were heaped upon him, would they be worth having if Francisca were not there to share them with him? No, he concluded they would not. But, thought he, when once Francisca becomes my wife, I will first make myself indispensable to her, and then will talk to her so much of the world, of the pleasures to be had, of the sights to be seen, of the honours I can win — and which will all be hers as well, and will make such subtle and invidious comparisons between Seville and other cities, that I will create in her mind, as well as in her mother's, a desire to see them for themselves, and thus nul lify that ridiculous condition they impose, and era dicate their idea of the infallibility of their local customs.