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[Illustration: THE CATHEDRAL OF SEVILLE.
Page 21.]
THE SPANISH CAVALIER.
A STORY OF SEVILLE.
By A. L. O. E.
[Illustration: THE GATEWAY OF A SPANISH MANSION.
Page 26.]
T. Nelson and Sons
LONDON EDINBURGH AND NEW YORK
THE
SPANISH CAVALIER.
A Story of Seville
By
A. L. O. E.,
_Author of "Rescued from Egypt," "The Lady of Provence," "Hebrew
Heroes," &c._
London:
T. NELSON AND SONS, PATERNOSTER ROW.
EDINBURGH; AND NEW YORK.
1900
Contents.
I. THE COUNTING-HOUSE 7
II. A SAUNTER THROUGH SEVILLE 17
III. FADED SPLENDOUR 26
IV. PRIDE AND ITS PENALTY 35
V. ANNOUNCEMENTS 43
VI. A SISTER'S SACRIFICE 50
VII. DRIVEN TO THE SLAUGHTER 62
VIII. WITHOUT AND WITHIN 69
IX. THE BRIEF FAREWELL 78
X. STRUCK DOWN 83
XI. FAILURE 93
XII. DARKNESS AND LIGHT 101
XIII. NEW LIFE 108
XIV. AN UNPARDONABLE WRONG 116
XV. CONFESSION 122
XVI. A MIRAGE 132
XVII. ARRESTED 147
XVIII. TURNED AWAY 155
XIX. WANDERING ALONE 161
XX. AN IDOL ON ITS PEDESTAL 170
XXI. TWO ANGELS 181
XXII. STRANGE COMPANY 185
XXIII. PREACHING IN PRISON 193
XXIV. A FRIEND 201
XXV. WARNINGS 212
XXVI. THE LONELY POSADA 220
XXVII. FOLLOWING SCENT 231
XXVIII. WANDERINGS 239
XXIX. THE EARTHQUAKE 247
XXX. PURSUED 253
XXXI. VENGEANCE 262
XXXII. A LAST FAREWELL 270
XXXIII. A TREASURE 275
XXXIV. GLAD TIDINGS 284
XXXV. FICTION AND TRUTH 291
List of Illustrations.
THE CATHEDRAL OF SEVILLE, _Frontispiece_
THE GATEWAY OF A SPANISH MANSION, _Vignette_
THE ALCAZAR OF SEVILLE, _Facing Page_ 20
SPANISH SENORAS AND THEIR DUENNA, " 24
BEFORE AND AFTER THE FIGHT, " 66
THE ENTRANCE TO THE PRISON, " 184
A STREET IN SEVILLE, " 212
INTERIOR OF A SPANISH POSADA, " 220
THE SPANISH CAVALIER.
CHAPTER I.
THE COUNTING-HOUSE.
"He has not made his appearance in the office to-day!" exclaimed Mr.
Passmore, the working partner in an ironware manufactory in Seville.
"If this Senor Don Alcala de Aguilera think it beneath his dignity to
keep faith with his employer, and stick to his business, I'll find
some one else who will. The high and mighty caballero may smoke his
cigar, or take his siesta, like the rest of his lazy nation; I'll not
disturb him, though his nap should last till the Moors come again!"
Mr. Passmore rubbed his heated face with his spotted handkerchief as
he concluded his speech, for the fiery sun of Andalusia had not yet
sunk, and the small office-room attached to his manufactory glowed
like one of his own furnaces.
"De Aguilera may have been kept away by illness, sir," suggested
Lucius Lepine, a young English clerk in the employ of the
manufacturer. "He appeared to be far from well yesterday, when
translating the letters from Madrid."
"And a pretty hash he made of the business," exclaimed Mr. Passmore in
a tone of irritation, yet unable to refrain from laughing. "The don's
thoughts must have been wandering to the Plaza de Toros,[1] or he
would scarcely have made out that Tasco and Co. sent our firm an order
for twenty dozen bulls instead of knife-blades."
"De Aguilera is not wont to make such blunders," said Lucius, who had
sympathy for his fellow-clerk, partly arising from a belief that their
circumstances were somewhat the same--that the proud Spaniard had
been, like himself, driven by necessity to work under one who, by
birth and education, belonged to a sphere much lower than their own.
"I thought," continued Lepine, "that De Aguilera looked very ill."
"Ill! yes, he always looks ill--as if he fed, or rather starved, on
chestnuts and raisins," interrupted Mr. Passmore, "and had never
tasted a slice of good roast beef in the course of his life! I guess
there's many a one of the whining beggars that beset one in the Calle
de los Sierpes, that fares better than the caballero Don Aguilera. And
yet, forsooth, the senor must keep his horse (a lean one, to be sure),
and carry himself with a lofty air, as if he were, at the least,
Secretary of State to Queen Isabella! I do believe that his worthiness
never made his appearance to-day, because I offended his dignity
yesterday by calling him simply 'Aguilera,' without all the fine
additions to a name already too long, which Spaniards wear as their
mules do tassels and fringes, I suppose, to make one forget the length
of their ears!" Mr. Passmore rubbed his hands in evident enjoyment of
his own joke, and laughed his peculiar, explosive laugh, which
reminded his hearers of the snort of a hippopotamus rapidly repeated.
Lucius was not inclined to appreciate or join in his mirth.
"By-the-by, Lepine," said the manufacturer abruptly, "would you like
to go to the bull-fight to-morrow? for if so, I'll treat you to a
seat, as I'm going myself. As these affairs always come off on a
Sunday, there will be no business time lost."
Had the offer been an acceptable one, the coarse air of patronage with
which it was made would have prevented the young Englishman from
feeling grateful for an invitation so proffered. But Lepine's views of
keeping the day of rest were by no means in harmony with the
sickening horrors of the Plaza de Toros, and he rather coldly replied,
"I thank you; but I have no wish to witness a bull-fight."
"Nor I, nor I; but just for once in a way, one must do at Rome as the
Romans do," observed Mr. Passmore, as he fastened the clasp of the
large ledger-book in which he had been making some entries at the end
of the week. "Barbarous spectacle it is, disgraceful to any civilized
people, but quite in harmony with Spanish character. A century or two
ago," (Mr. Passmore was less accurate in his chronology than in his
accounts,) "these people had their autos-da-fe,[2] in 1868 they must
have their bull-fights; fire or blood, fire or blood, the only means
of rousing them up from their lazy lethargy, and keeping them wide
awake for a couple of hours!" Peter Passmore, himself a sharp trader
and active man of business, regarded idleness as one of the greatest
of sins.
"Bull-fighting causes a waste of human life," began Lucius; but his
employer cut him short.
"I don't think much of that," observed Passmore. "If a fellow choose
to run the chance of getting a horn between his ribs, I'd let him have
his fancy; if he's killed, there's but one fool less in the world.
Ho, ho, ho! But it's a disgraceful waste of horse-flesh. Not but that
the Spaniards, to do them justice, manage the thing in an economical
way. They send blindfold into the circus poor brutes only fit to be
made into dogs' meat, and the bull does the job of the knacker, that's
all!"
An expression of disgust crossed the frank features of Lucius Lepine.
He was impatient to leave the counting-house; but as to him belonged
the duty of shutting up the place, he was unable to quit it till his
employer should please to depart. Mr. Passmore was in a conversational
mood; and while his short, thick fingers slowly tied up some bundles
of papers, he went on talking, regardless either of the oppressive
heat of the room or the impatient looks of his hearer.
"Spain will never be much of a country," said Passmore, "until her
people learn to do their own business, manufacture their own wares,
lay down their own lines, instead of making over everything that is
useful to strangers. The dons leave others to cut up their meat for
them, and think it condescension enough if they open their mouths to
eat it! Ho, ho, ho! Idleness is the bane of this land."
"And superstition," added Lucius Lepine.
"Ay, superstition, as you justly observe. The country is eaten up by a
swarm of lazy monks and friars, who tell their beads instead of
tilling their ground, and who make every other day a saint's day, to
give the laity an excuse for being as idle as they are. If I'd the
rule here," continued Mr. Passmore, "I'd make a clean sweep of them
all; turn the convents into parish unions, and clap into them all the
beggars. What Spain wants to make it a fine land, as fine a country as
any in Europe, is a better government, a more vigilant police, brisker
trade, and--"
As the manufacturer paused, as if at a loss for words with which to
wind up his oration, Lucius suggested--"a purer religion."
"Ah, there's one of your Exeter Hall notions," cried Peter Passmore,
tossing down on the table the packet which he had just fastened up
with a bit of red tape; "you young hot-brains are always ready to air
your romantic ideas on subjects which you don't understand." Let it be
observed, in passing, that young Lepine seldom uttered a dozen
consecutive words on any subject whatever in the presence of his
employer; but the manufacturer, probably from liking to monopolize the
talking, was wont to accuse of loquacity every one with whom he
conversed. "But hark'ee, young man," continued the principal of the
firm, in a tone rather more dictatorial than usual, "I'd advise you,
whilst you remain in Seville, to lock up your fanatical notions as
tight as you would your cash-box. The Plaza is not Piccadilly, nor
Isabella our good Queen Victoria. The Inquisition may not be actually
catching and squeezing victims to death, as in the old times; but, as
Joe Millar would say, 'The snake is scotched, not killed.' The
priests, lazy as they are, will be sharp enough, in both senses of the
word, if any one meddle with their profits. Don't you be playing the
Don Quixote against what you are pleased to call superstition. It is
not only in the Plaza de Toros that a fool may wave a red rag, go full
tilt against an enemy too hard for him, and find himself caught on the
horns of a dilemma. You may get yourself into grief," continued the
oracular Passmore; "and I've no mind to spend time or money in fishing
my clerk out of prison, if he manage to stumble into one unawares.
That's no part of the bargain between us; so I give you fair warning,
my lad." Taking up his hat as he ended his oration, Peter Passmore
quitted the place.
Lepine saw the stout figure of his employer disappear through the
doorway, and gave a sigh of relief. It was during conversations like
the preceding that the young English gentleman most keenly realized
the trials of his position. He was isolated from his family and
friends in a foreign land, and forced to endure the companionship of a
low-minded man, who regarded money-making as the great aim and end of
existence. Lucius was obliged to listen with a decent appearance of
respect to the advice which Passmore proffered with an assumption of
superior wisdom, which was in itself offensive. It was somewhat hard
for a youth, who had been one of the cleverest scholars at Rugby, to
receive instruction on all kinds of subjects from a man who had never
construed a line in Horace or opened a page of Caesar.
"But what could the eldest of a family of nine do, without money,
without interest, but take advantage of the first opening that
presented itself to him?" mused Lepine, as, able to leave the
office-room at last, he locked the heavy door behind him, and went
forth into the street. "I knew that to accept the clerkship was like
plunging into a river in December, and that he who would make his way
thus must throw off, as a swimmer does his clothes, all consideration
of personal inclination and family pride before making the plunge. But
what matters it!"--thus flowed on the current of thought--"I am
thankful to have the means of swimming, thankful to be no drag on a
widowed mother--nay, to be able already to hold out a helping hand to
the young ones. Anything is better than standing idly on the brink of
the icy stream, waiting till some boat should chance to appear and
ferry me across. The struggle is strengthening, the cold is bracing,
and the feeling of independence is worth all that I have given up for
awhile. Yes, my northern constitution may bear it; but the strain
comes much harder, I fear, on poor Alcala de Aguilera. He has
doubtless been brought up from childhood to regard labour as
degradation, and clerk-work under a despised foreigner as but a degree
better than the galleys. He has not the buoyancy of spirit with which
I am blessed, and the cold which is bracing to an Englishman may bring
deadly chill to a Spaniard. I must find out De Aguilera's house, and
ascertain the cause of his absence to-day. Though there may be no
foundation for that extraordinary report which I heard this morning,
and which I cannot believe to be true, I shall not rest easy until I
learn its falsehood from himself. I trust that the cavalier's Spanish
courtesy will forgive my intrusion, if intrusion it be. I long to
penetrate through the reserve which De Aguilera wraps around him like
his mantero, and speak to him freely as man to man, in a place where
we can be secure from perpetual interruptions, and unfettered by the
trammels of business. The address given me was the Calle de San Jose,
in the suburb of Triana, somewhere at the other side of the river. As
I am now pretty well up in my Spanish, I think that I shall have no
great difficulty in finding my way."
FOOTNOTES:
[1] Circus for bull fights.
[2] Public burning of those convicted of heresy, or what the Church of
Rome regarded as such.