The greatest artist of his time painted his portrait, and it hangs to-day in one of the public institutions of his native State. Tradition has it that he once killed a gypsy lad who happened to win the love of a young gypsy girl with whom he imagined himself to be in love, and that a gypsy woman cursed him for the deed and wrote his horoscope with the blood of the murdered youth as follows: “That his line would cease with one girl, who would live long enough to disgrace his name; that many years of her life would be spent in a vile prison among negroes in a foreign land for a crime like the one he had then committed.”
This view behind the curtain seems to have had a strong effect upon the cruel cavalier, for he decided to marry and settle down like the people around him. His wife was a woman of gentle character, and her influence wrought a great change in the morals of her husband, for it was said that he became quite religious, and, when a little girl was born to him, with many tears and prayers he dedicated the child to God.
Meantime the years rolled on. The cavalier died, and, as daughter after daughter was born of his line, his name became extinct. Then, too, poverty, the great leveler, had come upon the family. His portrait, his signature to a famous document, and the tale of the gypsy’s curse were all that remained of the cavalier. Those who watched for the fulfillment of the curse died and were forgotten; and at last a daughter was born, fifth in line from him. Her mother departed this world at her birth; her father, some months later, and it devolved upon the neighbors to care for the orphaned child. As she grew to womanhood people remarked that she bore a strong resemblance to the portrait of her great-grandfather on her mother’s side, and by a special act of the Legislature she was given his name.
At 17, being pretty, gracious, sensible and womanly, with a genius for music, a great future was predicted for her; but, in the parlance of the day, “she went wrong.” Her betrayer was the son of one of the most opulent families in the State, and, at his mother’s request, the girl was sent to a distant Southern city. Here, after a few months, necessity compelled her to take up a residence in the underworld, and the friends of her childhood thenceforth knew her no more. She had been the ward of every one at home, and was, therefore, the ward of no one; and her disappearance was only a nine days’ wonder.
In spite of her degraded calling, men admired her, and, because of a certain haughtiness in her bearing toward them, she was called “Vere de Vere,” and it was known that she was sought with honest intention by men who declared that they loved her for her womanliness and the music of her laugh. The creatures of the world stood in awe of her, because of her dignity, and they feared her because of her violent temper. So, she lived her scarlet life, apparently without regret, until one day an old man from her native State happened in and amused his listeners by telling weird stories which, he said, had been told him by his grandmother. He related the story of Vere de Vere’s ancestor, without knowing that one of his listeners was the only person upon whom the curse might fall. Nor did he know that when Vere de Vere fainted he had touched a chord of sensibility rarely found in the nature of women of her sort.
On the morning of the following day Vere de Vere told her associates that she desired to go to work and earn an honest living. “This is not the right life for me,” said she to her incredulous auditors. “I was born to a higher life. I shall be good; I shall marry, and I shall have children,” with which announcement she left them, to begin life anew.
How fresh and beautiful the morning seemed to her as she hurried toward a park! What do you know of fresh, green, delightful mornings? she said to herself as she sat down and took a deep breath. A bird twittering in a branch above her head, and a pair of squirrels playing in the grass beside her, made her smile and forget. A man in passing leered at her and attempted to speak, but she checked him abruptly with the information that he had made a mistake. “I shall wear black for a time,” she thought. Then she began to wonder what she could do. She could sew beautifully. A light came into her eyes at the thought of the creations that she had designed for her underworld revels. She could embroider, paint china and play the violin.
She bought a newspaper and looked through the list of advertisements. The following attracted her attention:
“WANTED—A lady violinist and seven other lady musicians to make up a lady orchestra for a first-class hotel in Panama.”
Her heart leaped for joy. “This is my chance. I shall go to Panama. It is far away, and no one will recognize me there,” said the poor girl as she hastened to answer the advertisement.