\
 
 TALES FROM THE OPEEAS. 
 
 EDITED BY 
 
 GEORGE FREDERICK PARDON. 
 
 AUTHOR OS- "THE FACES IN THE FIRE, 'sib , ETC., ETC. 
 
 NEW YORK. 
 
 CARLE TO JV, PUBLISHER, 413 BROADWAY. 
 LONDON I JAMES BLAOKWOOD, 
 M DCCC LXIT.
 
 TO 
 
 MAX MARETZEK, 
 
 THIS 
 
 AMERICAN EDITION OF AN ENGLISH WORK 
 
 is 
 INSCRIBED.
 
 PREFACE. 
 
 THE want of a book, which, while preserving all the 
 force and spirit of the original Operas, attempts the re- 
 lation of the several narratives in a graphic and pleasing 
 style, has often, probably, been felt by the patrons of the 
 lyric drama. To supply such a want, and to provide all 
 classes of readers with an accurate and succinct know- 
 ledge of the incidents on which are founded our most 
 celebrated Operas, is the object of the following pages. 
 Whether the experiment has been successfully carried 
 out, the public, and the critics, must decide. Few who 
 have listened to the tragic story of Lucrezia ; few who 
 have wept with Norma or laughed with Figaro, but will, 
 it is believed, welcome their old favorites of the theatre 
 in their new literary costume. As it was manifestly im- 
 possible to unravel the plots of all the famous Operas in 
 one little book, only such of them have been detailed as 
 are intimately known to American audiences. 
 
 It is but right to add that these tales have had their 
 origin, mainly in the published Books of the Operas, 
 aided always by a familiar acquaintance with the Operas 
 themselves, as they have been placed on the boards of 
 European and American theatres.
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 Page. 
 LUCREZIA BORGIA (Donizetti) f 
 
 DON GIOVANNI (Mozart) . ... 82 
 LA TOAVIATA ( Verdi) . .61 
 DON PASQUALE (Donizetti) . . .69 
 
 LA SOMNAMBULA (Bellini) ....... 89 
 
 L'ELISIR D'AMORE (Z>omzeftt) 100 
 
 IL BABBIERB DI SIVIGLIA (Rossini) 117 
 
 RIOOLETTO (Verdi) 138 
 
 I PCBITANI (Bellini) . 152 
 
 LA FIGLIA DEL REQOIMENTO (Donizetti) .... 166 
 
 NORMA (Bellini) 183 
 
 ROBERTO IL DIAVOLO (Meyerbeer) 195 
 
 IL TROVATORE ( Vordi) ... . 216 
 
 ERNANI (Verdi) 233 
 
 MARTHA (Flotow) 240
 
 TALES PROM THE OPERAS. 
 
 LUCREZIA BORGIA. (DONIZETTI.) 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 When Satan fell, some of the essence of the god-head pityingly clung 
 about him hence those of men whose faces turn towards the darknesa 
 have ever something of the god within them, which raises them above 
 the poor animals who eat and die. Montaigne. 
 
 THE Venice of nearly four hundred years ago was a 
 great, splendid, gay, and powerful city. Gold was every 
 day showered into the coffers of its merchants from all 
 parts of the earth, and every night there was feasting, 
 laughing, and dancing in Venice, the richest and the 
 gayest city in the world. 
 
 On the night when our story opens was being held at 
 the Palazzo Barberigo a masqued ball. All Venice, 
 masqued, was there. The lamps hanging in the trees, 
 laughed at the water as it threw back the gay colored 
 rays of light which kissed it, in tremulous softness and 
 beauty. 
 
 And there below on the still canal, the Giudecca, glided 
 the silent black gondolas, bearing gaily dressed cavaliers 
 and dames to and from the f&te. 
 
 So silently the gondolas passed, that not a soul upon 
 the shore knew a boat had gone by, a boat, perhaps, from 
 which peered out a jealous eye. 
 
 The gardens of the palace were large, and ever when 
 the music ceased, there were seen in all parts of it gay 
 masquers, courting, talking, singing, flirting, or watching.
 
 10 TALKS FROM THE OPERAS. 
 
 Among the guests was Gennaro, young and beautiful 
 as the nights of Italy. With him was one of the gre.-it 
 Orsini, even younger than himself, and far gayer. Nay, 
 he was but a boy. These two were ever together, in 
 peace or on the battle-field, at fetes, or quietly at home. 
 
 So now amidst the group wherever walked Orsini, Gen- 
 naro had a place. These two as they sauntered along 
 with their friends, all either carrying their masks in their 
 hands, or else tied to their belts, these two were deplor- 
 ing, and being pitied, for they were to leave Venice on 
 the morrow. 
 
 "Alas!" said one, "You will never like Ferrara, as you 
 like the poorest street in Venice." 
 
 "But, still," cried another, "'tis something to form 
 part of an ambassador's suite." 
 
 " Faith," cried a third, " I would sooner be as I am and 
 in Venice." 
 
 " Let me tell you Signers," said a fourth, who waa 
 called Gubetta, a Spaniard, and not in good repute, "let 
 me tell you the court of Alfonzo is superb, and as for 
 Lucrezia Borgia " 
 
 " What ! " cried one, " name her, here, at a fete ? n 
 
 " Pray ye be silent," cried another. 
 
 " The Borgia," said a third, " I abhor her very name." 
 
 " In faith, added another, " ' twould not be saying 
 much for thee to say that thou lovdst her." 
 
 "As for us," said the Orsini, whom they called Maffio, 
 "we should dread her more than any of you, if the 
 sorcerer spoke truly." 
 
 "Again a tale, Maffio," said Gennaro. "Leave the 
 Borgia alone, who cares to hear of her." 
 
 " No, no, Gennaro, let us hear the tale. Go on Maffio." 
 
 "Then I'll fain go to sleep," said Gennaro. "Faith 
 I could fall asleep standing, when Orsini begins his 
 I >ng tales." 
 
 "Signors, 'tis a good tale, though my friend has heard 
 it before. See, now, he has flung himself down on that 
 seat. Well, well, 'tis but two ears the less. In the 
 fatal battle of Rimini I was wounded ; and while lying 
 on the ground, and dying as I thought, Gennaro found 
 me, helped me to horse, and bore me in safety from the
 
 LUCBEZIA BORGIA. 11 
 
 field. In the shelter of a wood he was dressing my 
 wounds, and we had both sworn to live and die together, 
 when an aged man, clad in a dress falling to his feet, 
 stood before us. ' Youths,' said he, ' shun the Borgia, 
 go not near Lucrezia, she is death.' Then he was gone, 
 gone. And the wind thrice whispered the hated name. 
 There what think you of my tale ? See you, Gennaro 
 would not listen to it, because he loveth not to be praised. 
 
 "A good tale' but it does not prove thou shouldst 
 shun the Borgia." 
 
 " Whereof in proof, we go to Ferrara to-morrow. Bah ! 
 what Venetian need fear the Borgia, while the dreaded 
 lion of Venice can roar ? Yet still, sometimes, Signers, 
 I fancy there may be some truth in the prophecy." 
 
 " Let us wake Gennaro, let us ask him if he believes 
 in the solemn warning." 
 
 "Oh, let him sleep. If he would rather dream than 
 hear my tales, let him dream." 
 
 Here the swelling dance music reaching their ears, 
 they gaily sauntered to the palace, and soon the only 
 person in the garden was Gennaro, peacefully sleeping 
 on a marble bench, his head resting on his arm, and his 
 face as tranquil as a little child's. 
 
 There is a lipple o'er the dark canal the reflexions of 
 the colored lamps are all broken up and scattered. 'Tis 
 a gondola, silent and sombre, which, in a little seething 
 of water, stops just below the terrace stairs. 
 
 Then from it steps a woman all clothed in heavy black ; 
 a black mask on her face, a black fan in her hand. Nay, 
 the very cross upon her neck is jet. 
 
 The gondola from which she has stepped glides silently 
 away, and leaves her standing hesitatingly in the garden. 
 Then she starts as she sees the sleeping face turned 
 towards the moonlight. 
 
 She moves towards the sleeper, darkly, noiselessly, 
 her shoulders drawn together ; she is so desirous she may 
 not be heard, that she might be about to murder him as 
 he sleeps. At last, close to him, she bends over his 
 sleeping face. Her hand is on his forehead. Lower and 
 lower bends her head. Awake, awake ! But there is no 
 fear. She has b.ut kissed him. A soft, noiseless kiss.
 
 12 TALES FROM THE OPERAS. 
 
 As she moves a few steps from him, her eyes still on 
 his face, her arm is touched. 
 
 Signora ! " 
 
 Thou, Gubetta ! " 
 
 " I fear for thee. Venice may guard thy life, but she 
 .cannot save thee from insult." 
 
 What does this mysterious woman think as her head 
 droops? Truly she should be insulted, all breathing 
 men and women, and small children even, abhor her 
 name. Yet she was not born to such a fate. But the 
 past, the past, who shall recall the past. And then the 
 vision of an aged man, clad in a robe falling to the 
 ground in heavy folds, comes before her, and she trembles. 
 As she looks on the sleeper, she asks herself how long 
 was it since she had slept so peacefully? 
 
 w Thou gazest upon the youth, Signora. Vainly have 
 I sought to learn the reason of thy secret journey from 
 Ferrara here to Venice perhaps this youth." 
 
 " Thou seek to read my acts thou ! Leave me." 
 
 The man a fair-looking man enough bowed, and 
 with quiet, measured steps withdrew. 
 
 Then she came back to the sleeping man. 
 
 "How beautiful he is," she thought. Never in her 
 dreams had she imagined him so beautiful. She almost 
 cried with rapture as she looked on him. Was this love ? 
 Yes. Guilty love? Nay ; wait and read. Should she wake 
 him ? No. 
 
 She removed her mask to wipe away her tears (fallen 
 to good purpose as nearly all tears fall), and in those 
 few moments her face was seen not by the youth 
 upon the marble seat, but by the scowling eyes of a tall, 
 haughty-looking man, glaring from a treacherous gon- 
 dola, which had quietly stolen up, under cover of the 
 night, and there lay still below the terrace. Beside him 
 stood a mean-looking creature whom he called Rusti- 
 ghello. " It is she ! " 
 
 " Truly, Signor." 
 
 u And the youth, who is he ? " 
 
 " A poor adventurer, without parents or country ; 
 people say he is brave." 
 
 "What will not people say, good Rustighello ? Trj 
 every art to lure him to Ferrara, and to me "
 
 LTTCREZIA BORGIA. 13 
 
 " There is no need for art. By chance, he will set out 
 with Gruirani for Ferrara." 
 
 Slowly the gondola stole away with its watching 
 secret. 
 
 " Sleep, sleep, poor youth, and good dreams wait on 
 you. For me are naught but sleepless nights and bitter 
 watching." She stooped again to kiss him. He woke. 
 
 "Heavens! whom do I see?" 
 
 " I Pray thee let me go ! " 
 
 " Nay, nay, fair lady. On my faith " 
 
 " Again I do implore thee, let me pass." 
 
 " Nay, but a moment to admire thee, for I feel thou'rt 
 beuatiful. Oh ! be not afraid, I will not harm thee." 
 
 " Surely not, Gennaro." 
 
 " What ! thou knowest me ? " 
 
 " And thou couldst love me ! 
 
 "Who could not love the owner of so sweet a voice?" 
 
 " And thou couldst love me, Gennaro?" 
 
 " Sui-ely, but not so dearly as I love one other I could 
 name. " 
 
 " And she and she ? " 
 
 "Is my mother." 
 
 "Thy mother! Oh my Gennaro, thou dost love her?" 
 And she trembles greatly, this unknown woman. 
 
 " I love her as I love my life." 
 
 "And thinkst thou she loves thee?" 
 
 Alas ! I never saw her." 
 
 And yet thou lovest her ? " 
 
 " It is a wretched tale which I do hide from all ; but 
 ah ! to thee it seems that I must tell it ;- for in thy face 
 I read thou hast a noble soul." 
 
 " A noble soul ! " 
 
 " I thought myself the son of a poor fisherman, with 
 whom I spent my early years. But one day came a noble 
 stranger; he gave me money, a splendid steed, bright 
 arms, and, best of all, a paper. It was my mother it 
 was my mother who had written it. The victim of a 
 mighty man, she feared for both our lives, and so would 
 hide herself from me. She bade me never seek her name 
 and to this hour never have I sought to learn it." 
 
 " And this paper ! "
 
 14 TALKS FEOM THE OPERAS. 
 
 * See here ! " and he took it from the bosom of his 
 dress ; w it never leaveth me." 
 
 " Perchance, Gennaro, she wept when she wrote it ! " 
 
 "And have not /wept, too, my mother O my mother 1 
 But methinks I see tears on thy face, lady." 
 
 " Ah ! yes, I weep for tliee for her." 
 
 u For me ! for her ! Indeed, I think already that I love 
 thee dearly." 
 
 u Oh ! ever love thy mother, youth ; cling to her with 
 all thy soul. Never think ill of her when thou dost 
 doubt most strongly ; think ever how she loves thee, and 
 pity her, and hope that she may one day press thee to 
 her heart." 
 
 " Ah ! lady, no need hast thou to teach me this ! I see 
 her near me always gentle, loving, pure; she is my 
 guardian angel. When I would do ill, she comes upon 
 me in my dreams, and smiles a welcome to me." 
 
 " I hear footsteps, I must leave thee." 
 
 Why shouldst thou tremble ? " 
 
 ' Twas Orsini and the friends coming to seek for 
 Gennaro. The youth Maffio, seeing a lady near his friend, 
 ran gaily forward to them ; but within a few paces, and 
 just as the lady was rising her mask to her face, he saw 
 her saw her, to start and turn pale, brave as he was ; 
 saw her, to call on Heaven, and ask himself her uame. 
 
 He ran back to his companions, uttered but two words, 
 and each man was amazed. One laid his hand upon the 
 spot where his dagger would have been, but that at ffetes 
 all arms were rendered at the door. Another placed his 
 hand upon his "mouth and gazed in horror. 
 
 " Gennaro," whispered the unknown lady, " I must 
 leave thee." 
 
 Yet deign to tell who thou art ? " 
 
 w One whose life is loving thee." 
 
 * Thy name ! " 
 
 W I will reveal it," cried Orsini, coming forward, and 
 speaking savagely, unmercifully. 
 
 As the woman heard these words, and recognized the 
 voice, she flinched, and strove to run from the place. 
 
 But they stopped her; each way she made a step, 
 on each side stood a stern, unyielding man. They stppd 
 about her, yet not near her,
 
 LUCREZIA BOEGIA. 15 
 
 " Gennaro, Gennaro ; help ! " 
 
 "Signers!" cried the youth, "what wouldst thou? 
 This lady I protect ; he that insults her is my friend no 
 longer." 
 
 " We would wish to tell the lady who we are, and tell 
 thee who she is," cried they earnestly, and yet with 
 something of mockery in their tones, " then she may go ; 
 we shall have no wish to keep her with us." 
 
 " I, for one, am that Maffio Orsini, whose brother you 
 murdered as he slept." 
 
 " And I, I am that man whose aged uncle you de- 
 stroyed on his threshold." 
 
 " While I, fair lady, am the nephew of one who died 
 quaffing your wine." 
 
 "I, Pftruci, O lady, am cousin to him whose domi- 
 nions you stole." 
 
 " And I was the friend of the man, who sleeps, by 
 your will, beneath the Tiber." 
 
 Hopeless all her appeals, hopeless that she falls on 
 her knees before them. Each strikes the air with his arm 
 as he addresses her; not one feels pity. 
 
 " Who, then, is this woman?" said Gennaro; "dare I 
 hear?" 
 
 " Gennaro, do not believe them ; they mistake me." 
 
 " Oh ! no mistake, lady," cried out Orsini ; " remove 
 thy mask. She is the woman who hath shamed all 
 women ; she is the woman whom all ages shall abhor ; 
 whose breath is poison, whose look is death, whom 
 Heaven pities too much to destroy." 
 
 " Spare me ! spare me ! r 
 
 " As thou hast spared." 
 
 "Be merciful; there is yet time. Gennaro, see, I 
 cling to thee ; forbid them. Be merciful, signers ! spare 
 
 me 
 
 155 
 
 " As thou hast spared." 
 
 Then the Orsini tore the mask from her face. 
 
 "BEHOLD HEB LUCKEZIA BORGIA." 
 
 What ! is this the gentle face that wept over the sleep- 
 ing youth ? Look on it ! like a demon's as she springs 
 from her knees defiant, fearless, no longer suppliant ; 
 degraded, but not shamed. " Beware ! " she cries, as tho
 
 16 TALES FROM THE OPERAS. 
 
 gentlemen shun her, turning away from her as Gennaro 
 turns from her. "Beware, you who have shown no 
 mercy ! beware 1 " 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 Iir FERRARA. No longer in the city of waters, and 
 palaces, and gay feastings. In Ferrara, where the Borgiaa 
 reign. Where the cruel Duke Alfonzo reigns, where 
 also his cruel wife is Duchess, the terrible Lucrezia 
 Borgia. 
 
 See, in this grand square, there is the palace of the 
 duke. Mark his arms carved over the gateway, the 
 awful name Borgia swelling from the stone beneath. 
 
 The new Venetian ambassador with his suite had 
 arrived. 
 
 It is night-time, and plot and murder are awake. 
 
 Look ! is not this the figure of the tall, proud-looking 
 man who watched the Borgia from a gondola in Venice. 
 And the man with him, 'tis he who told of Gennaro. 
 
 They are walking slowly across the square. 
 
 " So, then, he has arrived in the ambassador's suite." 
 
 " Surely ; I have been his shadow. That house is hia 
 abode." 
 
 w Ah, she would fain have him near the palace." 
 
 M And in it, Signor, if Gubetta speaks the truth." 
 
 " It shall be his tomb." 
 
 "The Signor hears that music, 'tis from his house, 
 The youth makes merry with his friends. Tis just the 
 same each night, they only sleep at dawn." 
 
 "Let him take a long farewell of them, 'tis the last 
 time they shall carouse with him." 
 
 With angry strides he went up to the ducal house. 
 No need to knock. Too secret-loving was this man for 
 that. Slowly a small door opened, and he and his com- 
 panion entered. 
 
 Far different from these two gloomy men were the 
 half dozen laughing youths who now came trooping away 
 from Gennaro's wine cups. He came from the house
 
 LTJCREZIA BORGIA. 17 
 
 with them, willing as host to show he did not love to 
 part with them. 
 
 *' Good bye, good bye, dear friends." 
 
 " Good bye Gennaro," cried the others ; and Orsini 
 added, " Thou hast .the gravest face amongst us, thou art 
 ever sad." 
 
 " No, no." But, truth to tell, his thoughts were ever 
 with his unknown mother. 
 
 " Now I tell thee that this night thou shalt be gay. 
 The Princess Negroni gives a ball to-night, where a 
 thousand beauties shall be found, and thou must come, 
 Gennaro. And if any one of you be not invited, let 
 him speak. He will speak well, for on my word, I keep 
 the ball-room door." 
 
 Said they, one after the other. " I am bidden, and I, 
 and I." 
 
 " And I also, Signors," said a fresh voice. 
 
 * What, Signor Bevarana ! " 
 
 ' Or Gubetta," said Orsini. 
 
 " That man seems every where ; indeed, I do begin to 
 doubt him," said Gennaro, softly to Orsini. 
 
 "Oh, fear not," said the other, carelessly. He is a 
 man of pleasure, like ourselves, and fain not be alone if 
 he can find him company. Thou art still sad, Gennaro." 
 
 " Oh cried one laughingly. " Perchance the Borgia 
 has enchanted him." 
 
 " That woman's name again. I swear, Signors, I hate 
 the sound of it." 
 
 "Ha! ha!" laughed another. "How darst thou speak 
 thus so near her palace ? " 
 
 " Her palace. I would I could brand her forehead, as 
 1 can and will the wall that bears her name." 
 
 As they wondered what he meant, he unbuckled his 
 sword, took hold of it as it was sheathed by the point, 
 and running to the palace door, clambered from boss to 
 boss of the carved stone work till he got near the name 
 w Borgia," jutting from the face of the doorway. Then 
 he raised the sword, beat its hilt down upon the " B " 
 commencing the name, and in a few moments the letter, 
 splintered to fragments, lay upon the ground. 
 
 So those who stood below read on the proud door,
 
 18 TALES FBOM THB OPKBA8. 
 
 and beneath the proud arms of the Borgias, the meaning 
 word " Orgia." 
 
 "Great heaven, Gennaro!" Even the brave Orsini 
 was frightened, and the others looked at each other in 
 terrible inquiry, as they read the terrible truth "Orgia." 
 
 Said Gubetta, whom they had insolently called Beve- 
 rana, "In faith, that jest may cost thee dear." 
 
 u In faith, I can pay my debts, Signer." 
 
 " See, Gennaro, there are eyes watching us," said 
 Orsini ; not meaning Gubetta, but two men, dressed in 
 the flowing black cloaks of the time, like shrouds for sin, 
 who met some little distance off in the square, and 
 seemed to defy each other. 
 
 The youth Gennaro made no reply to the warning, but 
 gaily saying " good bye, good bye ; " turned to his house, 
 and entered it, while the roysterers dispersed in different 
 directions. 
 
 The men of the cloaks still seemed to defy each other 
 furtively ; still remained ; not standing quiet, and yet not 
 walking with a purpose. The sounds of the tripping 
 footsteps dying away, these two men approached each 
 other, each with his arms wrapped in his cloak, and, 
 perhaps, each with his right hand on his sword. 
 
 " Why does the Signer wait here ? " 
 
 "The Signor is waiting for thy going. And Signer 
 himself?" 
 
 " Is waiting to see thee leave this square." 
 
 " Prythee, why art thou here ? " 
 
 " Perhaps the young Venetian who lives here, and for 
 whom thou art waiting ! " 
 
 "I?" 
 
 "Yes, where gqpst thou with him?" 
 
 " Stand back, in the name of the duchess? 
 
 " Stand back thyself, in the name of the DUKE." 
 
 " The duchess is powerful ! " 
 
 " The duke is death." 
 
 " Now who shall conquer ? " 
 
 We will see." 
 
 A sharp, vet low whistle, from the lips of this last speaker, 
 who stood beside the duke, when he watched his duchess 
 away there in Venice, and watched her from a gomiolx
 
 LUCBEZIA BOEGIA. 19 
 
 Barely had the whistle whispered through the air, than 
 a score of soft-footed men, each like each, enveloped in 
 a shroud-like cloak, surrounded him who had spoken bj 
 the duchess. 
 
 M Beware the duchess." 
 
 " Be silent, and depart. This youth hath offended the 
 duke. Be silent, and fear not." 
 
 They carried him away with them, and in the wide 
 square only stood the duke's servant, watching Gennaro's 
 house. 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 Go WE now to the grand palace, where the husband 
 and wife watched each other ceaselessly, each ever 
 fearing death at the hands of the other. A happy palace, 
 truly. 
 
 See, standing there, in that splendid royal room, are the 
 duke and Rustighello, who had stood watching Gennaro's 
 house. v 
 
 " Well? " 
 
 "All is done, sire. The prisoner is now within the 
 palace." 
 
 Keeping his eyes fixed upon the other's face, the duke 
 drew from his waist a small golden key. 'Tis to unlock 
 the hidden door of a hidden staircase, to be crept up, till 
 a little chamber is reached. Then there are two vases, one 
 of gold, and one of silver, each filled with wine, to be 
 brought down, carried to the next room, and there be 
 ready. Let not the golden vase tempt him, for it holds 
 the wine of the Borgias. Then, if he be called, let him 
 bring the vases; but if there be no call, then, good Rusti- 
 ghello, thy sword. 
 
 Then this mighty duke starts as a servant at the door 
 announces "the Duchess." 
 
 Forward she comes, sparkling with rage and diamonds ; 
 no longer dressed in heavy black, but in rich rustling 
 brocade, a sweeping coronet of jewels round her 
 head.
 
 20 TALES FHOM THE OPEKA8. 
 
 u The duchess seems unquiet." 
 
 " Enraged. I come here to call for justice. A shame- 
 ful crime hath been committed, the name of thy duchess 
 has been degraded." 
 
 " Softly, duchess, I know it." 
 
 " And thou dost not punish the offender ; doth he still 
 live?" 
 
 " Live ? Yes. That thou mayest destroy him, duchess. 
 Nay, he will be before thee in another minute." 
 
 " Let him be whom he may, I demand his life, and in 
 my presence, duke. Thou wilt give me thy word for 
 this, my lord ? " 
 
 " I do, most heartily, dear duchess. I give thee my 
 sacred word." 
 
 Then, to a page, who has entered after the duchess : 
 
 " Let the prisoner be brought forward." 
 
 " Duchess, thou tremblest, thou dost know this man." 
 
 This man is Gennaro, brought in before the angry 
 duke and duchess, and standing fearlessly. 
 
 "I I do not know him." 
 
 " Pray, may I ask the duke why I am here why I 
 have been torn from my house ? May I dare to ask the 
 meaning of such rigor ? " 
 
 " Good captain draw near. Some coward wretch has 
 dared to touch the noble name of Borgia written on this 
 palace door, nay, to destroy the name. The duchess, 
 even as I speak, trembles with anger at the act. We 
 seek the guilty one; perhaps thou knowest him?" 
 
 "It was not he my lord it was not he," cried 
 Lucrezia. 
 
 " Ah ! duchess duchess how shouldst thou know? " 
 
 " He ! he was elsewhere when it was done. 'Twas 
 some of his companions dared n 
 
 " No no that is not true." 
 
 "Thou hearest, duchess. Now tell me, captain, and 
 sincerely art thou not he who dared to do this act." 
 
 u I'm not much used to hesitate, therefore I say I am 
 the man." 
 
 Slowly he turned to the miserable duchess. "Thou 
 dost mark his words " (how lowly the duke spoke !) u Thou 
 dost murk his words, and I gave thee my sacred promise.'
 
 LUCKEZIA BOEGIA. 21 
 
 Alfonzo, Alfonzo, I would speak with thee alone." 
 
 " Oh ! surely. A moment, captain, but a moment. 
 Well ! duchess mine, we are alone. What wouldst thou 
 ask?" 
 
 " The life of this poor youth." 
 
 " Do I hear rightly ? And but now such anger as thou 
 didst show ! " 
 
 "I pity him. 'Twas but a passing anger. I acted 
 but in jest ; he is too young to think of consequences. 
 Again, to what good his death ? Pardon him. Have 
 pity on him. Let him live." 
 
 " No, no, dear lady mine, my word is pledged. I never 
 break my word." 
 
 "Nay, dear duke, but I insist. And why, thou seemest 
 to ask ? 'Twere ungenerous to refuse thy consort a poor 
 favor such as this. What is the youth to me ? Pardon 
 him. Have pity on him. Let him live." 
 
 "No, no. What! pardon him who hath insulted thee! 
 No, thou didst ask his death. And if I could pardon 
 him, nor could I for thy dear sake I would not." 
 
 " Let us both pardon, and be clement, duke, for cle- 
 mency is glorious in us all, and most of all in kings." 
 
 " No king am I, but a poor duke. I cannot spare him, 
 duchess." 
 
 "Why shouldst thou be so angry with this same 
 Gennaro ? " 
 
 " Dost thou not know ? " 
 
 "I?" 
 
 " Dost thou not LOVE him ? Ah ! thou dost start, 
 Lucrezia. Even now I read in that face of thine thy 
 crime." 
 
 " Don Alfonzo ! " 
 
 " Nay, do not speak " 
 
 "If I swear?" 
 
 " Tt were useless. What ! shall I never be revenged 
 on thee? If I may not strike thee openly, shall I let 
 pass this hope of wounding thee ? " 
 
 " Pardon, Don Alfonzo." 
 
 "Pardon!" 
 
 For pity's sake." 
 
 "What, canst thou speak of pity thou, Lucrezia?"
 
 22 TALES FROM THE OPERAS. 
 
 Don Alfonzo, dear husband." On her knees to him, 
 clinging to him, her eyes dilated, her lips dry and white. 
 
 But he stands immovable. Looks down on her un- 
 yieldingly. Why, her very humiliation enrages him. Foi 
 does not this poor unknown wretch, this Venetian, beat 
 down her pride as he, duke and powerful, hath never, 
 never beaten it down yet ! 
 
 " Thou dost not answer. BEWARE ! " 
 
 Once more she is the terrible duchess, and if the duke 
 wear opal, let it warn him. 
 
 "I know thee, duchess. I have known thee long, 
 Lucrezia. But forget not I am duke, and in Ferrara. 
 Thou art in my power. Ahl well, I'm not unrea- 
 sonable. I grant thee somewhat. Thou shalt choose the 
 manner of his death. Or poison, or sword. Pray now 
 choose ! " 
 
 "I I cannot." 
 
 " Let him then be stabbed." 
 
 No, no." 
 
 Stabbed stabbed." 
 
 " No, not blood, not blood." 
 
 " The poison. Thou dost choose his death. Pray be 
 seated. Enter captain, enter. The duchess is all-powerful 
 with me. Why, I cannot tell, but she pardons thy 
 crime, and bids thee go in peace. Italy would grieve to 
 lose so handsome a son." 
 
 " The duke pardons me. Ah ! well, now that I can 
 speak without the look of cowardice and hope of mercy, 
 I may tell the duke that his clemency has fallen on a 
 man who doth deserve it. For thy father, surrounded 
 by the enemy, would have died but for the arm of a poor 
 adventurer." 
 
 " The adventurer, good captain, was " 
 
 " My very self." 
 
 " Duke, duke," lowly, and pulling his dress, " he saved 
 thy father's life spare him. 
 
 " The duchess speaks to me, but so lowly that I scarce 
 can hear her. So thou didst save my father's life wilt 
 follow his son's standard ? " 
 
 " Pardon me, I'm bound by oath to Venice, and oaths 
 are binding."
 
 LUCREZIA BOBGIA. 23 
 
 "Surely. Oaths are binding is it not so, duchess? 
 Well, well, good captain, take a golden present." 
 
 " No, I am not rich, yet rich enough." 
 
 " Thou art hard to please, fair captain. At least a 
 draught of wine thou'lt drink with me. At last thou 
 dost agree. The duchess, here, for once, will e'en turn 
 cup-bearer. Nay, nay, nay, duchess, do not leave us; 
 generous-minded thou hast been to him, and now be more 
 so. Rustighello, bring us wine." He almost towered 
 higher than his actual stature, as he looked upon the suf- 
 fering woman. " Place the cups there for me the silver 
 one the golden to the captain. Now, duchess, pour, 
 pour. Nay, nay, duchess, the golden vase and golden cup 
 do go together, and silver to the silver. Now, mark, 
 good captain, the duchess will bear the cup to thee her- 
 self." 
 
 Slowly she takes the cup, slowly she carries it to the 
 captain. And thus he holds it, wondering at the kind- 
 ness of these people, whom he has always thought so 
 harsh and full of hate. 
 
 " Lady, I did not dream of pardon, and, methinks, my 
 mother, whom I know doth pray for me, hath by her 
 dearest prayers inclined thee and the duke to gracious 
 mercy. I drink to the duke and duchess." 
 
 Courteously the duke relieves the captain of the emp- 
 tied goblet, lightly places it upon the table, then slowly 
 creeping, like a reptile, he goes up to the duchess and 
 says, softly, " Thou hast perchance somewhat to say to 
 him. Permit me to retire." 
 
 Why does a hopeful flush rush over her face ? Why 
 does she touch her bosom with a trembling hand ? Why 
 again does her countenance express so much emotion ? 
 
 The young captain sees her accompany the duke to the 
 doors. The duke bows to him profoundly, and then his 
 back is turned. What next ? She stands listening for a 
 moment or so, then rushes madly towards the youth, who 
 looks alarmedly about the room in .which are present 
 only their two selves. 
 
 As she runs to him she takes her hand from her breast. 
 " Gennaro, thou art poisoned ; do not move ; quickly take 
 this phial, and begone. A single drop will save thee."
 
 24 TALES FEOM THE OPEKAS. 
 
 She stands a little away from him, and draws her dress 
 on one side as she gives him the phial, so that it may hide 
 her hand. When he has it, she presses his hand round it, 
 so that it cannot be seen, and then she stands away from 
 him. 
 
 What does he think as he stands there, now full of ter- 
 ror ? Death faced on the battle field or on the scaffold 
 may be met calmly ; but to die poisoned, treacherously 
 destroyed by a lie, it would make a god tremble. Fool, 
 that for a moment he had trusted the court of Ferrara ; 
 and this antidote, perchance 'twas death ; perchance the 
 wine had not been poisoned ! He had insulted her more 
 deeply than he had the duke. Distrustful and terror- 
 stricken, he stands hesitatingly. 
 
 ** Drink, drink, he deemed thee his rival." 
 
 As he looks on her face his heart turns towards her 
 he knows not why, but he believes her he seems to 
 think she wills that he shall believe her, he sees in the 
 proud face nothing but love for him, not a guilty love. 
 No, she looks, this terrible woman, as his mother might 
 look upon him. 
 
 "Drink, save thyself for for thy mother's sake? 
 
 Ah ! it has decided him, he raises the little bottle to his 
 lips, and he is saved. 
 
 She knows now he will obey her. 
 
 She runs quickly to a secret door for such a palace 
 must have secret doors and slides it open ; by a ges- 
 ture she bids him enter, presses his long hanging sleeve 
 to her breast as he passes her and he is gone. Then, 
 as she closes the door, she is a lioness guarding her young. 
 She folds her arms and stands there waiting. The gentle- 
 ness of face which bade the soldier drink the antidote is 
 gone. She stands there awful, terrible, alone. No one 
 now no one now beyond the known and hated LUCBK- 
 ZIA BOBGIA.
 
 LUCKEZIA BOKGIA. 25 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 THE night was come, and the Princess IsTegroni's palace 
 was a blaze of light. The grand ball spoken of by Orsi- 
 ni, was taking place, and all Ferrara was there. At one 
 table, drinking and singing, were Orsini, Gennaro, and 
 most of the young lords who were present at the unmask- 
 ing of the Borgia at Venice. They were chiefly in the 
 suite of the Venetian ambassador, and now, as on the 
 night at Venice, they were all together, as friends should 
 be. 
 
 " "Would you believe it, Signers," said the Orsini, gaily, 
 " you see Captain Gennaro here by the merest chance. 
 He was furiously preparing to fly us, when I came upon 
 him. To Venice ; would you believe it, he was departing 
 for Venice. ' What,' said I, ' did we not swear to live and 
 die together? and now dost thou leave me?' 'True,' 
 said he, 'yet ' But, Signoras, I would not let him go. 
 ' No, no,' said I, ' come thou to the ifcte with us, and I 
 promise I will start with thee at dawn.' So, behold, we 
 are both here." 
 
 Applause, followed by discussion of wines. One was 
 for Madeira, another for Rhenish; but all were of one 
 opinion, that every kind of wine was good. 
 
 The hours crept on, the guests departed, yet was the 
 table of the Venetians occupied by the Venetians them- 
 selves, and by many ladies, amongst them the Princess. 
 
 Gubetta was there, and kept his watchful eye upon them 
 all. 
 
 " I am tired already, and will go." 
 
 " ' Tis he again," cried Orsini ; " 'tis Gennaro who spoke. 
 Gennaro, hear my new ballad." 
 
 " Ah, ah." 
 
 "Who dareth to laugh at me?" 
 
 " I, Gubetta, and the rest of us. Thou art an eminent 
 poet, truly." 
 
 " An insult, Signers." 
 
 " If laughing is insulting thee, I do ; ah, ah." 
 
 " Castilian renegade ! " 
 2
 
 26 
 
 "Roman bully!" 
 
 In a moment the place was in confusion. The women 
 fled, the seats were overturned, and the Orsini and his ene- 
 my had armed themselves with knives from the table, for 
 it was the wise custom to deliver arms at the door where 
 feasts and rejoicings were held. 
 
 " Respect the Princess," said one, holding back the Or- 
 sini. 
 
 " The guard will break open the doors," said a second, 
 restraining the Spaniard. 
 
 " To-morrow, Signors, to-morrow." 
 
 " When you may fight with swords." 
 
 " And not with knives like highwaymen." 
 
 " Signors," said the spy, Gubetta, now that his ruse for 
 removing the women had succeeded. * Signers, I was 
 wrong." 
 
 " Truly ; and to prove it, Orsini shall sing us his song." 
 
 "Orsini witt? 
 
 u Wine, wine.** 
 
 Truly, Signors, wine." Thus Gubetta. There, cup- 
 bearer. My faith, Signers, this is Siracusa, the noblest 
 drink. Let me pour for you." And he, took the tankard, 
 no one wondering where the bearer of it sprung from. 
 Nay, they took each a cup, and crowded round the Span- 
 ish spy, each calling laughingly for a share of the Sira- 
 cusa. 
 
 "Nay, nay, Signors there is enough for all." 
 
 u Thou hast poured all out, Gubetta. Thou hast none 
 now drink with me, Orsini, from the same cup. 'Twill 
 drown our quarrel." 
 
 " Nay, Signor Orsini, as a punishment on me, drink thou 
 the whole draught thyself." 
 
 "Obedience is good-will. Behold the cup is empty." 
 
 "Orsini! Orsini! the song." 
 
 Here 'tis." 
 
 Oh, I'll teach you the secret I've taught me, 
 
 I mean the sure way to be glad, 
 'Tis or cloudy or freezing or sunshine, 
 Oh ! never, .oh ! never be SAO.
 
 LUCREZIA BORGIA. 27 
 
 i Oh ! oh sing, drink, and laugh at the madmep 
 
 Who give to the future a thought; 
 Let to-morrow look after to-inorrow, 
 For double is trouble -when sought." 
 
 Hark as the last note dies away, there is a slow chant* 
 ing without. 
 
 " TlIE JOY OF THE PROPANE IS A PASSING SMOKE." 
 
 As the solemn sound reaches them, the very light seems 
 to pass away. For it is late, and the lights are dying 
 out. 
 
 " What voices are these ? " 
 
 Tis a jest." 
 
 " Bah another verse." 
 
 Oh 'tis ready." 
 
 '* Let us smile on the youth that smiles on us, 
 
 For youth of all joys is the crown ; 
 While if death for a moment draw nigh us, 
 And he should ungraciously frown. 
 
 " Oh ! oh sing, drink, and laugh at that madman 
 
 Who gives to the future a thought ; 
 Let to-morrow look after to-morrow, . 
 For double is trouble when sought." 
 
 " THE JOY OF THE PROFANE IS BUT A PASSING SMOKE." 
 
 " Again those sounds ! " 
 
 " See see, how the lights are going out." 
 
 "Gennaro, I can barely see thee." 
 
 " Orsini, Orsini, here." 
 
 " Methinks this is no jest," cried another. 
 
 And the six came close together. Amongst them was 
 no Gubetta. 
 
 A moment or two of bated breath, still the lights are 
 fading. Another moment, and the room is almost dark as 
 midnight. 
 
 " Let us fly." 
 
 They drew to the great door, sped rapidly up the steps, 
 and then the whole six stood motionless, their hands 
 pressing against the unyielding doors. 
 
 They came down from the steps, but the next moment 
 the doors swung open, and as they turned towards them, 
 thinking, perhaps, for a moment, that it was a jest be*
 
 23 TALES FROM THE OPERAS. 
 
 hold there stood Lucrezia Borgjn, looking down on them, 
 proud, triumphant a demon. Behind her were men-at- 
 arms, ready to do her utmost will. 
 
 " Lost ! lost ! lost ! " 
 
 "Yes, Signers. Lost. You gave me a ball at Venice. 
 In return I give you a supper here in Ferrara. For you, 
 my guests, I have prepared five shrouds, which shall en- 
 wrap you when the poison now coursing through your 
 blood, hath diligently done its duty." 
 
 " Five did'st thou say ? But here are six of us ! " 
 
 " Oh heavens, Gennaro ! " 
 
 Then rapidly she turned to the guard behind her ; al- 
 most by a gesture she bade them remove the destroyed 
 gentlemen, and coming down the steps, called to Gennaro 
 to remain. 
 
 Helpless lost they showed no spirit. Hope had 
 utterly left them. They embraced their friend Gennaro 
 one after the other, and went mournfully from the hall. 
 Gennaro alone remaining, she ran swiftly to the doors, 
 bidding one close them, and ordering that whatever hap- 
 pened, no one should enter the room. 
 
 " Thou wert here, Gennaro, thou wert here." 
 
 " Near my friends, lady." 
 
 " Again thou art poisoned." 
 
 " And my friends, lady ? " 
 
 Suddenly her face lit up. " The antidote, the antidote 
 I gave thee." 
 
 Love of life is strong so he felt for the little bottle, 
 and he held it before her. 
 
 "Drink it." 
 
 " No with my friends I either live or die." 
 
 She took the little bottle, looked at it agonizingly, and 
 then said, "There is barely enough for thee. Holy virgin, 
 he has cast it to the ground." 
 
 "But if I must die, thou demon if I, my friend, my 
 dear Orsini, if we all die, shalt thou live thou ? All ! 
 thou also hast reached death ; none will come to help 
 thee; hast thou not closed the door thyself. Prepare 
 thee, thou shalt die ! " 
 
 See how the knife glitters in the pale moonlight as it 
 sweeps high up into the air.
 
 LUCKEZIA BORGIA. 29 
 
 " Gennaro ! Gennaro ! wouldst thou kill me ? " 
 
 " On thy knees. I grant thee that mercy, die on thy 
 knees." 
 
 I forbid thee ! " 
 
 " Thou forbid me, thou who hast destroyed me. To 
 thy knees ! To thy knees ! " 
 
 lie forces her to her knees. Again the avenging steel 
 is high in the air. Another moment and he shall thrust 
 it downwards thi-ough the air down, down, into her 
 wicked heart. But she speaks five words and see ! The 
 Bteel has fallen from his hand, and is lying harmless on 
 the floor, his hands are clasped upon his head, and she 
 may kill him without fear and so save herself. What is 
 it then she has said ? The words were : 
 
 " Hold thou art a Borgia." 
 
 Hark to what he whispers. "I I a Borgia? " 
 
 " Thy ancestors were mine. Thou durst not shed the 
 blood of thy people." 
 
 "I I a Borgia?" 
 
 " What have I said ? have I forbidden thee to kill me ? 
 Rather I should bid thee kill me, for each day I die a 
 thousand deaths. And thou, oh live, live, Gennaro. If 
 thou canst save thyself, and if thou wilt not, thou dost 
 destroy thyself. See, see, the phial is not broken. Thou 
 canst yet be saved. Ah ! thou takest it from my hand. 
 Drink! drink!" 
 
 " I I a Borgia ? " 
 
 " Drink. No, do not hear that sound, 'tis nothing 
 'tis but the wind." 
 
 " Oh Maffio, 'tis thy voice, the poison kills thy youth 
 the first. Good bye, good bye." 
 
 " They shall live, if thou wilt save thyself For thy 
 mother's sake." 
 
 " How darest thou name my mother ? " 
 
 " And who may name her, if not I ? " 
 
 " Perchance, thou didst destroy her also." 
 
 " Ah, no ! she lives." 
 
 " She lives, she lives, and I shall never see her." 
 
 Here the quick poison struck him so that he reeled 
 against a high Gothic pillar to save himself from falling, 
 and as his hands lay on his breast, he leaned his head
 
 30 TALES FROM THE OPERAS. 
 
 slowly backward, and still he cried "Mother, mother, 
 that I could die in her arms. Back, back, woman, do not 
 touch me. Oh, mother! mother!" 
 
 u A woman, guilty, yet penitent, quailing and kneeling 
 at the feet of him whom she has slain, who lowers hoi- 
 head as I do mine, and fearingly doth shut out sight by 
 covering her eyes with both her hands, as I do, Gennaro. 
 This woman is thy mother." 
 
 As she spoke, he was sustaining himself against the 
 Gothic pillar, like a brave man as he was, willing to meet 
 death standing rocking round the pillar from right to 
 left, and clinging to it with weak hands. 
 
 But the last words stay him. Rigid he stands for a 
 moment, then as she flinches away from him, yet stretch- 
 ing out her arms, he falls down, and to her breast. 
 
 " In my mother's arms. At last in my mother's arms, 
 I die." And as her arms crept round him he was dead. 
 
 As he lay there, she looking on him, the doors were 
 opened, notwithstanding her orders, and there at the 
 head of the steps stood the duke and many ladies. No 
 fear now had she of him, her Gennaro was dead. He 
 might come and scorn, upbraid, insult her now. No 
 matter, she did not care. 
 
 Hark ! she speaks. 
 
 " He was my son, my hope, my comfort. He would 
 have saved me. Where now is hope? All lost. All 
 lost. Heaven hath turned from me." 
 
 Her head fell and her cheek lay against her child's. 
 
 They went to lift her. And then they learnt that she 
 was dead. 
 
 So, destroyed by the only godlike evidence she ever 
 had, the love she bore her child, lay Lucrezia Borgia, cold 
 upon the palace floor. 
 
 [NOTE. The general notion of Lucrezia Borgia seems to partnke of 
 the nature of a popular error. Though the sister to the great Cesare 
 was not, perhaps, the most discreet lady in the world, and though 
 drama, opera, and tale have represented her as " the great poisoner of 
 the fifteenth century," no authentic account of a crime of this nature 
 has yet appeared. It is true that she married thrice, and that tradition 
 gives her a hand in the deaths of two of her husbands, but no criminal
 
 LTJCREZIA BORGIA. 31 
 
 charge has been really substantiated against her. It is well that the 
 truth be told of so famous a historical personage, even though a whole 
 library of fine fiction be thereby destroyed. Hie lived in a profligate 
 court, and was doubtless witness to many flagitious scenes, but that is 
 all that can be said against her. On the other side of the picture we 
 have her charities, her beauty, her wisdom, and her devotion, in the 
 latter years of her life, to virtue and religion. ED.]
 
 DON GIOVANNI. (MOZART.) 
 
 (DON JUAN.) 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 A TALE whispered and told to children all Spain 
 through. And why should not a statue have power to 
 epeak ? 
 
 Don Juan lived in a city of Castille, lived a godless, 
 reckless life ; and as for that matter so did his factotum 
 Leporello. If the don climbed a ladder, Leporello held 
 it ; if the don had to be thrashed, Leporello often caught 
 the blows. He might have had a better service, and he 
 frequently complained of the don's, but he did not leave 
 it till the don had no further need of a factotum. 
 
 One night he was watching as usual, and grumbling 
 as usual, "what a life was his, to be harrassed day and 
 night, blown by the wind, cut at by the rain, robbed of 
 sleep, and all for what? no wages paid, and half starva- 
 tion." For the thousandth time he had resolved to get 
 him a new master, when the noise of footsteps made him 
 discreetly retire. 
 
 Next moment where he had been standing, was a 
 woman striving to detain a cavalier, and calling all the 
 time for help. 
 
 " Lot me go, I say, for thine own sake, let me go." 
 
 "Help, help." 
 
 A quick, heavy step, and a third person was there, an 
 old man, his white hair streaming in the moonlight. 
 
 The lady let go her hold, as the new coiner ran forward, 
 his sword bravely out before him. 
 
 Yet he did not at once fall on this thief coming in 
 the nighttime. He called on him to defend himself. 
 
 Said the othei', placing himself, so that the golden braid 
 about him glistened in the moonlight, "Begone, my 
 sword is not crossed with such as yours."
 
 DON GIOVANS1. 38 
 
 "Defend yourself, I say." 
 
 " Ah ! dotard, if thon bravest me." 
 
 A little sawing of the swords, a click or two, and the 
 white hair is touching the dust. 
 
 " Dead, by the rood ! " exclaimed the cavalier, wiping 
 his sword. " Here, Leporello, here ! " 
 
 " Sinner that I am behold me, master. Thou art not 
 killed then the old man is ? " 
 
 " Surely, the old can better be spared than the young." 
 
 " Rare, rare, my master, to break into the chamber of 
 the daughter, and to kill the father, both in one night. 
 Rare, oh ! rare." 
 
 " By my faith, he thrust himself upon my sword. Come, 
 let us go. See, torches are flickering near." 
 
 And without fear or hurry, the young don moved away, 
 not swaggeringly, yet audaciously, followed by the tremb- 
 ling Leporello. 
 
 Another moment, and the light of torches was gleam- 
 ing on the face of the dead. The old man's daughter, 
 Donna Anna, had hastened away for assistance, and re- 
 turned with it but to find her father slain, the warm blood 
 gurgling out from his heart on to the cold and thirsty 
 ground. 
 
 With herw-ts the Don Ottavio, her betrothed, but he 
 was nothing to her in her grief, as she leant over her dead 
 father. 
 
 Then came the solitary procession, bearing one dead 
 into his house, who but a little while agone was hale and 
 strong, even in his age. 
 
 Meanwhile, the don was forgetting the tragedy. 
 
 Even the next evening he was in the streets with Lepo- 
 rello, seeking some new adventures. 
 
 " Well, Leporello, and pray Avhat is it thou hast to tell 
 me?" 
 
 " It is important it is grave." 
 
 " Better and better." 
 
 " Now good master, promise not to be wrath." 
 
 So that it doth not relate to Don Pedro." 
 
 " Unless thou art Don Pedro, it doth not relate to him." 
 
 " Speak out ! " 
 
 M Verily, thy life is infamous ! " 
 2*
 
 84 TALES FROM THE OPERAS. 
 
 " Rapscallion." 
 
 "And thy promise, good master, thy promise." 
 
 " What ! thou darst to suppose /keep promises." 
 
 " To me, yes, of a verity, I m dumb, I'm dumb." 
 
 " The way to friendship. Now, why am I here ? " 
 
 " An affair. The name of the damsel, for my list, good 
 master, for the perfectioning of my list." 
 
 " Write her down Venus, for she hath her form. I shall 
 whisper her at the Casino ; but tarry a little, here cometh 
 one whom " 
 
 "In truth my master hath a good eye." 
 
 " At a glance, I see she is handsome." 
 
 " And also she hath a brave eye 1 " 
 
 " Let us retire a little." 
 
 " He hath fired already. O rare." 
 
 Into the shadow they crept (the don dealt largely in 
 shadows.) 
 
 'Twas a Spanish beauty, and a pensive beauty, who 
 came slowly along. 
 
 " Lepo, 'tis a damsel who hath need of condolement." 
 
 " He hath condoled with many of them, this master of 
 mine." 
 
 " Senorita, Senorita, Heaven ! " 
 
 " Ha ! 'tis Donna Elvira; O rare rare." 
 
 " 'Tis you, Don Juan monster, robber ! " 
 
 u 'Tis an old acquaintance, as one shall read by the 
 tongue." 
 
 " Donna 1 quiet, quiet (what misfortune); if thou wilt 
 not believe me, thou'lt believe this worthy gentleman." 
 
 " In faith I that's Leporello " 
 
 " He '11 tell thee all ; I pray thee turn to him." 
 
 And the lady doing so, the don took advantage of the 
 shadow, and was off anywhere. 
 
 " Well, villain, speak 1 " 
 
 " In faith, good lady, it may be declared, seeing the 
 world we live in, that a square is ne'er a round, or equally 
 a round a square ; and yet " 
 
 " Cease, scrub ; and thou, Don Juan gone ! The 
 monster hath gone ! Which way ? " 
 
 " Ah ! marry, which way ! though wherefore shouldst 
 thou care ; he is not worth the kindness of so consider- 
 able a lady."
 
 DON GIOVANNI. 35 
 
 u Ah, he leaves me ! " 
 
 " By your leave, lady, 'tis not the first lady he hath fled 
 from. Have I not here a book, which hath weight in it, I 
 wan-ant thee ; and if it be not filled with the names of 
 the ladies he hath fled from, with the particulars of their 
 birth, parentage, and residences, the evil one hath played 
 false with my handwriting, or some good angel hath, in 
 pity to my master, wiped out the faithful record. See 
 now, in Italy he flies me six hundred and forty ; in Ger- 
 many, he hath ruined two hundred and thirty-one ; one 
 hundred in France ; thou shalt repeat me that number for 
 Turkey ; but here in Spain he hath destroyed the peace 
 of one thousand and three." 
 
 Here the serving man dutifully followed his master into 
 shadow, and scudded away harder and harder when he 
 heard the pattering of little feet behind him. 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 LITTLE Zerlina was a little country maiden, as happy 
 as the sun was bright, and as fond of Masetto as the bee 
 of sweet flowers. 
 
 As for Masetto, he loved Zerlina as honest natives do 
 love, with his whole heart, and he thought nobody equal 
 to Zerlina. 
 
 And that day was come when Zerlina and Masetto were 
 to be nobody's business, and more, and were to be all in 
 all to each other for life ; they were going to be married. 
 
 The country folk were blythe and happy, and full of 
 the wedding, chatting, laughing, and wishing the bride 
 and bridegroom happy, when a grand Don, accompanied 
 by his servant, for he walked behind, caused the prattle to 
 die away into silence. 
 
 M I'faith, pretty creatures ! a marriage, good friends ? 
 Nay, go on with your sports go on." 
 
 " Yes, good my lord, and I am the bride." 
 
 " A lovely bride ! And who'g the biidegroom ? " 
 
 " So please you, at your service, here, I call myself Ma- 
 setto."
 
 36 TALES FROM THE OPERAS. 
 
 w Spoken bravely ! " 
 
 u O rare ! he hath the build of a husband, hath he not ? " 
 
 Here the little bride, who was a little vain, and who 
 rather plumed herself upon talking to a grandee, said, 
 " Masetto hath an excellent heart." 
 
 " And also have I, so we should be friends ; and, prythee, 
 what do they call thee ? " 
 
 " Zerlina, so please you." 
 
 "And so please you, I call myself Masetto." 
 
 For truth to tell, the little rustic wae growing jealous. 
 
 " And you two are to be married. Well, well ; I do 
 offer you my protection, aye, and my house. Leporello, 
 show these good people to my house, give them what they 
 will ; and for the bridegroom, he is the guest of honor, 
 Leporello pay, if thou valuest whole bones, excellent 
 attention to the bridegroom." 
 
 " I seize thee, master, I seize thee." Thus the man, 
 speaking softly to the master. Then the man said to the 
 lucky bridegroom : " So please you, walk by me. And all 
 you rustics, follow heartily." 
 
 " But, good sir, Zerlina must come with me." 
 
 "'Tis not etiquette that thou shouldst be bound to her 
 side. Good friend, come walk by me. The Senor him- 
 self will care for her right heartily. So please thee, walk 
 walk." 
 
 ; ' Oh ! be not afraid, Masetto, the senor will guard me." 
 
 "But! but! " 
 
 " Verily, friend Masetto, thou art little better than a 
 curmudgeon. Walk, I say, walk." 
 
 " Dost thou not breathe more lightly, Zerlina ? " 
 
 Wherefore, Senor ? " 
 
 " That the clown hath gone." 
 
 " Nay he hath my love ! " 
 
 " A king should have thy love ; those pi'etty lips, those 
 eyes, those little fingers, were not made for clowns." 
 
 "Nay but T love him ! " 
 
 " And I love thee. A poor home, and a poor husband 
 is this thy lot ? See away there, 'tis my house, 'tis my 
 palace. I love thee, I love thee. Wilt thou be my wile, 
 Zerlina?" 
 
 Wife, Senor, thy wife ? "
 
 DON GIOVANNI. 37 
 
 " Choose between us, Masetto or Don Juan." 
 
 "I I, then, a great lady. Yet, Masetto." 
 
 " Come my love, come, my love." 
 
 But the don started and turned pale, for as he made a 
 step forward with the simple little Zerlina, there was 
 standing Donna Elvira. 
 
 " Thou seest," he said rapidly, before she could speak, 
 " I am but toying with her simplicity, I mean no harm," 
 
 "No harm, Don Juan, thou art destruction." 
 
 " Nay, believe her not, charming Zerlina, 'tis a poor 
 forlorn creature, who followeth me because I cannot love 
 her. Well, if she will not quit me, I will her j " and 
 tightly he ran away. 
 
 She pitied him, did the donna, nay she still loved him 
 somewhat; but for all that, she warned Zerlina of him 
 and went away with that simple little maiden, hand in 
 hand. 
 
 Barely had they left the spot, than Don Juan was upon 
 it again, for he had determined upon keeping the little 
 village maiden in view. But barely had he returned to 
 the spot than he was accosted by one whom 1 e would 
 fain have not seen, Don Ottavio, the cavalier cf Donna 
 Anna. 
 
 The don was not easily abashed, so he came lightly to 
 Ottavio's side, but he thought to himself that this was one 
 of his unlucky days. 
 
 " This meeting is fortunate, Don Juan, if thou hast a 
 generous heart." 
 
 " I hope for thy sake and mine own, that I have." 
 
 " For we have need of thy friendship." 
 
 " I breathe again," thought the don, who, brave as he 
 was, had trembled in meeting the injured lady, Donna 
 Anna. " Command me," he said aloud, " iny arms are 
 thine, if 'tis a question of arms. But Donna Anna, why 
 these tears ? " 
 
 " Do nut hear him," said a voice ; and the three turning, 
 saw Donna Elvira, who had determined to keep Juan in 
 view ; " do not hear him, he hath destroyed me." 
 
 " Pardon her Ottavio, and you, Donna Anna, she is a 
 poor deranged lady ; leave her to me." 
 
 " Do not believe him ! "
 
 88 TALES FROM THE OPEEA8. 
 
 Poor lady ! You see 1 " 
 
 " Do not believe him ! " 
 
 Donna Anna and Ottavio seemed puzzled by this meet- 
 ing. The lady seemed sane, and yet Don Juan was a man 
 of probity, said all the world. 
 
 He bade her be still ; but she called out more loudly 
 than before, that he was her destroyer ; and as she changed 
 color, and struck her foot upon the ground, Ottavio and 
 Anna shook their heads as though deploring her. 
 
 Whereon, the poor lady seeing their error, turned from 
 them, and walked away quickly. 
 
 The don took advantage of this incident to rid himself 
 of the terrible company of Ottavio and Anna, and so 
 saying that for her dear sake he would follow her, he fled 
 away; not marking the terrified start that Donna Anna 
 gave as he turned from her. 
 
 " Dear Anna, how pale thou art ! What has happened ?" 
 
 " I dare not say, and yet I dare not be silent." 
 
 "Speak! speak!" 
 
 w As I li ve as I live, Ottavio, Don Juan killed my 
 father." 
 
 " What sayest thou ? " 
 
 " I am sure ; I am sure. The tones of the last words 
 he spoke the very words themselves. Ottavio, as I live 
 he killed my father; 'twas he who entered my room; 
 whom I held, whom I followed, who turned and killed 
 my father! I ask of thee that vengeance that is just, 
 Ottavio. Be but sure, and then act; thy arm shall be 
 strengthened to thy work by my love by the memory 
 of my bleeding father! Come, come ! " 
 
 Barely had the couple left the spot, than Leporello and 
 his master were upon it. 
 
 " If I fly him not, the foul fiend will have me ! " 
 
 " Well my little Leporello ? All well ? " 
 
 " No, little Don Juan ; on the other side, all ill" 
 
 "Wherefore ill?" 
 
 " Wherefore ? marry, because 'tis. Have I taken them 
 all to thy house? Yes have I. Havel spoken lies and 
 flattery in thy service, that I am lost fou ever? Yes have 
 I. Have I beguiled Masetto till he is a very fool ? The 
 tempter knoweth that I have, The men J have set dripk-
 
 DO'S GIOVANNI. 39 
 
 ing, the women idem (as the lawyers have it), when, who 
 cometh, if not my little Zerlina? And who with our 
 little Zerlina, if not Madame Elvira, who prythee ? She 
 should be laid, master ; she should be laid like a vexed 
 spirit. . And she hath abused me ; my faith ! hath she 
 abused me hath she laid about her uncivilly touching 
 
 me 
 
 " And what saidst thou ? " 
 
 " Marry, the best thing I could say. . . nothing. But 
 when she hath worn herself silent, and when she is, if I 
 may thus say it, so to speak, melting in tears, I take me 
 her hand, direct her to the street, and there do I most 
 gingerly leave her." 
 
 44 Then, she being gone, I may be there. Now, my 
 Leporello, wine, wine ; bring us plenty of wine, for 'tis 
 the persuader which sinoothens my road wonderfully." 
 
 And, taking the factotum by the arm, he pushed him 
 along before him. 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 M BUT Masetto, dear Masetto." 
 
 " Get thee gone. What ! thou wouldst caress me, thou 
 false Zerlina P' 
 
 " But I love thee." 
 
 " Then hast thou a marvellous queer way of showing 
 it. Thou dost bemean me. Thou dost make fingers to 
 point at me, and then, forsooth, thou dost say ' I love thee.* 
 Pish ! for pure modesty's sake I cry ' shame.' " 
 
 44 But I love thee. He did deceive me. See, if thou 
 lovest me not, thou dost kill me. Wherefore turnest thou 
 from me ? I love thee, I love thee." 
 
 " Thou art encompassed with immodesty." 
 
 " Beat me, beat me, thy Zerlina, here she stands, beat 
 me ; and I'll kiss thy hands quite meekly. Beat me, beat 
 me, but forgive me, for I love thee, dear Masetto." 
 
 " Thou hast the power of the evil one to overthrow 
 me. Truly, man is weak." 
 
 " Beat me, beat me. Masetto, here's the don."
 
 40 TALES FBOM TIIE OPEKAS. 
 
 " Let him approach. I defy him." 
 
 " I fain would hide myself." 
 
 " And, marry, I fain thou shouldst not. Ho, ho she 
 fears I shall learn secrets ; ho, ho, ho, thou art falsity. I 
 will hide myself." 
 
 " Nay, if he find thee, he will beat thee, as thou wattcst 
 not of." 
 
 " Let him fear me, my arm is strong." 
 
 " "Pis hopeless to speak to him." This she said softly. 
 
 " Speak loudly, untruthful woman, speak honestly loud. 
 (I have mine ideas, yes, Masetto, I have mine ideas.)" 
 
 And he hid behind a tree. 
 
 Said the little woman to herself, " he hath a wry mind, 
 Masetto ; " and then she ran to hiding herself, as she saw 
 the don approach, accompanied by several peasants. 
 
 He dismissed those people immediately, and then called 
 out " Zerlina, come thou here." 
 
 " So please you, let me go." 
 
 " My angel, I love thee too well." 
 
 " So please you, if thou art merciful, let me go." 
 
 M Masetto, come thou here also." 
 
 " My faith, he hath marked me," said the rustic, and 
 came forward sheepishly. 
 
 " Thy Zerlina is unhappy when thou art not near her, 
 why dost leave her? come, be merry, I will go with you 
 and be merry with you," and he walked away between 
 them, and entered his house with them. 
 
 Nor did he see three masked persons following him. 
 Donna Anna, Donna Elvira, and Don Ottavio. They 
 were following him, marking him, bringing home his guilt 
 to him. 
 
 Suddenly Leporello passing a window of the house 
 within, saw the masks and called out, " O rare, my mas- 
 ter, here is fit company for thee, my master ; here are la- 
 dies, and of a quality! What sayest thou, invite them 
 in. Aye, marry, will I. Masks, list, fair masks ; my mas- 
 ter greets ye, and prays ye enter ; ye shall find good en- 
 tertainment." 
 
 Still watching him, still tracing the crime to him, they 
 entered the house of the murderer.
 
 DON GIOVANNI. 41 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 In the house of the don itself, the rustic feast, which he 
 had improvised, was going on 
 
 " Pray ye, Senors, drink ; I, Leporello, who talk to ye, 
 will sip chocolate, but ye shall take what ye will sher- 
 bet, sweetmeats, as you like it as you like it." 
 
 " My lovely Zerlina, thou charmest me." 
 
 " Thou art very kind Senor ! " 
 
 " My faith," said Masetto, " she is as a fine lady ! " 
 
 " Oh ! rare, I love ye all, ye charmers." 
 
 "If thou touchest her, Senor Leporello, I will touch 
 thee," exclaimed Masetto, who saw the factotum eyeing 
 the simple, charming Zerlina. 
 
 " Methinks he's fallen out with me again," said the sim- 
 ple Zerlina to herself. 
 
 " Of a verity, I shall go distraught," said Masetto. 
 
 Here the masks entered. 
 
 The don bowed to them, then called out to the musi- 
 cians, and went gaily up to Zerlina. 
 
 " That that is the poor country girl," said one of the 
 masks, in a low tone : and the three drew together. 
 
 "Verily, I tell thee, nor will I dance myself, nor shall 
 she dance : I love not these pousettings." 
 
 " Verily, and I tell thee, Masetto, thou art a rare fool, a 
 fool such as the world hath never seen. Be merry, I say 
 be merry ; nay, thou shalt be merry." 
 
 And the man of stratagem playfully thrust about the 
 uneasy rustic, while the master led away the young girl. 
 Then the dancing began, and soon the don had thrust Zer- 
 lina into a closet, unperceived, he hoped, but fully marked 
 b} the eyes under the masks. 
 
 At once they ran towards the door, as the girl called 
 out loudly, " Ilelp ! help ! " 
 
 "Verily, 'tis her own voice help me, masters, help ! " 
 
 Here the don entered by another door, and, sword in 
 hand, fell upon the luckless Leporello. "What, thou 
 wicked servant, thou destroyer, wouldst thou, in thy mas-
 
 42 TALES FROM THE OPERAS. 
 
 ter's house, send thyself to perdition? Ho, hoi thou 
 shalt die." 
 
 The simple folk were inclined to believe the don, and 
 would have fallen upon the servant, who cried under his 
 breath, 'Tis the fiend himself." 
 
 But the wearers of the masks showed their faces Don 
 Ottavio, Donna Anna, and Donna Elvira. 
 
 And they unmasked him, too, for they pointed to him 
 as the ravisher. 
 
 Then they threatened him, stood about him with angry 
 glances. Nearer and nearer they came, and as though ap- 
 proving them, the thunder muttered high in the air. 
 
 But he was fearless ; on heaven, or earth, or both, he 
 cared not. Like a baffled tiger, he flew at his enemies, cut 
 his way through them, and was saved. 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 u I tell thee, master, 'twere death to stay with thee." 
 
 " Then thou hadst best depart." 
 
 " Verily will I, and quickly." 
 
 " Yet why desert me, thy old master ? " 
 
 " What ho ! thou beatest me, thou dost threaten to kill 
 me ; am I kicked, am I cuffed ? Wherefore is it that I 
 am kicked and cuffed ? Now, tell me Lliat, master? " 
 
 Le-po-rel-lo ! " 
 
 " So, my master " 
 
 " What ! shall we not be friends again ? I say, yes. 
 Ope thy hand." 
 
 " How much ? " 
 
 " Four pistoles, Le-po-rel-lo." 
 
 " Good ! rare ! but I tell thee, that if thou thinkest a 
 man of my mettle is to be bought with dirty gold, as thou 
 wouldst buy of the weaker sex, thou thinkest mainly 
 wrong, my master." 
 
 "Nay, drop thy hand, there be no more pistoles." 
 
 " Avaunt ! the gold ; but if I stay by thee, thou wilt 
 promise to abandon women ? " 
 
 " Aye, aye 1 "
 
 DON GIOVANNI. 43 
 
 " Nay, dost thou not harm them ? " 
 
 " I, who love them all ! Is not he cruel to all who lov- 
 eth but one ? I do abhor cruelty, therefore do I love all 
 women. And yet are there women who stand by thy 
 metaphysics, and call this love of mine perfidy." 
 
 "If thy love is benevolence, Avhich is charity, then art 
 thou saved, and ait sure of a cool heaven." 
 
 " But thou didst never see so sweet a woman. And I 
 had thy dress ? " 
 
 " Marry, is she so sweet that she loveth a patched jer- 
 kin ? " 
 
 " Her mistress is not a patch upon her; and her mistress 
 is Donna Elvira," 
 
 " What ! wouldst make the maid weep also ? " 
 
 "I would rather the maid wept than Leporello. See, 
 'tis the house, and behold Elvira at the window. I will 
 speak to her Elvira ! dear Elvira ! " 
 
 " Who speaketh ? Methinks 'tis the voice of the per- 
 jured Don Juan ! " 
 
 "'Tis Juan, who prays thee to forgive him." 
 
 " My faith ! Of a verity I believe she will trust him. 
 O rare ! O rare ! " 
 
 " Thou art a traitor, Juan." 
 
 " Nay, descend, love, that I may kiss thy tears away.'* 
 
 "Methinks, I shall very fairly crack with laughing. 
 This is good. This is good, rare." 
 
 " Dear Elvira, come to me, come to me." 
 
 " She yieldeth now. By my faith, I would I had such 
 a deft tongue i' my head. She hath left the window." 
 
 " Friend Leporello, dost thou not admire me ?" 
 
 " Master, if thou comest not from heaven, of a surety I 
 know thy cradle 'tis below, master, 'tis below ! " 
 
 " Now remember thee of this. When she cometh out, 
 smother her in thy arms. Speak as I speak, yet not fine 
 like a woman. Then deftly discourse her away." 
 
 " Good. But if she find me out? " 
 
 " Then hsidst thou best scarify thyself." 
 
 " Good. My faith, a pretty posture mine. I will leavo 
 this master. I Avill leave him." 
 
 Here the luckless lady came from the house. 
 
 " Nay Juan, did I ever think my sorrow would melt thy 
 heart. Thou dost, then, repent thee of thy desertion?"
 
 44 TALES FROM THE OPEBAS. 
 
 Aye, do I." 
 
 " I have sighed as the south wind sigheth all the long 
 night through." 
 
 Eugh." 
 
 " But thou wilt never leave me again." 
 
 "Angel, never." 
 
 a Thou wilt forever be mine." 
 
 Eugh." 
 
 " And thou wilt never deceive me again ? " 
 
 Ne e ver." 
 
 " Thou wilt swear." 
 
 u I swear by this kiss upon thy hand." 
 
 " Ha ! ha ! ho ! the guard, the guard." Thus cried Don 
 Juan, while the unfortunate lady ran quickly away. 
 
 The don was about to enter at the open door, when he 
 stopped suddenly, as he sawMasetto come stealthily along, 
 accompanied by some friends. For the young Zerliua's 
 sake he was interested. 
 
 " Now, who goeth there ? " 
 
 " A friend ; my faith, 'tis Masetto. Ah, Masetto ! What, 
 knowest thou me not ? " 
 
 " Why, thou art the very foul one's servant ! " 
 
 u Don Juan's ; ah, 'tis a base man, Masetto ; a base 
 man. I have left him for a godly service." 
 
 " Truly ? But canst thou tell me where I shall find 
 him, for we would fain cudgel him to death ? " 
 
 " Good. I will help you, my master, to punish this sin- 
 ner unparalleled. He is near at hand, my masters, and 
 making love, for he hath a rare habit of making love. Go 
 you all. I and Masetto will follow you." 
 
 So the peasants went off stealthily on their toes, each 
 hoping to have a hand in towelling the don. 
 
 u So, Masetto, thou wilt cudgel him to the death." 
 
 " To the very death ; good." 
 
 " Wouldst not be satisfied with a few broken bones?" 
 
 " Talk not to me of broken bones only, he shall soon 
 know of no bones, marry." 
 
 " Thou'rt well armed, friend ? " 
 
 " A cudgel, sir, i'faith such as shall make a broad- 
 chested man fly before thee ; feel not its weight. Oh, oh. 
 My head, mercy o' my head. My back, wouldst twitter
 
 DON GIOVANNI. 45 
 
 my back to a jelly ? Marry, now, 'twas an awful thwack 
 to the elbow ; help, oh, oh. See Avhat 'tis to trust people. 
 Help ! " 
 
 Here the don finding his vicious arm quite weak, stole 
 away in the dark, each of Masetto's " helps " growing 
 fainter and fainter. 
 
 Now little Zerlina had followed her rustic affar off, and 
 when she heard his yells, she came with quite a run to his 
 side. Arrived there, she saw no one near him ; but he 
 was still yelling, and rubbing all of his back he could get 
 at. 
 
 " Masetto, Masetto, what hast thou ? " 
 
 " By my faith, what have I not ? I am beaten to a 
 jelly ! " 
 
 " Who hath beaten thee ? " 
 
 " A man of a foul tongue and a strong arm." 
 
 "Where is he?" 
 
 " I know not, but that he is gone. Why art thou here ? 
 Oh, gadabout, why art thou here ? " 
 
 "Thou art jealous. again." 
 
 " Why art thou here ? Now answer me that, straightly 
 and purely." 
 
 " Thou shalt see, O dearest, what my answer is. For a 
 reason that no money could purchase nor art wrest from 
 me that thou mightst lay thy hand thy hand here on 
 my heart." 
 
 Whereon the jealous young rustic marched home ap- 
 peased. 
 
 CHAPTER YI. 
 
 THE worthy servant and the worthy master were once 
 more together ; they met in the cemetery. 
 
 The don was wondering how his servant had managed 
 with the Donna Elvira, when that valuable factotum ran 
 up against his master. 
 
 " This master will destroy me." 
 
 " What ! dost ruffle with thy master ? " 
 
 " Yes, I say again would I bad never known this 
 master."
 
 46 TALES FROM THE OPEEAS. 
 
 What, rapscallion ! " 
 
 " I tell thee I have rarely escaped a murdering business 
 and I love not blood, ray master ; no, I love not blood." 
 
 " 'Twould be an honor to lose blood for thy master's 
 sake." 
 
 "Faith ! I would sooner keep it for mine own." 
 
 u Come, I have rare adventures to tell thee." 
 
 " Good master, tell them me at home ; but, master, what 
 devilment bvings thee here ? " 
 
 " I have had a wondrous adventure." 
 
 " The poor woman ! " 
 
 " I met her in the street. Thou may'st guess, I briskly 
 went to her. Take her by the hand, do I ? Aye, yes. 
 "When, thou dog, whom, thinkest thou, she took me for? 
 Thyself was it? Yes, then." 
 
 " For me ! then, master, that woman hath abused her- 
 self in this, for I will have nought to do with the sex." 
 
 " But, faith ! she soon finds I am not Leporello, and 
 then doth she yell so as to wake the happiest sleepers. 
 I' faith ! I leapt over the wall, and here am" I. Ha, ha, 
 ha!" 
 
 " Good*! rare ! my master. Ha, ha, ha ! " 
 
 " BEFORE THE DAWN THIS MIRTH SHALL DIE ! " 
 
 "Who speaketh?" 
 
 "Master as I tremble and I would not say I do not 
 tremble ; for as I have a soul, I tremble vastly 'tis some 
 spirit from the other world who knows thee better even 
 than I do." 
 
 " Peace, fool ! Who speaketh ? " 
 
 "MAN WEIGHED DOWN WITH CRIME, DRPART FROM 
 AMIDST THE HOLY DEAD." 
 
 " Did I not say 'twas a spirit, master ? A very gentle 
 spirit, most assuredly." 
 
 " ' Tis some one without the wall, who would affright us. 
 But, prythee, is not that the statue of Don Pedro ? By 
 my faith, 'tis the statue of Don Pedro ! Read the inscrip- 
 tion." 
 
 "I pray thee spare me. My eyes are not diligent in 
 the moonlight." 
 
 " Read, Leporello, read." 
 
 u Yes, master, yes. As I do spell it, it says, * PATIENTLY 
 
 HERE I AWAIT VENGEANCE ON MY DESTROYER.'"
 
 DON GIOVANNI. 47 
 
 " Master, good master, if thou upholdest me not, I fall." 
 
 " Bid him to supper. Ha ! ha ! ha ! " 
 
 " Preserve us, ye saints, how he frowneth. Master, he 
 hath life. He will speak. I would I were conveniently 
 away from here. Master, why dost thou not look at the 
 statue ? " 
 
 " 'Tis not handsome. Now, thou cur, obey me ! " 
 
 " Softly, good master. This is woeful, this is woeful. 
 So please you, gentle statue ; nay, I cannot proceed. I 
 have my heart in my mouth. I would I were at home, 
 this master will most completely destroy me." 
 
 " If thou dost hesitate, I will warm this dagger in thy 
 coward's heart. Now, proceed." 
 
 And he again laughed, still not turning his face to the 
 statue. 
 
 " So please you, gentle statue, for I advise me thou art 
 gentle, if thou art stonely he hath turned his eyes on 
 us : mercy, he hath remarked us." 
 
 " What, thou wilt die, recreant ?" 
 
 " Master, laugh not. So thou hast thy choice of death, 
 Leporello 'tis more than many a sinner; either by fear 
 or by steel thou fallest. Well, well, if I love blood, I 
 know not my likings. Good, master, good. Most gentle 
 of statues, my master, and I pry thee, mark well, 'tis 
 my master, and not I, good statue. Oh Lord ! he hath up 
 and downed his head." 
 
 " Thou art but a pudding, friend Leporello." 
 
 " Granted, I am what I am, yet look, master." 
 
 " And wherefore ? " 
 
 " The statue, which with his stony head goeth thus, up 
 and down, up and down !" 
 
 Then suddenly the don turned and looked for the first 
 time at the statue. 
 
 " Tell me, statue, wilt thou sup with me ? " 
 
 "ES." 
 
 The don started, but his courage was equal to his 
 crimes, so he laughingly bade his servant come and pre- 
 pare the meal. 
 
 " Anywhere and anything, my good master, so that we 
 go from this place. Methinks I am half dead." 
 
 And the servant kept pretty close to his master's heels
 
 48 TAES FROM THE OPERAS. 
 
 till they had quitted the cemetery and the awM speaking 
 statue. 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 THE supper was laid, the don seated. He had forgot- 
 ten his guest. He sat lightly at table, leaning back in a 
 great crimson chair, and chattering gaily to his servant 
 and friend. 
 
 " Leporello, I shall eat a supper as large as thy eyes 
 when thou art frightened." 
 
 " Rare, master, rare." 
 
 " This is a good dish, Leporello." 
 
 " My faith, but I would e'en eat of it too. I would he 
 would ask me." 
 
 " Another plate, good Leporello. Pour out some wine, 
 Leporello." 
 
 " Verily, if I do not eat, I shall fail in my strength. 
 Faith, I will steal, 'tis not much more on my conscience." 
 
 " Leporello, my friend, whistle." 
 
 " He fain would stay my eating." 
 
 " Marry, how doth a man whistle, master ? " 
 
 " Not with his mouth full." 
 
 " Master, lay it down that 'tis no fault of mine. The 
 cook is too good ; he ia a tempter." 
 
 Here there sounded a terrible tramp which shook the 
 mansion. 
 
 " Preserve us, saints ; what is that my master ? " 
 
 Again the awful sound broke over the house. 
 
 " 'Tis a wondrous uncouth noise, Leporello ! " 
 
 Again the sound came, like the footsteps of an iron-shod 
 giant. 
 
 " Go thou to the door." 
 
 Yet once more the footsteps sounded. Nearer now. 
 
 The servant ran from the room and then came stagger- 
 ing back, shutting the folding doors after him, as though 
 for safety. 
 
 " Help, master ! help ! methinks I am dying ! " 
 
 Yet once more the sound was heard. Then a summons 
 at the door of the room called the don's attention.
 
 DON GIOVANNI. 49 
 
 " Leporello, some one knocketh open." 
 
 Still this man's courage held good. Surely he was as 
 courageous as wicked. 
 
 " Open the door, I say." 
 
 " Nay, master, I cannot move." 
 
 " Then must I." 
 
 And he went to the door, and opened it. There stood 
 the white statue of the murdered Don Pedro. Implaca- 
 ble, destructive. 
 
 "DoN JUAN, THOU DIDST INVITE ME TO THY SUP- 
 PER ; BEHOLD THY GUEST!" 
 
 Still mighty in his courage at least. 
 
 "I did not expect thee. Leporello, fresh dishes." 
 
 " Master, master, we are lost ! " 
 
 " MY PRESENCE HERE IS THAT I MAY SPEAK WITH 
 
 THEE ! " 
 
 " Thou art polite." 
 
 " THOU HAST INVITED ME TO THY TABLE WILT 
 
 THOU BE MY GUEST?" 
 
 Here the first evidence of fear showed itself, in nervous- 
 ly tearing a candle from its socket an.d quickly walking 
 round the visitor. As he ended that tour, he trembled, 
 and the wax-light fell from his hand. 
 
 But he suddenly seemed to find fresh courage, and he 
 flung himself easily into a chair. 
 
 " WlLT THOU BE MY GUEST?" 
 
 " By the rood, master, say thou we are engaged."" 
 
 " I will come with thee ; I will be thy guest. I never 
 yet feared ; I never will." 
 
 "THEN THOU ACCEPTEST?" 
 
 " Good master, if you love me, say no. This master of 
 mine will surely destroy me." 
 
 " I say I will be thy guest." 
 
 " THY HAND UPON IT." 
 
 " Behold it ! " 
 
 Then he trembled again, for as he touched the hand tho 
 chill of death crept through him. 
 
 " REPENT, AMEND THY LIFE, OR DIE ! " 
 
 This was a threat, so it renewed all his fatal courage. 
 
 " I will not repent ; I will not amend my life 1 Let me 
 die, then ! " 
 
 3
 
 50 TALES FROM THE OFEBAS. 
 
 "REPENT, I SAT, AMEND THY LITE, OR THOU SHALT 
 
 SURELY DIE ! " 
 
 " No, no, no ! " 
 
 "THY TIME HAS PAST 'TIS TOO LATE TO HOPE DIE!'* 
 
 " What is this sudden fear which weighs me down ? 
 Lost, lost ! I see the flames rising to me. Lost, lost ! " 
 
 SO, IF WE REPENT NOT WE SHALL SURELY DEE.
 
 LA TRAVIATA. (VERDI.) 
 
 (THE LOST ONE.) 
 ("LA DAME AUX CAMELIAS.") 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 [THE author makes no apology for laying before hia 
 readers the tale of this popular opera, for never yet was 
 fester cured by covering it up. Whereby, he means to 
 say that no social wrong will be remedied, if the mention 
 of it be ignored. But "La Dame aux Camelias" does 
 not only rest upon this justification, it has yet another, 
 "morality" itself. Let any unprejudiced man take the 
 younger Alexandre Dumas's play, (I do not say the novel 
 of the same name, which is terribly inferior,) and read it 
 through, and I think he will admit, if he has read thought- 
 fully, that it is perhaps one of the best homilies he has 
 ever perused. Let us now consider the subject. The 
 heroine was a notorious woman, rich, handsome, courted. 
 Seen going in her carriage to the opera, seen at balls, at 
 gardens, always courted, always ffeted ; did she not excite 
 envy in the heart of many a pretty girl, leaning on the 
 arm of a not rich father ? Dead her history before the 
 world, on the stage ' let this said pretty girl see the real 
 life of this woman, and her envy will change to pity ; 
 surely, a better armor than envy to defend her virtue! 
 Let her look into the depths of that life, with no hope, 
 one brilliant blank, surrounded by selfishness, and ahnost 
 without a friend, and it will be no worthless lesson. Ob- 
 serve that all through the play the heroine is sad, and 
 even in her poor yearnings after virtue, she does injury. 
 And setting aside this real character, however, the play is 
 a magnificent exposition of the heartlessness of sinful life, 
 which may be read with profit by us all.]
 
 62 TALES FROM THE OPERAS. 
 
 There were many present, great lords and gentlemen, 
 and several women. They were waiting for Marguerite's 
 return. 
 
 What Marguerite was, all knew. The reigning beauty 
 and toast of Paris. The woman for whom men fought 
 duels, and before whom jewellers bowed low. She had 
 more diamonds than the richest lady at court. Her car- 
 riages were perfection, her house as sumptuously furnished 
 as a nobleman's. 
 
 And yet how wretched was her life. Not a young 
 mother toiling for her children's bread, but she envied ; 
 and though she had thousands of diamonds, she had not 
 a single friend. To be sure her maid liked her, but she 
 sighed for one nearer and dearer. 
 
 Rich men feted her and named her with honor over 
 their wine, but she knew how little their friendship was 
 worth ; and so, amidst all her admirers and female 
 companions, she was as lonely as a land bird on a rock at 
 sea, and she as often sighed as would the wind about that 
 same barren rock. 
 
 Well, on this night her house was full of company, 
 waiting her return from the opera. 
 
 She soon came amongst them, radiant, splendidly dress- 
 ed, and apparently as joyous as any there. But now and 
 then she coughed, for near her always sat an unseen skele- 
 ton, holding an hour glass. 
 
 This evening, a gentleman named Armand was intro- 
 duced to her, who, it was declared, had loved her for a 
 long time, but who was too timid to tell her so. 
 
 Some one proposing to dance, Marguerite started up 
 and began waltzing, but soon her cough came upon her, 
 and she was obliged to sit down half-fainting. 
 
 The youth Armand ran to her, almost stranger as he 
 was. . -""You suffer," lady ! " 
 
 " Oh ! no, no ! take no heed of me ; leave me for a 
 little, and I shall soon be myself again." 
 
 They left the room, laughing and chattering (so used 
 were they to her attacks) ; but the youth called Armand 
 came gently back, as this poor lady looked at herself in a 
 glass, with affright. 
 
 M You are still pale "
 
 LA TK A VI AT A. 53 
 
 u Ah ! 'tis you, Monsieur Armand ! Thank you, I am 
 better; besides, I have grown accustomed to these at- 
 tacks." 
 
 " If I were your friend, your relation, I would say you 
 are killing yourself, and would prevent you from con- 
 tinuing this wretched life." 
 
 " Bah ! you could not prevent me ; but tell me, why 
 are you yourself so pale ? " 
 
 " I am sorry, perhaps, as I look upon you." 
 
 " You are very gentle ; you see the others take no 
 notice of me " 
 
 "Perhaps perhaps they do not love you as I do, 
 lady." 
 
 "Ah! I forgot, this grand secret love of yours." 
 
 "You are laughing at me, lady." 
 
 "No, no no, no not laughing; I have heard the 
 same declaration so often that I do not laugh at it." 
 
 " Ah ! well, make some return for it, so take care of 
 your health." 
 
 " Take care of my health, my friend ! If I did, I should 
 die at once. Bah ! I can but live in this feverish life. 
 Truly, good women, with families and friends, may seek 
 quiet and rest, not such as I. The moment we cease to 
 attract, we are alone, and our days then are so long, so 
 long. Did I not keep my bed two months? At the end 
 of the third week my last visitor came to see me ! " 
 
 He again urged her to watch over her herself. She 
 laughingly told him his countenance was too long. When 
 he asked if she had a heart, she said 'twas the only thing 
 left to such as her to throw away. 
 
 He looked so sad at her jesting, that she grew grave 
 herself, and she said, " So, this passion is real ? " 
 
 He told her he had followed her from place to place, 
 and when she lay ill, inquired each day alter her health. 
 
 " Why did you not ask to see me ? " 
 
 " What right had I to ask ? " 
 
 " Right ! Do men stand on ceremony with me ? So, 
 you say you love me ? Now, let me be your friend, and 
 give you this advice shake me by the hand, and let us 
 part good friends, and for ever." 
 
 " As you will as you will, good friend, and for ever."
 
 54 TALES FROM THE OPERAS. 
 
 " Ah ! you are so far gone as that, my friend ! Many 
 men have told me they would not return, but have come 
 back on the morrow." 
 
 He was going towards the door, when she called him 
 back. M See you, I shall not have long to live, and 'tis 
 but right I should live as I choose through my short span. 
 But I tell you, if I believed your protestations, they would 
 live even for a shorter time than I myself shall. Well, 
 well, perhaps you have a good heart who knows? Not 
 I. And you seem sincere ; perhaps you are for the mo- 
 ment. For this you should have some reward ; take this 
 flower. You know they call me the Lady of the Came- 
 lias, because I always carry a bouquet of those beautiful 
 flowers. Oh ! I give it you that you may return it to me. 
 When ? When 'it is faded." 
 
 " And in how short a time will that be ? 
 
 " The time in which all flowers fade, the duration of 
 an evening, or a morning. Good bye, good bye." 
 
 She fell into a reverie as the youth left her, but she was 
 soon startled from it by the cries from the other room. 
 
 The next moment they came running in, as he joined 
 them, and was soon as merry as the merriest among them. 
 
 Yet not for one mere moment was she really happy. 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 AWAY from the hot, crowded city away from the 
 brilliantly lighted ball room. Away to a peaceful cottage 
 before which rippled a lake, while round the trees whis- 
 pered sorrowing peace through the livelong day. 
 
 Living at peace, but not happy. No, not for one mo- 
 ment happy. Always before her flitting in the air, the 
 menacing fatal future, always treading on a flowery path 
 resting on a volcano. 
 
 Again, want stepped in. These ladies always live up 
 to the extent of their means; so, if money suddenly fails 
 them, they are quite poor. Not actual want of bread, hut 
 want of luxuries, which are necessities to them. Besides, 
 she had debts : and when she deserted her gay life in Paris,
 
 LA TRAVIATA. 55 
 
 her creditors, who knew of her miserable health, noisily 
 demanded payment. She kept all this from the man 
 whom she had grown to honestly love. So first her car- 
 riage, then her diamonds, then her cashmeres went to ap- 
 pease the raging creditors, and pay their daily bills. The 
 youth was poor, there was no income now. So they liv- 
 ed, and she staved off debts by the sale of the presents of 
 old admirers. 
 
 A Avretched life truly, and useful only as a warning. 
 
 He learnt dt last the sacrifices she was making, and 
 grew ashamed of himself. He had a small fortune of his 
 own, and at least he was honorable enough to make prep- 
 arations to throw it into the common vortex. He wrote 
 to his lawyer, desiring him to dispose of his entire prop- 
 erty ; and a few days after, telling her he had important 
 business in the city, and bidding her keep up her spirits, 
 left the cottage, and came to Paris, meaning to carry his 
 poor fortune back to her, and bid her place it in the com- 
 mon bank. 
 
 Gone. Marguerite sat dreaming of her past life and 
 her present position : who, she asked herself, would have 
 thought that she, the gayest of the gay, should ever love 
 such a tranquillity as she now enjoyed passing days as 
 happy as hers could be wholly with one whom, but three 
 months ago, she did not even know. She would sit for 
 hours hearing him read, and wonder when those hours 
 had fled. At times she doubted whether she was the 
 same woman pictured her other self, still living the old 
 weary life. And and then she perhaps hoped that, 
 away there in the hot bustling city, they had forgotten 
 her. She often pictured herself gorgerously attired, the 
 brilliant center of a ball-room crowd, and then shudder- 
 ing at the sight, she turned from it, and saw herself seat- 
 ed near this new lover in their boat upon the lake and 
 quietly gliding on the peaceful moonlit waters. She asked 
 herself, Who would take this to be Marguerite ? 
 
 She sat thinking, thinking for a long time, and at last 
 she had a glimpse of such a bright future that she feared 
 she might never live to reach it. She would sell all she 
 possessed, all that could remind her of the past, and then 
 they would live quietly in a couple of little rooms, and
 
 56 TALKS FROM THE OPERAS. 
 
 live as honest as they might. This was the first break of 
 light in her gloomy life. Nevertheless, a great storm was 
 gathering about her. We set up our little plans, we poor 
 mortals, and the wind passes by and blows them down as 
 easily as a breath overthrows the houses of cards, that 
 children build on winters' evenings. 
 
 The lawyer had, with great prudence, warned the young 
 man's father of the proposed sale. Coming up to Paris, 
 the old man learnt the whole dismal truth. Portions of 
 it had filtered home, indeed, and had done harm there ; 
 terrible harm ; but no idea had the father that his son ac- 
 tually proposed to ruin himself for this lost woman. 
 
 Duval, the father, immediately took steps to discover 
 his son's residence ; and upon the very day that Armand 
 left his quiet country house for Paris, the father turned 
 his face towards it. 
 
 Marguerite was still dreaming now hopefully when 
 a servant came and said that a gentleman wished to 
 speak with her. 
 
 Given permission to enter, an old gentleman came in 
 with a quick, haughty step, and suddenly announced him- 
 self as the youth's father. 
 
 Trembling, she answered that his son was not in the 
 house. 
 
 " I know that, but 'tis with you I woiild speak. I pre- 
 sume that you know my son is degraded, and is ruining 
 himself by remaining with you." 
 
 " Pardon ; I know that no one speaks of me, and that I 
 have not ruined your son. I have received not one piece 
 of money from him." 
 
 " By which you mean to say that my son is fallen so 
 low as to dissipate with you what you have received from 
 others." 
 
 Pardon me again; I am a woman, and in my own 
 house; two reasons which demand your courtesy, and 
 and you will allow me to to leave you." 
 
 "Truly, as I look upon and hear you, madame, I can 
 hardly believe the scandals I have heard of you, you, who 
 I have been told, are dangerous company." 
 
 u Dangerous to myself, perhaps." 
 
 " But this lawyer's letter, does it not prove my poor
 
 LA TKAVIATA. 57 
 
 Bon's ruin? does it not show he is realizing all he is 
 worth?" 
 
 She took the letter in her hand, and glanced hastily 
 over its contents. 
 
 " I declare to you I know nothing of this act. I de- 
 clare to you that your son knows I would refuse to take 
 money from him." 
 
 " You have not always spoken so." 
 
 " I have not always been the woman that I am." 
 
 The unfortunate creature then burst into an incoherent 
 "declaration of her passion for the youth, but the disbe- 
 lieving gentleman merely shrugged his shoulders. 
 
 She added she knew the oaths of such as she were not 
 believed, yet she could swear she knew nothing of Ar- 
 niand's collecting his fortune into his own hands; but 
 M. Duval, still being in doubt, she nervously took from a 
 drawer a folded paper, and gave it into his hands. 
 
 It was a paper on which she had noted down what each 
 of her valuables would probably realize ; and, as her visit- 
 or had come without warning, he saw that she could not 
 have prepared it in anticipation of his present visit. 
 Then, believing her words were time, he began to show a 
 courtesy to her which an hour before he would not have 
 dreamed of using. Indeed, he expressed himself sorry 
 that he had entered so abruptly, and told her that he 
 thought, perhaps, she had a good heart after all. " And," 
 he added, " perhaps so good that it will prompt you to 
 make a sacrifice greater than all you have yet made."_ 
 
 She trembled violently ; but strong in his duty, the old 
 man went mercilessly on. 
 
 Gradually as he proceeded, the place grew dark around 
 her ; gradually all happiness drifted away, and she was 
 left tossing about on a sea of troubles quite alone, with 
 no guide, no hope. 
 
 lie began by saying he had more than one child he 
 had a daughter, whose happiness rested on her brother's 
 will. She might be married, but on one condition that 
 her brother led an honest life. As- Marguerite covered 
 her mouth, that she might saVe herself from hearing her 
 own cry of terror, he added, that away in the provinces, 
 they looked more severely on sin than they did in large 
 3*
 
 68 TALES FROM THE OPERAS. 
 
 cities ; and indeed he had that morning received a letter 
 from the father of his daughter's proposed husband, which 
 peremptorily said that if Armand did not at once break ofl 
 his connexion with Marguerite, all intercourse between the 
 families must immediately cease. " See," he continued, 
 " refined as you may have become, even in my eyes, by 
 3 our affection for my son, the world will only look on 
 your past life, and will forever close its doors to you." 
 
 She said she comprehended, and would obey him. She 
 must leave his son for a time only for a time ? And 
 he might write to her ? 
 
 He required more she must leave his son altogether 
 for good. 
 
 She said, " Never, never ! " And with pardonable 
 selfishness she cried, " that dying, as she was, having but 
 a few years of life left she had built upon these few years 
 for peace and love near the man who had reclaimed her. 
 To leave him, it would kill her." 
 
 " No, no my child, not kill you. Let us be calm and 
 do not let us exaggerate. You take for a mortal disease 
 that which is but the fatigue of a weary life ; you will not 
 die before that age when we are all prepared to die, I 
 hope. I may seem severe, but consider that you have 
 known my son but for three months, and I will believe 
 that you love him; but shall your love supplant ours? 
 Shall your love destroy a whole future, for in staying near 
 my son, you do destroy his future. And again, are you 
 sure this love will last ? Are you sure of yourself? And 
 if now, a little later, you should dethrone him. And, 
 pardon me your past justifies the supposition. Again, 
 can he be sure of himself? Can you both, at your ages, 
 be sure of yourselves of your hearts. Consider this 
 he who loves you so now, but a little time gone by poured 
 out his wealth of love on us at home. Hearts will change 
 does not a man love his wife more than he loves his 
 parents? Then his children more than his wife? If 
 nature gives prodigally, she extorts rigorously. I say, you 
 may be deceiving yourselves, both of you. This is a 
 probability. Now will you* see realities certainties, for 
 you are listening to me, are you not ? " 
 
 She answered him but with a look j a long, terrible, 
 miserable look.
 
 LA TRAVIATA. 59 
 
 ^ You are willing to sacrifice all to my son, and what 
 equal sacrifice can he offer to you ? He shall bask in your 
 best years, and later on, when he is sated and satiety 
 will come what shall happen? If he be worldly, lie 
 will spread your past before you and leave you, saying, he 
 does but as others luve done. And if he be an honest 
 man, he will marry you, or at least not desert you. Ana 
 this marriage, or this life, not based on virtue, nor support- 
 ed by religion, this life, pardonable, perhaps, in a young 
 man, how shall it be named, when age is creeping on ? 
 For this man, for my son, what ambition dare he breathe, 
 what path is open to him ? What consolation shall this 
 son then be to me to me, who have watched and tend- 
 ed him for twenty years ? Your love for each other it 
 is a passion, the most earthly and wholly human, it is 
 born of the caprice of one, and the imagination of the 
 other. Your love is a result, not a cause. What shall 
 remain of it when you are both grown old and weary ? 
 Who assures you that the first wrinkle on your forehead 
 shall not sweep the veil from his eyes? Who assures you 
 his love shall not pass away with your youth." 
 
 "On, THE TRUTH, THE TRUTH?" 
 
 " Then yours would be double agCj doubly desolate, 
 and doubly useless. What retrospect would you have, 
 what happiness- to look back upon? Ah, Marguerite, 
 there are cruel necessities in this ijfe, against which we 
 must fight, if we would not be dashed to death against 
 them. You and my son have different roads in life ; 
 chance has thrown you together for a little while, but 
 reason must separate you. In the life you have entered, 
 you saw not the end, and to your three months' happi- 
 ness no more can be added. Keep the remembrance of 
 this time, and let it strengthen you always. I speak 
 harshly, but consider that I plead where I might com- 
 mand. It is a man of the world who speaks to you, a 
 fat hoi- who implores you. So, Marguerite, courage, and 
 show you love my son truly, by leaving him to the care 
 of those who have a family claim upon his obedience." 
 
 " So she who falls shall never rise." (She was speak- 
 ing lowly to herself.) " Heaven may pardon me, the world 
 never. And truly, yphat right have I to a place in this
 
 60 TALES FROM THE OPERAS. 
 
 honest family? Hove! What reason! And what proofs 
 can I give of this love? Who would believe them? 
 What, poor girl thou to speak of heart, and future 
 these are new words to thee. Look back on thy past, 
 what man would call thee wife? What child would call 
 thee mother?" 
 
 Then turning to her visitor, she said : " Nearly all 
 you have said I have half asked myself oh, how often, 
 but never, never wholly. Yon are right, you speak kindly, 
 and you are very merciful. Ah well, I will obey you, and 
 one day you will say to the pure honest girl, your daugh- 
 ter once there lived a poor en-ing woman who had but 
 one hope in the world, and at the invocation of thy name, 
 this erring woman renounced that hope, laid her hands 
 heavily upon her breast, and so died ; for I shall die, I 
 shall die. You say, ' poor creature,' you pity me, sir, and 
 methinks you even weep. Ah well, I tell you I will obey 
 you ; command me." 
 
 " Tell him that you love him no more." 
 
 " He would not believe me." 
 
 " Leave this place." 
 
 " He would follow me. You hesitate ? Sir, lay your 
 hand upon my head as you would upon your daughter's 
 head. And now I promise you that in eight days he shall 
 be with you, unhappy perhaps, but wholly cured, and I 
 promise you that he shall know nothing of this visit ; oh, 
 fear nothing, he shall HATE me." 
 
 Yet a little and the father was leaving the room. 
 " And," she murmured, " when all is ended, and I am dead, 
 I pray you tell him how I loved, and proved my love. 
 Good bye ; we shall, perhaps, never see each other more. 
 I pray you may be happy." 
 
 Left to herself, she sat down, miserably, and wrote a 
 letter which was to destroy his love for her. But it was 
 still unfinished when he arrived. She hid the paper, and 
 trembled. 
 
 After a time she walked quickly from the room, saying 
 she should soon return. 
 
 And she was gone to return no more.
 
 LA TRAYIATA. 61 
 
 He waited as the night came on. Then, growing unac- 
 countably frightened, called for lights. No one answered. 
 Running from the room to the grounds, he shrieked out 
 her name. No answer. He ran over the house ; it was 
 deserted. She and her servants had left the place, and it 
 was silent and lifeless. 
 
 And still, hoping against hope, he wandered about the 
 house in search of his lost love. 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 BACK into the dreadful life she had left. Away from 
 the placid lake and whispering trees. Again feasting, and 
 heartlessness, and golden misery. Armand soon learnt 
 that she had abandoned him for another. He cursed her 
 very name ; but she was wrong in thinking he would hate 
 her ; wrong in thinking he would hasten to the home 
 where he was born. He came to Paris, and waited angri- 
 ly for revenge. 
 
 Marguerite's new protector was a man immensely fond 
 of pleasure, and in spite of her protestations, would drag 
 her from theati-e to ball room, and from house to house. 
 
 She suffered horribly. Her old complaint burst out 
 anew, her cough came back again, and she was once more 
 a poor ailing creature, whose great beauty grew each day 
 less and less. 
 
 One night, a month after her flight, the poor woman, 
 quite against her will, was present at a ball given by one 
 of the reigning belles of wicked Paris. 
 
 Entering the room, she shrank back, for there sat Ar- 
 mand. He had not visited many of these gay places 
 since she had left him, and his entrance here had created 
 some surprise amongst the guests. Many looked to see 
 how the old lovers would meet. As she entered he looked 
 up from a card table. She smiled timidly ; he bowed to 
 her coldly. She told her companion that she would rath- 
 er not remain ; but he also, marking her old lover, said he 
 would not be laughed at, and insisted upon her keeping 
 in the room. She obeyed, and sat timidly down.
 
 62 TALES FROM THE OPERAS. 
 
 Armand played high, and some one remarking it, he 
 said he was trying the force of the old proverb, "Unlucky 
 in love, lucky at cards." " Oh, I mean to make a fortune 
 to-night, -then spend it in the country. And not alone; 
 with some one who has lived in the country as well as I 
 have perhaps when I am rich." 
 
 Marguerite's companion hearing the player's menace, 
 went up to the table, and commenced playing. lie lost, 
 and every time he lost, the other gained. 
 
 Soon afterwards, supper was called, and all the compa- 
 ny made for the table where it was laid, all except Mar- 
 guerite, who remained seated, depressed both in body and 
 mind. 
 
 She had scarcely been alone a minute, before Armand 
 came running to her. He loved her as fervently as ever. 
 As she perceived his ardor, she felt almost tempted to tell 
 him the whole truth of her flight, but the promise to his 
 father stayed her. At last, he prayed her to fly with him 
 again, saying he would forget the past. But no, she re- 
 fused. Again and again he implored, yet she was obdu- 
 rate. 
 
 Then he grew enraged mad ; he rushed to the supper 
 room, screamed to them to see him do an act of justice ; 
 and, as they came streaming out and round about, he took 
 from his pocket all his winnings, and cried, "You seo 
 that woman ! well, do you know what she has done for 
 me ? She sold her horses and her carriages, and her dia- 
 monds, that she might live with me so much did she 
 love me. Was not that noble ? And I what did I do? 
 I, a mean wretch, accepted the sacrifice, and gave no pay- 
 ment. But 'tis not too late, and I would repair my shame. 
 See you all, I pay this Marguerite, and I owe her naught." 
 
 As he spoke, he flung a heap of bank notes and gold at 
 the feet of this miserable woman, who fell heavily back 
 upon a sofa, mercifully deprived of sense. Down they 
 rained upon her, the notes and gold ; down they fell 
 crushing her as surely as though they had been jagged 
 rocks.
 
 LA TRAVIATA. 63 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 CONQUERED, weak, and dying, she lay upon her bed in 
 the joyous carnival time. While all Paris was gay and 
 merry, she was drawing her last breath. 
 
 Misery, degradation, desertion, and consumption, had 
 done their worst ; they had destroyed her, but not wholly 
 killed her beauty. Far, far from the brilliant creature who 
 had ruled over so many but a short time before, she was 
 yet beautiful as she lay upon her bed, awake, and heavily 
 breathing through the dark hours of the night. 
 
 Now and then she would fall into a feverish sleep, but 
 only to start back into wakefulness, as a bevy of masques 
 returned home from their revels, singing as they went. 
 What a contrast! the poor dying creature lying there, and 
 below in the streets the heedless revellers, shouting their 
 noisy songs, and dancing madly through the otherwise de- 
 serted streets. 
 
 She knew that she had not many days to live, and yet 
 she had one glorious hope, possessing which she looked 
 back upon her blank despair with horror. 
 
 It was three months since the catastrophe at the ball. 
 Her protector and Armand had met and fought, and the 
 former been slightly wounded. This was the joy: he 
 knew the whole truth or would know it. His father had 
 promised that when she died he. should know all. But 
 alas ! after the duel he had left Paris, and no one knew 
 where he had hidden himself. To think that he might 
 know that her very love had bidden her leave him, and 
 that he himself was now the only cause of his ignorance. 
 Yc't there was plenty of time, plenty of time ; and before 
 she died she should surely see him. 
 
 M my of her companions and friends had forgotten her 
 by this time. But when her waiting woman came in that 
 morning, she had half-a-dozen new year's presents for the 
 patient ; so she was not forgotten altogether. 
 
 The faithful doctor soon came, he who had so patiently 
 tended her, without fee or reward. 
 
 Asking her how she was, she replied that she was bet-
 
 64 TALES FROM THE OPERAS. 
 
 ter and worse, worse in body, better in mind. The night 
 before, she said, she felt so surely that she was dying that 
 she sent for a priest. She welcomed him heartily, she add- 
 ed smiling. How beautiful was religion, the minister 
 came to talk with her for an hour, and then leaving, he 
 carried away with him despair, terror, remorse. Then she 
 said she fell asleep quite peacefully. The doctor promis- 
 ed her health on the very first day in spring. 
 
 Smiling again, she said it was his duty to say so ; an 
 untruth surely was not a sin in a doctor, for he must 
 speak one for every patient he saw. 
 
 For indeed she was much worse that day. 
 
 Moreover, want was tormenting her last hours. Her 
 creditors were again exacting, and almost every hour 
 brought one of them to the door. Indeed, the new year's 
 presents, jewels for the most part, were ordered to be sold 
 almost as soon as seen. 
 
 Left alone, she took from the bosom of her dress a 
 letter. It was one written by M. Duval, saying that his 
 son would soon be with her to entreat his pardon, and the 
 writer's own. It bade her be careful of her health, and 
 said that her courage promised a happy future. For six 
 weeks had she read this letter daily for six weeks of 
 days she had watched for his return, and still she watched 
 sickening with despair one moment only to glow with 
 hope the next. If she could only have a letter from him, 
 if she could only live till the spring why then ? She 
 got slowly up from the soft chair to which she had been 
 led, and eagerly searched her wan face in a looking-glass. 
 " How changed I arn ! yet the doctor has promised to cure 
 me. Oh ! I must have patience. And yet, did he not 
 tell my waiting woman, Nannie, did I not hear him say I 
 was much worse ? Yet, only much worse / there is, then, 
 still some hope, still a few short months to live, and if in 
 that time he comes to me, I shall be saved I SHALL BE 
 SAVED. This is now new year's day, then surely I may 
 hope. And and, besides, if I were really in danger, 
 they all of them, the doctor, Nannie, my old frit-mis, 
 coald not come laughing to my bedside as they do, nor 
 would the doctor leave me." Here she slowly wandered 
 to the window and looked from it. " Ah ! what joy is
 
 LA TRAVIATA. 65 
 
 there not in a family, how beautiful now is that child play- 
 ing with his toys ah, I could die loving that little one." 
 
 Suddenly her maid ran quickly into the room, her face 
 full of joy. " Madame ! madame ! " 
 
 "Well! well!" 
 
 " You are strong to-day you feel quite strong." 
 
 "Yes, but why?" 
 
 " Pray be calm." 
 
 " Yes, yes, but why ? " 
 
 " I would prepare you a sudden joy is so heavy to 
 bear." 
 
 " A joy ? A joy for me ? You have seen him he 
 he is coming! " 
 
 With weak, rapid steps she staggered to the door, and 
 called to him. Then he stood before her, pale and tremb- 
 ling. She fell upon his neck, and clung to him as though 
 he were life. " No, no, it is not thee ; not so much 
 clemency can be shown to such as I am." 
 
 " 'Tis I, Marguerite, and so repentant, and ashamed, so 
 guilty, that I dared not to. pass the threshold. I was 
 afraid to enter ; so I waited till Nannie came to the door, 
 and then I spoke to- her. My father has told me all. I 
 fled, no one knew where, after that night ; travelled night 
 and day, without sleep, without hope, ever pursued by 
 vague presentiments. If I had not found thee, I must 
 have died, for should I not have been the cause of thy 
 death ? Tell me that you pardon me, that you forgive, 
 too, my poor father." 
 
 " I pardon ? I, the guilty one ? And I did what I 
 thought the best for thy happiness, even at the expense 
 of my own. But now, thy father will not separate us 
 again. Ah ! look at me, I am not the creature that you 
 left, yet yet, I am still young, and I shall grow beauti- 
 ful now that I am happy. We will forget the past and 
 commence a new life from this good day." 
 
 " Never to leave thee again never. We will quit the 
 -house. Quit Paris for ever. We will be happy, for our 
 future is our own." 
 
 " Speak on, speak on, my soul burns at thy words, and 
 each moment I gather new strength. I said this morning 
 thou couldst save me, and I was right."
 
 66 TALES FBOM THE OPEUAS. 
 
 Then she said they must go together, and kneel in the 
 nearest church, and pray, and be grateful; and as she 
 spoke she staggered to hor feet again, and called to her 
 maid to bring her a shawl and bonnet. 
 
 As the girl came forward, the youth had a good word 
 for her. 
 
 M Oh," continued the suffering woman, "Nannie and 
 I talked of thee every day, and she always said thou 
 wouldst come back, and she was right. So thou hast seen 
 beautiful countries since that time. Ah! well, now we 
 will see them together." 
 
 "Marguerite, thou hast turned quite pale, and thou art 
 so cold f " 
 
 " Oh, nothing, 'tis nothing," she said, hurriedly, and 
 nervously drawing a thick shawl about her. " The coming 
 in of so much joy; why joy sometimes is as hard to bear 
 as grief itself." 
 
 And then she dropped exhausted upon the nearest 
 chair. 
 
 "Dear Marguerite! speak,. speak to me." 
 
 " Bo not afraid, you know I was always subject to these 
 sudden fits of weakness, but they are gone almost direct- 
 ly. Watch me, thou seest I can smile already. And 
 again I feel strong. 'Twas only the hope of life thrilling 
 through me." 
 
 Taking her thin hand he said, " how thou tremblest." 
 
 " No, no. I will go out. Nannie, give me a bonnet." 
 
 He drew away from her for a moment in horror. 
 
 She again strove to stand, but could not. Then falling 
 upon a seat, she tore off the shawl and cried "I am 
 dying, I am dying." 
 
 As he flung himself down by her side, the serving girl 
 ran from the room, and sped away, crying out that she 
 would go for the doctor. 
 
 " Yes, yes, bring him to me, tell him Armand is here 
 that I want to live that I WILL live. Why, if thy 
 return doth not save me, nothing can ! " 
 
 " Oh, thou wilt live, dearest." 
 
 Sit down beside me, close to me, my husband, and hear 
 me." She spoke very quietly, very faintly. " But a mo- 
 ment since I raged against death. I am sorry for my
 
 LA TBAVIATA. 67 
 
 fault. It is right that I should die, and I love death now 
 that it has spared me to see thee once again. Ah, if my 
 death had not been sure, thy father would never have 
 bade thee come to me." 
 
 "Marguerite, speak not of death. I shall go mad. 
 Say no more that you will die, say rather that you desire 
 to live." 
 
 " Ah, what is my will ? If I were a good girl, if I 
 were honest, perhaps I should weep to leave the world, 
 and leave you behind, for then the future would be full 
 of hope ; my past life would then let me hope. Dying, 
 thou wilt hold me in gentle remembrance ; living, there 
 would ever be a gloom upon our love. Believe me, all is 
 for the best ; what is done, is well done." 
 
 In an agony of grief he clung about her. 
 
 " What then it is I who must give thee courage ! 
 Gently obey me. Open that little drawer, you will find 
 there my portrait, when they told me I was pretty. Keep 
 it, for it will help thee to remember me. But if some 
 day, there cometh a kindly honest girl who will love and 
 marry thee, as it should be, as I hope it may be, and if 
 she should find this portrait, tell her it is the likeness of 
 a friend who, if she may reach the obscurest corner of 
 heaven, will pray for her happiness. If though she is 
 jealous of the past (as we women are sometimes), if she 
 demands from you this poor picture, place it in her hand 
 without fear or remorse it Avill be but justice. And 
 now I pardon thee the act, for a loving woman suffers so 
 much when her love is not returned. Thou hast heard 
 me. Dying dying yet happy. Tell them to talk 
 about me sometimes and they will will they not? 
 and and give me your hand. Oh, it is not hai'd to 
 die when one dies happily. But what is this?" 
 
 She stood up for a moment, smiling gloriously ; then 
 she continued, " Why I suffer no more. All pain has 
 left me. Has a new life been breathed into me ? I feel 
 as I have never felt. Am I to live am I to live ? " 
 
 Then she gently sat down again, leant back in her chair, 
 and, sighing softly, became silent. 
 
 "She is sleeping," said Armand to himself his hand 
 still pressed in hers. "Marguerite, Marguerite." 
 
 Still her hand was clasped in his.
 
 68 TALES FROM THE OPERAS. 
 
 " Marguerite Marguerite ! " Still she slept. 
 
 He uttered a loud cry, and started to his feet. But his 
 hand still remained clasped in hers. 
 
 " Marguerite," he again cried, and with a terrible ener- 
 gy, he tore his hand from her grasp. Her own fell 
 placidly to her side. 
 
 He flung himself down at her feet. 
 
 " Dead dead dead."
 
 DON PASQTJALE. (DONIZETTI.) 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 DON" PASQUALE was an old bachelor, and as wealthy as 
 he was old. He was saving, credulous, and obstinate. 
 But for all that Don Pasquale was the best-hearted of 
 dons. 
 
 Now he had a nephew, whose name was Ernesto. This 
 youth had been continually either falling from the heights 
 of his uncle's approbation, or to the depths of his dis- 
 
 Eleasure, only to be raised again the next day. But at 
 ist Ernesto forfeited the don's approbation altogether, for 
 he fell in love with Norina, of whom the don had no good 
 opinion, though, in truth, he had never seen her. In the 
 first place, according to the don, she was flighty ; in the 
 second place, she was impatient ; in the third place, she 
 was fiery ; and the old bachelor had a horror of fiery wo- 
 men. 
 
 So when his nephew showed a disposition to speak in 
 praise of his lady love, the don grew so obstinate and ill- 
 tempered, that his friend, Doctor Malatesta, no longer re- 
 cognized him as the old bachelor companion : Doctor 
 Malatesta had known the bachelor don for more years than 
 he would like to name, and known the nephew as long as 
 the don himself, so he was like one of the family. It may 
 also be stated that the doctor was a practical joker. 
 
 There is but a fourth party to this little tale though 
 she cannot be called one of the family we mean Norina, 
 a young widow, a delightful widow, perhaps impatient, as 
 the don had declared, nay, perhaps even fiery, but for all 
 that she was affectionate and sincere, and amazingly fond 
 of Ernesto. 
 
 Well, it may be said at once, that the nephew persisted 
 in adoring Norina ; the old don then marked out a line 
 of conduct, the effect of which was, that he sat in his 
 breakfast parlor one fine morning, impatiently waiting for
 
 ^70 TALKS FROM THE OPKKAS. 
 
 
 
 his friend Malatesta, and snappishly looking at the clock. 
 Being old and a leetle deaf, he took the first sound he 
 heard to be the doctor's step 'twas only the wind ; then 
 he thought of the " pill " he had prepared for his obsti- 
 nate nephew, moreover his insulting nephew, for that re- 
 lation had gone so far as to indecently call him a donkey 
 call him, Don Pasquale a donkey. 
 
 In the midst of his silent anger, the doctor arrived, a 
 pleasant middle-aged gentleman, with a jolly, pleasant 
 face. 
 
 Well, well," said the don. 
 
 "Well, indeed," said the doctor. 
 
 " What, you have found " 
 
 Yes, indeed." 
 
 The don embraced his friend in the Italian manner, and 
 thereupon did not see the laugh that spread over the doc- 
 tor's merry countenance. 
 
 " Now for her portrait," said the don ; " I am all atten- 
 tion." 
 
 " She is as beautiful as an angel who has missed her 
 way, and wandered to earth ; she is as fresh as a newly- 
 blown lily, and her eyes are like darts that pierce the very 
 heart and whether you shall most admire the blackness 
 of her hair, or the beauty of her smile, who shall say? " 
 
 " Blessed is the man who is blessed with such a wife." 
 
 " And her modesty, and her graoe, and her charity! " 
 
 " Yes, yes, doctor ; and her family ! ** 
 
 " Such a family ! " 
 
 " And her name " 
 
 " Her name is Malatesta." 
 
 " What ! is she related to you ? " 
 
 " A little ; she's my sister." 
 
 " Oh, dear brother! when shall I see her? " 
 
 " To-morrow." 
 
 " 'Tis an age ! this very instant ! " 
 
 " Ah ! " said the doctor, " I can deny naught to a 
 friend." 
 
 Again the don embraced the doctor. 
 
 " This second embrace was not so long as the first. The 
 don ejected his friend from his arms, and eaid rapidly, 
 "Go, go, go."
 
 DON PA8QUALE. 71 
 
 Left to himself, it may be remarked the old don danced 
 with glee. If you have not seen a gingerly old gentle- 
 man in such a situation, you have lost a sight. He was 
 in the midst of this practice, when his nephew, Ernesto 
 came running into the room. 
 
 " Good morning, nephew ! You may sit down." 
 
 " Surely, surely, uncle ! " 
 
 Don't be afraid." 
 
 " Surely, surely, uncle ! " 
 
 " I am not going to scold you. Tell me, did I not, pre- 
 cisely two months ago, offer you the hand of a lady, as 
 rich as beautiful, and as noble as both ? " 
 
 u Surely, surely, uncle ! " 
 
 "And did I not promise to give you all I had?" 
 
 M At your death surely, surely." 
 
 " And did I not say if you refused, I would marry her 
 myself? " 
 
 " That is, marry somebody else surely, surely." 
 
 " Well, you did refuse ; now, I offer you this young lady 
 again will you marry her ? " 
 
 " Surely, surely NO." 
 
 No ! " 
 
 No." 
 
 " You homeless fellow, you ! " 
 
 " You turn me out, uncle ? " 
 
 " Yes, I do, to make room for your aunt." 
 
 "You marry?" 
 
 " Surely, surely, nephew ; I myself, the Don Pasquale, 
 in very flesh and bone." 
 
 " You take my breath away ! " 
 
 " Yes, I myself, the Don Pasquale, sane and sound, I 
 marry." 
 
 " 'Tis a comedy ! " 
 
 " Is it ? Till to-morrow ; wait till to-morrow." 
 
 "Sir, I will." 
 
 " Yes, but not here, in Don Pasquale's house." 
 
 The youth here grew very disconsolate, for indeed he 
 was thinking if his uncle cut him off with that proverbial 
 shilling, he would have to resign the promised hand of 
 somebody whom he had no objection to marry whatever. 
 
 Meanwhile the don was watching him attentively, and 
 half hoping that the youth would consent.
 
 72 TALES FROM THE OPERAS. 
 
 Said Ernesto, after the dismal pause, "Uncle, just tv/o 
 words." 
 
 " Three young man." 
 
 " Don't be rash consult Doctor Malatesta." 
 . "Sir I have consulted him." 
 
 " And what is his advice ? " 
 
 " He is as willing for the match as I. Oh, you may 
 look astonished as willing for the match as I. In fact, 
 nephew between ourselves SHE is HIS SISTER!" 
 
 "The doctor's?" 
 
 " Well, he said so." 
 
 Poor Ernesto. The doctor had always been his best 
 friend, and when the crashing announcement came, he 
 thought Doctor Malatesta would be his man-at-arrns, and 
 now it seemed he had gone over to the enemy. And he 
 looked even more dismal than before, for now, not only 
 had his old love drifted away from him, but his old friend 
 too. 
 
 The don saw these dismal marks of misery with dolo- 
 rous satisfaction the satisfaction arose out of his pride 
 and the dolor was buried in his heart. But for all that 
 he showed his nephew to the door, though it should be 
 said to his honor, that he did not dance when he was 
 alone again. 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 the young widow who had caused all that 
 commotion at the don's domicile, was not so rich as she 
 was beautiful. If she had been, she would have been 
 besieged with lovers ; but she was rich enough to have a 
 home of her own, and she was sitting in it reading on 
 that very morning when the don directed his young 
 nephew's shoes to the street door. 
 
 The doctor had told her he should want her for a cer- 
 tain plot, though he had carefully only raised her curiosity 
 without confiding particulars, and she had taken up the 
 book to divert herself till the doctor, by appointment, 
 should be there.
 
 DON PASQUALE. 73 
 
 The book was a romantic old love tale, and she had got 
 as far as, " Her looks were so heavenly, so delightful, that 
 the Knight Richard, enraptured, fell at her feet, and vow- 
 ed eternal fidelity," when she flung it down, exclaiming 
 to herself, that- she did not want the heavenly lady's 
 instructions in the art of love-making. She well knew 
 the power of glance in time and place, the effect of a 
 sjnile, a tear, silence, a word ; in fact, this vivacious little 
 widow believed herself a coquette, though in reality, there 
 was not a more earnest little woman in the whole world, 
 when it was a question of her love for Ernesto. She did 
 love him. She would plague him by flirting with third 
 parties ; but she could always turn his anger into smiles. 
 Well, she was thinking of Ernesto, when a letter came to 
 her in the handwriting of that youth. Ah ! how all the 
 bright looks went out of the face a moment after, and the 
 letter was opened. She read it through, and was reading 
 it again, when the doctor, without waiting for any ceremo- 
 ny, ran in and up to the little lady for she was little. 
 
 " Good news," he cried, " strategem " 
 
 " Not a word of it, doctor," and she thrust the letter 
 into his hands. 
 
 He read : " ' My dear Norina, I write to you with a 
 broken heart.' (The poor young man) jDon Pasquale, 
 advised by that scoundrel ' (that's me, beyond a doubt, 
 poor young man), 'by that false, double-faced Doctor 
 Malatesta ' (as I thought) 'will marry a sister of his, and. 
 he turns me out of doors. And so love tells me I must 
 run away from you. Therefore, good bye, good bye. 
 May you be happy, 'tis the dearest wish of Ernesto.' 
 How glad you must be to receive this letter." 
 
 "Glad, doctor!" she exclaimed, in tears. 
 
 " Why, next time you see him, he'll be more loving 
 than ever." 
 
 " When will that be perhaps, perhaps, he's gone!" 
 
 "And perhaps not. He shall know our plans at once." 
 
 " Our plans, what are they ? " 
 
 "You know to punish his nephew, the don would 
 marry ! " 
 
 " Is that our plan, doctor ? " 
 
 " Well, well, seeing him determined, I seconded him ! n 
 4
 
 74 TALKS FROM THE OPERAS. 
 
 Oh ! " 
 
 " To serve you, and Ernesto I have spoken to the 
 don of my sister. You shall pass for her. You appear 
 before him, he falls in love with you ! " 
 
 Well ! " 
 
 " Then he marries you ! " 
 
 Oh ! " 
 
 " Don't scream. He marries you, and yet he does not. 
 My nephew Charles shall personate a notary. Then, 
 married, I leave the rest to you, 'tis your business to drive 
 him mad, as of course you know. Then, then we will do 
 with him as we please." 
 
 " Ah, ah, ah, ah ! " (no more tears now, unless from 
 laughter,) "ah, ah, ah, ah, ah, oh! Oh. how I'll teaze him 
 how I'll worry him how he shall repent ah, ah, ah." 
 
 " Oh but not at first ! " 
 
 " Oh, dear no ! shall I be merry, or downcast, or 
 reserved ? " 
 
 " No, not at all." 
 
 " Shall I weep, or cry ? " 
 
 " No, you must appear a simple country lass." 
 
 " And I will. See how do I manage ? oh, thank you, 
 thank ^yu no, that is but I'd rather not you're 
 very, very hurnble servant, sir. Ah, ah, ah ! " 
 
 " Brava, that will do." 
 
 M And I must hold my head down, like a goose ! " 
 
 " And your lips pursed up." 
 
 " Like an old maid. Oh ! sir, I am ashamed. I'd rather 
 not your humble servant, sir ! Ah, ah, ah ! " 
 
 " Come, let us go." 
 
 " Yes, oh, I shall die of laughing before we get there. 
 Sir, your most obedient ah, ah, ah, ah, ah ! " 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 DON PASQUALE got himself up in such style for the 
 reception of his bride that his own servants did not know 
 him. In fact he hardly knew himself, and felt rather 
 killer. But lie was not comfortable, and indeed as he
 
 DON PASQtJALE. 75 
 
 
 
 gave his servants orders to admit none but the doctor and 
 the person who might be with him, he blushed rather red, 
 which last word is superfluous, for no don in the world 
 could blush blue ! Well, the servants departed ; he 
 danced again, and then growing tired he was fatigued 
 with waiting. 
 
 Soon they arrived. The doctor pushing his "sister" 
 forward with angry jerks. As for her, with her veil down 
 over her meek face, she was uttering cries of fright and 
 mild opposition. 
 
 " Courage, courage, sister." 
 
 "Oh, dear me that is I can't please, brother, do 
 not leave me." 
 
 Here the don danced up to the young lady, adjusting 
 his necktie gracefully round his neck. 
 
 " Something like a giggle was heard, but the next 
 moment a voice from under the veil said, 
 
 "Oh, dear, dear, dear, I can't that is, I'd rather go 
 away. Please, brother, don't don't leave me." 
 
 "JDo not be afraid." 
 
 " Oh, I'd rather stand behind." And behind she went. 
 
 The doctor went up to the don apologetically, saying 
 that the poor girl was but just fresh from the convent. 
 In fact, he said, she was naturally of a wild disposition, 
 and it was for the don to tame her. 
 
 " Oh, brother, brother, come here." 
 
 " Just one moment, sister " 
 
 " Suppose some one should come in, I should faint." 
 Here the young and bashful widow covered her mouth 
 with her hand, and laughed. 
 
 Said the don to himself, keeping away from the lady, 
 whose face had not yet turned towards him, " If her face 
 is equal to her voice, Don Pasquale, you lucky man you, 
 you have waited for something." 
 
 " Brother, brother, I don't like to be left alone." 
 
 " My dear, you are not alone, I am here, and here is 
 Don Pasquale." 
 
 " Oh ! oh ! a man ! oh my goodness ! a man, oh 
 take me away a man ! oh I never ! " Here there was 
 another laugh. 
 
 Here the don congratulated himself more than ever.
 
 70 TALES FROM THE OPERAS. 
 
 And here, also, the Doctor said to himself, "Poor old 
 fellow." 
 
 " Then he added, " Don't be afraid, sister, this is the 
 noble Don Pasquale." 
 
 " Oh indeed ! " 
 
 Don Pasquale made as low a bow as a stout old gentle- 
 man could. The timid young lady made him a sweeping 
 curtesy. 
 
 "Thank you, sir your most obedient. Oh, oh." 
 Here the don was taking her hand. 
 
 " Oh loving hand," muttered the old don. 
 
 And while he pranced off after three chairs, there was 
 another laugh, suppressed, from under the veil. 
 
 Each chair the doctor set down with a puff 1 and a bang, 
 and at last he sat himself down in the center one. 
 
 " What do you think of her ? " (in a low voice to the 
 don.) 
 
 " What indeed ! But that veil ? " (in a lower voice to 
 the doctor.) 
 
 " Oh ! she would not dare to speak to a man, unveiled. 
 Talk to her a little ; see if your dispositions agree. Then 
 we will question the veil." 
 
 " Hum hum (courage, don, courage) Am delight- 
 ed have the honor your brother Dr. Malatesta 
 pray did you speak ? " 
 
 Here she got up and made him another curtesy. 
 " Oh sir your most obedient sir." 
 
 " I was going to say, no doubt you like company of an 
 evening." 
 
 " Oh dear no. We never do at the convent. We 
 always go to bed." 
 
 ** Ah, but you sometimes went to the theatre ? " 
 
 " Oh ! dear, > what is that ? I'm sure I never 
 wished to go there." 
 
 " Delightful," thought the old don, and added, " And 
 pra y, now, how did you pass your time ? " 
 
 " Oh, sir, in sewing, and knitting, and embroidering, and 
 sometimes I played with the pretty little cats." 
 
 " Ah, ah." (doctor.) 
 
 "Dear me, doctor, pray be still ; 'tis rude to laugh, even 
 at one's sister. But doctor, that v.eil ! "
 
 BOX PASQUALE. 77 
 
 u Dear sister, remove thy veil." 
 
 " Oh ! no, I couldn't before a man." 
 
 But I bid you." 
 
 " Oh yes oh yes, brother I obey." 
 
 The don rose in honor of this act, but no sooner did he 
 eee the dove-like face, than he fell upon his seat again 
 with a crash. 
 
 "Pray, Don Pasquale, what's the matter? " 
 
 " Can't tell, doctor. But it seemed to go right through 
 me speak for me, doctor. Tell her how I love her." 
 
 "Courage, old friend. She' does not seem indisposed 
 towards thee. Now tell me, sister this gentleman do 
 you like him ? " 
 
 After casting a glance at the don who was admiring his 
 own legs, she said. " I I I think I do." 
 
 " She consents, don ; she is yours ! " 
 
 " Oh bliss ; oh joy ; oh delight, oh ! " 
 
 Here came another of those mysterious laughs. 
 
 Said then the don in a loud voice (when he had recov- 
 ered it,) " A notary." 
 
 "Ah, don, a notaiy is not like a glass of wine, ever at 
 hand; but anticipating this joyful moment,! have brought 
 a notary with us." 
 
 " Quick, quick, quick," said the don. 
 
 "Yes, yes, yes," replied the doctor, and running; but 
 he returned immediately, with the false notary, Nephew 
 Charles. 
 
 Solemnly this functionary walked to a table, sat down 
 a mass of black folds, and severely took up a pen. 
 
 Then said the doctor pompously, and dictating to the 
 grave notary, " On the one part, et cetera, et cetera, So- 
 phronia Malatesta, residing et cetera, et cetera, and the 
 rest of it. And on the other part, Don Pasquale, et cet- 
 era, et cetera, residing at et cetera, et cetera, and also all 
 the rest of it." 
 
 The notary, writing hurriedly, soon completed the work. 
 
 " Very good ! " said the proud don, " and then continue 
 which above-named gentleman (I mean myself,) from 
 this hour, makes over one half his goods and property, by 
 a deed of gift made before his death, to his most beloved 
 wife."
 
 78 TALES FROM THE OPERAS. ' 
 
 This was also written in a hurry. 
 
 "Bless you ! bless you ! " said the doctor 
 
 "Bl-1-less you, sir, your obedient," chimed in the lady. 
 
 The notary gravely held out the pen for signatures. 
 Thereupon the don seized it, and speedily signed his 
 name. 
 
 " Oh, dear sir, I'd rather not ; no, don't brother." 
 
 For the doctor was again pushing her forward. The 
 modest woman didn't like to sign, and again her face waa 
 buried in her handkerchief. 
 
 " Where are the witnesses ? " said the grave notary. 
 
 And at this moment, the voice of a gentleman named 
 Ernesto was heard at high words with the obdurate foot- 
 man. The face of the lady thereupon grew very grave, 
 and indeed she dropped her pen. 
 
 " Back, back ! " shouted Ernesto, without the room. 
 
 And the lady was forced to confess to herself, that she 
 now really began to tremble. 
 
 And so also did the doctor tremble, for Ernesto had not 
 been informed of these plans, and he might in conse- 
 quences spoil all. 
 
 At this moment there was a rush at the door, the next 
 moment it was flung open, and in the doorway stood the 
 young nephew. 
 
 " Sir," said this latter, " I came to take my leave of you, 
 and I am debarred your presence as though I were a 
 robber." 
 
 " We were busy, young man, very busy when you came 
 to the door ; however, now you are here, gtop ; sign 
 witness. Let the bride advance." 
 
 Tableau. 
 
 The " young man " was about explaining, when he felt 
 his coat pulled. Then the doctor said quite solemnly, 
 " This is Sophronia my sister." 
 
 "So who?" 
 
 " So that you be quiet never mind who," said the 
 doctor, lowly. " For your own sake, be still be dumb: 
 excuse him, don the poor youth, I will explain all to 
 him." And as the old don bowed in his own absurd fash- 
 ion, the doctor led the youth on one side, and thus ad- 
 monished him: " Now, if you wish to be your own enemy
 
 DON PASQUALE. 7U 
 
 and Norina's, go on; but if you are not your own enemy 
 and Norina's, don't," 
 " Just so but " 
 
 "Yes exactly don't, as I said before; come and 
 sign the contract." 
 
 Which, with great doubt still, the jealous lover did. 
 Said the stern notary, rising .from his chair, " You are 
 man and wife." 
 
 The writer would respectfully have it understood that 
 he is in no way responsible for this astounding free and 
 easy marriage ; far be it from him so to dispose of brides. 
 But he opines that 'tis a way they have in Spain. . 
 
 Upon that notarial announcement, the don. was faint, 
 witli joy, and the next moment he was nearly faint with 
 surprise. 
 
 For hardly was the contract completed, hardly had the 
 astounding notarial intimation been given, than the bride 
 throws aside her veil, and with it her meek look. Let it 
 not, however, be said she assumed a bold look say rath- 
 er, an easy, cool, pleasant countenance. 
 
 The don advanced towards the lady to give her a ma- 
 rital embrace, but she gently pushed him back. " Soitly 
 pray ; calm your ardor ; you should first entreat permis- 
 sion." 
 
 "And I do!" 
 
 " And" I do not permit." 
 
 The don fell plump upon his chair, and looked unmean- 
 ingly after the notary, who was quietly withdrawing. 
 
 " Ah, ah, oh," said the youth Ernesto, as he saw the 
 blank expression on his uncle's face. 
 
 " Sir Nephew, how dare you laugh. Quit this house. 
 Begone ! " 
 
 " Begone, don, fie!" said the new wife contemptuously. 
 " What rudeness ! Pray remain, sir." Then turning 
 rapidly to the don, she said, "I must teach you better 
 manners." 
 
 " Doctor Malatesta ! " said the astounded don. 
 
 " Don Pasquale ! " said the doctor in the same tone. 
 
 " This is quite another woman', doctor." 
 
 u I am turned to stone, don." 
 
 " What does she mean ? "
 
 80 TALES FKOM THE OPERAS. 
 
 " By your leave, I'll ask her." And the doctor luckily 
 turned away, for his red face was quivering. 
 
 As for the lady Norina, she marched with dignity up to 
 and against the don, and thus terribly spoke. " You are 
 too old, too stout, too slow, to take charge of a young 
 wife through the streets ; this young cavalier shall be my 
 IJEAU ! " 
 
 " Oh, dear NO." 
 
 " And pray who will prevent it ? " 
 
 "/will." 
 
 "You said " 
 
 I will." 
 
 " 7/ideed." (Here she tenderly approached him, and 
 stroked his friendly old grey head.) " Dear husband ; 
 now forget those horrid words 'I will,' or at least leave 
 them with me, with me alone, for the wife should be 
 obeyed." 
 
 "But but!" 
 
 " But us no buts, dear man. Be still, I say. What, are 
 you one of those men who will not be led by kindness? 
 what, would you dare ! " 
 
 Here there was a dull rap distinctly heard, it was a 
 knock on the don's expostulating knuckles. 
 
 "Am I awake?" asked the don of himself. "What 
 has happened? blows I think! Pray what shall come 
 next ? " 
 
 In fact, the don looked as though petrified dreaming 
 struck by lightning, as though he were anybody but 
 himself. 
 
 " Courage, don, courage," said the doctor. 
 
 " Courage, oh dear," said Don Pasquale, the married 
 man sinking lower and lower in his chair. 
 
 Suddenly the new lady of the house flew at the bell, 
 and rang it till the room seemed made of bells. As a 
 servant entered, she cast the implement at him. 
 
 " Let all the servants come directly, rascal." 
 
 " Oh, heavens ! " sighed Don Pasquale. 
 
 Two servants and the steward came running in a mo- 
 ment after at a tremendous pace. 
 
 " Three ! Three beggarly servants. Three. As for 
 you, steward. Bow lower, sir, bow lower" (stamp of the
 
 DON PASQtTALE. 81 
 
 foot) ; " listen to those my orders. Turn those cubs away 
 at once. Get new servants, good looking young men that 
 will do us credit ; two dozen will do." 
 
 " Oh, heaven ! " exclaimed Don Pasquale. 
 
 " Steward," (another stamp of the foot) how dare you 
 turn away. Let there be two new carriages this very 
 evening in MY stables ; as for MY new horses, I leave the 
 choice to you. And as for these apartments, they are 
 frightful, they shall be rebuilt. And as for this horrid 
 furniture, it shall be burnt." 
 
 " Oh, heaven ! have you done ma'm?" 
 
 " No, man. Steward (greater stamp of the foot than 
 ever,) how dare you not keep your eyes on me? Let 
 everything, everywhere, always be in the first style, so that 
 people may respect us. Begone, fool ! " 
 
 " And pray now ma'm," suggested the don, " who 
 pays?" 
 
 " And pray now sir, who should know better than you ? " 
 
 " Oh, heaven ! Pray am I master, or am I not ? " 
 
 "You are not master, where lam! Zounds!" She 
 flings over a chair. 
 
 " Sister, sister," said the doctor, but the sister did not 
 even look at him. She flew at the don as well as she 
 could, seeing she was a wingless angel ; and arrived with- 
 in a quarter of an inch of his head, bade him, in the most 
 impassioned language, depart. 
 
 " Tell me, some one, have I married her ? " 
 
 " Ah, you poor man you," said the new wife ; with a 
 sneer. 
 
 Here the don went off into a roaring, yelping, yelling 
 rage, tearing his own clothes, dilapidating his own walls 
 with his own head, and damaging his personal appearance 
 with nobody's hands but his 'own. 
 
 " Oh, brother, brother," shrieked the doctor, dashing 
 after the don, . who was taking a tour of destruction all 
 round the drawing-room to the north, while his lady was 
 doing precisely the same thing to the south. 
 
 " Oh, will anybody tell me," asked the don " am I 
 mad?" 
 
 Well, Norina in her rage worked round to where Ernes- 
 to was standing and then she was wearing her own 
 4*
 
 82 TALES FROM THE OPERAS. 
 
 natural bright face, and reaching that youth she uttered 
 this little speech. " Ah ! well Ernesto " To which 
 the youth answered " Ah ! dear Norina." 
 
 So it may be supposed that both were gratified. 
 
 The next moment she had recommenced her sail round 
 the room : but by this time the doctor had run up to the 
 don and deftly turned him away from this affectionate 
 little duet of soft words. 
 
 "My goodness, don, what a pulse eighty, ninety, one 
 hundred and twenty, twenty-five Don Pasquale you 
 must straightway go to BED ! " 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 THE don's pulse was moderate by a late hour the next 
 day ; and having obtained the permission of the doctor, 
 who had sedately watched all night by the bed, to go 
 down stairs, the poor gentleman crept down as though he 
 had never danced in all his life. 
 
 And what a sight when he reached that drawing-room 
 of his ! To the right, dresses ; to the left, dresses ; in 
 front, band-boxes ; behind, the same ; lace, bobbins, furs, 
 scarfs, shoes, gloves and bills! a large number, all in a 
 nice little heap in the centre of the table. He sat down 
 in the middle of all this invasion, and stared about him 
 as though he was anybody else in a strange place, rather 
 than Don Pasquale. 
 
 He was still sitting staring about when a hair-dresser 
 passed quickly through the room. The next moment a 
 lady's maid appeared at the door. " Good gracious," said 
 she, "ain't my lady a scolding do be quick with the 
 diaments ! " 
 
 " Please, miss," said a second servant to the lady's maid, 
 M here's the milliner." 
 
 " Then let the milliner come quick." 
 
 The milliner rushed past the don, so to speak, smother- 
 ed in boxes. 
 
 At the door she was met by another waiting-woman, 
 dashing off to the carriage with a cloak, a bouquet, and a
 
 DON PASQUALE. 83 
 
 scent-bottle. All these paraphernalia were handed to a 
 footman, and then back the woman came, and crashed up 
 against the fourth body menial " me lady's fan ! me 
 lady's gloves ! me lady's veil ! " 
 
 The second footman without the door fell upon, and 
 bore away these things. 
 
 " Me lady's carriage ! " 
 
 "Storms and " something else said Don Pasquale, 
 and with an effort fell upon the pile of bills. " To dress- 
 maker, 100 dollars oh! dear me! To coach-maker, six 
 hundred worse and worse. Twice as much to the jew- 
 eller. To horses horses ! I wish they'd carry all to 
 
 ," again the don used a highly improper atom of 
 
 speech. 
 
 Then the don in an awful whisper said, " HERE SHE is!" 
 
 In she came, like several ladies of state, and dressed as 
 surely never pupil at a convent had ever been dressed 
 before. She did not see him as she passed on, not she ; 
 but he stopped her rather hoped he would excuse her, 
 and faintly desired to know Avhither she was going. 
 
 She loudly desired to be informed what that was to 
 him she was going out ! 
 
 Again he faintly and in a slightly sarcastical tone ob- 
 served that a husband might take the liberty of objecting. 
 
 "A husband might take the liberty, and it certainly was 
 a liberty ; and indeed, a husband might even object, but 
 that was no reason why the wife should obey. It was the 
 duty of such a man to see, and hold his tongue ; indeed, 
 common sense would tell him to hold his tongue ; for, she 
 would ask him, was he listened to when he did speak ? " 
 
 " Take care, take care." 
 
 " It were wise, don, to take care of yourself." 
 
 " Go to your room, ma'am." 
 
 " You were best in yours. Go to bed, and to sleep 
 We will talk about this to-morrow." 
 
 "You shall not pass." 
 
 " Ah ! you fill up the door. Indeed don." 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "Pray, now move." 
 
 a I will not." 
 
 Ah!"
 
 84 TALES FIIOM THE Ol'KUAS. 
 
 What is it makes fire flash in the old eyes of the new 
 husband? Was it a humiliating box on the ear the 
 right ear ? Yes yes. 
 
 She came out from the door-way. 
 
 Meanwhile the young -Norina asked herself if she were 
 not going too far. 
 
 " Then I may go now?" 
 
 " Yes, go where you like. Go anywhere, so that you 
 don't come back." 
 
 " I shall then see you to-morrow hem ! " 
 
 " You will find my doors closed." 
 
 " Bah ! be not a tyrant, poor grandfather. Sleep well, 
 and when the morning comes, I will call you." 
 
 And she sailed out grandly. 
 
 "Divorce, divorce!" he shrieked out as the lady left 
 him " divorce ! if this is wedlock what's that ? " 
 
 That was a paper which Noriua had dropped on going 
 jut. 
 
 He picked it up, after some effort. "Another horrid 
 bill, I find one in every corner eh! what! ah !" (here 
 he read.) " ' Between nine and ten I shall be at that part 
 of the garden which looks to the north ; for greater pre- 
 caution try to let me in through the secret door. I shall 
 warn you by singing. Adieu.' I shall go mad, I, Don 
 Pasquale I shall go mad. Malatesta, send for Malates- 
 ta. Here, some one any one ALL go fetch Doctor 
 Malatesta. All I say all." And out he tumbled 
 from the room. 
 
 Then came the servant's parliament. "Up and down. 
 Up and down. Did you ever? First a bell this way 
 then a bell that way. Who could bear it? Did you 
 ever, now? Horrid. Not a moment's peace. A uoo.l 
 house yes, a good house. But still, why she made a 
 piece of work when her breakfast went up, and when her 
 dinner went up, too. Then there was a disturbance \vlu-n 
 she went out. He flies into a passion, she flies into a 
 Averse passion than ever, and then they fought! Lor! 
 Oh yes ! She hit him. You don't say so ! " 
 
 When footsteps were heard approaching, the house 
 adjourned. 
 
 It was the doctor and Ernesto, still plotting. Ernesto
 
 DON PASQUALE. 85 
 
 was to appear at the secret door, and he was to take great 
 care that the don should not recognize him. Here the 
 heavy step of that luckless gentleman was heard coming 
 towards the room, so that Ernesto fled like guilt. 
 
 The don came in paler, and colder, and more dejected 
 than ever. 
 
 "Don Pasquale!" 
 
 " A living corpse, brother." 
 
 " The matter what is the matter? " 
 
 " I wish," said the gentleman to himself " I wish I had 
 rather given a thousand Norinas to Ernesto." 
 
 "A good thing to know," thought the doctor, as the don 
 thus spoke. Then aloud, " But pray explain yourself." 
 
 " Half my income spent in ribbons ; but that is noth- 
 ing." 
 
 " Dear me go on." 
 
 " To the theatre she will go but also that is nothing." 
 
 " Dear me proceed." 
 
 " My ears she boxes with a will that is nothing." 
 
 " Indeed indeed." 
 
 " But just look here. I think that's something, surely." 
 
 Here he handed the horrid letter to the doctor, whose 
 horror was unapproachable when he had read it minutely. 
 
 " Stone, don,* I'm stone." 
 
 " So am I. Revenge ! revenge ! " 
 
 " Surely don. Revenge ! revenge ! '' 
 
 " And I have the means. Sit down." 
 
 " The means." 
 
 "To the garden on tip toe you and I we softly jo 
 on and on behind each tree fearing one of them 
 should see then upon them straight we fall and loud- 
 ly for assistance call. Then to prison off they go and 
 thus am I avenged you know. And now doctor if you 
 can please devise a better plan." 
 
 " Very good ; but," said the doctor, " he had a better 
 plan, which he would divulge only on one condition, 
 namely, that the don should agree to all he should pro- 
 pose." 
 
 The don was too fallen to oppose, so, with this arrange- 
 ment, away they trundled towards the garden.
 
 80 TALES FROM THE OPERAS. 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 IN the garden, where the last scene of the don's mnr- 
 ried life was to take place, and in the moonlight, tripped 
 Norina a young widow again to the secret garden 
 gate. Click, click went the lock, and the next moment 
 Ernesto was at her little feet, vowing in the warmest 
 manner that he loved her. 
 
 Barely had he got through a dozen protestations -when 
 there was the flashing of a few rays from a dark lantern 
 all up and down the garden walks, and there was the 
 cranching of the don's heavy legs in the gravel, followed 
 by the lighter walk of the intriguing doctor. 
 
 The doctor quite cleverly showed the little lantern rays 
 as lie slid behind from tree to tree, and as he did not see 
 Ernesto glide away to the house. 
 
 AH of a sudden, and with a terrific lunge, he dashed 
 before Noriua, and started open the dark little lantern full 
 in her face. 
 
 " Thieves ! thieves ! " 
 
 "Hush, ma'am, where is he?" 
 
 " Who, the thief thieves ! thieves ! " 
 
 " No, ma'am, he who was whispering in your ear." 
 
 " Sir, how DARE you. There was no one here." 
 
 Whereon the don shot the dark lantern all round and 
 about, like clock-work. 
 
 " Sir, I say again, how dare you, there was no one here." 
 
 " Pray what were you doing at this dark spot, at this 
 hour of midnight ? " 
 
 " Enjoying the cool air and the moonlight." 
 
 " Begone ma'am out of my house, ma'am." 
 
 u Sir, what tone is this ? " 
 
 " I say, begone ma'am." 
 
 " A pretty tale ; this house is mine, and in it I'll re- 
 miin." 
 
 *' Ten thousand bombs, you won't." 
 
 u Ten thousand bombs I will." 
 
 " Don Pasquale, Don Pasquale," said the doctor, " pray 
 leave it all to me. Sister, I would spare you."
 
 DON PASQUALE. 87 
 
 u Would you, sir, indeed." 
 
 " To-raorrow, a new bride will be brought to this 
 house." 
 
 " How dare you, sir, indeed." 
 
 Don Pasquale paid great attention to the dialogue. 
 
 " And pray whose bride ? " 
 
 " Ernesto's, Norina. That contemptible, coquettish, ar- 
 rant widow ! " 
 
 Don Pasquale felt some satisfaction, and cried out, 
 " Bravo, doctor." 
 
 " That odious woman, here in spite of me. Norina and 
 I under the same roof. Never, I'll leave the house first." 
 
 "DO." 
 
 " But stop, stop, brother. Perhaps this is a trick. I 
 must be sure of it." 
 
 The doctor went up to the don and said, " Then Don 
 Pasquale, you must let them marry, or she'll never go." 
 
 "Never? Will she when they are married?" 
 
 " Here house ! who is there ? Why, as I'm a doctor, 
 'tis Ernesto." 
 
 "Well, well." 
 
 " I, Doctor Malatesta, speaking for Don Pasquale, grant 
 you the hand of Norina, and an income of four thousand 
 dollars a year." 
 
 " Dear uncle, is this true ? " 
 
 " Dear nephew, yes it is." 
 
 " And I (stamp of the foot) oppose it." 
 
 " And ./(don, shaking his head) do not. Go and fetch 
 her, some one ; go and fetch her straight." 
 
 Said the doctor. " No one need go far, for she, Norina's 
 here." 
 
 " What what what what what 1 " 
 
 Here Norina made a full curtsey. 
 
 " TIIEX WHERE'S SOFHKONIA ! " 
 
 "I'd not be sure, dear don, she should be in her con- 
 vent." 
 
 " And the marriage, doctor." 
 
 "A glimpse, dear don, of what your future miglvt have 
 been." 
 
 "Dear dear dear dear dear' Thank heaven. 
 Still "
 
 88 TALES FROM THE OPERAS. 
 
 " Come don, be generous." 
 
 Need it be said where the two " young people " were 
 at this particular moment of course, at the don's stout 
 feet. 
 
 The don blessed them in the usual manner, and the 
 young people rose, happy. 
 
 THE MORAL OF THIS IS MOST EASILY GUESSED, 
 IN AGE TO SHUN WIVES, IS OF WISDOM THE BEST.
 
 LA SOMNAMBULA. (BEILINI.) 
 
 THE SLEEP WALKER. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 IN a beautiful valley in Switzerland there lived a 
 maiden whose name was Amina, a poor village foundling, 
 who was as fondly loved by the woman who had adopted 
 her as her own mother might have loved. There also 
 lived in the valley a rich farmer whose name was Elvino. 
 Not much wealth truly had he, but enough to make him 
 the richest person in the parish, except the absent lord. 
 Count Rudolpho. 
 
 At the village inn (as all villages are supposed to 
 possess that appendage) lived Liza, its mistress, but 
 alas ! scandal said many cruel things of her ; in fact, 
 there were two or three very ugly tales about her, but 
 they were all so dim that when any of her female ac- 
 quaintances quarrelled with her, which thing frequently 
 happened, the other one could only vaguely hint, but 
 could never positively assert anything. 
 
 But whether or . no, certain it is that young Elvino, 
 who fell in love with Liza when he was young, but as he 
 grew older, he shook that love off, and Liza herself de- 
 clared with much warmth, that it was all owing to that 
 chit of a child Amina; scandal did say that it was all 
 owing to Liza herself. 
 
 Be that however, as it may, it is very certain that 
 having abandoned Liza, Elvino soon grew madly in love 
 with Amina, whom all the women declared to be very 
 plain, an evident proof of the young creature's pretty 
 1'aco. 
 
 Amina worked hard and well for a living, and she 
 laughed at Liza, as well she might, having certainly the 
 best of the position. 
 
 The village was a very happy one throughout the day
 
 90 TALES FROM THE OPERAS. 
 
 but when night came, it was quite the reverse. " The 
 phantom" weighed the village down. It was clothed all 
 in white, was very tall, and every villager trembled as he 
 spoke or even thought of it. 
 
 It had been the ruin ot' Liza's best bed room, into 
 which this phantom would glide in the dead of the night 
 through the unfastened window, which opened down to 
 the ground, and upon the flower garden ; beyond which, 
 and across a rickety, unused bridge, stood the little cot 
 of Amina's adopted mother, Teresa. 
 
 Sooner than sleep in Liza's best bed room, any peasant 
 would have slept out upon one of the mountain tops. 
 Yes, the village was a happy village, if you took away 
 the phantom. 
 
 Well, at last it was understood that Amina and Elvino 
 were to be married, and the very night came when the 
 contract of marriage was to be signed. 'Twas summer 
 time, so the contract was signed in the broad street itself, 
 just opposite Liza's house, behind which stood the old 
 mill, the unused bridge, and Amina's cot, or, to be 
 honest, Teresa's cot, though for that matter, everything 
 that belonged to Teresa was Amina's. 
 
 Elvino endowed Amina with all his wealth. Amina 
 said she could only endow Elvino with her love, and that 
 youth was perfectly satisfied. Liza signed the contract, 
 and very spitefully she signed it too. 
 
 The good-tempered fool of the village, Alesso, was 
 rather fond of Liza, and he offered her the pen, but 
 she took it with such a snatch, that he regretted his 
 politeness. 
 
 "Never mind, never mind," said Amina, patting the 
 disconsolate fool on the back ; " *tis a way she hath of 
 shewing her love for thee." 
 
 " Then I should like to know, Mam'selfe Amina, how 
 she would show her dislike for me." 
 
 All having signed the contract, the bridegroom pre- 
 sented his bride with the ring a plain little fillet of 
 gold, but how great a treasure when given between a 
 couple, whose only difference of opinion is which loves 
 the other the best.
 
 LA SOMNAMBTJLA. 91 
 
 " Take now this ring, I pray thee, 
 In assurance that I wed 
 She who once nobly wore it 
 Was my mother, who is dead. 
 
 " ! sacred be the gift, love, 
 Let it aid thee in thy vow ; 
 And ever, ever bid us 
 Love, dear wife, as we love now. 
 
 It need not be said that the word " wife " applied by 
 Elvino was hardly right ; for the church had to bless the 
 couple before he could fairly use the tender term, and the 
 church would not do that till the next day. 
 
 Well, the ring had hardly been given, when, with a 
 great smacking of a whip, a travelling carnage drove 
 into the village, up to the inn, and, as a consequence, 
 right into the heart of the contract-signing party. 
 
 From this carriage alighted a fine-looking gentleman. 
 
 " How weary the road is," said the stranger to his 
 postillion ; " how many miles to the castle ? " 
 
 *' So please you three, monsieur, and a dreadful road ; 
 have a delightful inn, monsieur my inn if monsieur 
 would do me the honor to walk in." 
 
 "True," said the handsome gentleman, smiling; "see- 
 ing your face, I recollect you and also the inn." 
 
 Alesso heard this admission, and immediately began 
 to puzzle his brains to find out who this new arrival was, 
 and for that purpose he went peering amongst the boxes 
 and portmanteaux. 
 
 u And pray, good people, do you ever think of this new 
 lord, whom you have not seen since he was a boy ? " 
 
 The villagers immediately began talking about this 
 lord with great force ; would he <x>me ? why had he not 
 come before ? pray did the good monsieur know him ? " 
 tfec., &c. 
 
 The stranger laughingly said they would ask questions 
 till the evening was night ; but this assertion Alesso 
 doubted ; for he could assure monsieur that they would 
 not stop to question even the new lord himself when the 
 night came. 
 
 " Indeed, why not ? "
 
 92 TALES FROM THE OPERAS. 
 
 What! what! had monsieur never heard of their 
 village spectre ? Why, where had monsieur been ? He, 
 Alesso, thought it was talked of all over the world ! 
 
 The stranger desired to have it described. 
 
 A villager then sang 
 
 " When day has gone when night has come, 
 When howls the wind when thunders roar, 
 Then on the hill-top, all dressed in white, 
 Thoul't see this shade thou'lt see with awe ! ' 
 
 " Without a step it glides along, 
 With hanging hair with glaring eyes. 
 On on it glides, and then 'tis gone, 
 And as 'tis lost, it utters cries ! " 
 
 The stranger laughed, and said he would soon find out 
 the mystery if he lived there. 
 
 It may be presumed that the stranger had been living 
 in Paris ; but certainly he was very gallant. 
 
 He flattered Liza somewhat, but turning his eyes full 
 upon Amina, he forgot Liza altogether, and began paying 
 the young bride a great many compliments. 
 
 She smiled at the compliments paid her by the stranger, 
 and answered smartly ; but at last grew timid as the count 
 grew bolder ; and indeed she was not sorry when Elvino 
 came up, and accidentally stood between them. The 
 count requiring some explanation, Elvino gave it him by 
 plainly telling him she was his wife ; whereupon the 
 count congratulated him on his good fortune. 
 
 Well, the contract business over, the notary departed 
 for home ; the villagers also within doors ; the count in 
 the village inn, and Liza retired, rather annoyed and an- 
 gry; the two young people were in the moonlight, 
 bidding each other good night. 
 
 At last, after a long time, Amina's mother had the 
 opportunity of remonstrating upon late hours, and then 
 Amina went to bed for the last time in that little cot of 
 her adopted mother's.
 
 93 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 THE stranger looked curiously about the haunted room, 
 when shown to it by Liza. There was the white-curtained 
 bed standing near the window ; the door-windows open 
 to admit the cool night air; and beyond, the garden, 
 and the unused rickety bridge. 
 
 He looked out through the open window, and then 
 returning where Liza was standing, began talking gaily 
 to her. 
 
 Liza not feeling gratified by his former conduct, answer- 
 ed rather pertly, and told him that the villagers had dis- 
 covered who he was Count Rodolpho ; and further 
 intimated that they were coming to pay their respects to 
 their young lord. The "young lord" said he cared 
 naught for the whole village, while so pretty a woman 
 was by his side. Whereat Liza smiling, the count for 
 it was the count grew bolder, and insisted upon having 
 one kiss, when a noise frightened Liza, and she ran quick- 
 iy behind the bed. But as she ran, some portion of the 
 bedstead caught the light scarf about her shoulders, and 
 tore it from them. She took no notice of this mishap, 
 but ran and hid herself behind the curtains. 
 
 Certainly she had heard a noise. 'Twas a light foot- 
 fall. Nearer then nearer still. 
 
 The count went to the closed door, light in hand, and 
 listened. 
 
 The step was not coming that way. 
 
 Still the slight noise continued ; nearer and nearer still. 
 Then a light flashed through the open window. He ran 
 towards it, and then started back. 
 
 It was the phantom they had told him of a white 
 figure moving slowly along, with a lamp steadily held in 
 one hand. 
 
 Nothing daunted, he moved towards the figure, as it 
 sik-ntly entered the room, and put down the light. And 
 then he saw that it was the village girl to whom he had 
 spoken but an hour or so before. 
 
 He drew his breath silently, as he recognized her, for
 
 94 TALES FBOM THE OPERAS. 
 
 he knew that she was a somnambulist, and that if woke 
 too suddenly she might fall dead. 
 
 But he kept his eyes upon her, as she moved from the 
 table towards his bed. 
 
 On on ; slowly slowly, till she came to the bed ; 
 upon which she laid down, whispering Elvino's name, and 
 then in a minute was sleeping peacefully. 
 
 He stepped lightly to the window, saw how she had 
 entered, closed and fastened the sashes, returned to the 
 bed hesitated fora moment, then turning towards the 
 choor, he retired. 
 
 The woman Liza, immediately he had left, came from 
 behind the bed, where she had remained, gave one earn- 
 est look at the unconscious Amina, and quickly left the 
 room. 
 
 Now was the time for revenge. Now Amina should 
 feel what it was to have a rival ; now she should suffer 
 for alienating Elvino from her. And Elvino, too, should 
 weep, and be sorry for having slighted her. She would 
 tell him he had cruelly dismissed her, and she would add 
 that in revenge she would point at the Amina he believed 
 so good and pure. 
 
 Now, the villagers instead of soberly going to bed, got 
 up a demonstration of delight in honor of the count's 
 return, and a score or so of tJie principal people in the 
 place entered the inn to congratulate the count just as he 
 left his room. The deputation grandly demanding of 
 Liza to be shown into the count's apartment, Mademoi- 
 selle Liza, with all the simplicity in the world, said she 
 would head them, and so the procession entered the haunt- 
 ed room to congratulate the count but to find whom ? 
 The poor girl still sleeping soundly, and little dreaming 
 of what was coming. 
 
 " Amina ! " they all cried, as with one voice. 
 
 And they looked towards Elvino, who formed one of 
 the deputation. 
 
 They made room for him, falling away on each M<lc. 
 He ran up to the bed side, and there she still lay asleep, 
 breathing peacefully. 
 
 He uttered a loud cry, and with a start she awoke. 
 
 As she saw the crowd about her, she shrunk back with
 
 T.A SOSEN'AMBtJLA. 95 
 
 alarm, and covered her eyes, thinking possibly 'twas some 
 terrible dream. Then, as they all stood silent about her, 
 she again looked. 
 
 Too terrified now to shut out the sight, she remained 
 for a moment or two gazing before her. 
 
 Suddenly she spoke. " Where am I ? Where am I ? " 
 
 Bounding from the bed, she looked from right to left, 
 still dimly seeing the faces, and again cried, " Where am 
 I? Where ami?" 
 
 " Ask thine own unhappy self! " said a voice she knew, 
 and turned towards it. ^ 
 
 " Ah, Elvino ! " and she put out her arms to him. 
 
 But he flung her from him to the ground, and there 
 she knelt gazing at him with her arms clasped upon her 
 breast, wondering what her fault was. 
 
 Xot yet comprehending either her position or his words, 
 she looked to the nearest woman; but she turned her 
 back upon the girl, as did the next to whom the poor girl 
 moved her eyes. 
 
 Then, panic-struck, she ran round the room from one to 
 the other, still not knowing what her fault was. 
 
 They all drew back from her as though she were a 
 plague ; so she moved quite naturally to Elvino again 
 her husband as she thought him. 
 
 But he showed the greatest repugnance to her. 
 
 Then, as she felt herself deserted, they told her her 
 crime. 
 
 Vainly she declared her innocence; vainly she wept, 
 flinging herself _upon her knees ; vainly she spoke of her 
 past life ; vainly she said she could not tell how she came 
 there ; vainly she turned to Liza, whose heart was stone, 
 who turned from her with the rest ; vainly she clung to 
 her Elvino's very feet : he shook her from him and strode 
 towards the door. 
 
 As he was leaving the haunted room, Amina's adopted 
 mother came past the threshhold, and though they all 
 told her what they believed of the village queen, this 
 mother, the only one amongst all these simple, honest vil- 
 lage folk, went up to her daughter, and put her arms about 
 her neck. 
 
 So at last the iciness of despair gave way before this
 
 96 TALES FROM THE OPERAS. 
 
 one touch of sympathy, and the poor girl with her mo- 
 ther's arms about her, wept bitterly, and so gave relief to 
 her young heart. 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 THE village generally condemned her; especially Liza. 
 Not a single voice was heard in her favor but her mother's. 
 
 Ah, yes, there was one voice in her favor honest 
 Alesso's, the good-tempered fool's. He would not believe 
 in Amina's guilt, which determination of his thoroughly 
 stamped him a fool in the eyes of all. Her guilt was so 
 palpable ; doubt her guilt ! you might as well doubt the 
 light of the sun. 
 
 Liza, as before said, was especially severe, and doubted 
 whether she ought to be allowed to remain in the village. 
 But nobody supported such a doubt ; they were not quite 
 so virtuous themselves as to come to that conclusion. 
 Alesso, indeed, spite of his belief in Amina's innocence, 
 admired Liza more than ever, for her stern virtue, and 
 sighed as he thought that man would be happy who should 
 call Liza wife. 
 
 Alesso had long thought he should be happy to be that 
 man, but though Liza had never given him much hope, he 
 had never given it up in despair, therefore it may be imag- 
 ined with what grief he heard only the next morning after 
 the catastrophe, that Elvino had made up his mind, and 
 told somebody, who had told somebody else, who had told 
 it to Alesso, that Elvino meant to make proposals to 
 Liza ; and before three hours had elapsed this was con- 
 firmed throughout the village. 
 
 As for the poor girl Amina, she wept most piteously. 
 
 Towards the afternoon of the unhappy day which came 
 after the catastrophe, she sought him out, helped by her 
 stout-hearted mother, and made another effort to regain 
 his old love for her. She was no heroine only a simple 
 village maid ; so she did not upbraid him, she only en- 
 treated and protested. 
 
 He would not listen to her : when she again left him, he
 
 LA SOMXAMBULA. 97 
 
 had got back the betrothal ring he had placed upon her 
 finger the dear ring his mother had worn. 
 
 By that night he had asked for and gained Liza's con- 
 sent to take her to wife, and poor little Amina's remaining 
 hopes (nursed by her mother) were all dead. 
 
 When evening came upon the village, the greater part 
 of the villagers were in their tiny cots, and a score or so, 
 together with Liza, Elvino, and Alesso, were seated before 
 the inn door, behind which stood the cottage, within which 
 was the unhappy little woman, now fallen asleep, and sob- 
 bing as she slept. 
 
 What made Elvino suddenly start what made him, 
 run forward with his fists clenched, and his breath convul- 
 sive ? 
 
 The Count, the Count Rudolpho, who had been missing 
 since the unhappy affair, now came forward to speak out 
 the truth, and upon whose silence the cowardly Liza had 
 relied. 
 
 It is a comfort to know that a libertine need not neces- 
 sarily be a liar though he very frequently is : and in this 
 especial case Count Rudolpho spoke the truth. He de- 
 clared the whole tale from beginning to end, and, doubt- 
 less, he would have appealed to Liza for corroboration, 
 but that, that discreet person got out of the way. 
 
 As for the lover, who still so deeply loved, that he was 
 actually going to marry a woman for whom he cared naught 
 as a revenge, he would believe nothing that the count 
 said. Indeed, how could the girl have entered the inn, if 
 not with the count's aid. 
 
 The 'noble pointed to the unused bridge, but Elvino 
 scouted the idea ; why it would fall at the least touch, 
 how then could she have passed over it ? 
 
 The count was turning away in despair, when a noise a 
 little distance off arrested his steps ; the villagers turned 
 and saw the village phantom, and they saw at once who 
 it was. 
 
 Again, Am in a was walking in her sleep ; again she was 
 moving towards the old ruined bridge ; again she carried 
 a flickering light in her hand. 
 
 As Elvino saw her, all his old love returning, he ran 
 forward and would have shouted to her, but that the count 
 6
 
 98 TALES FROM TIIE OPERAS. 
 
 sped after him, laid a hand upon his mouth, and softly, yet 
 imperatively, bade him be silent. 
 
 The lover flung himself upon his knees, stretched out 
 his arms towards his pure wife, and with straining eyes 
 watched her coming. 
 
 Nearer to the old bridge which was rotten, and below 
 which was a roaring torrent. Nearer still, then one foot 
 was upon it. 
 
 All silent with fear they drew back a pace, as though 
 each had stepped upon the tottering wood, or as though 
 he could prevent her second step by the act. 
 
 Again a step forward, and she was fairly on the bridge, 
 the angry water roaring beneath. 
 
 Suddenly there was a crackling sound, and as they 
 heard it, they flung themselves down upon their knees, 
 and hid their faces in their hands. 
 
 When they stood up again they expected to see her and 
 the bridge no longer before them. But the brave old 
 bridge had only cracked ; there was a great flaw in it, and 
 there also stood Amina as though in doubt, as though 
 cautious of her next step. The hand which had held the 
 light was still held out, but the lamp was gone, the rup- 
 ture of the stones had shaken it from her hold. 
 
 If now she sees her way by the lighted lamp ; if now 
 she stands undecided, because she can no longer see whore 
 to make her steps, she is lost, for no one can dare step on 
 to the rotten bridge to save her, and she will fall over the 
 low parapet, and so be lost. 
 
 But no ; again she steps on feeling carefully with her 
 foot ; again she hesitates, as her sliding foot comes against 
 an unaccustomed projection, caused by the fracture of the 
 stone- work. 
 
 Then again she moves on a step ; another ; yet 
 another and she is safe. 
 
 Then they all fell on their knees, and so gained pardon 
 for having wrongfully accused the poor girl. 
 
 For had she been guilty, she would not have had the 
 courage to try and cheat the villagers. Yes, she was 
 really asleep, and had no idea of the danger she had run. 
 
 She came close to the spot upon which knelt her Elvi- 
 no, whom she had now gained back to her whilst she
 
 LA SOMXANBTTLA. 99 
 
 slept ; and then she went through the motion of setting 
 down the lamp, now rolling at the bottom of the torrent. 
 
 Soon she began talking of the lost ring the ring he 
 had given her, and had torn from her. 
 
 And she broke up into atoms the score of roses he had 
 also given her on that happy night, and which she now 
 4ook from her bosom. Then again she wept for the ring, 
 and felt on her hand for it. 
 
 He still had the ring, for he had not hardened his heart 
 enough to put it on Liza's hand ; and, under the direction 
 of the count, he quietly slipped it on the sleeping girl's 
 finger. 
 
 'Twas enough. 
 
 Feeling the ring once again, she awoke. But ah ! to 
 how much joy? The whole village crowding around her, 
 sorry for their unjust suspicions, and more desirous of get 
 ting a kind look from her than ever; her Elvino, proud 
 and happy, near her; her dear old adopted mother, proud 
 and self-satisfied. Was it not better as it was that that 
 happiness should come after such deep trouble (which is 
 ofttimes a short cut to years of joy,) than that the two 
 young people should have dropped into wedlock after a 
 happy, unclouded childhood and love, without having had 
 a pang to teach them the sweetness of peace and inno- 
 cence. 
 
 As for Liza, the less that is said of that lady the better. 
 That scarf of hers told terribly against her; and though 
 poor Alesso felt the blow terribly, he could hardly show 
 the remains of any bruise whatever to his new love when 
 Liza left the village.
 
 L'ELISIR D'AMORE. (DONIZETTI.) 
 
 THE ELIXIR OF LOVE 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 IT is pleasant to see the reapers resting after their work, 
 in the shadows of the trees. Indeed, it may be pleasant 
 to be a reaper reposing. Yet a disappointed, wretched 
 lover can find no pleasure in anything but being misera- 
 ble ; and lovers, disappointed in love, do so indulge in 
 misery, that it must be a pleasure. 
 
 Nemorino, the poor young farmer, was a disappointed 
 lover, and on one particular autumn evening, when the 
 reapers were sitting in the shadow of the trees, he took 
 no notice of iliem, out kept his eyes fixed upon Adina, 
 who, on her part, kept her eyes fixed upon her book, like 
 St. Dunstan of old. 
 
 The fact is, Adina was a coquette, and no one likes 
 your unalterably attached man more than a thorough co- 
 quette. A coquette that is, a thorough coquette 
 never does marry an unalterably attached man. She 
 usually marries a man who thinks just a little more of him- 
 self than he does of his bride, and a coquette is happy 
 ever after in consequence. 
 
 Well Adina, who, by the way, was by no means poor, 
 lived in a farm-house, in the exact centre of her farm, and 
 did nothing but what she pleased. And Adina ran very 
 considerable risk of marrying Sergeant Belcore, of the 
 attractive chasseurs ; and she quite laughed at the atten- 
 tions of Nemorino. Handsome ; yes, certainly handsome, 
 but so stupid, so different to Sergeant Belcore. 
 
 See you, in her heart of hearts, a coquette knows her 
 own inestimable little worth, and so, consequently, she 
 cannot help despising a man who thoroughly believes in 
 her.
 
 L'ELISIK D'AMOEK. 101 
 
 On tliis particular evening she was more contemptuous 
 with respect to Nemorino than she had ever shown her- 
 self, and truth to tell, sitting under a tree reading, she 
 looked, and was, very pert indeed. 
 
 She made him jealous of her very book ; it was such 
 an interesting book. Suddenly, when the poor fellow 
 ceased looking for an instant 
 
 " Ah, ah ! capital ! Just listen : ' The beautiful Tristano 
 quite burned away with love for the cruel Isotta, who 
 SCORXED him (here she looked scornfully at Nemorino). 
 At last, he found a sage, who gave him a love-philtre, and 
 after that, the lovely Isotta was continually following the 
 handsome Tristano.' Nonsense! that only proves that, 
 the lovely Isotta was as stupid as somebody else I know. 
 Hark ! there are the drums ; oh, delight, here comes the 
 sergeant ; " and then she looked wickedly at the disconso- 
 late Nemorino. 
 
 Who was certainly very different to " the sergeant? 
 Nemorino was tall, comely-looking, flaxen-haired, and 
 ingenuous; Sergeant Belcore was equally tall, but he was 
 more than comely-looking. Such a figure had Sergeant 
 Belcore ! And Sergeant Belcore's moustache, a long, 
 sweeping moustache, which stood out straight on each 
 side of his face, in the mathematical manner, and was 
 as bright as his splendid boots. His handsome black 
 hair, too, was clipped short to the pole of his neck ; and 
 altogether, Sergeant Belcore was very spruce indeed ; and 
 Sergeant Belcore knew it. 
 
 He thought he was in love with Adina, but he certain- 
 ly was not; whereof, in proof of which, witness the nose- 
 gay. No lover really a lover comes up as cool as a 
 cucumber to offer his bouquet? No, he suggests the flow- 
 ers, so to speak, with many doubts ; and if it be accepted, 
 he don't twirl his moustaches (if he has any), as though 
 he had done a very admirable thing. 
 
 All of which conduct was Sergeant Belcore's, when he 
 stepped cavaliei'ly up to the maiden. As for Nemorino, 
 poor fellow, he looked more lone, dismal, and ridiculous 
 than before. 
 
 " O, country nymph, I present this nosegay to you, as 
 Paris did the apple, because you are the loveliest."
 
 102 TALES PROM THE OPERAS. 
 
 " Ah, ah, ah ! very good." 
 
 Nemorino sighs. 
 
 " And I see clearly I've carried your heart by storm. 
 Well, well, no girl can withstand a red coat." 
 
 " Ah, ah, ah ! very good, sergeant." 
 
 "Ah, me ! " sighed the love-born swain. 
 
 "Well, pretty one, if your love equals mine, let's ground 
 arms capitulate ; on what day will you marry me ? " 
 
 "Ah, ah, ah! very good, Sergeant Belcore." 
 
 " Come come come here's the conqueror." 
 
 " Sergeant, sergeant, you storm too soon. Who should 
 cry victory before the battle has begun? And besides, 1 
 am Adina." 
 
 " I wish," thought the poor stiicken lover, " I could 
 talk as bravely as the sergeant." 
 
 " Well well, as sure as I've a military moustache, I'll 
 not desert the post." 
 
 " Spoken like a brave sergeant. But, in the meantime, 
 may I offer you something to eat ? " 
 
 " I'm one of the family already," thought the sergeant ; 
 BO he said, " If you sit at the same table." 
 
 " Ah, ah, ah ! very good, Sergeant Belcore. Go in, go 
 in." 
 
 She saw Nemorino was coming up to speak to her. 
 
 "One little word, Adina." 
 
 " Oh, two little words for Nemorino. The usual sighs, 
 though he had much better go and see his uncle, who is 
 ill they say very ill." 
 
 " He is not so sick as I am, Adina." 
 
 " And, then, if his uncle dies, he'll make somebody else 
 his heir." 
 
 " What does that matter to me, Adina?" 
 
 "And then he'll die of hunger and misery j" addressee 
 generally to the surrounding landscape. 
 
 "Either of hunger or love, what matters it, Adina?" 
 
 " Well, well, lie is modest, which Sergeant Belcore 
 certainly is NOT. This Nemorino don't presume, and I 
 never shall love him." 
 
 " But why why, Adina ? " 
 
 " He might as well ask yie wind why it loveth to go 
 this way or that, over brook or field."
 
 L ELISIR D AMORE. 103 
 
 "Then I ought?" 
 
 " Then he ought to think no more about me." 
 
 "But I cannot, Aclina." 
 
 "But why?" 
 
 " You might as well ask the river why it flows to th6 
 sea." 
 
 " Ah, I see ; because he must ! " 
 
 "Even as the river floweth onwards to the sea, I'll 
 follow Adina." 
 
 "Ah, ah, ah!" 
 
 And with this general winding up of her interviews 
 with the luckless youth, she ran in, and clapped to the 
 little door. 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 ONE hour later and everybody in the market place was 
 opening his or her eyes, as widely open he or she could. 
 For with a great blowing of trumpets, and other unusual 
 sounds, came such a visitor ! 
 
 In a carriage, too not an ordinary carriage, but a gilt 
 carriage. Not a mean covered-in carriage, like a van, but 
 a fine open carriage, with such a gentleman sitting within 
 it. One had to look twice before he could comprehend 
 him he was so grand. His waistcoat was a fair field, 
 and his forehead a great plain. But as for his legs, to 
 what shall th< y be compared ? The legs of Jupiter him- 
 self, or perhaps Hercules ! Yet he had a benignant face, 
 this new comer, and he seemed to know he should bo 
 welcome. 
 
 Who was he a lord, a prince ? 
 
 And who was his trumpeter behind, blowing a tri- 
 umphal march? 
 
 All the people gathered round this wonderful being 
 with open-mouthed respect. Then this great man con- 
 descended to step from his grand carriage .and address 
 the villagers, as his carriage and his trumpeter stopped 
 together. *
 
 104 TALES FROM TIIE OPERAS. 
 
 Listen, listen, listen oh ! oh ! you rustics all 
 Listen, listen, listen, or great and small. 
 I am, I am, I am the greatest of great men ! 
 For I can fright away the greatest oldest wen ! 
 I, present now, 
 Who make a bow, 
 Am Doctor Dulcamara. 
 In France I'm known, 
 The French will own, 
 In Venice and Ferrara. 
 Such things I've done, 
 That more than one 
 Have said I am no matter ; 
 But this I know, 
 Where'er I go, 
 I make no little clatter. 
 
 " Listen, listen, listenevery one that's here. 
 
 If amongst you any's dying, let him no longer fear. 
 
 I'll cure her, or I'll cure him, with physic quite divine 
 
 In fact, you wouldn't know it from very nice sweet wine. 
 
 Apoplexy 
 
 Need not vex ye, 
 
 If unto Dulcamara, 
 
 With rapid run, 
 
 You straightway come. 
 
 And as for those with asthma, 
 
 If they but drink, 
 
 I'm sure they'll think 
 
 They need not drink much longer 
 
 If they're too weak 
 
 Almost to speak, 
 Quick presto they'll be stronger. 
 
 " Oh ! listen, listen, listen. If any one has gout, 
 Oh ! let him buy a bottle, and let him drink it out. 
 As for tooth-ache, 
 But one sip take, 
 
 You'd think no more of that tooth. 
 And as to age, 
 I do engage, 
 
 Two sips will bring back your youth 
 Oh ! yes I am, 
 Your'e sure I am, 
 Great Doctor Dulcamara 
 In France he's known, 
 His fame has grown 
 In Venice and Ferrara.
 
 L'ELism D'AMORE. 105 
 
 " Oh ! listen, listen, listen. No doubt you think 'tis dear. 
 Oh ! rustics, rustics, rustics, of that now have no fear. 
 A hundred pounds ! 
 A hundred crowns ! 
 A bottle I don't ask you ! 
 Oh ! yes oh ! yes, 
 The price now guess. 
 To guess high, i don't ask you. 
 Well, half-a-crown, 
 Just lay it down. 
 
 Ah ! ah ? my friend, health bless yon. 
 All doctors pale, 
 Before me fail, 
 1 only can redress you. 
 
 Come buy, come buy oh ! rustics, that's if you'd be well J 
 Your duty is to purchase my duty is to sell" 
 
 Now amongst the " nasties " who had heard this rery 
 eulogistic patter, was Nemorino ; and this youth, biting 
 the rim of his rustic hat, struck himself with the idea that 
 the doctor could cure people of want of love. 
 
 " Sir doctor, pardon me, do you know many secrets?" 
 
 " Secrets, rustic, I'm all secrets." 
 
 " My faith ! Well, have you, by chance, the love drink 
 of Queen Isotta ? " 
 
 " Hu-u-m. Well, well, well, rustic." 
 
 " The real love-drink that awakens love ? " 
 
 ' Ah ! I'm the only brewer of it." 
 
 " And and do you sell it ? " 
 
 " To those who can afford to buy it, rustic." 
 
 " Good doctor, and what is the charge ? " 
 
 "Well hum well!" 
 
 " I've half-a-dozen crowns." 
 
 " I' faith, you've hit it." 
 
 Then the doctor went to his gilt carnage, and brought 
 out something singularly like a small wine-bottle. 
 
 "I' faith," said the stout doctor, taking the crowns, 
 " you will be cured if you drink that." 
 
 U F faith (this to himself,) fools there are 'neath the 
 sun ; 
 
 A fool, yet none the less a brother this one." 
 
 " Oh, but doctor, how am I to manage?" 
 
 " Ah, I forgot, young rustic. 
 6*
 
 106 TALES FROM THE OPERAS. 
 
 Now with great care, 
 In weather fair, 
 The bottle must be taken ; 
 Then up and down, 
 Mind, do not frown, 
 The bottle must be shaken ! 
 Pulled out the cork 
 Per screw or fork, 
 The bottle to your lips, oh, 
 You then must place, 
 And no grimace, 
 The potion drink in sips, oh." 
 
 u Yes, yes, young man, this is the real elixir of love ! " 
 
 (And perhaps it was, for 'twas good Bordeaux.) 
 
 " And young rustic, don't take it till to-morrow. (By 
 that time I shall be gone.)" 
 
 " Oh, good doctor ! " 
 
 " I' faith (to himself again,) fools there are 'neath the 
 sun; 
 
 A fool, yet none the less a brother this one. And 
 mind, young rustic. A word in your ear. Silence, silence/ 
 'Tis dangerous to sell love-potions now-a-days. I don't 
 speak for myself, young rustic, for jT'm the great Dulca- 
 mara, famed in Venice and Ferrara ; but for your sake, 
 young rustic ah ! ah ! all the women in the place will 
 be dying for you. To-morrow, mind. Good bye young 
 rustic, good bye." 
 
 And the worthy doctor vanished through the doorway 
 of the village inn. 
 
 " Faith," said the lover to himself, no longer in a dis- 
 consolate tone, " a good thing is a good thing to-day as 
 well as to-morrow. And 'tis fair weather, for am I not 
 sitting down here with my elixir of love ? And the bright 
 sky above me. Good ! I will ! " Pop ! 'tis the cork. 
 " Ah, ah ! good ! another sip. Good ! another." 
 
 " La, la, la, la, la, ra, ra." 
 
 w Good ! Good ! yet another ; and another sip." 
 
 " La, la, la, la, la, ra, ree." 
 
 " Can I believe my eyes ; why 'tis Nemorino singing 
 Actually Nemorino singing. Ah, ah ! " 
 
 "'Tis she! I shall go to her! No; why should 7" go to 
 her ? Let her come to me. La, la, la. La, la, la. For
 
 L'ELISHJ D'AMOBE. 107 
 
 to-morrow; yes to-morrow. They'll be sighing at my 
 feet ! " 
 
 "He doesn't even look at me! ah, ah!" Rather a 
 louder " ah, ah ! " than the first. 
 
 " La, la, la, re, ra, ra, ra. Aie, aie, aie, eie, ah ! " 
 
 'Tis all put on ! " 
 
 " She's very clearly not in love with me yet. La, la, la, 
 re, ra, ra, ra. Aie, aie, eie, ah ! " 
 
 " It MUST be put on ! Good evening, Nemorino. "Very 
 good. You're taking my advice. You're, you're quite 
 merry I " 
 
 True ; I like this new life." 
 
 " Then your sighs, and your sobs, and your tears ! " 
 
 " La, la, la," 
 
 Silence, sir." 
 
 " Re, ra, ra, ra," 
 
 " How dare you ! " ^ 
 
 " Aie, aie, aie, eie, a, a, le." 
 
 " Very good." 
 
 " Oh ! I shall be heart- whole to-morrow." 
 
 " Indeed ! we shall see ! We shall see ! " The second 
 "we shall see " very low and confidential. 
 
 Then came a voice from the inn, which cried, 
 
 " Tran, tran, tran, 
 In love or in war ; 
 Tran, tran, tran, 
 You ne'er saw before ; 
 Tran, tran, tran, 
 A Sergeant Belcore ; 
 Tran, tran, tran, 
 A Sergeant Belcore." 
 
 " Ah ! here comes that admirable sergeant. Ah, ser- 
 geant ; is that you ? " 
 
 " Yes ; dear heart of stone ! " 
 
 "Stone! oh no." 
 
 " Sound to the assault, sergeant. Now, tell me ; when 
 shall we be married ?" 
 
 " We-e-e-1-1-1 Perhaps s-o-o-o-o-n." 
 
 "Ah!" 
 
 " He started," said Adina in a low voice. " Don ? t pull 
 your moustaches, sergeant," said she in a louder voice.
 
 108 TALES FROM THE OPERAS. 
 
 K Always obey orders ; well, in six days ? " 
 
 Wei -1-i-l Per-hap-p-p-s." 
 
 " Victory, victory. As sure as I'm a sergeant ! " 
 
 " Ah, all, ah, ah, ah ! " laughed Nemorino. 
 
 " Oh, oh ! he's actually laughing." And somebody was 
 almost crying. 
 
 " What's that donkey laughing at?" shouted the ser- 
 geant. " If he don't retreat I shall charge him." 
 
 " Oh, I could bite my fingers off with 
 rage he don't seem to care in the least? 
 
 "Ah, ah!" thought the donkey; "wait till to-morrow, 
 brave sergeant ; wait till to-morrow ! " 
 
 " Tr-r-r-m, Tr-r-r-m, Tr-r-r-m." 
 
 "Hallo! hallo! What's that?" 
 
 " Sergeant ; " here there was a military salute from a 
 soldier. "Despatch," 
 
 With a fierce twirl of his moustaches, " sergeant " 
 opened the paper. " Hum ! we march to-morrow." 
 
 "Oh, dear!' 1 '' cried several young girls together. And 
 there was a general impression that a shifting garrison was 
 a national wrong. 
 
 " Con-n-nfound it," said the sergeant ; " and my mar- 
 riage." 
 
 " Yes, yes ! to-morrow, my friend," again thought Ne- 
 morino. 
 
 " Oh ! I shall not forget you, sergeant ! " 
 
 "Forget! Peste ! Hu-m-u-m, Aclina why can't we be 
 married to-day ? " 
 
 " He seems moved now ; in fact he seems 
 quite frightened ; " thought the little coquette. 
 
 "To-day;" thought rustic Nemorino, "to-day if 
 they're married to-day there will be no to-morrow and 
 the elixir of love will be useless! " 
 
 " We-1-1-1 sergeant. Y-y-y-es ; to-day ! " 
 
 " Oh, no, no, no ; Adina. Wait till to-morrow." 
 
 "Ah, ah!" 
 
 "You cannot marry him; because, I I I know 
 why ! " 
 
 " Oo-r-r-r-rpodi Bacco " 
 
 " You can't, Adina. You'll be sorry if you do. Don't, 
 don't marry him till to-morrow."
 
 L'ELISIR D'AMORE. 109 
 
 " Begone, booby ; or I strangle you ! " 
 
 " Sergeant, pray take no notice of the poor fellow. 
 Half-witted, sergeant. He thought; ah, ah ! thought I 
 should should love him. Oh the ridiculous crea- 
 ture. He thought ! I'll be revenged on him," she said to 
 herself. " How dared he to sing before me. He shall 
 fall at my feet in penitence before I'll have a word to say 
 to him." 
 
 And all the girls about said, " the idea ! a common hus- 
 bandman to dare to be the rival of a sergeant in the army ; 
 the idea ! " 
 
 " Come, sergeant." 
 
 " The notary ; corpo di Bacco ; the notary." 
 
 " Yea, yes ; sergeant, come." 
 
 "Doctor, doctor," shrieked out Nemorino. "Doctor, 
 help ! quick ! help, doctor ! " 
 
 " Now, then ; all of you there ; fall in ; march." 
 
 And away they all went to see sergeant Belcore mar- 
 ried to Adina the coquette. 
 
 Leaving Nemorino the rustic to call for the doctor at 
 his leisure. 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 they all got to the great room in Adina's farm- 
 house, they quite filled it. Well, there they were, look- 
 ing out for the notary. Adina, too, was looking out for 
 Nemorino, for she had a faint fear she had gone a little 
 too far. 
 
 Even an invitation from Doctor Dulcamara, who \vaa 
 there, to sing a song, did not cheer her ; and not even the 
 song itself, though she sang it very well, gave her any 
 consolation. 
 
 " Here comes the NOTARY." 
 
 " Bravo, bravo, bravo, 1 ' said the doctor. 
 
 Out of respect to the notary, all the neighbors withdrew 
 to the lawn outside. And also out of respect to the no- 
 tary, he was shown into the best room ; so only the doc- 
 tor remained in the hall. And only for a moment too, 
 for Nemorino came rushing in.
 
 110 TALES FUOM THE OPEBAS. 
 
 " Oh, doctor ; here you are. Nay, don't run away, doc- 
 tor." For that stout man was certainly trying to effect 
 an escape. 
 
 " Doctor, I must be loved now, at once ; to-morrow will 
 be no good." 
 
 " I 'faith, fools there are, 'neath the sun, a fool, yet none 
 the less a brother this one. By Bacchus, he's mad! 
 Take the elixir, sir." 
 
 " Sir, I have," 
 
 " Then take another dose." 
 
 " Give me another bottle." 
 
 " Good ; but first give me your money." 
 
 " Money money, I have none." 
 
 " Well, well, well, my young rustic. Come to-morrow, 
 or, get some ; and ask for me at the inn as soon as you 
 like. Good night, good night." And the doctor seemed 
 rather glad to shuffle off, losing thereby, the feast to which 
 he had been bidden. 
 
 "-Ah, me ! " sighed the youth, flinging down on a seat. 
 
 " Heigh o ! women are an awkward lot, as sure as my 
 name's Belcore," said the sergeant, sauntering in. "Of 
 course she loves me, and yet she will wait till this eve- 
 ning for the marriage. Hullo ! hullo ! rustic, what's the 
 matter ? " 
 
 " I want money, and it seems I may want it." 
 
 " Well, you're a fine fellow ; enlist, and you'll have 
 twenty crowns." 
 
 " Twenty ! did you say twenty crowns, Mr. Sergeant ? " 
 
 " Look ! here jingle, jingle here they are. And 
 glory, and honor and love the soldier need never 
 sigh." 
 
 " Twenty crowns ? " 
 
 " Tw-w-wenty crowns ! " 
 
 " Done ! " 
 
 "Here, just sign this paper. Good; take your money. 
 You'll soon be a corporal, if you look up to me." 
 
 "Ha! ha! oh! oh!" laughed the sergeant, " I've en- 
 listed my rival ; oh ! oh ! a good tale to tell." 
 
 And he swaggered off, while Nemorino rushed away to 
 buy bottle number two.
 
 L'EUSIR D'AMORE. Ill 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 EVERT woman then and there in the market-place was 
 full of it, and crowded about each other to hear and re- 
 ceive the news. "Did you ever!" "Oh! quite true!" 
 
 " Who would have thought it, you know ? " " Yea 
 but who told you ? " " Hush ! not so loud." " It's a se- 
 cret." " Oh, of course ! " cried twenty voices at least. 
 "Because, Theard it from the young grocer (She always 
 hears every thing from the young grocer) who heard it 
 from the mercer, who had it from the lawyer himself; and 
 so you know then it is." " Oh, of course ; well, I'm sure 
 I should never have thought it." " And such a fortune." 
 
 " Why, he's the richest man in the parish." "I wish / 
 had a rich old uncle." " Yes, and he never went to see 
 him." "All through that Adina." " Eagh ! " " There 
 he is ! " (Twenty voices again.) 
 
 " He " was Nemorino. " He " had run to the doctor, 
 who again fraudulently appropriated the crowns ; again 
 " he " had imbibed the elixir of love, and this time he real- 
 ly hoped the elixir would have some effect. 
 
 " How humble he looks." 
 
 " He don't know his good fortune yet." 
 
 " Good evening to your curls, Nemorino," said one. 
 
 " Good evening, and a curtsey to your heart, Nemorino," 
 cried another. 
 
 " Good evening, and a smile, Nemorino," exclaimed a 
 third. 
 
 " Your humble servant, siguor," said a mean fourth. 
 
 "TiiE ELIXIR!" 
 
 "You'll forget your old playmates now, signer." 
 
 " Oil ! no, Nemorino is too amiable" 
 
 " Your humble servant, signer." 
 
 THE ELIXIR." 
 
 Here two persons coming stopped in the utmost won- 
 der to sec Nemorino, the rustic, in the midst of a group 
 of girls. One person was the enormous Doctor Dulcama- 
 ra, and the other person was the far from enormous Adina. 
 
 " Bless me ! " said Adina to herself.
 
 112 TALES FROM THE OPERAS. 
 
 Nemorino ran up to the doctor, and whispered "You 
 were right, the elixir this time was stronger" 
 
 "Can ... I ... believe . . . ray . . . senses?" ex- 
 claimed Dulcamara. Then he said to the women " Does 
 he please you ? " 
 
 " The insolence of that doctor ! " all the girls seemed to 
 say with t.heir little noses in the air. 
 
 " Can I believe. Am I the proprietor of the love 
 philtre ? " For we may tell lies till we actually believe 
 them ourselves. 
 
 " Well," thought the rustic to himself, "if every girl 
 loves me, she ought." 
 
 " And I thought to find him in tears, and if he still 
 loved me, he would be," thought Adina. 
 
 " You'll dance, Nemorino." 
 
 " Yes, Gianetta, with you." 
 
 " With me, your humble obedient servant, signor, too." 
 
 " Yes, yes." 
 
 "With yow, indeed ! Ah, ah. Very good." And here 
 the pretty noses were brought into action again. 
 
 Can I bel . I DON'T." 
 
 "Ne ne ne ne mo ri no ! " 
 
 THE ELIXIR. She comes ! " 
 
 " Can I I CAN'T," said the doctor. 
 
 " So, for a few poor crowns, you've become soldier, Ne- 
 morino. I must speak to you," said Adina. 
 
 " Nemorino ! " 
 
 Well, Gianetta." 
 
 " Hark ! there's the music. And you know you prom- 
 ised me." 
 
 " True, true, I'm coming. I'll hear you presently, 
 Adina. Coining, Gianetta, coming." 
 
 Scene a despairing little woman pressing her little 
 hands one within the other. And whether anybody is 
 there she cares not, as she says in a whisper, " I love him, 
 I do love him." 
 
 Says Doctor Dulcamara. "Can I no believe my 
 senses. " Ah, ah ! I'm a gold mine. I'm a Croesus ! " 
 
 "Ah, ah, ah!" cried a quick, sharp voice, the personal 
 property of Gianetta in fact. And as she went oft* to the 
 dance, audacious with Nemorino. " Ah, ah, ah, she thinks
 
 L'ELISIB DAMORB. 113 
 
 she's to have the homage of all the men in the village, but 
 she WONT." 
 
 " She '' heard the remark, but it did not make her an- 
 
 gry- 
 
 " How cruel, how cruel ! " 
 
 "Ah ! all my doings." 
 
 "Yours, doctor." 
 
 "Yes, I have Queen Isotta's love secret!" 
 
 "Queen n IsottcCs! I won't believe it. And you 
 gave it to Nemorino ! " 
 
 " Oh, yes. To try it on some cruel fair, who would 
 have naught to say to him." 
 
 "Ah, then he was in love with some one." 
 
 " Yes, the poor fellow ; and to get money for Queen 
 Isotta's secret, he enlisted." 
 
 " The poor youth ! " 
 
 " 'Tis my impression she would buy elixir herself," said 
 the doctor to himself. 
 
 "And now, Nemorino is fortunate in love?" 
 
 " There's not a girl but here, just look at them. This 
 way ! " 
 
 " And who is he in love with ? " 
 
 " Faith, I know not, but they are all in love with him? 
 
 " And once I know he only loved me" 
 
 " The elixir is not dear. Think ! you might have a hun- 
 dred lovers at your feet ! " 
 
 " I'd not know what to do with them. I I only wish 
 but oner 
 
 " And every woman in the place would hate you." 
 
 What are they to me ! " 
 
 " Or if you'd marry a rich man." 
 
 "I'm rich enough already." 
 
 " A count, a marquis." 
 
 "Good, if named Nemorino." 
 
 " And my philtre ! " 
 
 "You may swallow it yourself." 
 
 " I rather think Adina knows a good deal more than I. 
 But I also think Adina for all girls don't reply." 
 
 " He shall come back to me," said the little woman to 
 herself, " he shall, he shall ! A look, a smile, a little frown, 
 and he is at my feet. For I have the elixir, here, in my 
 face, here, in my eyes."
 
 114 TALES FUOM TIIK OPERAS. 
 
 And away she went to find Nernorino. If she had only 
 looked behind her now. For there lie was ; and as she 
 fluttered away, he came a few steps forward. 
 
 As a clear evidence how fond he was of her in this, that 
 he was sorry he had gone away with Gianetta, perchance 
 the mercenary. Indeed, he thought he had marked a fur- 
 tive tear or so in Adina's eyes ; and, very softly, he thought 
 to 
 
 " O, Nemorino ! what, left the dancing?" 
 
 " Yes, I was tired." 
 
 "What, and left Gianetta?" 
 
 " Yes ; for I was tired of her, too. You see, when a 
 poor youth is loved by all the girls, he need not care for 
 one only. Heigh o ! they all want to marry." 
 
 "Well, they can't all marry you; and what do you 
 say?" 
 
 "I don't know." 
 
 " Now listen to me," said the maiden, coming up close 
 to him. 
 
 " Well, Adina (she's going to confess.) " 
 
 " Why why are you going to leave us ? Why are 
 you going away for a soldier ? " 
 
 " Going to seek my fortune, Adina." 
 
 " But but we all like you here. And and we should 
 aU be so sorry to part with you. And and " (here the 
 little right hand went to the little natty apron-pocket, and 
 brought out a paper.) " And and I've bought your dis- 
 charge" 
 
 " Ha ! you love me ! " 
 
 "Love you? We all love you like you. There, 
 take the paper. And pray keep amongst us. I dare say 
 you will find somebody you can faU head over ears in love 
 wi'h ; for I'm sure we all like you. Good bye." 
 
 "But this isn't confessing !" 
 
 " Good bye, Nemorino." 
 
 " But but you're not going like that ! " 
 
 " Why, what more can you want ? you have your dis- 
 charge. Good bye, Nernorino." 
 
 " Oh, good bye ; only you have forgotten something." 
 
 "Indeed what?" 
 
 "The discharge. Take it I shall remain a soldier
 
 L'ELISIR D'AMORE. 115 
 
 For the doctor has deceived me ; and and God bless 
 you, and good bye, Adina." 
 
 " Oh, no, no, no, no. He has not deceived you. I I 
 want to make you as happy as I have made you wretched. 
 I I know you love me, and and I LOVE YOU WITH ALL 
 
 MY HEART ! " 
 
 " THE ELIXIR ! " 
 
 " Hi ! hi ! hi ! what's this ? what's this ? Can Sergeant 
 Belcore believe his handsome eyes ! " 
 
 " If he can't, he must believe Adina's tongue. My hus- 
 band, Sergeant Belcore." 
 
 " Your husband, ma'am ; your husband ! Keep him. 
 Sergeant Belcore won't break his heart for one woman." 
 
 " Ah ! but one Sergeant Belcore would break the hearts 
 of a thousand women. Let him buy the elixir of love, ten 
 crowns a bottle. I, Doctor Dulcamara, only sell it. Who 
 subdued the sweet Adina ? I, Doctor Dulcamara, did ! " 
 
 K Cursed mountebank ! may you and your coach fall 
 into the next ditch." 
 
 " He ! he ! he ! she only marries him because his rich 
 uncle is dead." This was the malicious remark of Gian- 
 etta. 
 
 For one moment Adina drew away. 
 
 The next moment Nemorino drew closer to Adina. 
 
 Adina did not withdraw. 
 
 "And pray, who made him die?" 
 
 " Why, rustics all, 'twas I." 
 
 " Oh ! listen, rustics, listen, if cither has an uncle, 
 Almost dead with say lumbago, phythsics, or carbuncle, 
 I'll kill him, or I'll cure him, precisely as you say ; 
 But this way, or the other, my friends, you'll have to pay, 
 
 " I. present, now, 
 Who make this bow, 
 Am Doctor Dulcamara. 
 In France I'm known, 
 I'm famed alone, 
 In Venice and Ferrara 
 Such things I've done, 
 That more than one, 
 Have said I am no matter ; 
 But this I know, 
 Where'er I go, 
 I make no little clatter.
 
 116 TALES FROM THE OPERAS. 
 
 " Oh . rustics, rustics, rustics, if e'er you would grow fat, 
 To purchase these my bottles 'tis the best thing to be at, 
 \V omeu ye maidens who'd in the waist be thin, 
 Try one bottle; 'tis far better than lacing yourselves in. 
 
 You soldiers, there, 
 
 Who court the fair, 
 
 I pray you make one trial. 
 
 Why, sure as fate, 
 
 Sure as I'm great, 
 
 You'll ignore the word denial 
 
 Thank you; and you, 
 
 Four crowns, 'twill do. 
 
 I am great Dulcamara, 
 
 But two ? take three ! 
 
 Cash hand to me ! 
 
 I'm famed in Carrara. 
 
 ' Oh, every one, or old, or young, at you of middle age, 
 To do all things 1 don't care what I doctor do engage. 
 Grow rich, j*row poor, grow young, grow old, I'm Doctor Dulcamara, 
 Famed north, famed south, and as I've said, I think, in for Carrara. 
 
 " You want a head ; 
 No sooner said, 
 
 Than done if I'm your doctor. 
 Your skin, I ween, 
 I'll color green 
 
 Or make you look a Chocktaw. 
 But mind you all, 
 Both great and small, 
 Don't draw away afraid, oh ! 
 The money bring 
 For every thing, 
 Dulcamara must be paid, oh ! " 
 
 And after this happy conclusion, who shall say there is 
 not some virtue in the ELIXIR OF LOVE.
 
 IL BARBIERE DI SIVIGLIA. (ROSSINI). 
 
 THE BARBER OF SEVILLE. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 THE barber, Figaro, was, in his way, a blessing. 
 
 I don't mean to say for one moment that he was at all 
 equal to any one benison uttered by any one ecclesiastic 
 in the quaint old city of Seville ; yet I do assert, and 
 plainly, he was a blessing Figaro, barber and bleeder of 
 Seville. 
 
 For, besides being a barber, a Spanish barber, Figaro 
 was a bleeder ; and in Figaro's days, barbers were of in- 
 finitely more importance than they are now. 
 
 Ah ! and Figaro was also a postman ; but, I grieve to 
 say, he never delivered letters with double knocks ; indeed, 
 the only percussions at all in these matters arose between 
 the hearts and the ribs of those to whom the billets 
 d'amour were delicately addressed. 
 
 On the whole, however, I do NOT think Figaro was the 
 pattern of a moral man. But, dear me, you must pick up 
 your bread where you can find it in Seville, and Seville 
 never was, and never will be, a highly moral centre. 
 
 Well, then, you will please to understand that Figaro was 
 ubiquitous (so to speak,) clever, ready-witted, a good bar- 
 ber, a good bleeder, a good musician, and a not over scru- 
 pulous Spaniard. 
 
 But, in the affair of the Count Almaviva, everything 
 was strictly moral and proper. The count was madly in 
 love with Rosina, and desired her for his countess ; but, 
 alas ! Rosina was an imprisoned flower, and she spelt her 
 jailor's name thus : g-u-a-r-d-i-a-n. 
 
 Well, well ; the count adored Rosina, though where he 
 first made her acquaintance, tradition sayeth not.
 
 118 TALES FROM THE OPERAS. 
 
 But this is certain, he came one night, as usual, to sere- 
 nade this dark beauty, who was close shut up in her guar- 
 dian's dark old house. Her darkness was delicious, but 
 the darkness of that old house was abominable. There 
 was, however, a balcony to it, and to that balcony the 
 poor Rosina would fly whenever she could. 
 
 On this night, too, the count did not serenade alone ; 
 he had with him quite a crowd of serenaders, delighted to 
 serve a man of his quality. And, truth to tell, he and his 
 crowd played their best music, and not a sign was there 
 from the house. But the day itself advancing, the crowd 
 was dismissed, and the count stood alone, happily unhap- 
 py, near the door of the enchantress's guardian's horrid 
 house. 
 
 He was still pensively watching, when by came Figaro. 
 Never mind upon what errand he had been 'tis no busi- 
 ness of ours ; he had his guitar in his hand, and on his 
 guitar he was playing; singing, too, rather egotistically, 
 but never mind. 
 
 La ran, la lera, la ran, 1* la. 
 There's no time for the city's factotum here, 
 He must off to his shop, for dawn is quite near. 
 
 La ran, la lera, la ran, la la. 
 
 What merrier life, whose pleasures more gay, 
 Than those of this barber, good people say, 
 Ah ! brave Figaro, bravo, bravissirao, 
 Is there a better one ? oh dear, dear me, no ! 
 
 La ran, la lera, la ran, la la. 
 
 Ready at call, both by day and by night, 
 No one more active, and no one more light. 
 What better cheer, or happier lot, 
 Have any men, pray, than barbers have got ? 
 
 La ran, la lera, la ran, la la. 
 
 Lancet, and scizzors, and razor, and comb, 
 
 Your Figaro sells when he's at home. 
 
 B'it when he's from home, his trade's billets-doux, 
 
 Which he'll carry for that man, or this man, or you. 
 
 La ran, la lera, la ran, la la. 
 
 How I am looked for wherever I go, 
 Oil this side a belle on that aide a beau.
 
 IL BARBIERE Dl SIVIGLIA. 119 
 
 Whore is my wig, you stupid pig. 
 
 Just take this p.icket, under your jacket 
 
 Figaro Figaro here, sir, here, 
 
 Figaro up Figaro down, 
 
 Figaro, presto, all over town. 
 Oh yes ; I'm as quick as lightning's bright flash, 
 And what's best of all, I earn plenty of cash. 
 Oh brave Figaro bravo bravissiino, 
 Is there no better one oh dear, dear me no. 
 
 La ran, la lera, la ran, la la. 
 
 This contented personage was rushing off to his shop 
 wnen he went crash up against the count himself. " Good 
 master ! " 
 
 " What Figaro ! Hush, be silent ! I'm not known 
 here." 
 
 " Surely surely surely Senor." 
 
 It would be hardly within the bounds of possibility to 
 believe that the grand count actually set to work, then 
 and there, in the dark, to tell Figaro of his loves ; but 
 then it was Figaro and the barber was a father confess- 
 or in all affairs of the heart. The count stated that he 
 had fallen in love with a lady whom he took to be the 
 daughter of an old physician and he, count as he was, 
 called himself Lindoro, and was, night and day, watching 
 that balcony. 
 
 ''That window ! Senor you are lucky." Then the 
 barber set him right. Her name was Rosina she was 
 not the doctor's daughter, but his ward and she hated 
 him; and he was jealous of her and she was wretched, 
 and he was wretched, and a very pretty house it was. As 
 for him, Figaro, in that said house he was everything 
 barber, hairdresser, and surgeon too. 
 
 He was in the full tide of chatter when the count start- 
 ed. Barber knew, without looking, that the window 
 opened and she was in the balcony. 
 
 Rosina lovely as the night stood in the balcony, 
 holding a letter in her hand. She was wondering where 
 somebody was. 
 
 Crack ! she had barely got into the balcony than the 
 old doctor was after her. 
 
 u A fine morning, child. What letter 's that ? " 
 
 As she answered, she saw the proposed owner of the
 
 120 TALES FROM THE OPEUAS. 
 
 letter. " A letter no a piece of music. Oh, clear, it 
 has fallen into the street pray go and pick it up." 
 
 He required no recommendation. He trundled his jeal- 
 ous old legs to the street door, but the letter was deliver- 
 ed. He looked sharply about, while, the young lady de- 
 plored that the wind had carried it away. 
 
 " I'll surely have that balcony walled up," said the old 
 doctor " I surely will." 
 
 And he went in and barred the door. 
 
 As for the letter opened and read by Figaro it 
 stated that the lady had a laudible curiosity to know who 
 and what was the serenader, and why he came there 
 that she was touched by his attentions ; that she was 
 wretched ; that she hated her guardian ; and that her name 
 was Rosina. 
 
 After reading the letter, said Figaro "And a sad old 
 fellow is that same guardian a miser, a monster, a 
 wretch. 
 
 Again the barber was brought up short the doctor 
 had left his house again going to see a patient. And 
 he left strict injunctions to let no one enter while he was 
 away ; though, if Don Basilio came let him wait outside. 
 
 A stream of condemnation for Don Basilio who, truth 
 to say, was a rival of Figaro's. " A match-maker by 
 trade," said Figaro ; " a penniless, know-nothing rapscal- 
 lion, who had recently set up as a music master. A long, 
 lank, lean man, with a nose like a hook; and he taught 
 Rosin a music too ! " 
 
 "Chink chink." This speaking sound was the pas- 
 sage of gold from count to barber. Barber engaged upon 
 that argument to do all things. 
 
 Clearly the first thing to do was to get into the house. 
 One second, and the barber had it. A regiment had just 
 arrived the count must disguise himself as a soldier and 
 present a billet. The count was charmed with the idea ; 
 and the barber was charmed with himself. " Chink 
 chink," from the barber's purse. Another thought. lie 
 must be drunk 'twould put the guardian off his guard 
 what gentleman would be drunk! 
 
 So, on the very best terms with each other, the count 
 and the barber walked off to put their plans into execution.
 
 IL BARBIERE DI SIVIGLIA. 121 
 
 CHAPTER H. 
 
 IT is., I hope, no imputation upon Rosina's character 
 to say she watched the count and the barber as they 
 chatted ; and it is to be hoped no one will accuse her of 
 impropriety, if, in that hour, she fairly made up her mind 
 that the count would make an admirable husband ! And 
 
 and after a time she wrote another letter a delicious 
 lover's relief and wondered how he was to get it; and 
 she was just thinking that perhaps Figaro could 
 
 When Figaro came into the room. 
 
 " Good day, Senorita." 
 
 " Good day, Senor Figaro ; I am dying of weariness." 
 
 w Then look in the glass, and you'll be charmed." 
 
 " Charmed in a tomb, Figaro ? This house is a tomb." 
 
 " Dear, clear hist ! he's coming." 
 
 Figaro slid to the other end of the room Rosina 
 whisked from it, and the barber was a most unconscious 
 person when Dr. Bartolo and Don Basilic humbug 
 and music-master (vide Figaro), made their appearance. 
 
 Figaro was ordered out for the present. 
 
 Terror for Rosini what says her guardian to the 
 other? that either by love or force he will be married 
 to her, and that too, within twenty-four hours. 
 
 " Ah ! Count Almaviva has arrived." Here the inform- 
 ant, Don Basilio, serpentized all his fingers. 
 
 " What what that same unknown lover of Ro- 
 sina's?" 
 
 " The very same but softly softly let's paint him 
 black as black as paint may be." 
 
 The doctor shook his head, beckoned his friend aside, 
 for this was a thing which should be discussed in a closet 
 
 not in a room. 
 
 Hardly had they left the apartment than it lighted up 
 witli the presence of Figaro and Rosina. 
 
 It was the duty of Figaro to hear " chink chink " 
 
 he had been paid for it. But it was not the duty of 
 Rosina to listen; so she had not heard. 
 
 " Wedding cake, Senorita!" 
 " Not here, Senor." 
 6
 
 122 TALES FROM THE OPERAS. 
 
 " Yes yours ; your guardian intends to marry you." 
 
 La, la." 
 
 "On the faith of a barber he and the music-master 
 are at this moment arranging the matter." 
 
 u Indeed ; but Figaro, who Avas it that I saw you talk- 
 ing with a few hours since in the streets ? " 
 
 "My cousin a fine fellow with the best of heads 
 and hearts. He has come here to study, and make his 
 fortune." 
 
 " Fortune and he'll make it, Figaro?" 
 
 " He has one defect he's over head and ears in love ! " 
 
 " Tndeed how interested I am ! Where does she 
 live ? " 
 
 " Not far off." 
 
 " Twleed ; handsome ? " 
 
 " Hum yes ; here's her portrait. A prett}' graceful 
 figure such jetty ringlets a rosy cheek eyes too 
 that sparkle and " 
 
 " And her name ? " 
 
 ROSINA ! " 
 
 w What ! /the poor Lindoro's flame ? " 
 
 ''As sure Rosina is your name !" 
 
 u And I shall see him, and speak to him ? " 
 
 'You will and soon and here. But he, poor fel- 
 low, fain would have some token just two lines ; come 
 quick a note." 
 
 " A note oh here's one ready." 
 
 " Ah ! In love I plainly see, 
 She's taken her degree, 
 What man knows woman's art ? 
 Faith what man knows a part ? " 
 
 And he was gone. 
 
 She wore a very pleased expression of feature for two 
 minutes after Figaro had departed. But then she justi- 
 fiably pouted, for Dr. Bartolo came into the room, feeble 
 in all his parts but his eyes, which were glancing about 
 like sharp knives. Figaro. He was doubtful of Figaro. 
 And he was sure of Rosina's simplicity. 
 
 " What man knows woman's art ? 
 Faith what man knows a part ? "
 
 IL BARBIERE DI SIVIGLIA. 123 
 
 So he thought he would question her. 
 
 "Pray what brought the barber here so early he 
 spoke to you ? " 
 
 " He always does ! And chatted of a thousand things 
 the latest fashions from Paris and and other 
 things." 
 
 " And the answer of your note ! No quibbling the 
 note, the piece of music you dropped this morning from 
 the balcony ? You blush how came that finger marked 
 with ink?" 
 
 " A burn I used the ink to cure it ! " 
 
 "That paper where's the sixth there are but five 
 sheets here." 
 
 " I wrapped some sweetmeats in it, that I sent to 
 Figaro's little niece." 
 
 " And this pen why 'tis yet wet." 
 
 " Yes I designed a flower." 
 
 " A flower indeed ! " 
 
 Finding she had the worst of the battle, she flouuced 
 away and out of the room, the doctor following her, and 
 positively breathing jealousy. 
 
 There was such a knocking at the street door, that the 
 whole house shook in alarm ; and old Bertha, the house- 
 keeper, thought it was coming down about her ears. 
 Hence she opened the door with greater speed than she 
 had used for years, and she stood a ghost as there, upon 
 the door step, she saw a soldier and, moreover, a drunk- 
 en soldier. She would have banged to the door again 
 
 but in so doing she must have crushed the intruder, for 
 he was coolly leaning against the post. 
 
 The old housekeeper came steaming back into the room, 
 her arms wide open, and, so to speak full of the subject 
 
 the soldier the drunken soldier! 
 
 " Tramp tramp tramp tramp." Two steps and a 
 stagger on the part of the soldier. 
 
 Dr. Bartolo heard the noise, and came in at a sharp 
 trot at one door, as the drunken soldier came stumbling 
 in at the other.
 
 124 TALKS FROM THE OPERAS. 
 
 ? Here you are you are you well ARE you he ? 
 He he what he ? " 
 
 " Doctor Berteldo Balordo whatever it is ? " 
 
 ' Go to the deuce, sir my name is Bartolo ! " 
 "Well well Dr. Barbaro it don!t matter 
 are you, Dr. Barbaro? Let us embrace, doctor." 
 " Stand back, sir." 
 " I WILL embrace thee. Ah, how good that is I 
 
 " The marshal of regiment I, 
 A doctor, too, of full degrees 
 A billet on your house I hold 
 Pray look at it dear doctor please." 
 
 As the doctor took the paper in a sightless rage, little 
 Rosina came tripping in. 
 
 " Methought I overheard just now, 
 A most unusual clamor here, 
 A soldier and my guardian too, 
 There's something much amiss I fear." 
 
 " I am Lindoro." Thus the drunken soldier, in a soft, 
 delicate voice, suited to love-making. 
 
 " Oh," she cried, which caused the old guardian to 
 start, and look up. At her he ran like a mad bull. 
 
 " Go along girl go along.! " 
 
 " And, faith I, marshall, aye, and doctor too, will e'en 
 go with her." 
 
 u Indeed you wont." 
 
 " My quarters, sir, are here." 
 
 " He reeled towards her, but his voice was far from 
 thick, in fact, deliciously soft, as he whispered, " Dearest, 
 dearest ! " 
 
 " Help," she screamed, but her glance was quite kind, 
 nevertheless. 
 
 Meanwhile, the guardian was spluttering wildly 
 " Zounds, sir, stand off." 
 
 "Quick quick your handkerchief let it fall," he 
 again softly whispered; and as the old doctor had his 
 eyes on him, he drew forth his sword and made a dread- 
 ful lunge at Bertha, who, with a squeal, shot away with 
 all the speed she could muster. 
 
 As for the guardian he thought he should burst with
 
 IL BAKBIEKE DI SIVIGLIA. 125 
 
 rage. But the next moment he had to scamper too, for 
 the drunken wretch made a lunge at him. 
 
 " Sir sir I'm exempt from billeting." 
 
 " Quick quick Rosina take this letter; " and with 
 a remarkably steady hand the soldier held her out a del- 
 icate little billet. 
 
 But she saw the eyes upon her, so she could not take it. 
 
 Still with his eyes on her, the old doctor thrust his 
 hand into a desk, and brought forward a paper an ex- 
 emption from billeting. 
 
 Said the soldier, "Don't pull that paper out, old man 
 unnecessary pain. I've taken up my quarters here 
 and here I will remain." 
 
 " You will not if there ai-e cudgels in Seville." 
 
 " You'd fight then let's begin. A charming thing a 
 battle truly. I'll show you how to fight. Now mark 
 me let this be the trench and you the enemy. Now 
 pray you mark me, sir, (drop your handkerchief) 
 now but look the other way." 
 
 Here the drunken soldier let fall a something like a 
 note, and immediately something like a lace handkerchief 
 fell over it. 
 
 The doctor saw it, though he did not see whence it 
 came; and he made straight for the contraband property. 
 But the soldier stopped him. 
 
 " 'Tis nought but a prescription, sir ; I told you I was a 
 doctor, well degreed. The writing's bad, I fain would 
 have you see it not." 
 
 " And I myself would just fain see it." 
 
 " Ah ! 'tis a little love affair, perhaps of hers. Pardon." 
 Here he picked up the note and lace, and handed them to 
 Rosina. 
 
 The doctor deserted the soldier directly, and fell upon 
 his little ward. " Quick, quick, the paper ! " 
 
 "If I could but change it," thought she ; and she did. In 
 a pretended little fright she leant against the table, cover- 
 ed a paper with her hand, and the deceptive deed was 
 done. 
 
 'Twas but a list of groceries! 
 
 * A fool a fool a very fool am I," thought the old 
 doctor. But he did not say so.
 
 126 TALES FROM TIIK OPERAS. 
 
 Here there was tho sound of weeping on the part of a 
 young lady, who was heard to remark, in a tearful voice, 
 that such oppression was intolerable, and such a life quite 
 unendurable. These remarks, unusual in the sprightly 
 Rosina for she loved to defy the doctor caused inex- 
 pressible pain to the drunken soldier, who was still reel- 
 ing about ; and perhaps somebody knew the little stubs 
 these same remarks would give. 
 
 " What man knows woman's art, 
 Faith what man knows a part ? " 
 
 Suddenly the soldier lunged forward with his long 
 sword again, and did so fly and lay about him, that old 
 Bertha took more exercise than she had taken since her 
 hair turned white. As for the old doctor, he flew about 
 till his respectable black legs looked like a dozen at least. 
 
 " Help, help ! " shrieked the doctor. 
 
 "Murder, murder!" quavered the old lady, getting over 
 the ground more quickly than ever. 
 
 " Oh ! oh ! oh ! " said the young lady, in great fear of 
 the drunken soldier. " Pray be still, soldier! " 
 
 Suddenly, and with a bound, rushed in barber. 
 
 " What's the matter what's the clatter T 
 About a quiet house 'tis pity. 
 I pray you, doctor, gaze below, 
 >\ hat's this to-do, the crowd would know." 
 
 " This is a rogue." 
 
 " Then you're another." 
 
 " This is a knave." 
 
 " Then you're my brother." 
 
 Then the barber : 
 
 " Good Mr. Soldier, have a care, 
 Or, as sure as you stand there. 
 This basin here, at one fell smack, 
 ' Gainst your sconce it shall go crack." 
 
 " Bang bang bang ! " at the street door. 
 u Bang bang bang ! " 
 
 The old guardian hesitated for a moment ; but then, 
 thinking he couldn't make matters worse, he went and
 
 IL B.VttBIERE DI SIVIGLIA. 127 
 
 opened the door ; and in came the watch, and part of the 
 crowd, and tramped all over the place. 
 Said the officer : 
 
 I ne'er hear,! such a noise before, 
 Whence springs this horrible uproar? " 
 
 The drunken soldier, and the indignant guardian, and 
 the rapid Figaro, and the pert Rosina, and even the 
 flushed old Bertha herself hastened to give their evidence 
 in chorus; but, with a stern wave of the hand, the captain 
 of the watch bade one speak at a time. 
 
 The doctor's grey hair carried it. He deposed that the 
 soldier was a scoundrel, a coward, and a scamp, who had 
 sought his life and drawn his sword and that, too, with- 
 out the least provocation. 
 
 Here the barber could not help striking in, "Yes, 
 Senor, and I came in, and I parted the sanguinary com- 
 batants." 
 
 " Oh dear, oh dear ! " This was the voice of a Ihght- 
 ened little maiden who began to think a certain drunken 
 soldier was in trouble. 
 
 " You are arrested," said the captain of the watch to 
 the drunken soldier. 
 
 Who, thereupon, thinking that the farce had been 
 played long enough, tore open the breast of his coat and 
 showed the Order of the Grandees of Spain. 
 
 We are bound to set forth the particulars of the 
 Spanish chronicle, whence we learn that the effect of this 
 " Order" was order indeed. The officer, with unpardon- 
 able partiality, immediately un-arrested (to coin a word) 
 the drunken soldier, and everybody was respectfully 
 astonished. Then, everybody went peacefully home, and 
 (bed time arriving) went possibly, to bed. 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 NEXT day, Dr. Bartolo sat him down to discuss the 
 drunken soldier. The aged gentleman had sent out 
 streams of inquiry in every direction, and he had ascer-
 
 128 TALES FROM THE OPERAS. 
 
 tained that no such person as the drunken visitor was 
 known in the regiment. Then who was he? Suspicion 
 gave birth to acuteness, and this jealous old gentleman 
 soon made up his mind that the stranger was in the 
 employ of his ward's the unknown lover, the detest- 
 ed Count Almaviva. 
 
 He was in the midst of a deep plan of retribution and 
 revenge, when a thwacking at the outer door jerked him, 
 as it were, from his reverie. Before old Bertha could 
 open that door the knocks were repeated again and again, 
 and the doctor had just risen to open himself (that is the 
 door) when a visitor appeared. 
 
 A youngish looking, fairly handsome man, whom par- 
 tial eyes would have declared to be very much like tho 
 drunken soldier, alias Liudoro, alias Count Almaviva, 
 stood just within the room, dressed sedately in black, and 
 making the profoundest of bows. 
 
 " May heaven send you peace and joy." A profound 
 bow. 
 
 " Thank you ; they'll be new gifts of heaven, but don't 
 trouble yourself. Who are you ? " 
 
 " May peace and joy be yours for years, and years by 
 thousands." Another profound bow. 
 
 " Thank you ; but don't trouble yourself. "Who is 
 he ? I think I know that face, h-u-u-u-u-m ! But yet 
 the countenance is changed, and certainly the dress, 
 h-u-u-u-u-m ! n 
 
 " Yes, joy and peace, and peace and joy, and joy and 
 peace together." Here the stranger bowed lower than 
 ever. 
 
 Well well well well well ! " 
 
 "Yes, joy and peace I think I said with all my heart. 
 He nearly laid his nose upon the doctor's instep. And 
 the new comer rather thought this last disguise was per- 
 fect, and panted for the moment when he and his Rosina 
 should sweetest converse hold. 
 
 " And pray, sir, who are you ? " 
 
 "I'm Don Alonzo and I am of music a professor, 
 and I am, as well, dear sir, a pupil of Basilio's I mean 
 good Don Basilio's. Poor man, he's very ill, so in hie 
 stead "
 
 1L BAKBIERE DT SJVIGLIA. 129 
 
 ""What, very ill then I must run and see him." 
 
 " No, no, pray don't run and see him, 'tis no dangeroua 
 illness." 
 
 " Hu u u urn. Come, let's go." 
 But, sir ! " 
 
 " Hu u u in." 
 
 u Now hear me." 
 
 Hu u urn." 
 
 " I'm Don Alonzo truly but but as the truth you'll 
 have I come as well from Almaviva count." 
 
 u Softly, softly, my good sir." 
 
 " The count." 
 
 " Yes yes yes but softly, softly ! " 
 
 " This morning to my lodging came, and in my hands, 
 by chance, there fell this note, directed by your ward to 
 DIM." 
 
 " Her very hand." 
 
 " You see, good doctor, busied with a lawyer, Basilio 
 could not come, and so sent me, but he knows nothing of 
 this letter, trust me. Well now, for I am mightily desir- 
 ous, good sir, of your favor, if now I could speak a word 
 to her?" 
 
 " Speak, speak with her ! " 
 
 " I might induce the senorita to think I had this letter 
 from " 
 
 Well, well." 
 
 "A mistress of the count's. And then you see." 
 
 "Good, good. She'd hate him. Softly, good! a calum- 
 ny. Ah, ah! a worthy scholar you of Don Basilio's. 
 Well, well, I'll call the chit, and since you are so interest- 
 ed in me, why, I'll e'en repose great confidence in you." 
 
 The old man shakily going out of the room to hunt up 
 his unfortunate little ward, the music master sat musing 
 the most delicious thoughts. If now she would only con- 
 sent to his plan, then they would be completely happy. 
 
 When the doctor came back, leading the opposing and 
 indignant Rosina into the room, his jealousy was awake 
 in a moment ; for how should Rosina know that the Don 
 Alonzo was somebody else at the same time? Hence, 
 when she looked up haughtily at the music master, behold 
 6*
 
 130 TALKS FROM THE OPERAS. 
 
 her face changed its expression directly, and to a little 
 scream she added a little start. 
 
 The doctor saw the first, heard the second, and felt the 
 third. 
 
 Well well well ! " 
 
 " Oh dear me, Senor, the cramp I" 
 
 " Hu u u u m." 
 
 Meanwhile, the music master was again making the 
 profoundest of bows. Then he profoundly placed a music 
 stool before an old piano, and profoundly proposed to the 
 young lady that she should sit down. 
 
 Perhaps not unwillingly, she sat down, and perhaps not 
 unwillingly, she poured forth a delightful song. 
 
 Arriving at the end of it, and even the most delicious 
 songs will come to an end, the new music master was 
 most enthusiastic in his praises. 
 
 The doctor would qualify his praise. The voice was 
 good granted. But the airs why the airs of the pres- 
 ent day what were they ? Contemptible. Now, for 
 instance, when the wonderful , Cafhriello sang, and when 
 he sang that wonderful 'la, la, la* of his, why there was 
 an air to which none could object. In fact he would sing 
 it. It began 
 
 " When thou art near, Rosina dear." 
 To be sure the song said Giannina but never mind. 
 
 " When thou art ne-e-e-ar, Rosina de-e-e-ar, 
 With joy and fe-e-e-ar, there falls a te-e-e-ar." 
 
 This delicious romance the old doctor pointed by means 
 of his right foot and toes. He also elaborated the accent 
 by means, first of his right hand and arm, and then of his 
 left hand and arm ; and getting to te-e-a-r, he laid both 
 his hands on his heart, looked sentimental, and fell into a 
 rage ; for he caught sight of Figaro behind him, mimick- 
 ing him. 
 
 Meanwhile, the professor of music was diligently ox- 
 plaining (perhaps the ground-work of music), to the 
 young lady, who was as diligently listening. 
 
 The barber wag horrified at the doctor's discovery, and 
 immediately flourished about his razors.
 
 IL BAKBIEEE DI SIVIGLIA. 131 
 
 "Well well well." 
 
 M Excuse me, Senor I come to shave you/' 
 
 " I'll not be shaved to-day." 
 
 " Then not to-morrow. I'm engaged to-morrow." 
 
 " I say I'll not be shaved to-day" 
 
 " What, doctor think you I'm a country shaver! Sc 
 please you find another barber I am off." 
 
 " Well well have your way. Go to my room and 
 no no, I'll go myself." 
 
 I have forgotten to say that the old doctor bad locked 
 up the balcony, and carried the key in his pocket with 
 all the other keys a mighty bunch. The doctor locked 
 up everything. 
 
 Amongst other things and places, the doctor always 
 locked up his own room. Now, therefore, he hauled 
 forth the mighty bunch, and turned his legs towards the 
 door. Suddenly his suspicion was all awake again. 
 What, leave the stranger and the barber there ! No 
 no. "Here, Figaro take the keys; be careful, and 
 break nothing ! " 
 
 As Figaro passed the young lady she looked up, and 
 said rapidly " The newest key there is." 
 
 With a jingle of triumph the barber ran off. 
 
 "Hu-u-u-m that Senor, music-master, was the 
 who brought her the letter from the count." 
 
 Indeed ! " 
 
 At this moment there was heard a horrible crash, which, 
 sounded like a canonnade with china bowls. 
 
 Away flew the doctor after the barber ; again the ex- 
 planation of the " ground-work " went on ; and was only 
 interrupted by Figaro's flying entrance a bright new 
 little key between his fore-finger and thumb. 
 
 Victory in fact ! 
 
 But he showed a very doleful countenance as the doc- 
 tor came deploringly in the room. 
 
 " Six plates eight basins one tureen ! 
 Was such damage ever seen? " 
 
 But, in spite of plates and dishes, the time of a town 
 barber was not to be wasted ; so Figaro, flourishing his 
 instruments of torture about, the doctor sat down, and
 
 132 ' TALES FROM THE OPERAS. 
 
 the barber was preparing to dash at him, brush in hand, 
 when his arm remained suspended in the air ; for Marplot, 
 in the shape of Don Basilio, stood in the doorway ! 
 
 For an instant the barber was disconcerted, but recov- 
 ering his presence of mind, he prepared to assault the 
 doctor. But the latter, struggling to his feet, called out, 
 Basilio ! ' tis Basilio ! " 
 
 Don Basilio made a lean bow, taking off his shovel hat 
 with his long fingers. " Good day to you ; good day to 
 all." 
 
 As for the young people at the piano, they could only 
 wonder what could come next. 
 
 " And pray, Basilio, how are you ? " asked the doctor, 
 earnestly. 
 
 " How am I ; as well as ever." 
 
 "Excuse me Senor, but that confounded beard of 
 yours ; a town barber cannot wait all day ! " 
 
 " Yes, yes ; directly. And the lawyer, Don Basilio ? " 
 
 "The lawyer?" 
 
 The professor of music deserted his post and fled up to 
 the doctor. " Of the affair, Senor, of the letter, recollect 
 he nothing knows." 
 
 The barber turned to Don Basilio, who was elevating 
 his eyebroAvs, and all the wrinkles in his forehead, won- 
 dering what all this might mean. " Oh heavens, Don 
 Basilio, this is fever." 
 
 Said Figaro, 
 
 " Yes, I swear it by my post ; 
 You're as chalky as a ghost 
 Fever ! ghost ! 
 Don Basilio go to bed, 
 'Tis the fever called the red 
 
 The professor of music made that "chink, chink" cho- 
 rus already alluded to; and when IK- performed it he was 
 standing near the barber. Thereupon said Figaro, still 
 hi his quality of surgeon, and still to Don Basilio. 
 
 " And as you'll want a nurse. 
 Let me reconnneud this purse ; 
 Yes ; you are very bad indeed. 
 In aucb. cases one must bleed."
 
 IL BARBIEEE DI SIYIGLIA. 133 
 
 The music-master, the barber, and the young lady too, 
 were all so interested in Don Basilio's health, and they 
 did so crowd about him, that the doctor could neither put 
 in a word nor get near his friend, whose fingers went 
 twisting about, trying to discover the most profitable line 
 of conduct to pursue. 
 
 At last : 
 
 " Good day to all with all my heart, 
 I make my bow, and so depart." 
 
 The town barber was immediately himself again with 
 his implements. He turned even his handsome body to 
 account ; for he made of it a screen, and so hid the piano 
 and the two young people from the doctor's green eyes. 
 
 "Do, re, me, fa." 
 
 " We have the keys of the balcony ; at midnight be 
 you there." 
 
 " Yes ; Sol, la, si, do-o-o-o-o." 
 
 " Now pray don't forget the hour." 
 
 " No. D-o-o-o-o, si, la, sol-1-1-1." 
 
 " At twelve you will be mine." 
 
 " Yes. Fa-a-a, me, re, d-o-o-o-o." 
 
 " And now you trust yourself to me Rosi ." 
 
 " A-h-h-h," shrieked the doctor, his head coming round 
 the human screen, and noticing the whispers. He evaded 
 the quivering razor and rushed at the music-people, one 
 of whom, to wit the master, looked the picture of inno- 
 cent consternation ; while the other was quite astonished. 
 
 Cried Figaro : 
 
 " When thus a man doth rage and rave, 
 The thing to do 's his head to shave." 
 
 "I think I'd better go," said the music-master, 
 tremblingly. 
 
 "I think you had," said Figaro. 
 
 " Alas ! Why, before he went, did he not tell Rosina 
 of his giving her letter to the doctor. Alas ! Why did 
 this necessity escape the attention of the all-seeing 
 Figaro ? They both departed the barber flippantly, the 
 professor profoundly. And neither thought of the for-
 
 134 TALES FROM THK OPERAS. 
 
 getfulness up to the time when they were both fixing a 
 ladder against the locked up balcony. 
 
 Meanwhile, little Rosina had been converted into a 
 little tigress. 
 
 For not an hour had the count and barber been gone, 
 when Don Basilio had persuaded himself his line of pro- 
 fitable conduct was to come creeping back after a little 
 more money. This time he knew not a purse full, for the 
 doctor was old and his purse low. He came in with his 
 low bow. 
 
 u Noble doctor, do you know who this Alonzo was ? " 
 
 "No, no ; sent by the count, perhaps," 
 
 "It was the count himself. Some scheme is sure 
 afoot," 
 
 " Good ; and I'll scheme too. Now, haste, Basilio, to 
 the notary, and bid hiai come. This very night I'll mar- 
 ry her." 
 
 "But, noble doctor; fetch the notary ! And it rains in 
 torrents. Again, most noble doctor, the notary is en- 
 gaged ; this very night the barber Figaro gives his niece 
 in marriage." 
 
 "The barber Figaro has no niece! Another plot 
 another plot. Now, go, and call the notary! Go go 
 go ! Here, take the street door key, and go go go ! " 
 
 Then he cried out for Rosina ; and that young beauty 
 appearing, he very quickly turned her into a young 
 tigress. 
 
 " A pretty pitfall, Senorita ! " 
 
 "Indeed!'" 
 
 " I've some news from your new lover." 
 
 " Lover, indeed ! " 
 
 "Indeed! most nobly you've bestowed your young 
 affections, truly. Why, with another he makes sport of 
 you." 
 
 " He dares ! " 
 
 "(I'm right.) Yes, Senorita; as you say, 'he dares.' 
 Behold this letter; it formed for them a comedy." 
 
 " My very note." 
 
 " (A pretty plot.) Wliy^his Alonzo and the barber 
 are but tools, whose master is Count Almaviva," 
 
 " Oh, Lindoro."
 
 1L BARBIfcEE t)l SIVlGLIA. . 135 
 
 ("Lmdoro, is it!") 
 
 " Vengeance ! Did you not say you'd marry me ? 
 You did ; then let us married be. And noWj at once 
 (stamp of the foot), at once, at once ! At midnight he'll 
 be here, and with him, Senor, barber Figaro. It all was 
 settled I should fly and marry him." 
 
 " Ah ! I run to bar the door." 
 
 " Tis useless, Senor, you'd better bar the window." 
 
 " The window ! " 
 
 " Yes yes they have the key ! " 
 
 "The key! I'll not stir from the spot* Yet, should 
 they come with arms ! I'd better call the watch, and call 
 them thieves. Go, shut yourself within your room, and 
 double lock the door ! " 
 
 And out into the pelting rain he rushed, while the little 
 tigress, somewhat accusing herself of hastiness, wenl 
 slowly to her room. 
 
 At first there was nothing heard but the rain ; then 
 " click, click," the turning of a key in a lock. Then the 
 window opened slowly, and with light jumps, in came the 
 count and the barber. 
 
 And at this very moment, Don Basilio, drenched to his 
 very fingers' ends, was stalking along the street, towards 
 the doctor's, and with him was a notary, who with reluc- 
 tance had left his house. 
 
 And at this very moment, also, Dr. Bartolo was full 
 three sti'eets ofij laying a complaint before the Alcade. 
 
 " Rosina Rosina ! " cried Figaro. 
 
 " Rosina Rosina ! " cried the count. 
 
 No answer. 
 
 " Why, where can she be ? " cried both together. 
 
 She had not, of course, meant to come ; but hope is 
 strong, and so at this precise moment she came softly into 
 the room. 
 
 "Dear Rosina!" 
 
 " Stand back, Senor, I but come here to tell you, you 
 have lost me." 
 
 " Can I believe my precious senses ! " exclaimed the 
 barber. 
 
 " Rosina ! " 
 
 " Peace, Senor. Did you not pretend to love me, that 
 you might betray mo ? "
 
 136 TALES FROM THE OPERAS. 
 
 "And to whom?" 
 
 " The Count Almaviva." 
 
 " Ah good ! " said Figaro to hiraselC 
 
 " Then thou didst love Lindoro ? " 
 
 "Too well." 
 
 " Then thou didst love the count ? " 
 
 " The count ! " 
 
 " Rosina yes the count is thy Lindoro. 
 
 u And Lindoro is the count," said Figaro. 
 
 The bliss of these young people was soon ended for 
 alas! Figaro, who, as a general precaution, was looking 
 on all sides and on all levels, saw from the balcony one 
 lantern and two persons down below at the door! 
 
 " Quick the ladder," shouted he, and instinctively he 
 felt for it. Gone vanished. Even Figaro was discon- 
 certed. 
 
 Footsteps ! 
 
 The one lantern and the two persons. Don Basilio 
 and the notary. 
 
 "Noble Dr. Bartolo," whispered the gaunt man. 
 
 Figaro slipped quickly round the new comers, and then 
 said softly to the count "'Tis the scamp Basilio and 
 our notary. Cheer up, leave all to me." Then aloud he 
 added, "Good evening, gentlemen, I pray yoti place 
 the lantern on the table here. Senor notary ! this eve- 
 ning at my house you were to see a contract signed 
 between the Count Almaviva and my niece. Well, here 
 are you and I, the count, and also, here's my niece." 
 
 "But where's the doctor?" said Basilio, to whom 
 Figaro, handing him a ring from the count's hand, 
 
 " Put this ring upon your bond, 
 And let no more be said, 
 Or the next report may be, 
 You're shot clean through the head." 
 
 Don Basilio saw the force of the argument, and accepted 
 the ring. 
 
 " Then there was the scratching of pens, and the sign- 
 ing of names, and in less time than it takes to record the 
 fact, Rosina was a wife ! 
 
 And at this moment arrived Doctor Bartolo, with a
 
 IL BAEBIEBE DI SITIGLIA. 137 
 
 posse of people the Alcade, and one, two, three a 
 whole regiment of alguazils. 
 
 " Arrest them, arrest them all." 
 
 "What me. Figaro arrest me ! " 
 
 " I say arrest them all, they all are thieves." 
 
 It is reported that the alcade marched up to the count 
 with great dignity, but when he saw who it was a real 
 living count he fell back without any show of dignity 
 whatever. 
 
 And to a certain question that the doctor put to Figaro, 
 this was all the reply : " Chink, chink." The question 
 simply how it was that Figaro could turn against him 
 and betray him : " Chink, chink." An argument with- 
 out reply. 
 
 The doctor was not a bad doctor and as he could do 
 himself no good by being angry and as the bridegroom 
 was a count why he forgave them. 
 
 And as this chronicle is all about the loves of two 
 people who are now happily married, and about a guardi- 
 an who is a guardian no longer, why, obviously, this 
 chronicle is ended.
 
 RIGOLETTO. (VERDI.) 
 
 This tells of a hunch-back only, who wears two masks, 
 The one is mocking jest the second godlike love, 
 And if he wears them both too mixedly chide not 
 But dole him and his woes some pity. 
 
 Now full to. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 Ix the sixteenth century, kings and dukes still kept 
 their fools. The Duke of Mantua had his a poor hunch- 
 back, whom they called Rigoletto. He was as witty as any 
 fool in France or Italy ; and he was an honest man in this 
 that he despised the courtiers, who bowed low before 
 the tyranny of the duke, who broke up their families as a 
 child would toys, and quite as fearlessly. And if, as the 
 tale goes on, you find he had some human love in him, 
 remember he is a hunchback, and give him double praise. 
 
 The duke, whose whole life was a panorama of gallant- 
 ry, despised his conquests ; and, being handsome, believed 
 no woman could withstand him. lie was as heartless as 
 he was handsome, and he had no affection for a living 
 soul, unless, indeed, for Rigoletto, whom he loved for his 
 power of satirizing the courtiers, who loved Rigoletto 
 accordingly. 
 
 This fool, Rigoletto, was superstitious; moreover, he 
 had a secret, which it was the hope of his life to keep 
 from that terrible court ; for a fool, a jester, a hunchback, 
 may have loves and secrets like other men. 
 
 The duke had discovered a beautiful girl, whom he fol- 
 lowed daily as she went to prayers. For weeks he 
 followed her each day, and yet all he learned was that she 
 lived in a mean house in a mean street, and that every 
 day the same unknown man visited her.
 
 RIGOLETTO. 139 
 
 He still knew no more ; when, on a certain night, he 
 gave a grand ball at his palace. A happy, happy ball, 
 where each man trembled as the giver of the feast turned 
 eyes upon his wife or daughter ! A happy, happy, fete ! 
 He was paying the Countess Ceprano great attention, 
 when Rigoletto entered the hall, and saw the husband of 
 the lady jealously watching them. 
 
 " What troubles you count ? " said the fool, smiling 
 maliciously. 
 
 Rigoletto turned away gibing at the courtiers, crossed 
 the hall, and was gone. 
 
 Hardly had* he left, than the Lord Marcello stepped 
 quickly up to a group, declaring he had great news to tell 
 them. They crowded about him, wondering what he had 
 to say. 'Twas of Rigoletto. "What, had he lost his 
 hump ? " cried one. " Had he become straight ? " cried 
 another. 
 
 " No, no," replied the lord. ".Rigoletto, Rigoletto has 
 a mistress ! " 
 
 They all laughed merrily, perhaps a little cruelly, for 
 men and women love to return blow for blow. " What a 
 change, from a hunchback to a cupid." They were yet 
 laughing, when the fool passed near them with the duke, 
 who was still thinking of the Ceprano's wife. 
 
 " Steal her away ! " said the fool. 
 
 " Easily conceived, but not easily performed," replied 
 the duke. 
 
 " This very evening. Have you no prisons, great duke ? 
 Can you not banish him ? Or take his head ? " 
 
 u What, Ceprano's head?" asked the duke aloud, and 
 turning to that noble. 
 
 Yes what is it /good for ? " 
 
 The count drew his sword as the duke smiled, and the 
 fool affected to be overcome with fear. 
 
 " Ah ! ah ! he is very amusing to night." But the foul 
 did not see how menacingly the courtiers drew together, 
 and frowned at him. 
 
 The duke lightly warned the fool that he might jest 
 too deeply, and that the count's sword might end his 
 jokes. 
 
 " Bah ! who shall be brave enough to touch the duke's 
 favorite ? "
 
 140 TALES FROM TIIE OPEUAS. 
 
 And he imitated the duke, and turned away from the 
 group of nobles, not noticing their angry looks and 
 gestures. 
 
 At this moment an aged lord appeared at the door, and 
 violently thrust himself into the hall, though the servants 
 tried all they could to hold him back. His hair was white, 
 his limbs trembling his was another family the duke 
 had dishonored. 
 
 The guests started with surprise. 
 
 " I will see the duke, and even here blazon forth his 
 crimes." 
 
 " I will see the duke and even here blazon forth his 
 crimes," exclaimed the fool, mockingly, and, as well as he 
 could, imitating the grand posture of the aged noble. 
 
 "Poor wretch!" Then, turning to the duke, the 
 
 lord again exclaimed that he spoke in the name of his 
 dishonored family, and called for justice. 
 
 " Justice justice ! " continued the fool. 
 
 " Let him be arrested," said the duke, as he frowned 
 upon this new comer. 
 
 " He is mad," said the fool, solemnly. 
 
 " He is mad," repeated the courtiers. 
 
 " Be both accursed," cried the old lord to the fool. 
 . The soldiers seized him "thou and thy shameful 
 master who can laugh at a father's grief be both 
 accursed." 
 
 The fool, as the curse was uttered, drew on one side, 
 put his hands together aflrightedly, and said to himself, 
 his superstition all dominant, "He cursed me he 
 cursed me." - 
 
 Meanwhile, the cowardly courtiers merely looked after 
 the doomed lord as he was led away. 
 
 ****** 
 
 That same night, when the weary dancing was over, 
 and the duke no more required his fool, Rigoletto stole 
 out, and went quickly to an obscure part of the city, to a 
 high thick wall, in which was a small retiring door. 
 
 He had almost reached it, his head drooping at the 
 thought of the terrible curse, when a ruffianly man jostled 
 him. " Who are you ? Go j I need you not."
 
 EIGOLETTO. 141 
 
 " Signer, I am a man who has a dagger at your service, 
 ready at a word ! " 
 
 " You are a thief." 
 
 " No ; but a man who for money will rid you of your 
 rival. You have a rival." 
 
 "Who is he?" 
 
 " Is not your mistress near at hand ? " 
 
 The fool trembled violently for a little ; but recovering, 
 he hurriedly asked how much the fellow would charge to 
 kill a man ? How he would be sure to slay him ? 
 
 The brigand said he struck his victims in the street, or 
 in his own house. 
 
 His own house ? How was that ? 
 
 Said the brigand his sister danced in the streets, she 
 decoyed the man who was to fall, and, by his faith, the 
 matter was at an end. And how did he kill ? By his 
 faith, noiselessly, with the sword which he then carried. 
 
 The fool hurriedly asked where he could meet him 
 again, if he might want him was told here, at that very 
 spot, on any night. Rigoletto gave some money, and the 
 ruffian slouched away. 
 
 Instead of opening the door, the fool stood looking 
 after the brigand, and thinking what difference was there 
 much between them ? If the brigand wounded with his 
 steel, he, the fool, thrust and wounded with his tongue. 
 Then again he thought of the terrible curse, and turned 
 towards a gloomy house at hand the house of the very 
 man who had but now cursed him. Then he thought 
 that if he were bad, 'twas not his will, but the wills of 
 nature and of men. To be deformed, to be a fool, to be 
 condemned to laugh against his will, never to be pitied, 
 never to gain tears ! Then he frowned as he thought of 
 the cowardly and hateful courtiers, and then again he was 
 thinking of the awful curse for surely a curse by one 
 condemned to death might live might live ! He 
 trembled as he asked himself why this thought so clung 
 to him ? Then warily he opened the door and crept in 
 into a couityard, a jealous courtyard, which hid what it 
 held from the common gaze by great high walls. 
 
 To him ran a beautiful girl, who kissed and embraced 
 him. A mistress ? No ! no ! His daughter bis daughter,
 
 142 TALES FROM THE OPERAS. 
 
 whom he so loved, who made him human, who made him 
 fear the curse ! The mother of that girl had married him 
 for pity's sake, and the poor fool's daughter knew not 
 what her father was. She often wondered ; and now, on 
 this very night; she no sooner saw him than she began 
 asking him gaily to tell her the long promised secret. 
 She prayed him to tell her who had been her mother, 
 what he himself, her father, was. 
 
 He confusedly parried her questions, and told her hur- 
 riedly that she must never leave the house never 
 except to prayers. She answered that for now three 
 months he had ever spoken so ; should she never, never 
 see the city ? Again he only warned her never to leave 
 the house, and trembled as he thought that if he lost her 
 they would only laugh at a poor fool's loss. 
 
 Giovanna was his daughter's companion and servant 
 through the weary days, and as she now came from the 
 house into the courtyard he ran to her, and nervously 
 bade her guard his Gilda his only child. Truth to tell, 
 the memory of the curse sat heavily on him, and he 
 trembled greatly. 
 
 Suddenly he thought he heard a noise at the gate; in 
 the dark, thick night he rashly opened it, and ran two or 
 three steps forward. Before he could return, a figure had 
 glided into his stronghold and reached the shelter of a 
 tree. Is there nothing that will warn him of the thief 
 the thief that came in that night to steal away his treas- 
 ure ? Is there nothing to prompt him to stay at home 
 that night near her to guard her? He b,as come to the 
 house but for a few bfc st moments in which to see her ; 
 he hastens to creep back to the palace to play the fool 
 again. This is one of the desolate nights when he may 
 not creep to her door, and watch like a faithful dog till 
 morning. He must return to the weary palace prison. 
 " Good night, dear Gilda," he says. The girl pouts, but 
 the father kisses her frowns away, and says again, " Good 
 night, dear daughter," and unwisely turns away, and pulls 
 to the creaking door. 
 
 "His daughter," thought the thief, who had stolen 
 through the doorway. " His daughter," thought the 
 duke, for it is he "The fool, then, has a daughtei."
 
 EIGOLETTO. 143 
 
 So, while the father crept back to court, the duke was 
 trying to gain the love of his innocent daughter, whisper- 
 ing that he was a poor student who thought only of her 
 "Gilda." 
 
 At last the noble liar stole away again, and then, Gilda, 
 thinking more of the supposed student than of her fathei, 
 turned from the gate to which she had walked with the 
 duke, and moved towards the house. She had to ascend 
 a score of steps to reach a terrace, past which was the 
 house, and as she arrived on the highest of those steps, 
 she was seen from the dark street by several men, who 
 said amongst each other, " See, that is she. How beauti- 
 ful she is. That is Rigoletto's mistress ! " 
 
 At this moment the poor fool returned to his gate. 
 " Why do I return ? Alas ! the curse, the curse ! " 
 
 As he stood, the men in the street came near to Rigo- 
 letto, and so drew his attention to them. They knew 
 him in a moment the hunch showed plain. They were 
 lords of the court ; and amongst them was Ceprano, the 
 count, who had drawn his sword upon the jester, and 
 who now again drew it. " Softly," whispered one to 
 him ; " if he is killed where will be our laughter to-mor- 
 row ! " Then the speaker turned and told Rigoletto 
 who started as he spoke they were there to steal from 
 Ceprano his countess that the fool must help them. 
 They had the keys of the house, they said. See, the 
 speaker handed to the trembling fool the keys. 
 
 The curse he still thought of the curse as he took 
 the keys. What if they had come to steal his treasure ? 
 For a moment he held these keys listlessly; then sudden- 
 ly he swept a trembling fore-finger over the loop of one 
 of them and as he did so he half knelt and nearly 
 wept aloud for on the friendly steel he felt the count's 
 heraldic crest. So they were not deceiving him they 
 had come not to the house where lived his Gilda but to 
 the other the other. Then, full of thanks, he had to 
 laugh and make a sorry jest because of their adventure. 
 
 " Come," said the same speaker, u aid us," and he 
 placed on the fool's face a mask, and bound it about his 
 head with a handkerchief and the next moment the 
 poor creature was holding the ladder by which they 
 climbed to steal his daughter.
 
 144 TALES FROM THE OPERAS. 
 
 Standing there, he heard the crash of wood as they 
 forced a window. ("Why, if they had the keys," he 
 thought, " did they want a ladder ? why break into the 
 house?") Then for a few moments there was silence. 
 Then a door opened, feet trampled near him, he heard 
 even a smothered cry. Still he remained holding the lad- 
 der, still he saw nothing, for a handkerchief, unknown to 
 himself, was hanging over his eyes. Then the steps 
 sounded more distant, and at last were lost altogether. 
 
 He waited a little, and was then startled as his wander- 
 ing hand found the handkerchief hanging loosely over his 
 eyes. He flung it from him, and oh ! by the faint light, 
 he saw, the whole terrible truth. The open garden gate, 
 a scarf that had fallen from her shoulders as she was 
 carried away the desolate home ! 
 
 He ran in round the garden like a chased rat up 
 the steps, till he reached the house into it tore at the 
 serving-woman dragged her forth silently and without 
 a word then at last, finding his voice, he cried, " The 
 curse the curse," and fell upon the ground, mercifully 
 insensible. 
 
 CHAPTER H. 
 
 OH ! the weary, weary hours till daylight ; till he could 
 search through the city for his daughter. The age of 
 fp-ar, with but a faint poor hope to bear him through it. 
 Set the poor fool who has mocked the aged lord see 
 him wandering up and down the house ; then out into 
 the streets ; and then back again into the house, afraid to 
 leave it! The house how changed! And when he 
 sees anything dearly associated with her, he touches it, 
 kisses it as though she were dead, and for her sake he 
 loved it! Wearily, wearily dragging on life, till the 
 crowd of courtiers met to receive the duke, on his rising 
 for the day. Then the fool's gay dress was donned again, 
 covering his breaking heart, and the cap and bells mocking 
 bis deep, loving sighs. 
 
 " Good morning, Rigoletto what news ? "
 
 KIGOLETTO. 145 
 
 " News ? you are nearer hell to-day than yesterday, by 
 a score of hours. (Oh ! my child ! where art thou, oh ! 
 my child!)" 
 
 "See," they whispered to each other, "see how his 
 eyes search for her. Mark how hardly he draws his 
 breath ! " 
 
 Then turning to them, he went on lightly, " You look 
 well, gentlemen. Last, night's cold air, then, did you no 
 harm ?" 
 
 "Last night," said one, "I slept well through the 
 night." 
 
 For an instant he thought perhaps it was all a dream ; 
 but the next moment he saw a mask and a handkerchief 
 lying on a table. " See," they said to one another, as he 
 walked negligently to the table, " see how he marks all 
 things ! " 
 
 Then he saw the handkerchief was not hers, and still 
 wondering if she were in the palace, he asked jauntily, 
 Is the duke still asleep ? " 
 
 As he spoke, a page entered, and said the duchess 
 desired to see the duke. 
 
 Said a courtier, " He is asleep," 
 
 " But," said the page, " he was awake not a minute 
 since." 
 
 " Canst thou not understand ? He would not now bo 
 questioned." 
 
 The fool heard this conversation, and guessed its mean- 
 ing. " Ah ! then she is here ! " 
 
 "She who?" 
 
 " The poor girl you stole from under my roof." 
 
 "You are mad. If you have lost your mistress, 'tis 
 not within these walls you will find her." 
 
 For a moment he stood before them, jauntily and smil- 
 ing as ever ; then the revengeful lords might have surely 
 been satisfied, for the mocked fool was at their feet. 
 
 "This is a new jest for thee, Rigoletto." 
 
 All the small silver bells upon his head-dress rang as 
 he clasped his hands together. " She is my daughter, she 
 is my daughter. If, if I have offended you, you are great 
 lords, and will not be revenged on a poor fool." 
 
 Then he started to his feet as several courtiers looked
 
 146 TALES FKOM THE OPERAS. 
 
 meaningly towards a door, and ran towards it. But they 
 pressed upon him, and drove him back, lie battled with 
 them hard, he threatened, yelled, overthrew them. All 
 to no purpose ; he was still far, far from the door. Then 
 he wept, and in his wretchedness flattered them, and said 
 he knew' they had feeling hearts, and again asked them 
 where was his daughter. And then again he fell upon 
 his knees before them, before them who had so often 
 flinched from him, and lowered his head humbly. 
 
 He was still kneeling when the door opened, and 
 through it came his daughter white, trembling, fright- 
 ened. 
 
 She saw and ran to him, as he sprang from the ground. 
 
 " My daughter, my daughter ! See you, my lords, she 
 is my child, my only child ! Oh, be not afraid, daughter, 
 these are all noble lords ; it was only in jest, only in jest. 
 Why even I wept, but you see I am laughing now ! But 
 why dost thou weep, why dost thou weep ? " 
 
 She made no answer, only hid her face lower and lower. 
 
 Then he flung himself down in a chair, half in mad 
 jest, half in real madness, and in a pompous voice, cried 
 out, " Begone, ye people, and bid the duke not approach 
 while I remain here." 
 
 They began to laugh, for the vengeance was complete ; 
 there was no more need to bar the door. Saying, fools 
 and children must he humored, these great lords de- 
 parted. 
 
 Then she confessed to him how each day going to church 
 she saw a handsome stranger; how this stranger had 
 come only the night before and told her he was poor and 
 loved her. Then the men who had just left them tore 
 her from her home ; and the rest of her history was 
 miserable silence. 
 
 A moment he held her from him; then he laid her 
 head upon his breast and caressed her, and absolved him- 
 self of his sins by bitter, bitter tears. So then, heaven 
 did not hear his prayer, that the curse should fall on him 
 alone ; it had, indeed, fallen on her. He stooped down, 
 and kissed her as she lay in his arms ; then he bade her 
 look up, and told her that they would leave that place 
 for ever.
 
 RIGOLETTO. 147 
 
 Still she was weeping, and hiding her eyes from him, 
 her father, when the door opened, and there stood the 
 aged count, who on the day before had cursed him. He 
 was surrounded by soldiers had been condemned, and 
 was now being led off to prison. 
 
 He did not see the fool ; but as he came near to the 
 fool he muttered, " So my curse was vain ; this duke still 
 lives. Is there no hand to be found to slay him ? " 
 
 "Here, here," whispered the fool, "here." And though 
 he rocked with fear he came a step forward, his daughter 
 still in his encircling arms. 
 
 The next moment the one father had passed from the 
 room, while the other again bent his head, wept over, and 
 kissed his lost, and yet found, daughter. 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 A STORMY angry night ; the wind weeping and whist- 
 ling high lip in the sky, and a thick stifling vapor crawl- 
 ing over the earth over the whispering muddy river ; 
 winding in and out the gay palace like a poisonous ser- 
 pent. Near to this sickening river was a cracked ruined 
 house through the crevices in the walls of which might 
 be observed a flickering light. 
 
 No house was near this wretched hut, which was called 
 an inn. Within this place lived the ruffian who had 
 accosted Rigoletto on the night when his daughter was 
 stolen away. He was cleaning a leathern belt and sing- 
 ing softly at his work. 
 
 Who are these wayfarers, toiling along the dark road 
 to the ruined inn ? They are the fool and his daughter. 
 
 She still loved the duke ; and the fool, hoping to kill 
 the awful passion, had brought her to this lonely spot. 
 He told her to creep softly to the house, and look in 
 through the broken door. As she did so, the duke him- 
 self, now in a new disguise, came quickly along, and up 
 to the door. She shrank back from him, and he passed 
 into the inn, ordering a room and wine. 
 
 Then as she and her father stood shivering near tho
 
 door, he began singing in dispraise of woman. They saw 
 the brigand lay upon the table some bottles and glasses. 
 That done, he struck the low ceiling several times, and 
 immediately a girl came running into the room a gipsey 
 girl who danced about the streets. The duke ran to her 
 as she avoided him, and the brigand came cautiously out 
 upon the road. 
 
 " Shall he live, Signer Rigoletto ? " whispered the 
 ruffian. 
 
 "Wait wait," replied the father. And both men 
 spoke so softly, that Gilda did not hear. She did not care 
 to hear, as she looked once more on him whom she had 
 so dearly loved when she thought him a poor student. 
 
 " Good," said the bandit, and went out slowly into the 
 darkness. 
 
 Then as the two stood there miserably, the duke began 
 laughing and chatting with the gipsey girl. Soon Gilda 
 was weeping, as was also her father. Yet still within the 
 hut continued the laughter and the singing. 
 
 " Thou art sure now, he loves thee not thou art sure 
 now. Hear me : we will leave this country at once. Go 
 thou home, dress thyself in the clothing of a nobleman, 
 my child, and fly to Verona. Thou knowest where to go 
 when thou art there. I will come to thee to-morrow." 
 
 " Now come with me now." 
 
 " Now ? No, not now." He spoke with terrible hesi- 
 tation. 
 
 The girl kissed her father and went towards their house. 
 Through the gloom he watched her and saw her pass the 
 garden gate. Then he searched about for the bravo. 
 The assassin was lounging at the corner of the house, and 
 at a motion from the fool he came forward. 
 
 Eagerly Rigoletto put money into his hand, saying the 
 rest should be his when the man was dead. Then he 
 turned away, saying that at midnight he would return. 
 
 The bravo carelessly replied that he had no need of 
 help, he could, alone, cast the body into the river. 
 
 "No," said the fool, suddenly stopping ; "let that be my 
 portion of the work." 
 
 " Good," said the assassin, carelessly; "who is he ? " 
 
 ** His name is Crime and mine is Punishment."
 
 RIGOLETTO. 149 
 
 The bravo shrugged his shoulders, and then carelessly 
 opened the door of the hut, and entered, while the fool 
 turned, and with downcast head, moved slowly away, 
 afraid to go home till the vengeance was completed. 
 
 Loud roared the storm ; the lightnings lit up the hovel, 
 and the wavering thunder rolled incessantly. Yet had 
 the assassin no fear. 
 
 , The duke said he should remain all night, and bade the 
 new comer leave them. But the gipsey girl prayed the 
 young duke to depart. Said the bravo, he should be glad 
 to place his room at the stranger's disposal, and he hid the 
 golden money the fool had given him. 
 
 The duke attended by the bravo, ascended a ricketty 
 flight of stairs to a room, more dilapidated, if possible, 
 than the one below. 
 
 Saying it was like sleeping in the open air, the noble 
 flung down his hat and sword, fell upon the bed, and was 
 soon asleep. 
 
 The ruffian by that time was drinking the wine the 
 duke had left. At last he said slowly " Go up, and if 
 he sleeps, bring aAvay his sword." 
 
 The gipsey girl obeyed sorrowingly, for the stranger 
 was so handsome that she had gi-own to feel some pity 
 for him. 
 
 As she stole up the stairs another girl was near at hand 
 the wretched Gilda ; who, disguised in the clothes of 
 a page, came creeping towards the inn. 
 
 Nearer and nearer till she was close to the door and 
 pressing it. Looking through the crevice, she saw the 
 girl coming down with the SAVord glittering in her hand. 
 
 "Do not kill him do not kill him," cried the gipsey 
 girl. 
 
 " Kill him ! " cried the fool's daughter. 
 
 There, still listening, she heard the gipsey tempt him, 
 saying, that when the fool came back he could take his 
 money and kill him. But the bravo angrily cried that his 
 honor was dear to him; he would not kill the fool, he 
 would slay the stranger. Rigoletto had paid him well. 
 
 Gilda shuddered as she listened; so her father had paid 
 the bravo to kill the duke. 
 
 Again the gipsey girl prayed for the stranger's life.
 
 150 
 
 TALES FROM TOE OPERAS. 
 
 Again the assassin refused. At last he said quickly that 
 if a traveller came past he would slay him in his place 
 the fool could not tell who might be in the sack. 
 
 Then the gipsey wept as she said there was no hope of 
 a traveller passing while the storm raged so fiercely. 
 
 Why does she tremble and draw back from the crevice ? 
 What ? shall this woman, this dancing gipsey, weep and 
 pray for him ? And shall she, Gilda, do nothing to save 
 him ? Who is this woman that she should weep for him ? 
 Will she this gipsey die for his sake? Yet she, 
 Gilda, could. Again she looked, and saw the gipsey still 
 kneeling and weeping. Then she would die for his sake. 
 Thus her love and jealousy had lost her. 
 
 The next moment she had entered the storm raging 
 more fiercely than before. 
 
 Walking proudly and fearlessly through the night air, 
 came the fool, sure that by this time his vengeance was 
 complete the vengeance for which he had waited an 
 age of grief. 
 
 Forth from the hut came the bandit, dragging a heavy 
 sack. There he lay, then dead; there was the chink- 
 ing of money over the still burden, and there the bravo 
 had left the fool alone with the destroyer. " So then," 
 thought Rigoletto, " here was the great duke, lying dead 
 at his, the poor fool's feet." Then he thought he should 
 like to see the face of his enemy, before he cast him into 
 the black waters. 
 
 Yet no, he would not like to see his face ; so he began 
 drawing away the sack, when merciful powers ! he 
 heard the voice of the duke singing gaily, as he moved 
 away, saved, in the distance. 
 
 "But then whose body lay at his feet? Whose?" 
 
 With a might of horror, he tore open the mouth of the 
 sack ; and there, within it, lay his daughter ! 
 
 "My daughter! Heaven! my Gilda! Yet no, she is 
 now on her way to Verona. Is this a dream? Oh, no! 
 no dream. My daughter! oh, my daughter !" 
 
 In an agony of grief he ran to the door of the hut, 
 and beat at it, when he heard a voice her voice cull- 
 ing to him. 
 
 u SHE LIVES SHE LIVES ! on ! SHE LIVES ! "
 
 EIGOLETTO. 151 
 
 He was down at her side again, tearing her from the 
 shameful sack with his trembling hands. 
 
 " My father ! oh, my father ! " 
 
 "'Tis thou, and they have stricken thee." 
 
 " They have stabbed me here here." 
 
 And wearily she pressed her hands about her heart, as 
 the wretched man drew back, saying to himself, that he 
 he himself had killed her. 
 
 She was silent for a moment, still wearily pressing her 
 breast. 
 
 " Speak speak to me ! oh, daughter ! " 
 
 " I am almost too weak to speak, dear father. Lay thy 
 hand upon my head, and bless me. If I may always 
 think of thee, I will. Near my mother, I will pray for 
 thee near my mother." 
 
 What is this with which he is suddenly stricken ; what 
 conviction is growing on his mind as his eyes grow yet 
 wilder, and he grasps his throat with his trembling hand ? 
 
 " My child, do not leave me. Have pity on me, tarry 
 yet a little longer leave me not in the world alone 
 oh I and I am thy father bid thee stay ! " 
 
 She does not answer. He bends over her, as the dread 
 conviction forces itself upon him. 
 
 DEAD ! DEAD ! DEAD ! " 
 
 He wraps his hands round his head, looks wildly to the 
 lowering sky, and cries : 
 
 " THE CURSE THE UNDYING CURSE ! " 
 
 Then he speaks no more. 
 
 Mercy for him as -his breath grows thick mercy for 
 him as he clasps his helpless hands together prayerfully. 
 Mercy mercy ! 
 
 His faults are not all his own. He hath but mocked 
 the world as it hath mocked him ! Who would not hate 
 where he is scorned ? Oh many are forgiven who have 
 sinned more deeply. 
 
 See the clasped hands the bloodless lips. Mercy 
 mercy ! 
 
 So at last it hath fallen on him the grace of forgive- 
 ness.
 
 I PURITANI. (BELLINI.) 
 
 THE PURITANS. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 IMMEDIATELY succeeding the execution of Charles L, 
 General Walton was in command of a fortress, then 
 standing not far from Plymouth. One of his officers w:\s 
 his brother, Colonel George Walton. This man loved his 
 brother's daughter, as many an unmarried uncle will love 
 nephews and nieces, and with an affection almost equal to 
 that of the best of fathers ! 
 
 And it is also true that this daughter, Elvira, loved her 
 uncle even more than she loved her own father, the gen- 
 eral. This young lady was promised in marriage, to a 
 puritan officer, Captain Richard Forth, but it may be 
 stated that she herself had favored the pretentions of 
 Lord Arthur Talbot, a strong, unyielding royalist. 
 
 Just after the death of Charles the First, a lady arrived 
 at the fortress, and was received by General Walton as 
 the friend of his daughter the friend of his daughter 
 only in this, that a dear friend had recommended the 
 unknown lady to his care. 
 
 She called herself Madame Henrietta, and no more. 
 They thought her a French lady and indeed her slight- 
 ly imperfect English proved her to be a foreigner. But 
 they asked no questions. She was franked by the dear 
 friend, and so she was made welcome. 
 
 She soon became the companion of Elvira, who, young 
 and light-headed, would kiss, torment, and delight this 
 unknown lady, all within a minute. And thus things 
 were when the General gave way to the united, entreaties 
 of his brother and Madame Henrietta, and recalled tho 
 promise of his daughter's hand to the Puritan Colonel.
 
 I PUEITANI. 163 
 
 Imagine the curtain of our story drawn up, and what 
 do you see ? A platform of the fortress, the solemn sen- 
 tries walking to and fro. The sun rises, and then these 
 honest, straightforward religious puritans, sing their usual 
 morning hynin. 
 
 This service over, the gates of the fortress are opened 
 to the market girls, with their fresh, demure faces, and 
 their neat, almost sombre, garments. 
 
 There is much talking about the young lady Elvira, 
 the governor's daughter, and how she was going to be 
 married, and who to, and what he was like but all this 
 little tittle-tattle was carried on gravely, and with a 
 demure air. 
 
 But pacing apart is Captain Richard Forth his puri- 
 tan heart strongly beating against the governor's injustice 
 in recalling his promise, and the shame that a puritan 
 leader should marry his daughter to one of the godless 
 cavaliers. 
 
 Xay he speaks his complaints out aloud whereon 
 Robertson, a fellow officer, tells him to wear a fair face 
 there are his country and his soul to live for yet. 
 " Open thy heart to me." 
 
 " ' Tis not a righteous act, I say. He hath promised 
 me the maiden and now I have returned, he doth recall 
 his word." 
 
 "Heaven is a bride who never tumeth away from the 
 true lover." 
 
 "Death were welcome.** 
 
 " I would fain death passed over thee if thou art in that 
 frame, Richard Forth." 
 
 " I have lost her I have lost her ! '* 
 
 And thereby perchance thou hast gained much. 
 Heaven is merciful and all-seeing. Hark ! dost hear the 
 good march embrace thy good sword ' twill not fail 
 thee." 
 
 " But my weak arm may, my friend." 
 
 " Shame on thee, Richard Forth methinks thou art a 
 coward." 
 
 " No, friend, no ! not a coward, but weak." 
 
 And the two friends turned towards the castle. 
 7*
 
 154 TALES FROM THE OPEBAS. 
 
 CHAPTER H. 
 
 THAT same day Colonel George Walton was sitting 
 with his niece, Elvira, and chatting with her about the 
 marriage. The leaven of puritanism was not so severely 
 bitter in high as in low life. Among the latter there wag 
 still left something like cheerfulness and blithe talk. 
 
 Sitting down near his niece, the uncle asked why she 
 looked so sad ? 
 
 " I am thinking, second father. 5 * 
 
 "And of what, Elvira?" 
 
 M Daughter, always call me daughter, second father." 
 
 " Well then, daughter. So, to-day, you are to be a 
 bride!" 
 
 The uncle then playfully supposed that 'twas the puri- 
 tan lover who was to be the bridegroom; whereat the 
 young lady protested, but the uncle soon uttered the 
 talismanic name, Arthur. 
 
 They were still talking when a trumpet call was heard 
 without the fortress. 
 
 A happy sound, for it announced the arrival of the 
 bridegroom Lord Arthur Talbot, in reality, but plain 
 Master Arthur Talbot in those puritan times. 
 
 Soon the young lord was within the room where were 
 waiting for him the gentle Elvira and her good uncle 
 Colonel George not the plain little room where they 
 had been chatting, but in the chief hall of the castle, 
 where armor glistened on the walls, and from the win- 
 dows of which could be seen the bristling fortifications. 
 
 He met her, proud of himself and of her, and dressed 
 gaily, in defiance of* popular taste. And, truth to tell, but 
 few in the great room could compare in demeanor or good 
 looks, with Lord Arthur, or rather Master Talbot. 
 
 Among the ladies present was Madame Henrietta, 
 bustling about from place to place like a careful house- 
 keeper. She did not notice that a messenger came rapid- 
 ly to the general with a letter, nor did she mark that as 
 he read it he started and then looked up at her. Nor did 
 she hear the order he gave to let no female pass from the 
 castle without an order from himself except, of course,
 
 I PURITANI. 155 
 
 the marriage party. For the marriage was to take place 
 at the neighboring village church. The messenger bowed 
 low and left the room, and still Madame Henrietta was 
 bustling about, busy and cheerful. 
 
 Turning to his daughter and Arthur, the general said, 
 he should not be able to attend the ceremony. And he 
 was presently in deep conversation with several of his 
 gentlemen. Suddenly he turned to madame. 
 
 " Lady a parliamentary order compels me to depart 
 with you for London have no fear." 
 
 Those about her saw Madame Henrietta start and turn 
 pale, but they did not think much of the matter ; and, 
 being bidden to the feast, were soon moving from the room. 
 
 Arthur heard the intimation given by the general, and 
 said, naturally enough, to the colonel, " Is she a friend of 
 the Stuarts ? " 
 
 " She is, I believe, suspected," replied the discreet 
 colonel, turning away. 
 
 The young bridegroom looked pityingly at Madame, 
 and she saw that he did so. As the company were leav- 
 ing the room Arthur came up to the lady, and began 
 talking idly to her, but when the room was empty of all 
 but themselves when the little bride had flown to her 
 room, and the general had gone to .consult with his 
 officers she said in answer to some question of his, 
 Cavalier ! " 
 
 Quickly he answered, "You may trust me, lady. 
 Speak, speak." 
 
 " May I speak, even if my head is in danger ? " 
 
 "You shudder. Be not afraid. Speak, whoever you 
 are ; I will save you. Speak softly, or thou mayest be 
 heard." 
 
 " Save me ! too late. The fate of Charles will be the 
 fate of his wife." 
 
 " The queen, the queen ! " the young lord whispered, 
 half in respect, half in fear, and he sank upon his knee." 
 
 " ' Tis a mockery to kneel to me." 
 
 " I swear to save your majesty, or be lost myself." 
 
 " My lord, my lord, you speak vainly. Leave me. You 
 cannot save me, and would involve yourself in ruin. 
 Rise, sir, rise ! "
 
 156 TALES FROM THE OPEEA8. 
 
 He immediately obeyed, and stood humbly before 1 er. 
 
 "Well, my lord?" 
 
 u I will save your majesty." 
 
 She turned hopelessly away, but the next moment she 
 was smiling cheerfully, as Elvira, holding a white lace veil 
 in her hand, came running up to her companion of so 
 many pleasant weeks. 
 
 "Am I not charming? Am I not as white as snow? 
 Am I not like a lily? Ah, ah! This is my wedding 
 dress.; and my hair, Signer Arthur, is perfumed with the 
 roses thou hast brought me ; and on my neck are the 
 pearls thou gavest me." 
 
 They both praised her and her dress, but the young 
 coquette kept her eyes upon the veil. 
 
 " Madame Henrietta, dost love me ? " 
 
 "Does a mother love her child? " 
 
 " Ah, well, then I would know how this long veil of 
 mine will look on me, by seeing how 'twill look on thy 
 dear head. Now stoop stoop stoop madame, as 
 though I were a queen, and you were to be dubbed a 
 knight." 
 
 " Nay," said the young lord, as the lady was about to 
 kneel. 
 
 " But I say I will," said the bride. 
 
 " I would I could as easily assure thee lasting happi- 
 ness, fair girl," said the lady, gravely. And kneeling, her 
 head was soon enveloped in the beautiful lace veil. 
 
 The bridegroom looked on helplessly, and seemed 
 troubled at this act." 
 
 "Charming charming," cried the laughing Elvira. 
 " Who can see your blushes now ? You look like a bride 
 yourself. Pray now, who could tell you from me ?" 
 
 The young lord suddenly started, and his grave face 
 lighted up with hope. 
 
 " Nay, wear it wear it," said Elvira. " I must leave 
 you for a little, young bride and bridegroom ; for I have 
 yet to put on my diamonds. Stay here stay lun-e." 
 And she ran laughing from the room. 
 
 " Thou art saved thou art saved ! " 
 
 It was the young lord who spoke, and, as he did so, the 
 imperilled queen for one moment hoped, bi t the next she
 
 I PURITANI. 157 
 
 was deep sunk in despair, and only breathed the air of 
 liberty again when the colonel entered the room, and 
 coming up to her, said : " The fairy Elvira should not 
 hide her face beneath that envious mantle let me raise it." 
 
 " Nay, nay," said Arthur." 
 
 " No ? Surely ! May Heaven bless thee, niece 
 daughter ! May good Heaven bless thee, and keep thee 
 as happy as thou art now I hope thou dost not speak?" 
 
 " She hath vowed neither to speak nor show her face 
 till we are one." 
 
 " So so : but ' tis time we had set out so follow me 
 follow me!" 
 
 And he left the room. 
 
 The queen was about taking off the veil. 
 
 "Stay stay, your majesty; 'tis a miracle! Who 
 shall know you ? And have I not a pass from the castle ? " 
 
 " Nay I fear for thy life, my lord." 
 
 " Nay, queen ; to refuse would be to cast from thee 
 Heaven's gift. Come come." And he led her respect- 
 fully towards the door. But there stood a wild-looking 
 puritan Captain Richard Forth to wit his sword 
 drawn, and his eyes flashing. 
 
 " Thou shalt draw steel for her," and he stood immov- 
 able in the doorway. 
 
 In a moment the lord's sword was out of its sheath, 
 but the queen ran between the thirsty weapons, and in so 
 doing her veil was deranged, and her face seen. 
 
 " I forbid thee, my lord, and thou man of blood." 
 
 " ' Tis not she, 'tis Madame Henrietta," murmured the 
 puritan, and lowered his sword. 
 
 The lord's sword, however, was still raised. 
 
 " Thou canst go, Arthur Talbot ; thou mayest take her 
 with thee. Go, both of ye, in peace. Go, and I prophe- 
 cy that thou shalt weep bitter tears that thou shalt sit 
 apart and lonely, that thou shalt yearn for thy distant 
 country, that thou shalt float in a sea of misfortunes. 
 Begone ! thou wanderer." 
 
 Then the young lord trembled as he thought of his 
 bride whom he was about to desert. But the loyalty of 
 a, cavalier was his honor; so he turned to the door and 
 led Madame Henrietta over its threshold.
 
 158 TALES FROM THE OPERAS. 
 
 The puritan stood erect and motionless in the room 
 waiting for retribution. He he the rejected, the insult- 
 ed, would triumph. 
 
 Through the window he saw them reach the bridge, 
 pass it, pass the gate, to horse and away, away ! 
 
 Still he waited. 
 
 Then came footsteps towards the room, those of the 
 bride, her father, and several attendants. 
 
 "Arthur Arthur," said the young bride coming in 
 laughingly for the crowning veil. " Ah captain ! good 
 day ! Master Talbot is he here ? " 
 
 " He was but an instant since." 
 
 And and now?" 
 
 He hath fled, he hath deserted thee ! " 
 
 Then there was a great cry and a start. 
 
 "And the lady Madame Henrietta gone also?" 
 
 Soon horsemen were flying from the castle the rattle 
 of drums calling to arms spread over the place every 
 soul about the castle was hurried and frightened. All 
 but Captain Richard Forth, who stood cold and gratified, 
 nursing his vengeance, and saying it was a judgment. 
 
 But as he hears the alarm bell, he hears mixed with it 
 a strange wild cry near him almost at his ear. 
 
 Still the call to arms was repeated still the alarm-bell 
 rang out its dismal warning, and again the dull appealing 
 cry was heard. 
 
 This time he knew whence it came. It was uttered by 
 Elvira. 
 
 Wildly she was looking before her, and tearing the 
 bridal flowers she wore to shreds, and breaking into bits 
 the lace about her dress. 
 
 " She she wears the white veil ! He looks on her, he 
 smiles, and whispers that she is his bride. And I, whom 
 now am I? Elvira is his bride am not If Elvira? 
 why is he not here ? " 
 
 Then wanderingly she placed her trembling right hand 
 upon her head. " No, no," she cried, and dropped the 
 hand to her side. 
 
 "Elvira dear daughter speak to me." 
 
 "No no NO I am not Elvira." 
 
 ** How pale thou ait, Elvira."
 
 1 PtTKITANI. 159 
 
 " And and thy eyes are fixed and staring." 
 
 " The judgment is heavy,-' said the Captain, implacable. 
 " Thus heaven punishes perfidy. SHE is MAD. 
 
 And yet the captain stood calmly as the general fell 
 despairingly at his feet. 
 
 " But thou wilt return mine Arthur thou wilt re- 
 turn. I will faithfully wait for thee wait wait ! And 
 thou wilt come, Arthur. I will weep, I will weep for thee." 
 
 " Tears, tears," said Captain Richard Forth ; " tears 
 for such as he heaven's tears. MAIDEX, I WILL AVENGE." 
 
 " Oh ! how my heart throbs ; and before my eyes is a 
 great rain of blood. Arthur, Arthur, help me help 
 help ! " 
 
 Then all those puritans there standing cursed him, and 
 u the woman." 
 
 "Let not house, nor shore, harbor these accursed. Let 
 their heads be free to the scorn of the wind and the 
 storm, and may the dogs bark wrathfully at them. Let 
 the whole earth war with them through life, and cast 
 them from her bosom when dead. Let them live wishing 
 for death. Let heaven be un approached by them." 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 So she remained, day after day, ever waiting for the 
 bridegroom's return, and dismally decking herself in what 
 she took for maniage garments. Sometimes she would 
 take a soldier walking on the ramparts for him she had lost. 
 But she would soon discover her mistake, and then she 
 would sit patiently waiting and gazing from the window. 
 
 When, too, the sound of drum or trumpet reached her 
 ears, she would imagine herself again going through the 
 terrible scene when she discovered Arthur's flight. 
 
 Meanwhile, Captain Richard Forth held fast by his vow 
 of vengeance ; and, like a soldier, calmly waited for the 
 hour of the fight. 
 
 The doctors who were called in to Elvira could give no 
 hope ; but one said that perhaps a sudden joy or grief 
 might restore the lost reason.
 
 100 TALES FROM THB OPERA3. 
 
 On one of many days, the colonel was conversing with 
 the captain, when the luckless girl wandered near them. 
 
 Her uncle addressed her kindly. 
 
 " Prithee, who art thou ? " she made answer to the 
 uncle she had loved so well. 
 
 " What ! " said he, assuming a heart-breaking cheerful- 
 ness ; " dost not know me Elvira ? " 
 
 " Ah ! truly, truly. He is waiting for me. Quick, 
 quick! Thou wouldst not surely keep a bridegroom 
 waiting. Quick quick quick." 
 
 Then she perceived the stern puritan, Richard Forth, 
 who was now weeping. 
 
 "Verily, 'tis a tear on thy face. Ah, thou, too, hast 
 loved, and art forgotten. I love thee for thy lost love." 
 
 It was on this occasion, after the lady had been induced 
 to return to her apartment, that the colonel took the 
 captain into his confidence. 
 
 " Thou must save this man." 
 
 " How ? whom ? " 
 
 Lord Arthur Talbot." 
 
 " Save Arthur Talbot ? And again ? It is not in my 
 power to do so." 
 
 " If thou couldst save him wouldst thou ? " 
 
 ' Twould be by death." 
 
 " The flight was not Talbot's fault alone ; at least, ' twas 
 as much the fault of his loyalty, for she was a royalist." 
 
 " The arm that striketh him shall go unpunished. He 
 is outlawed ; he that will may kill him. He shall die." 
 
 " Is thy vengeance justice, man ? or is it jealousy ? 
 Again, the hand that shall slay him will also slay Elvira. 
 Then thou shalt hear remorse whispering in the storm, 
 and thy life will be a burden to thee. Forget this hate ; 
 forgive mercy ! " 
 
 For a little while the stern puritan held up his head. 
 Then it fell. 
 
 " I will forget this hate I will save him." 
 
 "' Tis the proof of thy patriotism, Richard." 
 
 " If his heart be open not if he cometh armed. Not 
 if he bear arms against his country." 
 
 "No, no then no mercy, Richard, no mercy."
 
 I PITRITANI. 
 
 "What if he were among the cavaliers now encamped 
 near us, who, it is rumored, will attack us at daybreak ? " 
 u His blood be on his own head. Let him perish." 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 !N"ox two hours after that conversation, Lord Arthur 
 Talbot came rapidly towards the house which the general, 
 now encamped at some distance from his fortress, occu- 
 pied. It was a large house near the camp. Surrounded 
 by an enclosure of tall trees, and high walls, this house 
 stood, and in its old weed-filled garden, the witless lady 
 sometimes wandered. Some of the windows of the house 
 opened down to the grounds, and to a wide terrace. 
 
 Arthur reached the wall, soon clambered to the top, and 
 was just dropping to the ground when a sentinel espied 
 him and fired. But he missed his aim, and the next 
 moment the lord was on the grounds of the house. 
 
 " Safe, 1 ' he muttered thankfully, and looking about him 
 he thought how sweet it was to see the house and garden 
 once again, to see his dear native land, which he quitted 
 three months before to save a queen, who was now in 
 safety and comparatively happy. What joy he thought it 
 would be to tell his Elvira the glorious truth that he had 
 saved a queen from death and had restored a mother to 
 her children. His heart beat as he thought of her joy 
 when he had told his tale, and proved his honor and his 
 love for her. He was loyal too, even though a royalist, 
 and had never thought of bearing arms against his country. 
 
 As he moved hesitatingly towards the house, the lost 
 lady passed the open windows, singing a ballad her lover 
 hacf taught her. 
 
 He started, and turned towards the spot whence came 
 the welcome sound. 
 
 So gently he began singing the ballad. Nay he sang 
 it quite through, and yet no answer was made. 
 
 As he concluded, there were heard the sounds of steps 
 near him. He fled into the shadow of some friendly trees, 
 as his beating heart told him of the coming of the puritans.
 
 162 
 
 Nearer and nearer came the sound. Surely, 'twas a 
 picket of soldiers. They passed on, and their steps were 
 lost in the distance. He stood again beneath the win- 
 dows, and once more chanted the ballad she so loved. 
 
 She came to one of the casements slowly slowly 
 dreamily. 
 
 " It has ceased the loved wind, which sings his song." 
 
 She stepped through the open window on 'to the terrace. 
 
 u Ah, my Arthur, where art thou ? " 
 
 " Here, dearest, by thy side at thy feet." 
 
 " Thou ! is't thou ? " And she put her arms about him. 
 " Thou dost not deceive me ? " 
 
 " I deceive thee ! never, Elvira." 
 
 "I tremble; why? Is misfortune near? 
 
 " No no ; be joyful. Love smiles beneficently upon 
 us." 
 
 " How how long is it since I saw thee ? " 
 
 u Three weary months." 
 
 "No, no; three centuries of sighs and agony. And 
 have I not called to thee Arthur Arthur return ! " 
 
 " But she was in danger, and I saved her." 
 
 And and thou lovdst her ? " 
 
 <!? her?" 
 
 " Is she not thy wife ? ' 
 
 Nay " 
 
 "Nay, but is she?" 
 
 " I love her whom I have ever loved whom I shall 
 love till death is with me and 'tis thee" 
 
 " Ah ! then he did not love her. Then I will love him 
 better than ever better than ever. Yet tell me, if thou 
 didst not love her, why didst thou follow her ? " 
 
 " Her life was in danger." 
 
 Whose life, love ? Whose ? " 
 
 " The queen's ; she was the queen." 
 
 The queen ! " 
 
 ** A moment more, and she would have been doomed 
 to the scaffold." 
 
 " Then then thou dost love me ? " 
 
 w Art thou not in my arms ? Doth not my heart tell 
 thee how I love thee ? I would rather die than part from 
 thee. Each wakiug moment since we parted I have
 
 I PURITANI. 163 
 
 thought of Elvira, and dreamt of her each minute that I 
 slept ; and when I was on the sea, I said my love Avas as 
 boundless as the waves." 
 
 "I am dying with joy dying; and yet yet I am 
 afraid ; I am quite afraid. Put your hand upon my heart. 
 Now, doth it beat ? " 
 
 As she laid his hand upon her breast, there was heard 
 the sound of a drum-roll. Immediately it destroyed the 
 partial sense with which she had been blessed while 
 speaking to her lover. 
 
 " Hark ! " she said, hurriedly and terribly, " I know the 
 sound, but now I fear it no longer. Yes, I tore her veil 
 from off her head, and trampled on it. I did I did. 
 And and thou wilt not leave me ? " 
 
 " Great powers ? " he cried, looking into her dreamy 
 eyes ; and in a great whirl of fear, he fell back from her. 
 
 There came floating on the air the exchange of the 
 watchword, " England and Cromwell." 
 
 " Come," he said, moving towards the house : " let ua 
 go in." 
 
 Then she was seized with a violent paroxysm. Calling 
 out that he wished to leave her to go back to her for 
 whom she had been deserted. She poured forth shriek 
 upon shriek till the air was all astir. 
 
 Alarmed at the sudden discovery he had made, he tried 
 to fly from her, but she clung to him still shrieking that 
 he would leave her, and that he was going to the woman 
 with whom he had fled. 
 
 " Be silent." 
 
 "He would fly me " 
 
 Oh be silent." 
 
 " Help help for pity's sake ! " 
 
 Ah!" 
 
 Then came the alarmed puritans, running in from all 
 sides. From the house from the garden over the 
 walls they streamed nearer and nearer, till they sur- 
 rounded the lover and his mad bride. 
 
 While he, all his fear merged in overwhelming sorrow, 
 stood gazing at her who was then his ruin ; for had she not 
 called his dread enemies about him ? 
 
 Amongst the rest came Captain Richard Forth. And
 
 164 TALES FROM THE OPERAS. 
 
 as he saw his enemy in his power his enemy wearing 
 his sword, and come secretly in the night-time from the 
 puritan camp he saw he was unworthy to live, and he 
 cried, u The ungodly shall perish from off the face of the 
 earth. Thou hast crept to death, Arthur Talbot; thou 
 hast crept here to death ! " 
 
 The dreadful word made a dreadful impression on the 
 lady. She trembled violently, pressed her hands about 
 her head, and uttered the word over and over again. Was 
 this the great terror that might save her ? The learned 
 doctor had said a sudden joy or terror might restore her. 
 
 " Arthur," she cried at last, in a tone far different from 
 that in which she had spoken to him but a minute since, 
 and fell upon his breast. She was saved ! So he had 
 returned to restore her to reason, and she she had de- 
 stroyed him. 
 
 Even in the one word, " Arthur," she betrayed him. 
 
 u Arthur Talbot," they cried aloud ; and each man drew 
 bis breath hard, and grasped his sword. 
 
 " Let the unrighteous perish ; let no hand be stretched 
 forth to save him." 
 
 Said the captain, " Thou art brave enough not to fear 
 death, Arthur Talbot. Be prepared thou art of the 
 camp of the lost thou shalt surely die." 
 
 " He die ? and have I caused his death ? I who love him 
 better than I love my life ? " 
 
 The stern puritan, as he watched the effect of his hasty 
 speech upon the poor lady's countenance, was sorry he 
 had spoken. 
 
 Said the puritans among themselves "Behold a judg- 
 ment. Is he not delivered into our hands ? Then he must 
 surely die ! " 
 
 " Fear not," said the lost man to his destroyer she 
 whom he loved so well. " Fear not, death is easy to the 
 brave, and I am brave, or thou wouldst have never loved 
 me." 
 
 The captain and the colonel looked hesitatingly one at 
 the other, and then at the cavalier. The puritans mur- 
 mured and cried aloud. 
 
 " What ! shall not the sv, r ord fall when the Lord hath 
 bidden it to destioy ?"
 
 1 PURITAOT. 165 
 
 " I have killed him, I have killed him," she exclaimed, 
 now miserably sane. 
 
 " Fear not, my own Elvira." 
 
 Again the puritans cried out 
 
 " Wherefore shall we not destroy the enemy ? " 
 
 Suddenly a trumpet sounded. 
 
 A moment, and the face of the colonel was full of joy, 
 and yet wet with new-born tears. The message was a 
 pardon signed by Cromwell, for all cavaliers who should 
 lay down arms before the action. 
 
 Said Lord Arthur Talbot. " I have never borne arms 
 against the nation. I have belonged to no camp. I have 
 arrived in England but this evening, and came hither 
 from the vessel." 
 
 The puritans forgot themselves, for they gave a shout 
 
 of joy. 
 
 And even the bitter Captain Richard Forth was heartily 
 glad to find that Arthur Talbot's blood had not been shed. 
 
 So the young bridegroom did not die, and the bride did 
 not therefore destroy him, and his marriage at last took 
 place, sanctified by the glorious truth that he, the bride- 
 groom, had saved a human life. Not only the life of a 
 queen, but the life of a loving mother.
 
 LA FIGLIA DEL REGGIMENTO. (DONIZETTI.) 
 
 THE DAUGHTER OF THE REGIMENT. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 TAKE any young creature of warm, generous disposi- 
 tion, put a military coat on her fair young shoulders, a 
 smart military hat on her head, and hang a little brandy 
 keg over her right hip, and then you have a delightful 
 vivandiere of the grand army a very honest, decent 
 kind of girl. 
 
 Our vivandiere was called the daughter of the regi- 
 ment, for she knew no other parents than the rough, but 
 warm-hearted soldiers. They found a little child on the 
 field of battle ; they nurtured her, and called her "Marie." 
 
 Many units of her collective father were knocked over 
 before Marie grew to be a very pretty girl ; but, spite of 
 continual arrivals, seeing their daughter for the first time, 
 there were many who remembered Marie being found, and 
 with her a letter, and nobody better than Sergeant Sul- 
 pice who always kept the letter, and who, in fact, had 
 picked it and Marie up when he was a full private, and 
 quite a new recruit. 
 
 Well, they taught Marie to tap her drum at a very early 
 early age, and she tapped it till she was nearly seventeen ; 
 and on her birthday, and all other social festivals, she 
 tapped it very loud and fast. 
 
 The French were scudding all over Switzerland, and 
 nobody was more frightened, then and there, than the 
 Marquise de Berkenfelt. As a rule, the Swiss opposed 
 the French bravely, but the marquise was a disgrace to 
 her title. 
 
 She stood among the villagers of her particular village 
 trembling far move than the young girls. As for the 
 marquise fifty, if a dayl
 
 LA FIGLIA DEL KEGGIMENTO. 167 
 
 She could not return to the castle, and yet she could 
 not stay where she was, and then, the enemy might be 
 down on them in a moment. 
 
 " Plan plan rataplan," away in the distance. 
 
 The marquise's steward immediately assured her that 
 the men were retreating, and the marquise was immensely 
 glad to hear it. She would not, however, go back to that 
 castle of hers, but chose to sit on a secluded rock, while 
 the steward went to reconnoitre. Barely was she left to 
 herself than Sergeant Sulpice was walking rapidly past 
 her. 
 
 "By the lock of a musket, if they could fight as they 
 can run, we should be sent back to France in a week. 
 Aye, run run as though peace was not proclaimed. 
 Hallo! here comes Marie Marie of the llth." 
 
 Qh ' e e e Salute, Sulpice." 
 
 " Here comes the heart of the regiment." 
 
 " Well I think I begin to do you credit." 
 
 " Angel." 
 
 "Pooh nonsense. Soldier! Born in a camp the 
 roll of the drum my only lullaby a drum my only toy 
 
 except you you grizzly old father, you." 
 " The regiment is lucky to have a Marie." 
 
 " Marie is lucky to have a regiment, you mean. Why, 
 each man was her carriage when she was a child her 
 rations were better than any one's; yes she ate and 
 drank to the trun trun trun of the drum. And now 
 
 now I'm grown up every man touches his shako to 
 me." 
 
 " They revere you." 
 
 " Revere, nonsense they love me. Don't I too have 
 all the pleasure of the camp ! " 
 
 "Yes, and who takes care of the camp? who has a 
 kind word and hand for a wounded man, while she gives 
 the other hand to him who comes to help her ? " 
 
 "Yes and who is it fills your glasses and sings 
 you songs ? " 
 
 " Yes and who makes us happy ? " 
 
 " Why, not, the daughter of the regiment ! " 
 
 " Oh of course not ! " 
 
 u Now now now Sergeant attention. Right 
 about face. Ma-a-a-r-r-rch ! "
 
 168 TALES FROM THE OPERAS. 
 
 " Turn turn turn Ra-ra-ra-ra." 
 
 And so drilling her drum she and the sergeant 
 march off to the camp. 
 
 Barely had they marched off from the neighborhood 
 of the marquise, when following them or rather her, with 
 his eyes, came a young Swiss as handsome as you would 
 have him, ladies perfection. 
 
 Truth to tell, Tony was handsome. 
 
 Also truth to tell, he had fallen in love with Marie. 
 And love, the conqueror, had even whispered to him to 
 turn ti'aitor to his country, and enlist in the ranks of the 
 army, and, it need not be said, the ranks of the glorious 
 llth. Then he would be near her then, perhaps, he 
 should some day marry her. And he might become a 
 general. And she she would be the general's lady. 
 " Why not ? " He was honest (except in the matter of 
 patriotism), good-humored, and handsome why should 
 she not fall in love with him ? " 
 
 But seeing the sergeant and Marie returning, he ran to 
 shelter and to shadow immediately. 
 
 " Well, but Sulpice, why not say it as we walked 
 along ? What need to come to this quiet spot as you 
 call it ?" 
 
 " Because I want to speak to you in private." 
 
 Attention ! " 
 
 " You are a fine tall girl, and you are handsome." 
 
 " Is that what you want to tell me in private. Why 
 I'm told so fifty times a day." 
 
 And " 
 
 " Oh there's an end ! " 
 
 " And and you ought to look out for a husband." 
 
 "You mean a husband ought to look out fbr me. 
 Plenty of time plenty of time." 
 
 M Plenty of time ? Then who was that you were talk- 
 ing to at our last encampment ? " 
 
 " Who who ? Let me see ; ah, the Tyrolese youth 
 who saved my life, you know ! " 
 
 "Your life? How?" 
 
 M Attention ! but what's that noise ? " 
 
 For there was a great disturbance as though somebody 
 was being pushed about, and as though somebody wag 
 rather objecting to it.
 
 LA FIGLIA DEL REGGIMKNTO. 
 
 " A spy a spy a spy." 
 
 And the next moment Tony was being lugged before 
 the sergeant by as many of the brave llth as could con- 
 veniently keep a hold on him at one and the same mo- 
 ment. He butting, kicking, and struggling all the while. 
 
 " Spy no spy I want to be a soldier. 
 
 " 'Tis he 'tis he." 
 
 " What the young Tyrolese, Marie ? " 
 
 " Of course it is, Sulpice ; who else could it be ? Your 
 servant, Tyrolese what brings you here ? " 
 
 " Hang him hang him a spy ! " shrieked out a full 
 dozen of the brave llth. 
 
 " What hang him who saved my life ? " 
 
 " Cre-e-e-d-e ' tis another affair that he shall live," 
 decided also at least a dozen of the brave llth. 
 
 " But for him I should have been at this moment at the 
 bottom of a frightful precipice. Yes ; and he nearly lost 
 his own life." 
 
 "Brother he's a brother he shall be one of us!" 
 was the dictum of the men of the brave llth. Give him 
 a welcome. Marie a glass of brandy." 
 
 Briskly Marie poured it out. 
 
 "Long live the French my new friends," said the 
 n"w recruit, raising his glass. 
 
 1 Hurrah hurrah." 
 
 Then was heard a roll of the drum the call to camp 
 in fact. 
 
 " Come come comrade," said they to Tony. But 
 Tony showed a desire to stay ; and so also did Marie. 
 So she called out, " Leave him with me, I'll answer for 
 him. You know he's my prisoner." 
 
 But they wouldn't part with him, and hurried him away. 
 
 She was preparing to follow the soldiers when with 
 a run he was at her side, quite out of breath. She did 
 not care about following the soldiers now. Truth to tell, 
 she sat down on a bank and began chatting. 
 
 " Here I am, you see." 
 
 " What already ? " 
 
 " La when I gave them the slip the sergeant roared 
 like a bull." 
 
 " Ah my father ! "
 
 170 TALES FROM THE OPERAS. 
 
 ** ( Confound it.) No one near him." 
 
 Well he's my father. 
 
 " I mean the old man." 
 
 "And hs my father too ! " 
 
 " Why, the whole regiment ? " 
 
 " Exactly so. The whole regiment is my father." 
 
 Ah ! I see." 
 
 " But now tell me, why have you followed the regi- 
 ment ? I thought when I said good bye to you that I 
 should never, never see you again." 
 
 " I don't think you did think so, because you must 
 have known I couldn't live away from you, because you 
 must have known I loved you, and I do love you." 
 
 "Ha, ha!" 
 
 " Will you not believe me ? " 
 
 Well I don't know." 
 
 "From the moment I saved you I have known no 
 rest." 
 
 "Ah then you had better not have saved me. But 
 want of rest don't prove you love me!" 
 
 " But I have left my friends and my country to follow 
 you!" 
 
 " Such desertion I can't pardon ! " 
 
 " And I would die for you and I will ! " 
 
 " Oh nonsense why die ? When a youth loves a gin 
 he should live for her." 
 
 "Marie!" 
 
 "Ah well. Here's the decision of the court martial: 
 I think you do love me. And and I don't feel so 
 free as I did." 
 
 " Then you do not hate me." 
 
 "Hate! no no. Here am I," she thought, "who 
 always hated the enemy, here am 1 talking with one 
 of them and and not disliking to talk ! And and 
 Tony, she said," slyly, " that flower you gave me I 
 have it now." 
 
 Whereupon and thereupon he clasped her to his heart 
 like a man. 
 
 "Ho ho ho by the lock of a musket," said Ser- 
 geant Sulpice, coming up in time to witness this delight- 
 ful embrace. " The Tyrolese, who just now escaped ! "
 
 LA FIGLIA DEL BEGGIMENTO. 171 
 
 " Sergeant Tm Marie's husband's self." 
 Traitor ! " 
 
 " Tut tut tut sergeant," said the little vivandi- 
 ere, coming before Marie's husband's self like a bastion 
 
 " qui-i-i-iet." 
 
 "I say Marie is already promised to the bravest in 
 our ranks." 
 
 " Pooh ! a girl can't marry her own father, you know. 
 Besides, your own words prove Tony's right. You say 
 I'm promised to the bravest man in the regiment, well, 
 he's of the regiment and was either of you so brave as 
 to save my life ? " 
 
 " Good Marie good ! " 
 
 " Si-i-i-i-ilence private ! " 
 
 u I may speak, sergeant." 
 
 " I say she shall marry one of us." 
 
 " Shall sergeant ? Then here it is. I will marry 
 Tony, and I will marry nobody else but Tony." 
 
 " Gone over to the enemy bag and baggage. But as 
 for you, my man, I'll break your bones." 
 
 " Attention march Tony." And away the two 
 went, leaving Sergeant Sulpice boiling with rage. 
 
 He was walking away, when the marquis's steward 
 approached very respectfully. 
 
 " Captain pardon." 
 
 " By Bacchus if she marries him. 
 
 " Him captain pardon. " 
 
 " Hullo ! there, don't be afraid." 
 
 " Captain." 
 
 " Ser-r-rgeant." 
 
 " Surely, surely, sergeant, this lady would ask a favor." 
 
 " Oh, Sir ! I'm terribly frightened. I was endeavoring 
 
 I am still terribly frightened but your men stopped 
 me. I was endeavoring to reach my castle my castle 
 of Berkenfelt." 
 
 " Berkenfelt." 
 
 " Berkenfelt. Do you know my castle of Berkenfelt?" 
 " Now, what connexion can there be between Captain 
 Bazancourt and that name." The grizzly sergeant said 
 this amusingly, but it had a strange effect on the aristo- 
 crat.
 
 172 TALES FROM THE OPEEA8. 
 
 u Captain Bazancourt, did you say Captain Bazan- 
 court ? " 
 
 " Yes, you know him perhaps ! " 
 
 " Know him yes my sister I think was secret- 
 ly manied to him and their daughter." 
 ' " Marie ? She is the pearl of the regiment." 
 
 "Does she live?" 
 
 She does if I do. Steady, lady, steady." 
 
 For the lady had to lean against the bank on which 
 Marie had been sitting. 
 
 " I' faith, Marie's fortune is made." 
 
 " But the proof, the proof." 
 
 " The proof this letter, then ! " 
 
 And from his stout breast the sergeant pulled forth a 
 tough old pocket book, and from the book he took a 
 letter. 
 
 This letter had been written just before the battle in 
 which the captain fell. He had confided it and the child 
 to a servant, who was unluckily knocked over by a stray 
 shot. The child was found sitting by the dead servant, 
 and there being no clue beyond the letter, which simply 
 named the castle of Berkenfelt, the child was then and 
 there adopted by the regiment, and taught to carry a 
 brandy keg, be good-humored and brisk, and beat a drum, 
 as, indeed, has already been explained. 
 
 The lady took the letter I discovered with some emo- 
 tion, but in the midst of it, she contrived to say, " I hope 
 she has been well brought up." 
 
 " Brought up, marquise, in the most genteel and polite 
 manner ! " 
 
 " I'm sure her aunt I am, of course, her aunt I'm 
 sure I'm very glad to hear it." 
 
 " Par-r-r-r-bleu ! Par-r-r-r-bleu ! Here you are, Sulpicc, 
 and there you are wanted. Par-r-r-bleu ! " 
 
 " Great impossibles can that be her," asked the mar- 
 quise of herself. And the steward opened his eyes at 
 this terrible talking young woman." 
 
 " ' Tis she," said the sergeant to the lady. 
 
 " Co-r-r-r-bleau ! " again commended Marie, marching 
 up to the sergeant. " Cor-r-r-r-bleu, do you call this 
 duty, Sergeant Sulpice ? "
 
 LA FIGLIA DEL BEGGIMENTO. 173 
 
 " Why, she's positively pulling his moustache," said tho 
 marquise, so far forgetting her dignity as to speak famil- 
 iarly with her own house-steward. " What an education." 
 
 The steward was dolefully and properly shocked. 
 
 " Come come old grumbler, come along, or I'll pull 
 you by your grizzly upper-lip." 
 
 " Order order." 
 
 " Come come along, then ; the whole family is wait- 
 ing for you." 
 
 " Marie we've lost one of the family." 
 
 " When how where what whom ? " 
 
 You ! " 
 
 " Parbleu ! What do you mean ? " 
 
 " The owner of the old letter is found." 
 
 Co-r-r-r-bleu ! Where is he ? " 
 
 She." 
 
 Well, where is she ? " 
 
 " Here here dear girl ! I am your aunt." 
 
 " Niece you my aunt ? Cor-r-r-r-par-r-r-bleu. Ex- 
 change for another regiment no ! " 
 
 " Your soldier's life is over now, Marie." 
 
 "Not till my life is " 
 
 NIECE!" 
 
 Oh." 
 
 " Read the letter, Marie I, your father Sulpice, bid 
 you read the letter." 
 
 She took the old letter, which she had never much 
 thought of for, whereas, somebody belonging to it had 
 deserted her she had found scores of fathers. She took 
 the letter. Read it through. Let it fall. Covered her 
 face with her hands. And the little daughter of the 
 regiment quite wept again. 
 
 " Come, niece, come away. I have a pass, elegant, I 
 presume, to my castle my Castle of Berkenfelt." 
 
 " Surely, marquise, I I dare say you will be happy, 
 Marie." 
 
 " Come, niece, come." Then turning to the steward, 
 
 " Order our carriage." 
 
 Our carriage. The vivandiere's carriage. 
 
 The marquise marched up in great state to her niece. 
 But at that moment there was a tremendous to-do on the
 
 174 TALES FBOM THE OPERAS. 
 
 drums, and the next moment a score or so of stout sol- 
 diers, Tony among them, came forward. By this lime 
 they were quite friendly with Tony, and had somehow 
 cause to perceive what an admirable arrangement his 
 marrying their daughter, the vivandiere, would be. 
 
 " Ah, there you are, Marie." 
 
 " Pray, who is this young man ? " 
 
 "Pardon, lady Marie's husband. Her fathers have 
 said so. 
 
 " Fall back, private fall back. There's a general of 
 division has stopped the match." 
 
 "What?" 
 
 "Yes, comrade Marie leaves us. The letter has 
 done its work. This is Marie's aunt." 
 
 Perhaps many of the brave eleventh would have dis- 
 puted this position with the butt end of a musket or so, 
 but respect for their daughter stopped such a frightful 
 proceeding; yet with one mighty voice they cried out, 
 
 " Marie going to leave us. No, no, she won't leave us." 
 
 "Leave us no, no, Marie. Leave us leave me, 
 Tony?" 
 
 " I must, I must." She was a very different being now 
 from the brisk vivandiere. Before, she was all smiles, 
 now she was all tears. " I must go. For shame, do not 
 make me worse than I am." 
 
 Tony took off his hat, which was decorated with the. 
 gay French cockade, and looked upon the innocent little 
 fluttering ribbons with horror, for they told him he was 
 bound to the regiment, and could not follow her. 
 
 u Pray is our carriage ready." 
 
 "Good-bye, oh! good-bye all all of you; and dear, 
 dear Tony." 
 
 The soldiers were rude enough, to push the marquise 
 aside, that they might shake the hands of Marie, and 
 some actually kissed her. 
 
 " Men ! " was the only remark the marquise could make. 
 "Men!" 
 
 " Good-bye, oh ! good-bye all all of you ; and dear, 
 dear Tony." 
 
 " When will that carriage be ready ? " 
 
 The carriage was ready at last, but as she stepped into 
 it, she turned her head to her then old companions.
 
 LA FIGI.IA DEL EEGGIMENTO. 175 
 
 They had hoped she was going to run away to them, 
 under which evidence of preference they would have 
 defied the marquise, but the next moment she was seated, 
 and "our carriage" rolled away. 
 
 Her eyes were upon her old friends till she could see 
 no more for tears and distance. 
 
 And there poor Tony stood despairingly watching the 
 carriage, his hat pressed with both hands to his heart, and 
 the cruel, triumphant little ribbons fluttering about in the 
 breeze. 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 AT home in the grand castle, dressed, no longer like a 
 vivandiere, but like a real young lady, sat Marie. She 
 was not happy, but she cannot be said to have been 
 utterly miserable that sparkling young girl could not 
 be utterly miserable ; but she was half way on the journey 
 to utter misery, and she, erst vivandiere, did not like the 
 road. 
 
 To be dressed in the fashion to learn lessons to 
 make curtseys to grand folks all these things want an 
 early apprenticeship. If you go into the business after 
 you have gone out of pinafores, you are pretty sure to 
 fail. 
 
 And Marie failed signally. Every day there arose a 
 series of contentions between Marie and the marquise ; 
 and when the young lady was seated amongst the grand 
 people of an evening, listening to vapid songs about 
 Venus, and Phillis, and all the rest of the delicately- 
 finger-topped crowd, she longed to get up, bang a drum, 
 sing the rataplan, and show them all how they marched 
 in the brave eleventh. But she did not at any time carry 
 such a wish into practice, or the young duke, whose name 
 it is perfectly needless to know, would certainly not have 
 proposed for her hand and heart, as the young duke 
 certainly did, to Marie's great concern. 
 
 When, some little time after, Marie had become a 
 lady, the war broke out again when again the old
 
 176 TALES FBOM THE OPERAS. 
 
 regiment was near "ray Castle of Berkenfelt " and 
 when the grizzly Serjeant Sulpice was wounded, the mar- 
 quise could not refuse Marie's request that the sergeant 
 should remain at the castle till he could again light in the 
 field. So, rash with mild gratitude, the marquise let this 
 tempter into her fold. 
 
 Tempter he was for, from the day he made his ap- 
 pearance, pale as to his face, and his arm in a sling, he 
 never lost an opportunity of praising up the regiment 
 camped not half-a-score of miles away, and depreciating 
 the value of the castle. 
 
 But at no time did he so asperse the castle, the mar- 
 quise, and all their surroundings, as on that terrible <l;iy 
 when it was understood that at 6 p. M., the duke, the 
 duke's mother, the duke's brother, and all the duke's noble 
 friends would come to assist at the signing of the mar- 
 riage contract. 
 
 On that particular morning the sergeant was more 
 indignant than ever; for, from the great drawing-room, 
 where he had to sit, per command, he looked into an 
 adjoining room, and saw the little vivandiere, who could 
 trip you a measure so that you could hardly see her feet, 
 the little vivandiere trying to slide through a solemn 
 minuet and signally failing in the attempt. 
 
 For four mortal hours did the indignant sergeant mark 
 this saltatory misery, and he was meditating an assault 
 and crash upon the extorting dancing-master, when that 
 unlucky professional withdrew, and Marie came running 
 in to Sulpice. 
 
 " Oh, I could have slipped about no more, if I had 
 died for it ; like a dead march, only not so brisk." 
 
 " Patience, patience, danghter." 
 
 "Patience, indeed how's the arm by this time ?" 
 
 " O ! a great deal better." 
 
 "Well I'm very glad to hear that still you need 
 not leave us directly." 
 
 "What what? A vivandiere counsel a sergeant of 
 the grand army to desert ! " 
 
 "Oh no no, leave of absence, sergeant." 
 
 " Ah, it seems you have leave of absence from your 
 aunt."
 
 LA FIGLIA DEL REGGIMENTO. 177 
 
 "Not for long, she's coming here. Now the dancing is 
 over, the word is " singing." Such slow singing, I want 
 to dash iny hands down on the keys to make just a little 
 stir, you know. And she says I shall sing to-night before 
 the company, but he is wrong. I won't, I won't, I won't." 
 
 Or-r-r-r-der." 
 
 "I say I won't I won't I won't! And I won't 
 marry the duke, and I won't marry anybody but Tony." 
 
 " Ah, Marie, how can you help yourself? " 
 
 " If I don't help myself, I'm sure nobody else will, not 
 even Sergeant Sulpice." 
 
 " Hush ! here she comes full dress parade." 
 
 "And in stalked the marquise." 
 
 "Thank the chances I have found it this superb 
 romance. Hem hem ! ' Tis a beautiful romance. 
 Come, Marie there you stand like a simpleton. Come 
 to the piano this moment." 
 
 "Yes aunt." 
 
 " There now begin." 
 
 " Ve-e-e-nus." 
 
 " Very good." 
 
 "Venus the goddess of love." 
 
 "Enchanting, my dear go on. I will play slowly." 
 
 " Venus Venus descends fr-r-ra-rom above." 
 
 " Quite admirable now, go on." 
 
 " Marie ! " this was the sergeant, creeping up behind the 
 chaste back of the marquise, and whispering to the vivan- 
 diere. " Marie rata " 
 
 " Rataplan rataplan rataplan. Rataplan plan 
 plan plan plan plan-n-n. Rub-a-dub. Dub-a-rub." 
 
 " My DEAR what are you singing there ? " 
 
 " Oh certainly aunt." 
 
 " Ve-e-enus Venus comes down to dark earth." 
 
 " Ve-Ae-Ae-nus appears to light she gives birth." 
 
 " Ra-ta PLAN Marie ! " 
 
 " Each soldier says it each soldier vows." 
 
 " MADEMOISELLE ! I beg. Now pray begin all over 
 again and when you come down at the end of the sixth 
 line to 'sigh' mind you sigh just like Venus." 
 
 " Oh I can't. Oh I won't, I like the sound of the 
 drum better. There ! Rub-a-dub-dub-dub Rataplan 
 rataplan."
 
 178 TALES FROM THE OPERAS. 
 
 u How dare you ? " 
 " Rataplan rataplan rataplan." 
 Useless was it that the marquise stepped with dignity 
 after the vivandiere at this declaration of war. 
 
 "Now, fall in there. Right about face. Ma-r-r-rch." 
 
 u Rataplan rataplan ! " 
 
 Tramp, tramp, up and down the room went the soldier 
 and the girl, the marquise continually following and 
 expostulating. 
 
 At last she could bear it no longer, so she took advan- 
 tage of marching right to the door-post with them, not 
 to wheel, but to keep straight on through the doorway, 
 and to fluster up to her own apartments. 
 
 And very apropos had she retreated, for barely had she 
 gone when the military manoeuvres were brought to a 
 close by an announcement of the steward, as he stood 
 judiciously outside the door, prepared to run in case of 
 military assault an announcement to the effect that one 
 of the brave eleventh was at the door. 
 
 Whereat the steward flew on one side to make room 
 for a charge on the part of both sergeant and lady, who 
 both rushed to the door to welcome the vistor. 
 
 And who was that visitor from the brave eleventh ? 
 
 Tony! and a score more, who came storming the 
 place as though they had a right to do so. And when 
 they reached the grand drawing-room, where the duke 
 was to be received, they set up such a shout as almost 
 paralyzed the marquise, who, as she did not come to ascer- 
 tain the cause of the uproar was, perhaps, temporarily 
 deprived of the power of action or remonstrance. 
 
 " Hurrah ! Marie Marie ! " 
 
 And there was to be seen the spectacle of " a young 
 lady in fashionable attire," shaking the hands of a score 
 of common soldiers, and giving to special favorites a 
 friendly dig in the ribs with her fair little fingers. 
 
 Common soldiers, all but one Tony ! 
 
 Hopeless despair is sometimes success. Tony, fighting 
 madly for welcome death, lived throughout all to bo 
 Captain Tony, and to wear a cross of valor. 
 
 She immediately, after a few confidential words with
 
 LA FIGLIA DEL REGGIMEISTO. 179 
 
 the captain, proposed comfort of an ardent kind to the 
 soldiers. "Aye! Aye," said they " where's your keg, 
 Marie ? " And then and there the vivandiere's keg ap- 
 peared in the person of the butler, who came to the door 
 trembling. 
 
 And the next moment he was borne off in trembling 
 triumph to the assault of his own cellars. 
 
 Marie was not the girl to give way to much sentiment, 
 so the next moment or so she was talking briskly with 
 her old comrades. 
 
 " So, here we three are again, eh ! " 
 
 " Yes, Marie, as iu the old days." 
 
 " How long ago they seem, Sulpice. And so you are a 
 captain, Tony." 
 
 " Yes, and a very brave captain too." This was not 
 the remark of the captain himself, but of his sergeant. 
 
 " Now Sulpice, sit down there. Good : now the cap- 
 tain will sit on one side of you and I will sit on the other. 
 There. And now I must begin. Sergeant Sulpice, you 
 must help us ! " 
 
 " Help whom, Yivandiere ? " 
 
 " Marie, and Marie's captain." 
 
 "How?" 
 
 " Speak to the marquise." 
 
 " I'd rather storm a fort." 
 
 "Sergeant Sulpice, you must help us. I say it you 
 must speak of our troth." 
 
 " Yes and we did pledge our troth, Marie did we 
 not?" 
 
 " Surely ; but I am speaking to the sergeant. You see, 
 sergeant, the poor captain is deeply in love with me ; 
 and yes I think I am deeply in love with the captain. 
 Well, sergeant, you must help us ? " 
 
 " Yes, sergeant I, your captain, tell you you must 
 help us." 
 
 " Confound you both." 
 
 And the sergeant moved his chair but Marie moved 
 here, as also did the captain his. 
 
 " Yes yes yes," said the sergeant. And barely had 
 he registered the promise in a strong bass voice, when the 
 marquise entered the room. She was almost paralyzed 
 again at the sight of the third party.
 
 180 TALES FEOM THE OPERAS. 
 
 " Aunt aunt this is he who once saved my life ; 
 and and I love him." 
 
 " Love ! To use the word openly, like that ! " 
 
 " But, marquise, this is Tony her husband ! " 
 
 "Silence, sir the Duke of Krakentorp is Marie's hus- 
 band. Love, indeed ! A soldier a common soldier ! " 
 
 " Pardon me, marquise but Tony js a captain now." 
 
 " Then, if he is an officer, he knows, I presume, the 
 laws of good breeding ; and when I tell him his presence 
 is distasteful," here the grand lady curtseyed, for the 
 captain, without another word, retired, but not without a 
 certain look from. Sulpice, who, having given the promise, 
 was proceeding to keep it. He looked Tony from the 
 presence of the marquise, and then he looked Marie also 
 from her presence. 
 
 " Ah, I would speak to you alone, Sulpice." 
 
 " And I have a precisely similar desire, marquise." 
 
 "You know I am determined on her marrying the 
 duke." 
 
 "Ah!" 
 
 " And I depend on you to bring Marie to reason." 
 
 "Ah!" 
 
 "And I think "when you have heard me, you will bring 
 Marie to reason. If you do not no one will for she 
 
 love's you better than me though I'm her 
 
 aunt." 
 
 "Ah!" 
 
 " Did you ever fall in love ? " 
 
 Par-r-r-rbleu." 
 
 " I have fallen in love. T, ridiculous and fantastic as 
 you think me." 
 
 "Not at all, marquise not at all." 
 
 M And I have been married and to a soldier ! " 
 
 " Cor-r-r-r-rbleu." 
 
 " And knowing the misery I suffered from that marriage 
 knowing the misery which must follow all such 
 matches " 
 
 " I don't see it." 
 
 "You don't see as the wife, sergeant I would not 
 'wish such a marriage for my daughter if I had a 
 daughter."
 
 LA FIGLIA PEL BEGGIMENTO. 181 
 
 Ah!" 
 
 " And and I have a daughter." 
 
 " Par-r-r-rbleu ! what's her name ? " 
 
 " Marie ! Yes. She is my daughter. And now, ser- 
 geant if you would oppose the aunt, you will not op- 
 pose the mother. I tell you a marriage with the captain 
 would be misery. So you will persuade her to marry the 
 duke a man of high character, I assure you, sergeant." 
 
 "I yes certainly." 
 
 " Then go at once to her, for I hear a carriage at the 
 door." 
 
 Away -went the sergeant as dejected as though the 
 brave eleventh had been signally defeated and cut to 
 shreds. 
 
 "Ting ting" went the castle bell. The visitors 
 came pouring in, and amongst them the duke and his 
 mother, the duchess ; with the inevitable notary. 
 
 When Marie came in with the sergeant, she ran to the 
 marquise, and embraced her with more warmth than she 
 had ever shown. In one dismal word or two she prom- 
 ised to obey her newly-found mother. 
 
 Then the preparations went on for signing the unavoid- 
 able contract. 
 
 Meanwhile, the high-flown marquise was asking herself 
 whether the duke was altogether so admirable a party, 
 and she was beginning to see it more clearly than she had 
 seen for many years, the joys of that early martial life of 
 hers, and the happy, loving husband her captain made. 
 
 And while she sat recalling that old time there was a 
 great whirr from without. The next moment twenty 
 common soldiers of the brave eleventh had burst into the 
 room, headed by the Captain Tony. For love will make 
 cowards of us, as he will, at his capricious pleasure, make 
 us heroes of bravery. 
 
 And then, and there, before all that fine company, they 
 called out in a loud voice to the marquise's daughter, 
 addressed her as Marie, reminded her of vivandiering 
 days, and recommended her to desert. 
 
 The grand ladies were immensely shocked at this awful 
 exposition ; for it is needless to say that the story of 
 Marie's discovery had not, at any time, formed part of
 
 182 TALES FROM THE OPERAS. 
 
 the marquise's aristocratic confidences ; and, indeed, the 
 marquise herself was ready to shrink into the ground ; 
 but when she remembered the old dare-devil time the 
 spirit which had prompted her to marry the dead captain, 
 now rose against the shocked indignation of the grand 
 people present ; and then Marie's tears and then a 
 rather strong fear that the duke would cry off; why all 
 those reasons were as good as a crack advocate speaking 
 for Captain Tony. And the consequence was, that when 
 the notary respectfully asked for the name of the bride- 
 groom as though he did not know it the marquise 
 gave judgment in Tony's favor, and surprised the notary, 
 and the whole aristocratic company, by turning to the 
 captain, and leading him up to a quill-pen dipped in ink. 
 
 And so Marie was given away before, at all events, a 
 portion of the brave eleventh, and certainly with that 
 portion's full approbation. 
 
 The aristocratic ladies were shocked ; but the marquise, 
 by the lightness of her own heart, and the brightness of 
 Marie's eyes, knew she had judged wisely ; and so she 
 fearlessly looked the grand ladies full in the face. 
 
 Rataplan ! Rataplan ! Marie is the Daughter of the 
 Regiment still !
 
 NORM A. (BELLINI.) 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 ROME, all powerful, had thrown out her arms to^the 
 east and the west, to the north and to the south, "and 
 boasted of being mistress of the world. She had con- 
 quered all Germany and Spain, and overcome the Gauls ; 
 and not only the Gauls, but the Druids, that powerful 
 and wonderful priesthood, the relics of whose mysterious 
 rites yet remain in various parts of the world. 
 
 This priesthood rose several times against the Roman 
 yoke, and proved over and over again that they were not 
 wanting in bravery, daring, or hardihood. 
 
 At the conquest of Gaul, the Pro-Consul appointed to 
 Cambria, was named Pollione. Near his palace was the 
 sacred Druidic Forest, within which dwelt the mysterious 
 priesthood. 
 
 The High Priest was Oroveso ; but higher in the awe 
 run I veneration of the Gauls stood his daughter Norma. 
 Proud, beautiful, and cold, she stood amongst them, ut- 
 tering the decrees of their faith, and believed by all to 
 be inspired of God. All bowed before the High Priest- 
 ess the spotless virgin. 
 
 But ah ! was she spotless pure ? No ! seen by the 
 Roman Governor but to be loved by him, she had forgot- 
 ten her state, her holiness and soon she was his wife. 
 
 Yet she was the High Priestess before the people, and 
 the priests trembled as she passed them ; while she her- 
 self often trembled as she performed the mystic symbolic 
 rites, and she thought of her children. For she had two 
 children this proud, reverenced, high priestess child- 
 ren whom she loved when no eyes beheld her but their 
 own ; often she ran to their little bedsides when she 
 feared they might have been discovered ; but up to the
 
 184 TALES FBOil THE OPERAS. 
 
 time when their father changed towards her, no one but 
 herself, their father, and the faithful Clotilda, knew of 
 their existence. 
 
 For the Roman grew cold to her, and often as she stood 
 high and grand at the altar, her heart was beating. Yet 
 she knew not why he had forsaken her. 
 
 Hark to the pompous march ! List to the solemn step 
 of marching hundreds ! Who are these coming grandly 
 in the night through the sacred grove? These are the 
 Druids, the pure priests dressed in heavy white garments, 
 their holy beards flowing to their chests. 
 
 See ! some of them speed to the hill-side to hail the 
 moon's up-rising, and they call their followers to prayers 
 by the clashing of grave bells. When the moon, the 
 emblem of their God, is throned in the boundless sky, 
 Norma will come to gather the sacred miseltoe clinging 
 to the holy oaks. 
 
 Hark, how they vow to destroy and sweep the Romans 
 from the land ! Grandly they pass away again, chanting 
 till the still air is full of sound. 
 
 But who are these two, flitting from tree to tree ? 
 they are not clothed in flowing white there is the flash 
 of metal from their limbs. They are not Gaul or Druids, 
 they are Romans. 
 
 The one is Pollione the other Flavio. 
 
 " Why comest thou to this sacred forest has not 
 Norma told thee death lies within ? " 
 
 " Why hast thou uttered that dread name ? " 
 
 Hark ! he doth admit he loveth her no more ; the 
 mother of his children. His new love is a priestess too, 
 and he calleth her Adalgisa ; he hath entreated her to fly 
 to Rome with him. Still he speaketh, when booming on 
 the night -air is heard the sound of bells, and behold the 
 air is suffused with soft moonlight. 
 
 Then the Romans fled for again the sacred march 
 rippled through the air; louder and louder, as they came 
 to the high altar. Norma proud as ever ; defying fear 
 and walking grandly amidst them all. 
 
 On she comes to the sacred oak, bearing a golden reap- 
 ing hook in her right hand. High she mounts the steps 
 of the grand altar, as the sacred tires flicker in the breeze,
 
 XOKMA. 185 
 
 and as the stately march rolls on. She knows there have 
 been mutterings of hate against the Romans fearlessly 
 she bids them live in peace till she tells them to raise 
 their arms. Terribly she threatens those who shall take 
 no heed of what she says ; she stands there in power 
 unspeakable, and they tremble before her. 
 
 Then she cuts the sacred misletoe, and as it falls from 
 the trees it is caught in a pure white cloth. High does 
 the chief priestess cast her eyes to the placid moon, aa 
 she prays for its blessing. 
 
 " Chaste goddess, whose silver beams deign to fall on our 
 sacred plant let thy rays come to us unshadowed by a 
 cloud. Calm these rash men who thirst for war ; calm 
 them ; spread over our land the peace and quiet of thy 
 boundless sky." 
 
 See how they bow the head before their great high 
 priestess as she addresses the greatest emblem of their 
 faith. 
 
 Then she turns her face from the illuminating moon, 
 and high above them speaks the ordeal which they be- 
 lieve their god speaks to them through her. See how 
 they bow as she tells them she she only will utter 
 the war-cry let their swords rest till she bids them flash 
 from their scabbards. 
 
 The sacred rites are ended. Solemnly the reverend 
 men have moved away. The priestess is perhaps fondling 
 her two children. The sacred fires die out, and for a 
 little the altar stands deserted in the midst. 
 
 Then comes Adalgisa, trembling and prostrate. See 
 her kneeling before the altar, the sacred fires flickering 
 dimly here and there. What a contrast is she to Norma, 
 who walks proudly and fears naught ! Adalgisa is bow- 
 ing, trembling ; no mighty prayer issues from her lips, but 
 a timid appeal. Yet she thinks of the Roman who loves 
 her and whom she loves. Then as she confesses this to 
 herself, she bows lowly before the altar of the temple she 
 has shamed ; and yet heavily she trembles as she thinks 
 of the chief priestess and the decree, if she but discovers 
 that Adalgisa loves the enemy. 
 
 Still she is kneeling when the Roman conies creeping 
 softly towards her.
 
 186 TALES FROM THE OPERAS. 
 
 She cries affrightedly as he touches her, and clings to 
 the altar. Yet he speaks. 
 
 ITnrk how he pleads! 
 
 " Thou art weeping." 
 
 " No, no ; but I pray thou durst not speak to me as 
 I pray." 
 
 " ' Tis a false God thou prayest to. Come with me 
 come with me pray to the gods /love the true gods! " 
 
 " Let me go let me go." 
 
 " Where thou goest I follow, Adalgisa!" 
 
 "Thou mayest not follow me to the sacred Temple!" 
 
 "The Temple hast thou not whispered that thou 
 lovest me?" 
 
 " Yet do I offer myself to the service of the Temple." 
 
 " Ah ! if thou wouldst sacrifice let my blood be shed. 
 Thou wiliest my destruction." 
 
 " Hast thou not willed mine ? Didst thou not whisper 
 to me as I knelt happy and innocent at the altar ? " 
 
 " There are nobler altars in Rome, dearest. Wilt thou 
 not kneel at them with me ? " 
 
 " Rome thou goest to Rome ? " 
 
 " When the day dawns thou wilt go with me." 
 
 No, no." 
 
 " To Rome and its pleasures. Doth not thy heart tell 
 thee thou art willing to be with me? " 
 
 " Ah ! I fear thee." 
 
 "Yet thou lovest me." 
 
 Hark, then oh shame upon her priestly virgin robes ; 
 she promises to see him yet again, and then to fly with 
 him. 
 
 See, she steals away, and she her better nature rising 
 will to the arch-priestess go, and seek her assistance 
 and advice. 
 
 CHAPTER IL 
 
 YES the priestess the proud priestess is now the 
 happy, yet fearing, mother. See her clasping her chil- 
 dren, and turning, affrightedly, to the mouth of their 
 cavern-house at every sound, however slight.
 
 NOKMA. 187 
 
 The sound increases 'tis a footstep! The children 
 arc hurried away, and the next moment Adalgisa is at 
 the feet of the high priestess. 
 
 She tremblingly tells the story of her love. But the 
 proud Norma is not angry does not upbraid her! Why? 
 Does she not think of the time when Pollione whispered 
 loving vows to her? 
 
 At last she asks, " Who is he thy lover ? " 
 
 " Not a Gaul a Roman." 
 
 " A Roman and he is named " 
 
 Again a footstep. This time a rapid, haughty one 
 'tis that of Pollione. Well he knows the entrance to the 
 house. He comes to see Norma. As he marks Adalgisa 
 he starts. And she, the young maiden, says, " This is 
 he this is he who loves me." 
 
 "He Pollione!" See Norma standing proudly, and 
 yet ns though turned to stone. 
 
 "The very one." 
 
 " He ! do I hear do I see ? " 
 
 O, the world of anger on her face as she looks upon the 
 man before her. Now she knows why he has deserted 
 her. Now she learns the meaning of his cold words and 
 frequent absences. Then vengeance whispers her she 
 has but to call, and they shall both die he, the traitor, 
 and this weak, cruel girl ! Then jealousy swept over her, 
 and she eagerly looked at her rival. But Adalgisa com- 
 ing trembling and kneeling near her, and standing far 
 away from the Roman, she was full of pity, and she 
 said : 
 
 " I would that thou hadst died I would that thou 
 hadst died before thou hadst seen him." 
 
 Threateningly raising his hand, he turned to go his 
 way, but she commanded him to stay ; and in spite of 
 himself he did remain. Again rage possessed her. 
 
 " I read thy thoughts but is she not in my power 
 can I not destroy her?" 
 
 " Thou shalt not do this ! " 
 
 " And shalt thou stay my hand ? " 
 
 He ran to Adalgisa and implored her to fly with him 
 but the virgin drew back from him, and again clung to 
 Norma. But the priestess, jealous to blindness, flung the 
 maiden from her, and bade her follow her paramour.
 
 188 TALES FBOM THE OPERAS. 
 
 " Ah ! no ah ! no Norma." 
 
 Suddenly she relented bent down quickly and kissed 
 the acolyte. Then she rose toweringly high and bade 
 him depart. 
 
 w Begone forget thy vows, thy vows begone ! 1 
 curse thee. My voice shall whisper to thee on the winds 
 and in the waves. Go alone ! She shrinks from thee, 
 she whom thou wouldst destroy I defy thee. Go 
 alone." 
 
 He met her look at first but soon quailed before her. 
 Then with his eye down-cast, he moved towards Adalgisa 
 but Norma stood defyingly between them. 
 
 So conquered he turned, and left the place. 
 
 Behold her before the kneeling girl her face towards 
 him as he creeps away ; firm, defying, protecting she 
 has conquered him she, the sinning high priestess; she, 
 but a woman ; she, one of a conquered race Norma ! 
 She has fought and beaten the powerful Roman. She 
 stands proudly, defiantly ; he creeps away abashed, his 
 very life her gift, the gift of her whom he has deserted. 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 WHO is* this, creeping towards two sleeping children ? 
 Who is this with an uplifted dagger, and an awful frown 
 upon her face? 'Tis Norma mad with jealousy and 
 hate, stealing in the dark to kill his children and her own. 
 
 Nearer and nearer the infants nearer still ; they are 
 sleeping they will not see the hand that strikes them 
 a loving hand loving hand ! "If if I do not de- 
 stroy them if they live here, soon or late the flaming 
 pyre will steal them. If if in Rome, they would bo 
 slaves ! No, no, never slaves! Let them die. Why c;in 
 I not strike are they not Pollione's children? What 
 are they to me ? He is dead to me let them die also." 
 
 She raises the savage knife, high higher still. Then 
 she lets fall the blade. They are her sons they are her 
 sons ! And fearing for herself, she calls to Clotilda, the 
 faithful keeper of her secret, and bids her seek out and 
 bring Adalgisa to the cavern once a home !
 
 KOEMA. 189 
 
 " Adalgisa, 1 am sick to death. I will tell thee all my 
 shame. Thou hast knelt to me ah well! I now kneel 
 to thee. Take them my children, and guard them well 
 
 for no more have they a mother. Lead them to him 
 
 lead them to him bid them kneel before him ! Per- 
 chance to Adalgisa a kinder husband he may be than he 
 has been to Norma ! Take them ; watch over them. I 
 ask not for them fortune, honors. I only ask that they 
 may not be slaves, abandoned and forgotten. Ah! re- 
 member, Adalgisa, 'twas for thee he did forget me." 
 
 "Ah! Norma hope yet hope ever. I'll to the 
 Roman camp, an-d move his pity ; and all may yet be well ; 
 hope on, hope ever." 
 
 High and proud yet, the priestess forbade the girl to 
 seek Pollione ; but, turning to her children, for their sake 
 she faltered ; and at last bade Adalgisa go. 
 
 So away to the Roman camp went the maiden ; while 
 sick at heart, the high priestess lay in the cavern, weeping. 
 
 Meanwhile, the Druids were planning a surprise and 
 massacre -of the Roman camp. In spite of the high 
 priestess's commands, they had met to plot, and at their 
 head stood Oroveso, her father. Angrily, and with heavy 
 fy-ows, they met ; angrily, and with heavy brows, they 
 separated nerving themselves for the coming blow. 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 AGAIN she stands near the altar this time the sacred 
 spot where hangs the symbolic shield, which, being struck, 
 gives forth the sound of thunder. None but Norma may 
 raise this dreaded warning none. 
 
 As she stood near the altar, she thought, would Adal- 
 gisa be successful ? Would he return to her, repentant 
 and loving ? And as she asked herself these questions, 
 behold the sun was overcast, and thunder muttered in 
 the air. 
 
 Suddenly Clotilda ran in ; her features had told her 
 message of dismay Adalgisa had wept and prayed in 
 vain. 
 
 As she stood there, her first thought was her madness
 
 190 TALES FBOM THE OPERAS. 
 
 in letting the virgin go ; that she could have been so weak 
 as to let him look upon her. Why why if she prayed 
 and knelt to him, she was but more beautiful, and more 
 surely drew his love upon her. Then she thought that 
 Adalgisa bad planned the appeal to the Roman but to 
 escape from her fury. Then suddenly she relents, for the 
 messenger tells how Roman honor has overcome temptation. 
 How the herald has been held sacred, and a free passage 
 given her back to the sacred forest. Her face softens as 
 Clotilda tells how the virgin humbly prays that she may 
 take the vows, and dedicate herself to the service of the 
 Temple. And now again her face is angered ; ' tis at the 
 last news the messenger has brought, that Pollione has 
 vowed to tear Adalgisa from the very Temple from the 
 very altar. 
 
 " Let the blood of the base Romans flow," she cried. 
 Then quickly she turned to the golden shield, the sound 
 of which emulated the rolling thunder, and beat on it 
 three times. 
 
 Then arose the sacred answering cry of the Druids, and 
 from all sides came they running towards the sound 
 masses on masses their weapons in their hands. On 
 they came in they rushed, till the whole temple was 
 filled a forest of angry steel ready to bathe in Romati 
 blood. 
 
 " War ! " she cried " extermination slaughter! Sing 
 ye the hymn of battle." 
 
 Up rose the sacred hymn high-sounding amidst the 
 waving oaks floating away on the winds, and threaten- 
 ing the southern invaders. Louder and louder spread the 
 sacred war cry death, destruction, extermination ! 
 u Let the Romans fall ! Let their legions be mown down 
 like grass! Let the wings of their eagles strike the 
 
 f round. May our god descend on the rays of the sun to 
 less and rejoice in the triumph of his faithful children." 
 Then she trembles in her passion as she sees the high 
 priest, her own father, prepare to ask the question she 
 knows that he must ask. 
 
 "AND THE VICTIM?" 
 
 The victim ! When the stern, savage Druids warred, 
 they called for a human victim, as a sacrifice to their gods
 
 NOKMA. 191 
 
 as an offering and atonement for their sins as a sacri- 
 fice worthy to propitiate their gods to grant them victory. 
 
 " AND THE VICTIM ? " 
 
 Slowly she replies : " The terrible altar never lacks a 
 victim ! " 
 
 Suddenly rose loud cries of anger ; and through the 
 thick throng of worshippers there ran several armed 
 Gauls, bearing in their midst a man dressed in Roman 
 garments. 
 
 " A Roman found in the sacred temple." 
 
 Who was this man this Roman? She, Norma, 
 trembled as she saw him ; and she whispered the word 
 Pollione ! " 
 
 There was a suppressed cry of joy amongst the Druids 
 
 their gods had sent this sacrifice this Roman, their 
 enemy, who had dared to enter the sacred forest. 
 
 " Take thou the sacred sword and slay him." 
 
 He who spoke was Oroveso ; she who heard she who 
 stretched forth her hand for the weapon was Norma. 
 
 And as she took the sword, the Druids saw the Roman 
 start and turn pale, and they said amongst themselves 
 that he was afraid. 
 
 Slowly she came down from the altar, the shining 
 weapon in her hand. Slowly she came near him not a 
 pitying look upon her face. Slowly she lifted the sword 
 against him, as he raised his arm to receive the blow. 
 And then then she was weak ; and she, the high priest- 
 ess, let fall the point of the sacred weapon from before 
 the enemy and the victim. In a mighty voice they called 
 forth -" Slay him ! " 
 
 But she said she must question him, and bade them 
 retire for a little space. 
 
 Slowly and angrily they departed, and left her stand- 
 ing alone with him in the Temple. 
 
 " So at last thou art in my power. There is no hope 
 for thee." 
 
 " I do not fear thee." 
 
 " Now swear swear that from this hour thou wilt 
 think no more of Adalgisa, and I will give thee life, and 
 thou shalt go from before mine eyes." 
 
 " 1 will not swear."
 
 192 TATES FROM THE OPERAS. 
 
 u Dost thou know that my rage is terrible ? w 
 
 " I fear not thy rage." 
 
 And thy children ? " 
 
 As she spoke he trembled, and with a cry of joy she 
 cried out that he feared her at last. 
 
 " Spare them spare them. Let me die alone." 
 
 " Thee alone? all the Romans who are in Gaul shaL 
 die, and even Adalgisa shall perish in the flames." 
 
 "Pity! pity!" 
 
 What ? Canst thou ask pity of Norma ? Ah ! she 
 knows no more what pity is. See how I sate myself 
 how I glory in thy fear for her, and for yourself! Thou 
 shalt suffer, as I have suffered." 
 
 Then she struck the sacred shield once more, and again 
 the priests and the armed men came swarming to the 
 Temple. 
 
 "Behold" she cried, "I have found another victim to 
 your rage. A priestess forsworn ; who hath forsworn her 
 vows ; who hath betrayed her country ; who hath anger- 
 ed the god of her people ! " 
 
 With one vast shout they asked for her name. 
 
 "Build the pile," she said. 
 
 Again they cried out for the name of the accursed. 
 
 Then over her heart swept a flood of pity for the 
 maiden she was about to denounce. " What right had 
 she, a guilty wretch, to revenge herself upon an innocent 
 ci-eature ? Had not Adalgisa pitied her ? had she done 
 her any wrong? Could the poor girl save herself from 
 loving the traitor? Had not she herself, she, Norma, 
 fallen?" 
 
 As she hesitated, the crowd about her again demanded 
 the offender's name. 
 
 Yet she hesitated. Then, turning to the trembling 
 Roman, who each moment feared to hear her name the 
 name of Adalgisa, the high priestess raised her right 
 nand to her head, took from it the holy wreath, worn as 
 the badge of purity ; bent low her head, and said, " I I 
 am that guilty one!" So her better nature had conquer- 
 ed. All pride and anger gone ! In her rage she would 
 Lave denounced Adalgisa; but her sense of justice 
 triumphed, and she denounced herself.
 
 NOEMA. 193 
 
 With a world of shame and repentance seething within 
 him, the Roman cried, " No ! believe her not, she speaketh 
 knowing not what she sayeth !" 
 
 Still hiding her face, she said, " Norma speaketh tho 
 shameful truth ! " And she saw her white-headed father 
 draw away, degraded, from his- brethren. 
 
 She crept up to her husband, and in her looks she told 
 him what a loving wife he had destroyed. Then she 
 whispered it was a destiny that they should die together, 
 their ashes mingling on the same pile, and the same winds 
 scatter them abroad. . 
 
 All his old love for her returned in this sublime mo- 
 ment. Joy a dying joy for her filled all his soul. She 
 saw him look upon her as of old, with loving eyes, though 
 they were now filled with pitying tears. " Pardon ! " 
 he cried the most blessed words she could hear; for 
 women will die that they may forgive men ; " Pardon !" 
 
 But ere she could speak, her father crept up to her, 
 and whispered that she had spoken falsely that she was 
 not so fallen that she was yet pure. Then aloud he 
 ciied, "If the unyielding god who sees us holds back his 
 angry thunder thou art guiltless ! " Again he whispered, 
 " Norma my daughter -^ thou art guiltless." 
 
 What is it that she says which makes him start in 
 horror? What is it that makes the blood redden his 
 aged forehead ? She has told him of her children her 
 living children. 
 
 He draws his robe from her, as though pollution were 
 in her touch. His trembling feet bear him from her 
 his daughter the once proud, magnificent high priest- 
 ess. 
 
 But she follows him prays to him to save them. Still 
 his head is erect, and his eyes are tearless. She is his 
 own flesh and blood. She bids him think of her own 
 early days ; she hoarsely cries that in a few minutes she 
 ehall be dead, and again she prays him to seek her chil- 
 dren, who are with Clotilda, and to watch over them. 
 Gradually his head falls lower and lower on his breast. 
 At last, without fear of pollution, he lays his hand upon 
 her head, and promises to fulfil her last desire. 
 
 The angry priests, muttering together, draw near 
 9
 
 194 TALES FBOM THE OPERAS. 
 
 fall upon her, fling over her the black veil of death, and 
 bear her away to the burning pile. 
 
 High blaze the flames, lapping about her falls on the 
 body of the slain husband the flickering red light the 
 Roman, who has died, pierced by scores of wounds. 
 
 The victim is sacrificed. Let them march on to vic- 
 tory. Their god is appeased ! the sin which was amongst 
 them, which has drawn the favor of heaven from them, 
 is purged away by fire. Now, let the Romans fall let 
 Gaul be free ! 
 
 High blaze the flames, the red reflexions shimmering 
 from each white-robed priest, from the robes even of her 
 weeping father. Higher and higher till the victim is 
 turned to light ashes for the wind to drift whithersoever 
 it will 1
 
 ROBERTO IL DIAVOLO. (MEYERBEER.) 
 
 ROBERT THE DEVIL. 
 
 THE PROLOGUE. 
 
 RICHARD II., Duke of Normandy, who lived some forty 
 years before the conquest of Great Britain by William, 
 was without an heir to his dukedom. He prayed wearily 
 for an heir but never a child had he. At last he made 
 a vow, in the presence of his courtiers, that if the 
 demon's power could grant him a son, he would dedicate 
 that son to the demon himself sell him and his soul to 
 the fallen angel ! 
 
 The courtiers were breathless with astonishment. 
 
 Soon they remarked a change in the king, of which 
 he himself was not aware. His face altered his brow 
 grew dark and heavy his step slow, firm, and yet light. 
 All color left .his cheeks, and his lips grew pale and thin. 
 The veins of his forehead could be traced a deep blue 
 color wandering beneath the skin ; and his eyes grew 
 mournful in their light. His hair fell about his head in 
 deep waving folds and he seemed the victim of utter 
 despair. Yet he was known by all as the duke the 
 same as ever, and yet wholly changed. Nobody who had 
 known him before this change came on but bowed to him 
 as the duke ; yet all who had so known him whispered 
 that he was changed as never man changed who was not 
 possessed of a devil. 
 
 Then great wonders began to be marked in Normandy. 
 Storms would rise without warning and sweep over the 
 land as though heaven was wrath. And while the 
 storms lasted, moans were heard in the air low, wailing, 
 gentle moans like the sighs of angels. Then, too, from 
 the deep caverns came loud clattering laughs peal on 
 peal like mocking thunder.
 
 196 TALES FROM THE OPERAS. 
 
 Soon it became known that an heir would be born to 
 the duke. Then might be seen stretching across tho 
 heavens a great flaming sword of fire, its edge ever 
 trembling and surrounded by vaporous clouds. 
 
 At last, in a louder strain than any of that year in 
 the midst of shrieking winds such as had never before 
 been heard by all who lived the heir was born. Duke 
 Richard was no longer childless ! 
 
 Very beautiful was the child. But those who saw 
 him, noticed that his features were like his father's, that 
 his skin was colorless, and that his eyes lacked -the 
 sparkling brightness of infancy. 
 
 The attention of the courtiers being fully roused, they 
 began to observe that the father regained his old looks 
 and ways. His color came back ; his eyes again flashed 
 brightly, the sound of his foot was again heard, and once 
 more he laughed. And they said among themselves that 
 the change they had marked was caused by anxiety, and 
 that now his son was born to him, he was himself again. 
 
 Yet a few years, and there was more strange court 
 news. The child was as no other child ; he would tear 
 birds to pieces, screaming with joy the while ; and 
 waking in the night, he would creep from his bed, 
 open the shutters of his windows to the wind, and re- 
 main there with these same winds tearing about his head 
 till the day came when he would slink away to his bed. 
 He did not love the light, and when night time came, 
 then only was it that his eyes sparkled. 
 
 Yet a little and then it was known that he only was 
 gentle when both his mother, and his foster-sister, Alice, 
 were with him. Then he was as child-like as any other 
 child, and would lisp his prayers quite readily. But Alice 
 away, and his mother distant, again he became the strange 
 weird creature he was whispered to be. 
 
 Then came the j-umor a few years later, of an old white- 
 haired man being found dead, a child's jewelled dagger 
 remaining in his breast. 
 
 Yet a few more years, and the whispers running through 
 the court trickled out amongst the people, that the duke's 
 son was a demon ! 
 
 Sad grew the father, sadder and sadder. But it was
 
 BOBERTO IL DIAVOLO. 19 f 
 
 remarked that though his face grew grave and thoughtful, 
 it was quite unlike the face he wore in that awful year 
 before his son was bora. And then it was whispered that 
 if that time were referred to, the duke seemed lost, confused, 
 and that then, and only then, something of that terrible 
 look could be seen upon his countenance. 
 
 At last the heir was really grown a man ; as handsome 
 as any other in Normandy, as brave as any knight at 
 court. But it was observed by many, that, handsome as 
 he was, there was still a threat of the features which his 
 father wore the year before he, Robert, was born. 
 
 Soon the people grew to detest the heir to the throne ; 
 for he swept through the land like a destroying angel. 
 They abhorred him, and then it was they called him 
 ROBERT THE DEVIL! 
 
 Then, broken-hearted, utterly cast down, but never 
 wearing the old terrible look, the father, greyhaired and 
 weary of the world, exiled his only son from Normandy, 
 forbade him the land of his birth, and drove him from it. 
 
 Henceforth, till the old duke died, the people never 
 felt the hand of " Robert the Devil." They heard of 
 him, brave, fearless, terrible ever conquering, never 
 conquered, never even wounded. They heard of him, a 
 monster firing, destroying, waking up war wherever he 
 placed his foot ; and they trembled as they thought of 
 the time when he should come to reign over them. 
 
 Meanwile the old duke and the sorrowing lady prayed 
 hourly for their lost son ; and joined in their prayers the 
 lost son's foster-sister, ALICE. 
 
 THE LEGEND. 
 PART I. THE TEMPTER. 
 
 A \VORLD of tents to the right, to the left before 
 or behind a world of tents. And not dismal little can- 
 vas tents but brave erections in cloths of gold and 
 silver, and gay colors. 
 
 Truth to tell, all this was evidence of a tournament, 
 given by the Duke of Messina.
 
 198 TAXES FROM THE OPERAS. 
 
 y knights intended to compete in this tournament. 
 Hence, that sea-shore near Palermo was gay as a garden 
 with colored tents, bright gold, shining armor, and brave 
 knights, sumptuously attired. 
 
 But no braver knight, more bravely attended, nor sur- 
 rounded with more magnificence, was there than the 
 unknown, whose arrival had created such a stir in the 
 gorgeous camp. 
 
 This unknown knight, as he came from the tent erected 
 for him in the centre of his people's brilliant little encamp- 
 ment, was the observed of all observers. 
 
 " Dost know who he is ? " 
 
 " Wherefore comes he ? " 
 
 " I have heard that he will take part in the tournament." 
 
 Calmly the unknown knight came amongst the host of 
 gentlemen, bowing and smiling gravely. They made 
 way for him nay, some drew forward stools, and soon 
 the whole body of knights were seated about tables, more 
 or less magnificent, as the owner knight was rich and 
 brave, or brave only. 
 
 But he who drew on him as much attention as the 
 unknown knight himself, was his companion, a tall, solemn- 
 looking man. His brow was heavy and dark, his step 
 slow, firm, and yet light ; no color was in his face, his lips 
 were pale and thin, and the veins of his forehead could 
 be traced a deep blue color wandering beneath his skin. 
 His eyes were mournful, his hair fell about his head in 
 deep, waving folds, and a kind of settled despair seemed 
 to hang upon him, and weigh him down. 
 
 This companion of the unknown knight was dressed 
 in garments of sombre hue, which hung in beautiful 
 sweeping folds about his person. His hands were delicate 
 and white, and had in them a trembling motion, which 
 was at great variance with the close, firm mouth little, 
 small, delicate hands, beautiful to look upon, and yet, 
 somehow, they looked like claws, the fingers seemed to 
 turn so naturally to the palms. 
 
 The knights commenced drinking and dicing at the 
 various tables. Still the strapger knight and his compan- 
 ion sat by themselves at their table of' bright metal, inlaid 
 with a winding pattern of jet.
 
 EOBEKTO IL DIAVOLO. 199 
 
 Suddenly the companion whispered the knight, who 
 thereupon, with a smiling face, turned to the body of 
 gentlemen and saluted them, raising his goblet to them, 
 and emptying it at a draught. 
 
 The knights readily responded to the appeal, and the 
 next moment began conversing gaily with the two 
 strangers. 
 
 The conversation, however, was soon interrupted by 
 the arrival of two men, the one a squire of the stranger 
 knight, the other a simple-looking country fellow, carry- 
 ing his cap in his hand, and looking about him bashfully. 
 
 " Sire," said the squire, softly, " this pilgrim is a song- 
 ster, and he cometh from Normandy." 
 
 " Normandy dear, dear Normandy," said the young 
 knight, and as he spoke the words he looked handsomer 
 than before. 
 
 " Dear Normandy," said the grave, noiseless companion, 
 as the hand lying on the table twitched. "Dear Nor- 
 mandy I thought she had driven thee from her 
 soil." 
 
 The young knight frowned the truth of these few 
 words ; and then turning to the pilgrim troubadour, gave 
 him some money, and asked him what he could sing. 
 
 " Ho ho ! " said the minstrel, laughing and yet trem- 
 bling in the presence of the splendid company. " Ho 
 ho ! I can sing all songs ; but, my faith, the best is the 
 history of our young duke, whom they call Robert the 
 Devil. He hath the evil eye on him, my masters." 
 
 Here he turned to the crowd of warriors who were 
 drawing near, and did not mark the young knight place 
 his right hand quickly upon his dagger. 
 
 " Sing of Robert, minstrel ; sing of Robert the 
 Devil." 
 
 Again the companion spoke. w 'Tis but a poor min- 
 strel'." 
 
 The knight, obediently, it seemed, moved his hand 
 from the weapon, and said, " True ! " Then loudly he 
 called to the minstrel, "Begin, thou." 
 
 " Oh, long ago, in Normandy, 
 
 A valiant prince there chanced to reign; 
 
 He lived in peace his wife he loved, 
 And yet he lived a life of pain.
 
 200 TALES FKOM THE OPERAS. 
 
 No child had he; for years and years 
 
 He knelt at shrines he knelt and prayed; 
 
 But all in vain yes all in vain 
 Was every sacrifice he made. 
 
 Then loud he swore, before the court, 
 
 That if a son to him were born, 
 He would devote him to the fiend, 
 
 And let his soul from Heaven be torn. 
 
 And then in time there came a son, 
 
 Of all the land, the dread and shame 
 
 Robert Robert the demon's own; 
 And truly he deserves the name. 
 
 Not long ago but at this day 
 
 The valiant prince if you'll believe 
 
 He lives he lives as does the son, 
 For whom the duke doth ever grieve. ' ' 
 
 As the gallants laughed at the ballad, and the earnest- 
 ness with which it was sung, the minstrel stood with his 
 back to the young knight. The next moment, the poor 
 wanderer felt himself thrown to the ground ; and, looking 
 up, he saw a bright dagger high in the air above him. 
 But restraining the holder of it, was a small white hand, 
 the fingers of which seemed clawed about the other's 
 wrist. 
 
 " ' Tis but a poor minstrel ! " he also heard a voice 
 say. 
 
 Again the angry hand gave way, and fell to the young 
 knight's side ; but he bade some of his people seize the 
 unlucky singer. 
 
 " I am Robert," he cried haughtily, and looking with 
 defiance at the knights. 
 
 " The fiend ! " cried the minstrel, falling on his knees. 
 
 "An hour for thy prayers, and the hour following 
 thy purgatory! The next tree shall bear thee as its 
 fruit." 
 
 " Good, my prince ; verily we have come all the way to 
 see thee, bearing a holy message." 
 
 " Message we who is your companion ? " 
 
 " She who shall be my wife, if thou wilt let me live, 
 master." 
 
 u A Normandienne, Bertram ; a Normandlenne. Are
 
 EOBERTO IL DIAVOLO. 201 
 
 there any women, think'st thou, their equals? "Well, 
 minstrel, thy wife's eyes have gained for thee a pardon. 
 Send her hither." 
 
 *' Good master." 
 
 " Thou art courageous ! " 
 
 Some well-meaning man-at-arms here gruffly pulled the 
 young minstrel away ; and the last he saw of Robert was 
 that he turned inquiringly to the knights, and that they 
 all seemed eager to please him and be near him. 
 
 Yet quickly he turned from the knights, as he heard the 
 footsteps of several men approaching, and with them the 
 patter of a pair of light feet. 
 
 Then came in the midst of those rough, shaggy men- 
 at-arms, a young, pure-looking girl. She had one of those 
 faces not eminently beautiful, and yet at which you gaze 
 with a kind of awe ; holiness too proud to ask the aid of 
 mere beauty ! Men seemed to grow better as they look- 
 ed upon this holy young fae. 
 
 " Alice, dear Alice my sister Alice ! " 
 
 "My prince my prince!" and the young creature 
 flung herself upon the ground near Robert. 
 
 " ' Tis my sister, gentlemen our breath mingled on 
 the same breast." And stooping he lifted Alice from the 
 ground. 
 
 Strange his face seemed much lighter than it was, 
 and his very voice happier and freer. 
 
 As for his companion, whom he called Bertram, he rose 
 from the table, kept his eyes from the girl, and moved 
 away farther away farther away till he was lost to 
 sight in the midst of the tents. 
 
 The knights and gentlemen about seemed to know that 
 she would speak to him privately, for they withdrew, and 
 soon left a wide space between themselves and the girl 
 Alice. 
 
 " Prince, Alice. Call me not prince. For I am to thee 
 ever brother. So, thou hast come to see the exile? I 
 h:ive striven to die since last I saw dear Normandy; but 
 I bear a charmed life, methinks. And now here, Alice, 
 love itself is my enemy. But thou dost not say why thou 
 h:ist come." 
 
 " My duty hath brought mo hither." 
 9*
 
 202 TALES rnoM THE OPEHAS. 
 
 "Thou wast ever dutiful." 
 
 "The duty I owe to a dear mistress bringeth me to 
 thee." 
 
 "Thou dost speak of my dear mother whom heaven 
 bless." 
 
 " Then is she blessed in heaven." 
 
 She my mother!" 
 
 " And when thou shalt next see her, thou shalt be in 
 heaven too." 
 
 " Dead dead my mother dead ! " 
 
 As he spoke Bertram glided from behind one of the 
 tents, but the next moment was lost again. He turned 
 his face angrily away as tears fell from the young knight's 
 eyes. 
 
 " ' Go,' thy mother said, * go, my Alice, to him, and say 
 that, though he has made my heart bleed all his life, I 
 love him heartily; that my last thoughts are for him; 
 that I will pray for him and watch him through his dark 
 hours of temptation. Tell him a terrible power enwraps 
 him, but thou thou,' and she laid her hands upon my head, 
 O brother ' thou shalt be his guardian spirit. I know 
 that I may will it so. The hour must come when between 
 me and the evil I have named my son must make his 
 choice. Be thou near him then, O Alice, be thou near 
 him, that he may pass surely on the narrow way to me ! ' 
 Then she lay down, whispering that she would her son 
 were by to close her eyes and so thy mother died." 
 
 He hung his head and wept for pity and for love of 
 that dear mother. 
 
 " You weep, my brother. I have yet more to tell thee. 
 Before she spoke these last sad words, she placed a paper 
 in my hands her will and she said, * Bid him read it 
 when he thinks he is worthy to read it.' " 
 
 " That is not now, Alice. Keep this will ; something 
 tells me 'tis best in thy hands. Kead my mother's will 
 now! now that I am borne down with sorrow, against 
 which I do rebel with all my strength. And, sister 
 Alice I love a lady who, I fear, doth dread me." 
 
 "Dread thee?" 
 
 " She is the princess of Sicily. Her father looked on 
 me with but a troubled eye and so 1 strove to steal her.
 
 ROBERTO IL DIAVOLO. 203 
 
 But they fought bravely for their princess, and they 
 saved her. I was down down upon the ground, and I 
 feared never more to see my own dear land when a 
 noble knight came to my rescue and delivered me. 
 They fell before his arm as the blades of corn before the 
 reaper. He saved me and he is my dear friend, my dear 
 loving friend ! " 
 
 As he spoke, Bertram was standing not far offj his face 
 wearing a grave, almost a gracious smile, and his white 
 right hand high above him playing with the folds of a 
 flame-red tent. 
 
 " And the princess, brother does she love thee ? " 
 
 " Alas, sister how should I know ? " 
 
 " Nay write to her." 
 
 "And who shall be my herald ?" 
 
 Who I will be thy herald ! " 
 
 He called quickly, and from his tent came a page. To 
 this child he gave a rapid order, and the next minute he 
 was writing a letter to the lady whom he would have 
 stolen. When he had finished, he pressed the hilt of his 
 dagger on the seal, as was the custom of the day. 
 
 "Go sister of mine fortune be with you !" 
 
 As she turned, she saw the knight, Bertram. 
 
 She was not afraid of him, but she seemed to know he 
 was her enemy. 
 
 " Brother who is that man ? " 
 
 M Ah Bertram ! This is the noble friend I told theo 
 of wherefore dost thou regard him so strangely?" 
 
 " At home, in our village church, there is a picture 
 which tells how the Archangel conquered Satan; and 
 methinks I see in this man a resemblance to " 
 
 "The Archangel?" 
 
 " No, verily, the other." 
 
 *' Ha ! go, sister." 
 
 She obeyed him with a kind of fearless fear a courage 
 mixed with a desire to avoid this man. 
 
 " Thou art on good terms with thy conquest." 
 
 " Gratitude, Bertram." 
 
 " A good word a good word." 
 
 "Were I bluntly candid, Bertram, I should say that 
 near thee I never feel so honost as when thou art distant j
 
 201 TALKS FBOM THE OPERAS. 
 
 but now as I stood by Alice, I marvelled much how I 
 seemed to enjoy all things about me, and how much I 
 felt inclined to good." 
 
 " I love thee, Robert, as a father would his son his 
 only son." 
 
 "Aye but truly the advice of a father is ever godly." 
 
 "Is it likely I am the fiend? Tush! drown your 
 cares; rejoin the knights and cavaliers do as they do 
 thou art no icorse than they I " 
 
 " Verily ! " 
 
 " And thou art rich ! " 
 
 Diligently the white knight, as the knights began to 
 call the pallid Bertram diligently the white knight 
 arranged the' gaming tables, and when his friend took 
 the dice-box into his hand, he came and stood near him, 
 slightly smiling. 
 
 . " Thou shouldst double the stakes, Robert," said the 
 white knight, after the youth had lost freely. " Fortune 
 hates the niggard hand. Double, friend, double." And 
 here the white hand gathered up the dice. 
 
 " Well, double the stakes ! " 
 
 " Nay if thou treblest, then thy chance is almost a 
 surety." 
 
 "Treble the stakes!" 
 
 Thrown, and lost. 
 
 " Fortune hates the niggard hand ; hesitate not 
 play!" 
 
 Again the rattle of the dice was heard, again the 
 knight lost. 
 
 Again, and yet again, he played and lost! Then he 
 even wagered the jewels from his robe ; then his horses, 
 and his armor. Yet with -fell purpose fortune turned her 
 back upon him. 
 
 " Fortune doth try thee, Robert. Still tempt her : she 
 loveth the brave." 
 
 Again he plays again he loses. 
 
 " Gold is only a bauble fling it, fling it, fling it away." 
 
 At last he had played away all all! There was yet 
 the sword at his side, and the dagger with which he had 
 threatened the poor minstrel. Another moment and they 
 were lost too. He, Robert of Normandy, had disarmed 
 and beggared himself,
 
 ROBERTO IL DIAVOLO. 205 
 
 But in a moment his natural rage swept over him and 
 he was frantic. With a threatening look at the knighta 
 about him, he wrested a battle-axe from a soldier near at 
 hand, and was flying madly at the victorious group. 
 Then indeed, Bertram showed himself a loving frkii I. 
 He held the youth back, he entreated the gentlemen to 
 pardon his ungracious anger. He shielded him. And all 
 the while he trembled like a woman. 
 
 PART II. THE DECREE. 
 
 NOT far from the camp stood the poor minstrel, wait- 
 ing for his sweetheart Alice. While he was waiting, the 
 knight Robert's catastrophe was achieved, and he was 
 lying in the white knight's camp ; lying with his face 
 upon the ground, and the will to evil strong within him. 
 
 Raimbault the minstrel waited for some little time, and 
 was beginning to think Alice would never come ; when 
 he heard a footstep, a light footstep, like but yet unlike 
 the step of Alice. He turned, and before him stood the 
 knight Bertram, his face more pallid than ever in the 
 moonlight. 
 
 " Thou art Raimbault." 
 
 " Verily ; whom the knight Robert would have hanged." 
 
 " He hath a strong will. Wherfore art thou here ? " 
 
 " To meet Alice, my good wife, so please thee." 
 
 " She is very poor." 
 
 " She hath a rich heart, and is no poorer than I." 
 
 " See, now, thou art richer than she is now." 
 
 " Verily, he hath given me gold ; real, real gold ! " 
 
 And the minstrel did not read contempt in the pale 
 face; contempt that gold should make men happy. 
 
 " Thou art noble, and I will obey thee." 
 
 (Oh ! man, man, how weak art thou.) " So thou art to 
 be married 'i " 
 
 " Yes, now that the young prince has been discovered." 
 
 "Folly!" 
 
 "Folly, nay, Alice is a good girl ! " 
 
 "Good! Weie I thee, I would wait, and be joyful.
 
 206 TALES FEOM THE OPEKAS. 
 
 Thou art rich; with gold man can do all things; and I 
 have given thoe gold." 
 
 " Verily." 
 
 "Be happy --feast sin! Thou art young, there is 
 time to repent time to repent! (He smilcth ; his eyes 
 brighten ; he is lost.) Go, good Raimbault, Alice will 
 follow thee ; she may be thy slave. Go, go ! " 
 
 The minstrel, weak and maimed with evil thoughts, 
 went away stumbling in the darkness. 
 
 Then the smile passed away from Bertram's face 
 there was only to be read in it terrible despair battling 
 with small hope ! As a faint, warning, unearthly sound 
 swept through the air, he trembled ; and then he mutter- 
 ed that he had gained another soul ! That he should 
 have mercy shown him mercy to him, the ambassador! 
 Again the wild cry swept through the air, and Bertram's 
 head fell. Clasping his hands together, he moved slowly 
 into a deep lightless cavern, and was lost in the darkness. 
 
 Treading lightly through the moonlight then came 
 Alice, to meet Raimbault, who was surely waiting for her 
 surely. 
 
 Raimbault Raimbault ! " 
 
 No answer. 
 
 " When I bade Normandy adieu, 
 
 Thus said a hermit sage to me, 
 Damsel, to one beloved and true, 
 Thou shall e'er long united be. 
 Raiiubault Raimbault ! " 
 
 The wild, wailing cry swept past her very lips as she 
 ended her little ditty. As she heard it she trembled, and 
 felt sure the very ground below her shook. 
 
 She began to run away, afraid, but a single word detain- 
 ed her a single word, streaming through all the air 
 "Kobert!" 
 
 "Robert!" She knew her duty was to watch over 
 him till he had read his mother's will, so she stood still, 
 trembling no longer. Then she thought the sound came 
 from a dark corner near, and lightly walking to it, she 
 peered in, and then drew back with mighty fear. She 
 sped quickly to a rustic cross by the roadside j she fell at 
 its feet, and lay senseless.
 
 EOBEKTO IL DIAVOLO. 207 
 
 Forth from the cavern came the white knight. The 
 doom, then, was irrevocable; unless Robert freely gave 
 himself up and before the morrow they would be 
 parted. Parted from Robert, whom he loved so much. 
 " By his own will by his own will, he must be won." 
 
 Suddenly he turned, as he heard a weak womanly cry, 
 and he saw Alice lying at the foot of the cross. 
 
 "Thou here, Alice? What ailest thee ? Thou dost 
 draw away. Nearer come nearer ; nearer, I say. Dost 
 fear me ? " 
 
 Still she clung to the cross, the closer and more firmly 
 as he approached. 
 
 " What didst thou hear ? " 
 
 " Nothing." 
 
 What didst thou see ? " 
 
 " Nothing nothing." 
 
 " Come near me." 
 
 With a loud cry, she crossed herself. 
 
 " Ah ! thou knowest me ! " 
 
 "I do not fear." 
 
 " Thou shalt surely perish, utterly thou and thine ! 
 What hast thou seen? What hast thou heard ? " 
 
 " Nothing nothing." 
 
 By a lie thou fallest." 
 
 As she flinched from him she saw Robert approaching, 
 his head drooping, and his hands clasped. 
 
 " Speak not fall away from the cross thou hast 
 shadowed. Fall away, I say." 
 
 By the power of the untruth she had spoken, she was 
 for a while conquered. Yet as Robert came near them, 
 she felt her strength renewed. She ran to him to warn 
 him. But yet again she was weak. The white knight 
 mised high his glistening right hand, and she fled. 
 
 " What aileth her? " 
 
 " She is jealous of thee. Ah well wilt thou not look 
 upon thy best friend ? " 
 
 " Best friend thou art my only friend on earth ! " 
 
 " Earth what is earth ? But thy fortune Robert 
 thy fortune ! I tell thee 'twas wrested from thee by un- 
 holy arts. Regain it by them. Where others have ven- 
 tured fear not to venture thou ! "
 
 208 TALES FEOM THE OPERAS. 
 
 u What can the demon have power on earth ? " 
 
 "Power! Power! There is but one power equal, or 
 superior to his own. Power ! Hast thou courage is 
 thy heart firm?" 
 
 " Lay thy hand upon it .... ah, thou seerast to burn 
 me with thy touch take thy hand away." 
 
 " Thy heart is firm ; e'en now firmer than before. 
 Thou hast heard of the ruined abbey, whose inhabitants 
 with itself were delivered to the powers of hell." 
 
 " I have heard, but not believed." 
 
 " Believe. In the midst stands the tomb of Bertha 
 why dost thou tremble ? " 
 
 "'Twas my mother's name 'twas my mother's 
 name." 
 
 Think of thy fortune, Robert ! Those who go to this 
 tomb speak not to the mysterious beings they see. 
 But over the marble effigy waves a branch of cypress. 
 Who holdeth it holdeth power POWEB ! wouldst thou 
 be powerful ? " 
 
 " Feel my heart again I fear not thy hand now ! " 
 
 PAKT III. THE FALL. 
 
 A WILD spot : the accursed cloisters, where once lived 
 sinning nuns. A wild spot, lighted now and then by the 
 moon, when its light could flit down between the jagged, 
 angry clouds which rushed floating by. The light showed 
 a sombre square of burial-ground, covered with marble 
 tombs, whereon lay effigies of the dead ; solemn white 
 figures, still, still as death. 
 
 But something now moves in this accursed spot. 
 Treading lightly through the moonlight comes a solemn- 
 looking man, with small, white, claw-like hands. Arrived 
 in the midst, he lifts these terrible hands above his head, 
 and then he speaks " O, ye impious women who sleep 
 beneath these stones, shake from you your troubled slum- 
 ber, and awake. ' Tis I condemned as you, who speak. 
 But for an hour take life; move, breathe, and then sink 
 to your weeping sleep again ! " 
 
 See the white, sleeping figures move. The ground
 
 EOBEKTO IL DIAYOLO. 209 
 
 breaks in long, ugly cracks. Stones are up-heaved, and 
 trembling green lights flicker where once sacred altars 
 stood. Slowly, forms, something like human, stand here 
 and there, uncertain of themselves and each other, as with 
 ghastly eyes they doubtingly peer into the darkness. 
 Then, with noiseless steps, they approach and touch each 
 other, stepping from side to side, as again and again a 
 figure rises from the ground. At last, there are hundreds 
 of these grim phantoms. Gradually, life seems to grow 
 brighter in their faces. At last, they even smile ; and 
 then, behold, they are as human-looking as the pale, 
 \inyielcling moon will let them look. 
 
 " Ye hopeless hear me ! A warrior whom I love 
 shall come to pluck the weeping cypress; if he trembles, se- 
 duce his better soul from him, and with all your earthly 
 charms, strive to destroy him, Rejoice rejoice for thou 
 knowest whither I would lead him." 
 
 Again with his light, solemn step he passed away his 
 hands now clasped within each other. 
 
 Suddenly the weird figures seemed to shudder, as with 
 evil eyes they marked the warrior's fearful coming. 
 Hiding behind pillars and broken stones they watched 
 him. He hesitated then came forward. Then again 
 he stopped. At last he stood near the cypress, which 
 waved above the tomb of the abbess. But as he stretch- 
 ed his hand to pluck the fatal branch, he looked upon the 
 statue of that abbess, and the face seemed as the face of 
 his mother, wrathful and angry. He fell back stunned 
 and speechless. 
 
 Then out trooped the living-dead their features no 
 longer ghastly, but full of wicked, sensuous life. They 
 surrounded him ; they tempted him ; in a circling band 
 they drew him to the fatal cypress. Yet he hesitated. 
 Then they held to him a golden cup, brimming Avith deli- 
 cious wine. Drinking it, again the evil look was in their 
 faces. But when he returned the cup, they smiled again. 
 
 At last he plucked the branch, and held it in his hand. 
 
 Then the faces turned again to hopeless death. The 
 figures screamed in their joy about him loudly and 
 more loud. 
 
 While he his heart now failing him shrank down
 
 210 TALES FROM THE OPERAS. 
 
 upon the ground and hid his eyes with his hands ono 
 of which still clasped the terrible cypress branch. 
 
 PART IV. THE CYPRESS BRANCH. 
 
 WHILE this horrible scene was being enacted away 
 in her father's palace was the lady whom Robert loved 
 the lady who also loved him the princess. 
 
 The Princess Isabelle of Sicily sat ' watching the mag- 
 nificence about her. It seemed to mock her sorrows. 
 The King had decided upon marrying her to the Duke of 
 Grenada, a Spanish noble. 
 
 Her solitude was broken by the entrance of a few 
 young maidens, who, after the custom of the time, took 
 advantage of the intended marriage to present petitions 
 to the bride. 
 
 Among the girls who thus entered was one superior to 
 the rest. She had a pure-looking, almost holy face not 
 more beautiful than any there, perhaps, but glowing in its 
 purity and high resolve. 
 
 This young creature presented a letter to the princess. 
 Isabelle took the paper languidly enough, but no sooner 
 Lad she glanced at it than her face sparkled with joy. 
 
 ' Twas the letter Robert had given Alice before the sun 
 went down. ' Twas Alice who now gave the letter into 
 the hands of the young princess. 
 
 Happily Isabelle read the letter; but her happiness 
 was of short duration, for barely had she finished it than 
 her tirewomen came forward to deck her for the bridal. 
 
 Then came grand lords and ladies of the court a full 
 procession to accompany the bride to the palace 
 chapel. 
 
 They stood without the great room and upon the wide 
 staircase leading to the broad open doors. They were 
 talking gaily and looking towards the princess, when sud- 
 denly the breath of death seemed to pass ovor and among 
 them. Their words faltered on their lips their hands 
 fell listlessly to their sides; and though they could sec 
 and hear, they had no power to move. They saw no
 
 ROBERTO LA DIAVOLO. 211 
 
 figure of a wild-looking, handsome man, waving on high 
 a black, sweeping cypress branch. They saw the doors 
 close of themselves, and remained motionless, like statues 
 grouped about the marble stairs. 
 
 Slowly he came on, his face now almost the counter- 
 part of Bertram's. On and on, to the spot where the 
 princess sat, immovable like the people on the stairs. 
 She saw no one before her eyes; she sat wondering 
 what the sudden silence meant, when suddenly before 
 her stood Robert surely, and yet not with Robert's 
 face. 
 
 He waved the branch over her fair head, and broke 
 the spell. 
 
 "Robert! Robert!" 
 
 He looked upon her with a love so terrible that she 
 cried 
 
 " Save me save me from him ! " 
 
 " Thou art beautiful, and I love thee ! Thinkest thou 
 I would tamely leave thee to another? Look on me! 
 Not the Robert thou didst once know. Look on me ! 
 Mark on my face the hellish joy I feel in seeing thee ! " 
 And he asked himself how he could look upon her fear 
 and grief, and feel no pain ? 
 
 " Robert, thy eyes are fire, and thou lookest on me as 
 thou of all men least should look. What is thy power 
 and thy knightly oath and thine honor ? Hast thou 
 forgotten them ? " 
 
 " Hate knows no honor, Isabelle, and love is often 
 hate." 
 
 "' Tis not too late, Robert ! But now I saw thy old 
 self again upon your face. Robert, be thyself. Fly, or 
 they will kill thee ! " 
 
 " I here am master ; tremble bow before me. None 
 can see me none can move but at my will. Thou art 
 lout lost lost ! " 
 
 The Princess fell on her knees and clasped her hands. 
 
 For a moment he trembled, but then again his 
 face was as Bertram's face, and he cried, "Thou art 
 lost ! " 
 
 Then, as she knelt to him "Robert, Robert, thou 
 whom I so love to whom 1 gave my troth, look on me;
 
 212 TALES FROM THE OPERAS. 
 
 look on my terror ! Mercy ! For thyself, mercy ! For 
 me, also, mercy ! Think of thy faith thine honor ! As 
 you love me, mercy ! See me, at thy feet. Robert, Robert, 
 thou whom I so love, mercy mercy ! " 
 
 He doubts, he trembles, then his face changes to its old 
 expression, as he stoops and lifts her from the ground. 
 Thou hast saved thyself." 
 
 "And thee, too, Robert." 
 
 " Nay, thou hast destroyed me." 
 
 "I destroyed thee ! " 
 
 ** I cannot live away from thee ; let me then die." 
 
 And, in a rage of agony and disappointment, he tore 
 the branch to atoms. 
 
 As he did so the spell was broken. The lords and 
 ladies on the stairs moved and spoke ; and one of them, 
 pushing open the great doors, saw the knight flinging 
 from him the remains of the cypress, and saw, also, the 
 
 Princess stand apart, one hand trembling before her white 
 ps. 
 
 A moment, and there was a violent and terrible noise 
 of swords torn quickly from their scabbards. 
 
 The princess put out her hands beseechingly for him. 
 But ' twas useless ; fifty sword points were directed at his 
 heart. Towards them he ran fearlessly, his warrior face 
 the old, good face all-powerful now. 
 
 Suddenly, a knight was beside Robert, fighting for him. 
 Steadily this new combatant beat a way for the beleaguer- 
 ed knight, and at last regained for him and for himself 
 free air and liberty. 
 
 PART V. THE REDEMPTION. 
 
 " BERTRAM, thou must come with me. See, here is {he 
 cathedral ; wilt thou not enter? The sanctuary is sacred, 
 and none will dare try to move me from it. Come." 
 
 " So, thou brokest the mystic branch ; thy heart failed 
 thee." 
 
 " Oh, it should not fail me again." 
 
 " There is yet a means ! "
 
 ROBERTO IL DIAVOLO. 213 
 
 "Yet a means ? Name it; I care not what I will obey." 
 
 " Thou shalt sign a solemn pledge." 
 
 " Surely, Bertram, surely." 
 
 The white knight took a quivering paper, from his very 
 bosom, as it seemed ; dipped a reed in an ink horn at his 
 side, and offered both to the young knight. 
 
 As he was about to take them his hand trembled not 
 from fear, but because of a soft hyrnn which welled forth 
 from the cathedral a hymn of praise, sung by reverend 
 old monks and faithful nuns. 
 
 " What ! dost thou again tremble ? w 
 
 " 'Tis the hymn my mother often sang to me in the 
 days of my innocent childhood. Hark, again ! " 
 
 Yet once more the sacred sounds swept through the 
 air, " Holy, holy, holy." 
 
 The white knight turned away and frowned ; but as the 
 sound died out he said, " Come, let us go. What, again 
 thou tremblest ? " 
 
 " How gentle does this music make me. As I hear it I 
 have no fear feel no hate. Again, dear sounds, again." 
 
 Yet once more the hymn arose, " Holy, holy, holy ! " 
 
 " He would be free ! What, shall all my hope be de- 
 stroyed ? Neve" ! " 
 
 " I am happy, I am happy ! " 
 
 " Wherefore ? That thy rival is blest ; that they offer 
 up prayers for him ? " 
 
 " Again ; again." 
 
 "Go also; kneel humbly humbly ; and pray for his 
 welfare too ! Go, coward." 
 
 The knight looked quickly at Bertram ; gazed earnestly 
 into his face ; and, as the religious sounds again spread 
 through the air, he cried out : 
 
 " BERTRAM, THOIT ART MY GREAT ENEMY ! " 
 
 ("Is there no mercy for me? I his enemy!) I thy 
 enemy, Robert ? Do I not love thee ? Who supported 
 thee in battle, whose arm hath been thine, who would lay 
 all the riches of the world at thy feet ? I, who am " 
 
 "Thou who art " 
 
 " Dost thou remember the whisperings in thy home ? 
 Thy living father, who was changed, and thy mother's 
 woes ? canst thou not guess my name ? "
 
 214 TALES FROM THE OPERAS. 
 
 The youth looked on the white knight for a moment ; 
 then, with a flood of tears, he was on his knees before this 
 strange being; his arms around the white knight's waist, 
 and Bertram s small white hands resting on his head. 
 
 " Fear not ; I will never leave thee ! 
 
 Then Robert saw the face above him change. lie 
 turned quickly, and found Alice standing there. 
 
 Robert ! " 
 
 The white knight stood before her toweringly; but, 
 as she stepped forward, he, with all his power, was forced 
 to give way. 
 
 " Robert, I bring thee a happy message. The duke of 
 Grenada cannot pass the holy threshold of the cathedral." 
 
 " Come, my son, leave this woman." 
 
 " And the princess awaits thee." 
 
 M Come, let us depart, Robert." 
 
 u Thou darest not forget thy oath to her." 
 
 " Hasten, Robert, the clock is near the hour, the last 
 hour of my stay. We may not part, my son my only 
 son we may not part." 
 
 " My heart turns to thee yet my vow ! " 
 
 " But thy duty thy duty ! " 
 
 " Our duty," cried Alice. " Our duty is to him whom 
 thou fearest." And without fear she stepped up to the 
 white knight. 
 
 " My son my only joy thou wilt not hear her ! " 
 
 " Let him hear me I speak as I am bidden." 
 
 " See, Robert ; here is the parchment. Turn from her, 
 fix thine eyes upon me, and let us go, to be for ever near 
 each other." 
 
 "And thy mother's will O Robert." Quickly he 
 turned from the tempter to the holy maiden, who held in 
 her hand his mother's will. 
 
 " My son, turn thy face from her, and look on me." 
 
 " My mother's writing my own mother ! " 
 
 As he perused the paper Bertram stretched forth his 
 hands towards the youth, placed them pleadingly together, 
 and even wept. 
 
 The knight read the paper, and then, looking up from 
 it, the white knight knew that his power was gone, for 
 Robert drew away from him, and taking the hand of 
 Alice, placed it on his own head.
 
 KOBEKTO IL DIAVOLO. 215 
 
 As he did so, the clanging of the church-bell told them 
 that midnight was come. 
 
 Then despair, horrible despair, crept over the face of 
 the white knight. He came one step forward, placed his 
 trembling claw-like hands above the head cf the saved 
 knight and vanished. Vanished in the black night, as a 
 wailing cry filled all the air. 
 
 Saved ! the good spirit had saved him the good spirit 
 working through a poor country girl ! 
 
 See him creeping to the church he spurned till now. 
 Saved saved ! 
 
 " Holy, holy, holy ! " Behold the sanctuary, and the 
 sacred priests, ready with open arms to receive the sinning, 
 but now repentant Robert ! 
 
 And so was the spell his father's wicked vow entwined 
 about his life, for ever broken and destroyed. So was 
 .Robert the Devil transformed to Robert the Man, loving 
 and beloved.
 
 IL TROVATORE. (VERDI.) 
 
 THE MINSTREL. 
 
 PART I. THE DUEL. 
 
 IN the fifteenth century, and away in Spain, lived the 
 Count de Luna he was as handsome as he was impla- 
 cable, and folks said he was as implacable as death. 
 
 In the fifteenth century too, and in Spain, a great lord 
 was a petty king, and would as frequently make war 
 against his neighbor on his own account, as on account of 
 their common country. 
 
 But proud and implacable as he was, he had bowed to 
 the power of love, and weak and pliant in the presence 
 of the Lady Leonora. 
 
 His castle was always well defended for attacks might 
 be made on it when least expected. Attached to his cas- 
 tle was a palace with superb grounds. On the approach 
 of danger both palace and grounds were deserted, and all 
 communication between them and the castle was cut off 
 by the up-heaving of heavy draw-bridges. 
 
 One night the guard-room of the palace was filled, as 
 usual, with soldiers off duty and various servants ; but 
 both soldiers and servants were half asleep. This being 
 observed by Ferrando, he woke them up by saying it was 
 near the count's time for passing through the room. 
 
 Said a man, One had better sing or tell tales if he 
 would have " us " keep awake. 
 
 The proposal being generally approved of by the com- 
 pany, Ferrando settled himself easily in his seat, and told 
 them the old, old tale. 
 
 " Draw about me all of ye. Thus it was. The old 
 count had two dear sons the cares of his heart. Well 
 they were sleeping peacefully their good nurse near
 
 IL TROVATOEE. 217 
 
 them, when she awoke and saw now, my comrades 
 what did she see?" 
 
 " Go to ! " and. " go on ! " 
 
 " A hag of a verity, a hag ! And, of a verity, she 
 screamed aloud, which brought about her a score or so 
 of frightened men, who bestruck themselves strong enough 
 to drive forth the hag with many a blow. Well, what 
 then, my comrades ? " 
 
 "Aye what then?" 
 
 The child dwindled till his flesh was as colorless as the 
 white of thine eye, Gomez. Nay, start not, man. And 
 he hath screamed, as child has never screamed before. 
 Wherefore and thereupon, my comrades, they did search 
 out the hag fall upon her bravely, and fitly burn her. 
 But, my faith, she had a daughter. By the rood, such a 
 daughter ! She hath sworn, my comrades, as I, man-at- 
 arms, would never so beswear myself, she hath sworn to 
 destroy the little one; and .she hath done it; for he is 
 lost gone and there's an end, on't." 
 
 " And therefore hath the old count died ? " 
 
 " He hath died o' heart-crack, a sore complaint, my 
 comrades." 
 
 " And the living count ? " 
 
 " Interpose not thy remarks, youth. The living count 
 hath sought for his brother, and hath not found him. 
 And I will wager my chain here, which I won in honest 
 fight, that never shall human eyes see him again. But 
 mark you this : I could tell the thief I could tell her 
 yea marry, could I." 
 
 The castle bell began to toll, whereat a marvellous 
 trembling came upon the men-at-arms. Then was heard 
 the roll of a drum. The time to relieve guard had ar- 
 rived, so the story-telling crowd dispersed. 
 
 Go we now to the gardens of the palace, where the 
 moon looked down upon two female forms, the lady 
 Leonora and Ines, her confidante. Leonora had been 
 telling Ines of her love for some unknown knight. She 
 had seen him at the last tournament where he appeared 
 in dark mysterious garments and carried a shield without 
 10
 
 218 TALES FROM THE OPERAS. 
 
 armorial bearings. He gained the laurel ; and she, she 
 placed that laurel crown upon his brow. But, alas ! 
 almost immediately after, came news of a civil war, the 
 assembly within a day dispersed, and with the rest wont 
 the unknown warrior. But but a few nights since she 
 hnard, near her casement, the plaintive notes of a guitar 
 and words of a plaintive song. Drawing near, she heard 
 her own name sighed, again and yet again ; till the very 
 air seemed to breathe forth the name of Leonora. 
 
 " ' Twas he by the pale moonlight she saw 'twas he." 
 
 " I would, lady, that you forgot him." 
 
 "Counsel easily given, Ines, but not kindly taken. 
 Come, let us return to the palace." 
 
 Scarcely had they departed when the Count di Luna 
 came softly towards the palace windows, that he might 
 be near his beloved Leonora. The garden was bathed 
 in the light of the virgin moon. 
 
 As he approached a window, from which streamed the 
 rays of a taper, he started ; for a voice he well knew be- 
 gan to carol forth a song the voice of the troubadour, 
 who had dared approach the palace windows, night after 
 night, for many nights. 
 
 " O'er the lands of the earth 
 He hath wandered from birth; 
 He hath much wants no more, 
 
 Does this same troubadour. 
 He hath treasure, I'm told, 
 Quite surpassing all gold, 
 ' Tis a lady no more. 
 
 He's a rich troubadour." 
 
 Hardly had the last words floated away on the air than 
 the window, behind which was the taper, opened on to 
 the broad terrace. The next moment the Lady Leonora 
 was softly coming down the broad steps to the green 
 lawn. 
 
 As she reached the foot of the marble stairs, she saw a 
 manly figure. Guessing it to be that of the singer, she 
 ran and put her arms about the new comer's neck. 
 
 "Thou art late. I have counted the moments for thy 
 coming."
 
 IL TKOVATORE. 219 
 
 But the voice of her lover sounded many steps away, 
 crying, " Faithless one ! " 
 
 And then, by the light of the moon, which had seemed 
 darkness to her, coming from the illuminated chamber, 
 she perceived how terrible had been her mistake. 
 
 " Maurico, thy Leonora thought this man to be thyself ; 
 he hath not yet spoken; by his voice I should have learnt 
 my fault." 
 
 The count, in a whirl of rage, cried, " He is but a 
 coward or a sinner who wears a mask remove that 
 mask." 
 
 The troubadour took off his mask. 
 
 " Thou, Maurico," said the count. " Thou ! pro- 
 scribed condemned to death a rebel." 
 
 "Defeat thy rival, count, by calling here thy guards." 
 
 " The only guard I call is this an honorable one." 
 
 And the noble drew his sword. " Thou shalt degrade 
 its blade." 
 
 The troubadour quickly drew his sword, and the count 
 was rushing upon him, when cried the former, " Softly, 
 count. Brave men quarrel not in the presence of tremb- 
 ling women." 
 
 " Follow me ! " cried the count ; and, spite of all the 
 entreaties of the lady, the rivals strode on to some seclu- 
 ded spot that one might slay the other. 
 
 PAET II. THE GIPSEY. 
 
 AMONG the gipsies! the gipsies then, as now, and 
 as who knows through how many hundreds of years? 
 daring, brave, handsome, light hearted rovers ! 
 
 In Spain the zingaras, or gipsies, have ever increased 
 and multiplied. The land seems to foster them kindly ; 
 and, at the period of our tale, they were so numerous, 
 that quarrelsome or rebellious nobles would frequently 
 enlist the sympathies and strong arms of the tribe. Often / 
 and often the prowess of the zingaras provided the turn- 
 ing points of the Spanish victories. 
 
 The band of gipsies to which the troubadour, Maurico,
 
 220 TALES PEOM THE OPERAS. 
 
 belonged had taken part in the rebellion against the king. 
 Hence the expressions used by the count when he discov- 
 ered Maurice in the palace gardens. 
 
 The gipsies were encamped within and about a dilapi- 
 dated old building, amid the mountains of Biscay, not far 
 from the castle of the Count di Luna. In their encamp- 
 ment they sang, and laughed, and danced as though they 
 were masters of the earth, instead of being surrounded 
 by danger, and, possibly, near to death ! 
 
 The flickering flames of a wood fire, which shone on 
 the faces of the wild band, paled before the coming day. 
 But there was yet sufficient light to see Maurico, muffled 
 in a cloak, lying at the feet of a stern-looking gipsey 
 woman, whom they called Azucena. 
 
 Suddenly this woman started from her sleep stood 
 up came a step or so forward and cried, " Look 
 look ye ! See how the flames dart at her, as she is dragged 
 along. Look ye, how they all crowd about, and are merry 
 over her trouble a poor gipsey led to death! See how 
 their faces are bathed in blood! There! she screams in 
 her agony; and higher, and yet higher the mocking 
 flames rise about her; and now I see her no longer. 
 Gone gone gone ! " 
 
 Suddenly she came to herself, and half whispered, 
 " Vengeance ! I will have vengeance." 
 
 "Still that word, mother," said the troubadour, Maurico, 
 rising from his hard bed. 
 
 As the sun lit up the shadows in their dark skins, the 
 gipsies moved away in various direetions. Presently, the 
 gipsey-mother and gipsey-son were alone together. 
 
 Suddenly she began again to speak of her terror. 
 "She was accused of witchcraft my mother; and they 
 burnt her here here, on this very spot. I see her, thick 
 chains hanging about her limbs, dragged to this very spot. 
 I stood near, holding thee in my trembling arms. In vain 
 she sought to bless me ; they struck down her hands, 
 and drove her forward. Then it was she cried aloud, 
 ' Avenge me!' And canst thou not read the words here 
 here on my face ? " 
 
 " And thou didst obey, my mother? " 
 
 u I stole the old count's son. The child wept and clung
 
 IL TROVATORE. 221 
 
 to mo. Why should I pity him ? They had shown HES 
 no mercy. Here with him I came a fire blazing as 
 when my mother died. I closed my angry eyes, raised 
 high the child above my head, and dashed it screaming 
 on the burning embers. Then, looking forth again, I saw 
 I saw the count's own child still living." 
 
 " Then thou hadst destroyed " 
 
 " My son my own dear son." 
 
 And she grovelled on the ground, hiding her face with 
 her hands. 
 
 " Then am not I thy son ?" 
 
 Suddenly she looked up fearfully. "Yes yes, boy, 
 thou art my son my own dear son." 
 
 " And yet thou didst say " 
 
 " Ne'er heed what I say, son, for am I not sometimes 
 daft ? Thy mother have I not been a tender mother to 
 thee all thy life?" 
 
 " There's not a day that I recall when thou wast other- 
 wise." 
 
 " Did I not save thy life, my son my own dear son ? 
 When they said you lay dead on Pelilla's field, did not I 
 seek thee find thee cure thee? Thinkest thou I 
 would do all that for the stranger ? ' 
 
 " A noble wound ! If, when Di Lima rushed upon me 
 with his score of men, I fell I fell as falls a soldier, 
 mother." 
 
 " Di Luna ! And so he rendered thee reward for the 
 life thou gavest him, when he stood before thee in a duel, 
 and was conquered. Thou shouldst love Di Luna, e'en as 
 thy brother ; Di Luna, whom thou, my son, hast spared." 
 And she laughed scornfully. 
 
 " I may not know wherefore, but when my sword was 
 pointed at him when the next moment I should have 
 slain him some power held back my sword, and I heard 
 whispered in mine ear the word, 'Mercy!'" 
 
 " But if again thou meetest him, thou dost promise to 
 slay him without mercy ? Slay him," she said again, 
 as if to herself, and turned away without waiting for his 
 reply. 
 
 As she turned, a trumpet sounded near at hand. 
 
 A herald appeared, and brought Maurico a scroll from
 
 222 TALES FROM TITE OPERAS. 
 
 the rebel chief, in whose ranks lie and his people now 
 fought. The stronghold, Castellor, had been wrested from 
 the royalists, and Maurieo was ordered to take its com- 
 mand. The scroll also incidentally mentioned that the 
 Lady Leonora, believing in Maurice's death in the late 
 fight, was about to take the veil in a neighboring convent, 
 
 The gipsey-mother saw him turn, and quickly fling his 
 cloak about him, and place his helmet on his head. 
 
 " Whither goest thou? " 
 
 To duty." 
 
 " I command thee, stay." 
 
 " But my general commands me." 
 
 " And thy wound ! thou must not leave me. It may 
 open again ; and if I am not near thee, son, thou mayst 
 die ; therefore thou shalt not go." 
 
 For answer, he wrapt his cloak more closely about him. 
 
 She threatened him, but it was \iseless. Soon she was 
 gazing after him as he wended his way down a mountain 
 pass. 
 
 Go we now to the cloisters of the convent, where the 
 luckless Lady Leonora was about to take the vows that 
 were to separate her for ever from the world. 
 
 Love had humiliated and degraded the count, as it 
 hath humiliated and degraded many a better man. As 
 he could not honestly possess himself of the Lady Leo- 
 nora, he had now come to steal her tear her away 
 from the altar. He had not come alone, for love had also 
 made him a coward. He had brought with him a score 
 or so of his followers to snatch her from amongst a host 
 of women. 
 
 See them hiding behind pillars, and in shadows, creep- 
 ing softly and meanly, as robbers and cowards do. 
 
 Then came the widowed Lady Leonora, surrounded by 
 old friends, who would fain accompany her to the door of 
 her life-long prison. 
 
 She sighed as she heard the low religious chant from 
 within the walls of the convent henceforth to shut in 
 all her hopes. But she was determined. He was dead
 
 IL TUOVATOKE. 223 
 
 her love. Killed on the battle-field, and she would 
 mourn for him in the silence of a convent cell. 
 
 " With good, hearty old friends," said she to the atten- 
 dants about her, " see me to the altar, and then a long 
 farewell." 
 
 But as she turned towards the sacred door the count 
 came quickly from behind a broken pillar, and trembling- 
 ly said, " Nought can save thee thou art mine." 
 
 " Mercy ! " 
 
 " There is no Maurico now to save thee. He is dead 
 he is dead." 
 
 He ran towards her, but suddenly he stopped, and 
 trembled like a coward, as he was. For there, standing 
 between him and his expected prize, was the minstrel, 
 Maurico himself! Standing there was the very man he 
 had seen fall on the field ; or or, was it his shade ? 
 
 And Leonora ? After an instant of doubt and hesita- 
 tion for she, too, believed her lover was not of this 
 world she ran to him, and, with a great cry, threw her- 
 self upon his breast. 
 
 The consternation of the dastardly count hardly gave 
 him much time for deliberation; but, on a signal, his 
 followers swarmed out from their hiding places, and 
 surrounded the lovers. But they reckoned without their 
 host. The next instant Maurico and the Lady Leonora 
 were protected by trusty arms. 
 
 In vain the count drew his sword and rushed upon the 
 troubadour. Twenty swords were pointed at him 
 twenty swords that in an instant would have touched his 
 heart. But their leader, Maurico, who still suffered from 
 his wound, bade them spare him. 
 
 So the count yet stood alive in the midst of his follow- 
 ers. Stood unsubdued by the mercy which had now been 
 shown him ; stood, and ^owed vengeance against his 
 gentle foe ; stood and cursed him as he led the lady 
 away. Away from him, the rival ; away from the con- 
 vent, away to Castellor, which had fallen into the rebels ' 
 hands, and whose governor was Maurico, the Warrior 
 MinstreL
 
 224 TALES FROM THE OPERAS. 
 
 PART III. THE GIPSEY'S SON. 
 
 SURELY, mercy may sometimes be a fault, if extended 
 to a heartless man. 
 
 The Count di Luna held his life by the great mercy of 
 the gipsey stranger, but he determined to reduce the 
 castle, whose master was that gipsey, hoping that he 
 might yet destroy a hated rival. No breath of gratitude 
 was in his heart. He thought only of revenge, and 
 turned away his face from the light. 
 
 The count's camp was pitched within a mile of the 
 doomed castle. The count's soldiers were lying about 
 playing, singing, gambling, and polishing up their arms 
 when the soldier, Ferrando, was seen to run quickly 
 towards the count, who was walking moodily amidst the 
 troopers. 
 
 " One hath seized a gipsey woman, general. She is a 
 spy, perhaps." 
 
 " Let her be brought hither," said the count, and look- 
 ing up as the sound of a tramping, mixed with smother- 
 ing cries, reached his ears, he saw a middle-aged, stern- 
 looking gipsey-woman being dragged towards him by 
 half-a-dozen thick-bearded men. She showed no fear. 
 
 " Wherefore do ye thus treat me ? What evil have I 
 done ye ? " 
 
 " Come hither, woman. Answer me truly." 
 
 " That shall be as thy questions are." 
 
 Whither goest thou ? " 
 
 " Whither the gipsies ever go. To the north or to the 
 south, sometimes westward, yet ever gladly to the east." 
 
 What wouldst thou ? " 
 
 "My son I only crave my dear, dear son. He hath 
 left me, and I seek him. Tfcou tremblest perchance 
 thou hast lost a mother." 
 
 "I seem to know thy features. When my younger 
 brother was stolen, the woman who did carry him was 
 like thee." 
 
 The noble seemed to be thinking aloud, rather than 
 addressing the gipsey. " Fifteen years fifteen long years 
 since I lost my younger brother."
 
 IL TKOVATORE. 22ft 
 
 Thou art, then, the Count di Luna? " 
 
 She saw she had spoken hastily, as soon as she had 
 uttered the words, so she prepared to fence with them. 
 
 " How knowest thou that?" 
 
 " They say the gipsies know all things, master. But let 
 me go ; I may trace him for thee." 
 
 Suddenly the old soldier, Ferrando, cried out, as he 
 peered towards the gipsey, "By our Lady, 'tis she her- 
 self! " 
 
 She ! who ? " cried the count. 
 
 "May I never be absolved, general, if 'tis not the gipsey 
 who stole your brother! Did I not see her carrying the 
 child away, hid in her rags ? Aye, marry, did I. Did I 
 not tremble when I saw her but just now, as though I 
 knew her? Aye, marry, twice did I." 
 
 " She trembles ; her lips betray her," said the count. 
 " Bind her till the cords cut deep into her flesh. Ah ! 
 scream scream ; there is no help." 
 
 " Help, Maurico ! " cried the gipsey, in her agony. 
 " Help, my son! help, my Maurico ! " 
 
 " His mother ins mother ! " said the count. And 
 running to her, he raised his hand, as though he would 
 strike her. But he had not yet fallen so low as that. 
 
 She looked at him fearlessly. " I defy thee! Thou 
 the base son of a base father. Frown hope ! hate, 
 thou monster. Vengeance shall be mine. List to that, I 
 say " VENGEANCE SHALL BE MINE ! " 
 
 He turned from her contemptuously. She to talk of 
 vengeance ! She a miserable, bound gipsey. 
 
 He to his splendid tent she to imprisonment ; and 
 yet she had cried, " VENGEANCE SHALL BE MINE." 
 
 Turn we to Castellor, where are Maurico and Leonora. 
 
 As they stood near the balcony, all in all to each other, 
 she heard the distant clash of arms. " Prythee, wherefore 
 that sound?" * 
 
 u Thou art so brave that I fear not to tell thee all. The 
 Count di Luna is encamped but a short mile away. Be- 
 fore the night is gone he will have besieged this castle. 
 Kay, trouble not your courage and our swords will bo 
 10*
 
 228 TALES FROM THE 
 
 victorious. It is, I know, a weary prelude to our marriage, 
 clearest. Of victory I am sure yet should I fall tny 
 last thought will be of thee only of thee Hark ! 
 they await us in the chapel." 
 
 As he spoke, the chanting in the neighboring chapel 
 reached their ears, and each knew that the priest was 
 waiting to join their hands. 
 
 They were moving towards the holy place when a 
 soldier ran quickly in, saying he had woeful news. 
 
 The gipsey Azucena was taken. 
 
 " Azucena ! " 
 
 " They say she will be burnt!" 
 
 " Ah ! the air grows hot and dark about me." 
 
 The lady Leonora put her hand to the troubadour's 
 brow, but he put it aside and cried "My mother they 
 would slay my mother." 
 
 " Thy mother ! " 
 
 Then she bade him take arms. No fear had she now. 
 Victory must be with him who fought to save a mother ! 
 " Onward ! " she cried. She buckled on his sword, and 
 Was the first to cry, " farewell." Her last words were 
 " love " and M victory ! " 
 
 PART IV. VENGEANCE. 
 
 MIGHT is not always for the just. Were it so always, 
 where would be the honor of virtue ? 
 
 Maurico was conquered, and the castle fell into the 
 hands of his enemy the Count Di Luna. The minstrel 
 languished in prison, with but one consolation in this life 
 the presence of his mother. They were imprisoned 
 together, that to their miseries might be added the pain 
 of a last separation. 
 
 Upon the fall of the castle, the Lady Leonora took flight, 
 hoping against hope. B^Jt when she heard he was con- 
 demned to death, she came weeping to the foot of the 
 castle, and leant her face against its wall. 
 
 With her came the faithful soldier, who had ever been 
 at Maurico's right hand who had told him of his moth- 
 er's capture, and who had escaped from the battle at the
 
 IL TKOVATORE. 227 
 
 last moment, when he saw his master taken prisoner, and 
 all hope had fled. 
 
 She bade her faithful escort leave her, and then hope 
 whispered that perchance she could save him. And when 
 she trembled she looked at a ring she wore, and found 
 new courage. 
 
 Swelling on the night air came the dirge of the monks 
 within the castle 
 
 " Miserere for him whose death is nigh ; 
 
 Who from life and its joys must be quickly hurled ; 
 Miserere for one who, a moment more, 
 Must bid farewell to this dreary world." 
 
 The solemn words made her tremble and look for a 
 moment with fear upon the ring she wore ; but the next 
 instant she started forward with horror, for she heard his 
 voice 
 
 " Ah death itself is slow 
 When death itself i wooed 
 When death itself is peace. 
 Leonora fare-thee-well ! " 
 
 " Great Heaven ! can I believe my senses ? " 
 Again the solemn voices of the monks arose 
 
 " Miserere for him whose death is nigh ; 
 
 Who from life find its joys must be quickly hurled ; 
 Miserere for one who, a moment more, 
 Must bid farewell to this dreary world." 
 
 Again his voice arose ; his last words for her 
 
 " Leonora Leonora, a last farewell." 
 
 And again she looked on the ring as she thought, " her 
 love was as great as his." 
 
 Then suddenly she heard footsteps, and she shrank into 
 the shadow of the frowning tower. 
 
 The count passed over the very spot from which she 
 had just fled. Then he turned and said to some person 
 unseen by Leonora 
 
 "Thou markest my will; when the day breaks the 
 scaffold for the son the pile for the mother." 
 
 Cruel, implacable as he was, he even blushed in the 
 dark night as ^conscience whispered q him that this scaf-
 
 228 TALES FROM THE OPERAS. 
 
 fold and this pile were but a poor return for his life, twice 
 given him. But he had gone too far to recede ; and, with 
 a curse, he cried, "'Twas fatality, and Leonora." Then 
 he asked himself where she was where she had hidden 
 herself, and, in an agony of hot, unrestrained passion, he 
 cried out, " Leonora, Leonora, where art thou ? " 
 
 " She is here ! " 
 
 As he started at her voice she came forward, pale and 
 trembling, from the shadow. 
 
 Asking himself how she could have reached the ter- 
 race, after an effort he said, " What wouldst thou ? " 
 
 " Canst thou ask me ? His life." 
 
 " His life ! Ask me for mine own as well." 
 
 " See, I kneel to thee." 
 
 " Thou art mad." 
 
 " Nay, see how humble I am ; look on me at thy very 
 feet." 
 
 " Look in ray face ; dost thou see pity there ? " 
 
 " I cannot look upon thy face. Pity I can say no 
 more ; pity ! Hath he not twice saved thy life ? Wilt 
 thou not render back half thy debt? Kill me if thou 
 wilt, for I heard thee say 'twas by me thou art what thou 
 art. Kill me, yet spare him." 
 
 " As thou speakest, thou dost but ensure his fate. I 
 would I could make him suffer a hundred deaths. As 
 ardently thou lovest so fiercely do I hate. Let go your 
 hold. Nothing can purchase his life." 
 
 " No price ? " 
 
 " No price." 
 
 " Yes, there is one, and I do offer it to thee myself." 
 
 What hast thou said ? " 
 
 "What I do mean myself." 
 
 I dream." 
 
 " Nay, open his prison-dqor, and I am thine." 
 
 " Wilt thou swear it ? " 
 
 " By my dead mothei-'s name ! " 
 
 " Enough he is free." 
 
 He strode quickly to the door of the tower, and spoke 
 rapidly to the goaler within it ; but she had had time to 
 offer herself a sacrifice to her honest love. She took the 
 ring from off her finger, opened a little receptacle in it,
 
 IL TKOVATOEE. 229 
 
 removed from it a small grey pellet, and swallowed it. 
 " Thou shalt have a dead bride," she whispered. When 
 he again turned towards her, her hands were pressed to 
 her sides. 
 
 " Saved, saved," she cried to herself, as the count 
 smiling now for the first time fora weary while took 
 her right hand and courteously led her to the grand hall 
 of the castle. 
 
 Enter the hopeless prison, in which the gipsey and the 
 troubadour were trying to console each other as each 
 weary moment rolled away. 
 
 She was lying on the bare ground ; he sitting at her 
 feet, his hands crossed, and smiling as he looked upon her. 
 
 "Dost thou sleep, dear mother?" 
 
 " There is no time for sleep, my son." 
 
 " Thou tremblest with cold." 
 
 " This is a tomb. I would we could escape." 
 
 Escape ! " 
 
 " Yet, fear not, son ; they cannot torture me." 
 
 " No ; for art thou not a woman ? " 
 
 " Oh, they would not fear to torture a woman. But 
 look on my face, canst thou not read death there ? Nay, 
 cry not, ' mother,' as thou weepest. They shall come to 
 bite their lips with anger ; for they will find me dead." 
 
 Then, as he buried his face in his hands, she was seized 
 with unconquerable fear. "They come they come. 
 Save me save thy mother. I am indeed, indeed thy 
 mother." 
 
 " No one cometh ; all is quiet." 
 
 " Fire ! death by fire ! I am afraid I am afraid. I 
 see her now my mother. They dragged her and bound 
 her to the stake. There ! there ! See, the flames have 
 caught her hair; how it shrivels up ! And her eyes 
 ah ! she can see me no longer. Help ! help ! save me ! " 
 
 And she fell back senseless upon the hard earth. 
 
 " Mother, if thou dost love me still if thou wilt hear 
 thy son's prayers, be brave and calm." 
 
 As he spoke, she came again to a knowledge of her 
 fate.
 
 230 TALES FROM THE OPERAS. 
 
 " I am worn and weak ; or thou shoultlst not bid me 
 be calm and brave. I am very worn and weak." 
 
 And she fell peacefully to sleep, as in her native moun- 
 tains ; free as the wind, and surrounded by her tribe. 
 
 Then he knelt by her side, hardly daring to breathe, for 
 fear of waking her. 
 
 No fear of awaking her ; for she is aweary, and trill 
 sleep. They shall eome and bear him away from thee, 
 and still thou shalt sleep on and peacefully ; he shall bid 
 thee his last farewell, and still thou shalt sleep unheed- 
 ingly. 
 
 Suddenly he started, as a light fell upon the prison 
 walls. He looked upon his sleeping mother, and thought 
 it was her funeral pyre. But as he turned, he saw the 
 light came from the door, upon the threshold of which 
 stood the queen of mercy his dear Leonora. 
 
 She ran to him, and nestled on his breast. Then she 
 cried, " Thou shalt not die, for I have saved thee." 
 
 " Thou hast saved me ! how?" 
 
 " Nay," and she hid her face, and pointed to the door. 
 
 " And thou thou comest also." 
 
 " My life my hope I must stay here." 
 
 "Stay here!"' 
 
 "I pray thee go, go." 
 
 "Where thou goest I will also go; and where thou 
 stayest, I will stay." 
 
 u But if thou stayest thou diest." 
 
 " Without thee what is life ? Why do thy eyes turn 
 from me ; what is the price thou hast paid for my liber- 
 ty?" 
 
 " No price is high for a dear human life. There is yet 
 time. For my sake, go ! " 
 
 " But he for whom that life is bought may cast the gift 
 from him as I do, and as I also cast thee away." 
 
 "Ah, Maurico 'tis not the hour to hate. Peace and 
 good-will, peace and good-will." She turned deadly 
 pale, and rocked to and fro in agony. 
 
 His arms were about her in a moment. " My transient 
 hate my fears, were but excess of love." 
 
 " Speak on, speak on, death vainly strives against the 
 warmth of love. I feel for thee ? Speak on, oh, my
 
 1L TROVATORE. 231 
 
 Maurico. But a little, and envious death shall have his 
 will." 
 
 " Leonora Leonora, thou art dying ! " 
 
 " Ah yes, she goes to be thy herald. Unrelenting is 
 the poison. If 'twill let me stay near thee but for a little, 
 little while. Ah, place my cold hand against thy tremb- 
 ling lips, thou knowest "now my wealth of love for thee. 
 I did mean to save thee at my life's expense ; this was the 
 price. No more, no less." 4 
 
 " And ./fell back from thee turned from thee. Mine 
 eyes have fallen from my face. Leonora look up, look 
 up." 
 
 " I am too weak. Keep your hands about me. So let 
 me die ! Ah, 'tis well as it it is." 
 
 At this moment the count came to the door to claim his 
 bride. 
 
 " Good-bye oh, good-bye 1 " and she sank exhausted 
 in his arms. 
 
 Even this scene did not soften Di Luna. No reverence 
 had he for the poor dead lady no reverence had he for 
 the maddened lover, straining his eyes upon the dear 
 one's face. The guards, who waited without, came in, 
 and tore them asunder. 
 
 " Mother," he cried, " mother." 
 
 But she slept on unheedingly. Slept on while they 
 bore her son away to death. 
 
 Again, as he was wrenched across the threshold, he 
 cried, "Mother/' And now, she trembled in her sleep. 
 
 Again, and again, she trembled. Then with a shudder 
 she awoke. She looked round quickly, and clasped her 
 hands about her breast, as she no longer saw her son. 
 Then her eyes rested on the count. With a bound she 
 was by his side. "Thou hast stolen him thou hast 
 stolen while I slept." 
 
 He stood immovable, and uttered not a word. 
 
 " Mercy stay the axe I will save him I will save 
 him." And she clung, shrieking, about his feet. 
 
 " Save him nought can save him see there." 
 
 He dragged her to the window, and she looked wildly 
 forth. 
 
 " Dead dead dead I "
 
 232 TALES FKOM THE OPERAS. 
 
 Then she turned from the window a changed woman. 
 No tears. No horror. Smiling even a grim smile. 
 
 The noble stepped back in wonder. Then he thought 
 that she was mad. But no. 
 
 Proud erect she stood before him. 
 
 "Have I not said 'Vengeance shall be mine' in 
 thy tent, where thou didst cut my flesh with cords. Ven- 
 geance is mine. Thou look'st towards the window. Gaz- 
 ing through it I say Vengeance is mine. He is dead 
 
 thou sayest he is dead. Hear! thou knowest me to 
 be the gipsey who robbed thy father of thy younger 
 brother. Ah well, I am indeed she and that brother, 
 rejoice in the act, and that brother look again through 
 the window mark that body. THOU HAST SLAIN THY 
 BROTHER. Shrink shrink ! VENGEANCE is MINE. 
 Hadst thou but have let him wake me that he might 
 say farewell, I should have pitied thee and saved him 
 but thou didst steal him from me while I slept. Dead ! 
 
 he will carry thy murderous name with him. Have I 
 not said, ' VENGEANCE SHALL BE MINE ? ' " 
 
 And then her troubles were over, and the last she saw 
 on earth was the bleeding body of him she called, and 
 whom she loved, as a son. 
 
 While he, the triumphant count, stood there alone. 
 
 Alone. With remembrance. With remorse.
 
 EKNANL (VERDI.) 
 
 PART I. THE BANDIT. 
 
 WHO are these houseless men, lying about amongst 
 jagged rocks, laughing gaily, card-playing and drinking 
 the setting sun lighting up the place with a red glare, 
 and bathing their brown faces crimson ? 
 
 The sun writes the truth upon their faces ; they are 
 men of blood lawless, houseless plunderers; singing, 
 laughing, card-playing waiting for the night, and for 
 their captain, that they may begin their work. 
 
 They keep a sharp look-out about them though, and at 
 last, start to their feet with a great noise, as a young 
 handsome man comes suddenly in. 
 
 He seems to have nothing in common with these men, 
 for he is elegantly dressed, and looks every inch a cava- 
 lier. His face is not ferocious ; and yet yes, they have 
 saluted him as captain, and he waves his hat in courteous 
 reply. 
 
 Not a thief by birth ! O no ! this man really is John 
 of Arragon, the son and heir of the Duke of Segovia and 
 Cordova, killed to please the will of King Carlos of Cas- 
 tille. The son narrowly escaped the same fate, but for- 
 tune favored him. He reached the Sierras, which, like all 
 mountains, offered the fugitive safe shelter. Hundreds upon 
 hundreds flocked to his standard, and John of Arragon 
 changed his name to "Ernani." But he dwelt not so far 
 away from his old life, as not to be able to see the Moorish 
 castle of Don Ruy Gomez di Silva. Nor was it for the 
 sake of Don Ruy he kept the castle ever in view. The 
 don had a ward, Elvira, who had held out a hand to save 
 Ernani when the blood-king was tracking him ; and for 
 this generous act she had gained his love, giving, how- 
 ever, her own in exchange.
 
 234 TALES FEOM THE OPERAS. 
 
 The face of the chief is sad. Would that his men 
 could bear his grief for him, and they would willingly 
 stand between him and death. 
 
 "Thank you, brothers thank you," replied the chief, 
 as he leapt down amongst them ; " but my woe is so 
 deep that even your cheering voices cannot drive it 
 away." 
 
 u The chief, then, is in love " 
 
 " And likely to lose his love, brothers, if you will not 
 help him." 
 
 " Help ! Yes yes yes." 
 
 " See you that castle there, below iis, with the red sun 
 full on it. She lives there she lives there ! If you love 
 your chief, you will help him to bring her here here to 
 the mountains." 
 
 " Yes yes yes ! " replied a hundred voices. 
 
 "She would follow me anywhere; she will love the 
 mountains for my sake. You will help me ! " 
 
 " Yes yes yes." 
 
 "Then let the night be our friend; when darkness 
 has come we will storm the castle, and then she is 
 amongst us." 
 
 "Hurrah! hurrah! hurrah!" 
 
 And while the noble chief was waiting for nightfall, 
 the lady whom he loved was looking from a window of 
 the old castle towards the mountains, amongst which she 
 knew Ernani dwelt. 
 
 A real Spanish lady was Elvira, as could be seen, had 
 anybody been able to spy her at the window. But, 
 alas ! no one could, for Don Ruy, her guardian, hid her 
 as a jewel which he feared might be stolen. He was 
 seventy, she was seventeen ; his hair was grey, hers was 
 black, and yet he had determined that she should 
 marry him. 
 
 As she sat at the window, watching the sun go down, 
 she was at least at peace, for the grandee was away from 
 the castle. And so she sat pensive, and dreaming of 
 Ernani, perhaps, hoping he would come and carry her off. 
 At last it was night time, and still the don had not re- 
 turned. 
 
 Suddenly the door of the quiet room opened, and a pro-
 
 ERNANI. 235 
 
 cession entered ; gay in itself, but of ominous import to 
 the lady at the window a string of young maidens bear- 
 ing rich gifts, marriage gifts ; for, truth to tell, the old 
 don had resolved that his marriage with Elvira should 
 take place on the following day. Listen what they say 
 to her. 
 
 " How many Spanish maidens envy thee, fair lady 
 Thou wilt be the highest lady in all the land. These 
 gifts alone are a mine of wealth. To-morrow thou wilt 
 be a bride." 
 
 " I thank you ; but the dazzle of diamonds will not 
 lighten hate into love." And she again thought, " I would 
 Ernani were here, and that he would fly with me." 
 
 Hardly had they, the present bearers, left the room, 
 than she turned quickly at the sound of a cautious 
 footstep she thought it was that of Ernani. But no; 
 another had learnt, the secret entrance her bandit lover 
 used. Another, who had watched and seen Ernani enter. 
 Not a mean man this. A king a KING ! Don Carlos, 
 King of Castille. She saw her error, shrunk back, and 
 cried out : 
 
 " Sire, you here, at this hour ! " 
 
 " I love thee, lady, at all hours." 
 
 " Ah, no sire." 
 
 "Nay, lady, a king is never told he lies." 
 
 " I pray you, leave me." 
 
 " I will leave with thee, lady." 
 
 "With me!" 
 
 " Ah, if I were Ernani thou wouldst not start thus. 
 Come, thou canst not know the wealth of love I have for 
 thee." 
 
 " And my honor, sire ? " 
 
 " Thou shalt be honored by all the court." 
 
 " And by myself, think you ! " 
 
 " Thou wouldst sooner be honored by Ernani's out-laws 
 thou lovest the robber." 
 
 " Sire, each heart has its own secret." 
 
 " And I, have not I mine ? Ah, Elvira, from the mo- 
 ment I first saw thee I have loved thee. I love thee for 
 thyself, as I would have thee, lady, e'en love me. But 
 but if a crown will earn me smiles from thee, I offer you 
 the half of that I wear."
 
 V 
 
 230 TALES FBOM THE OPERAS. 
 
 " With thy crown thy love is too high for me, without 
 it, ' tis too low." 
 
 "Thou shall fall." 
 
 " A king never forget you are a king ! " 
 
 " I forget I am a king when I am at your feet." 
 
 He ran towards her, as her eyes flashed defiance upon 
 him ; but the next moment he drew back, for she had 
 snatched a jewelled dagger from his girdle. 
 
 " Stand back ! " 
 
 " You see I do stand back, fair lady. But there are 
 more hands here than mine to pluck the dagger from 
 your grasp." 
 
 Suddenly he perceived a great joy flush her fair cheeks. 
 At the same instant he heard a footstep behind him, and 
 turning round, he saw a man, a handsome, daring-looking 
 man, whom he was sure, seeing the lady's joy, was none 
 other than Eniani, looking on him defiantly, with hate 
 and anger! Ernani, who had entered the castle by a se- 
 cret door who was there to bear away the lady who 
 had come to save her from yet further misery. 
 
 " Thou art Ernani I know it by the hate I feel spark- 
 ling in my eyes. Hate ! Does the eagle hate the worm ? 
 No, he despises it. Rejoice scourge of a peaceful 
 country ! Let thy meanness comfort thee. Wert thou 
 greater, I would raise my hand to thy destruction. I 
 have but to call, and thou art lost." 
 
 " Thou knowest me and fearest me. I am so mean that 
 thou hast robbed me of my fame ; so mean, that thou 
 hast taken from me my wealth ; so contemptible, that 
 thou hast slain my father ! And now thou would'st rob 
 me of my bride. What difference is there between us ? 
 Thou, noblest, with a crown on thy head and without risk 
 of life I risk my life to rob where I have been robbed. 
 What difference is there between us ? Cowardice ! Now 
 let us be equal. Defend thyself." 
 
 " Hark ! some one is approaching," cried Elvira, in an 
 agony of fear " forget your quarrel, at least for a little 
 while, if you are found here I am lost. So, please you, 
 forget your hates, and leave me." 
 
 Still, the two men moved not still the footsteps near- 
 er drew.
 
 237 
 
 " If you love me, both of you either of you leave 
 me leave this place ! Too late too late ! " 
 
 For at this moment the door was thrown open, and on 
 the threshold stood the master of the castle the Don 
 Ruy his attendants behind him witnesses to his dis- 
 honoi*. 
 
 " Do I breathe ? here, in the sanctity of my house 
 to find two men quarreling as though disputing for 
 some poor booty ! " 
 
 He was a grand old gentleman, with hair as white as 
 honor. But his age had not brought him humility. He 
 was as proud as he was grand, and as merciless as he wan 
 proud. Turning to his court for this grandee retained 
 a court he continued: "You, Senors, witness this fall 
 of mine! This woman whom I loved, but till now I 
 thought as pure as the moonlight streaming on her 
 through the window. As for these men my hands are 
 weak, but one can bear a sword the other a shield. 
 Yet not here within my house shall blood be spilt. Go, 
 pass be fere me." 
 
 The last few words were addressed to the king and 
 Ernani, and then for the first time he looked upon them 
 but the light was too feeble for him to recognize even 
 one of them. 
 
 "Gently gently," said one of these two. But the 
 don cried out haughtily. "None but myself had right 
 to speak." 
 
 Suddenly, high and loud in the air, sounded a herald's 
 trumpet. 
 
 And, within a moment or so, it was whispered among 
 the crowd, still without the door, that it was a king's 
 messenger. 
 
 A lane was made for him by Don Ruy who turned 
 to the herald, imagining that he came to him. Following 
 the herald came torch-bearers. 
 
 On came the herald. He did not salute the master of 
 the castle he did not even look at him. On past him, 
 past one of the men found in the lady's room past the 
 lady even up to the second intruder, before whom he 
 knelt. 
 
 "THE KING," cried many, as the herald knelt, and
 
 238 TALES FROM THE OPERAS. 
 
 above him stood, now in the full light of the torches, the 
 brave man who bore a dagger sheath, but not a dagger. 
 
 Then said the king, "Don Ruy, I came to consult thy 
 friendship for me." 
 
 See ! The proud Don Ruy has stooped his head ; then 
 he steps forward, and humbly welcomes to his house " the 
 king." 
 
 As they crowd about the king as the latter receives 
 their homage the robber Ernani and the lady were for- 
 gotten, and they stood apart, whispering 
 
 " Until the sun sinketh again in the deep' 
 
 Resist the proud tyrant, nor yield to dismay ; 
 For Ernani unbroken thy precious faith keep, 
 And to-morrow from peril I'll bear thee away." 
 
 " Thou knowest I'm thine know also this steel 
 
 Can save me from tyrants nor do I repine ; 
 In wretchedness even 'tis solace to feel 
 
 That my heart that my faith, will for ever be thine." 
 
 See, now, the proud noble stoops to kneel before the 
 outraged king, and entreats his pardon. And, graciously, 
 the king accords it. 
 
 Hark ! the king demands a safe pass for Ernani. He 
 still thinks the eagle should not injure the worm. See, 
 the bandit passes away, out to freedom. The king is gra- 
 cious, the don trembles, and the Lady Elvira is presented 
 to the king in due form and courtesy. 
 
 PART II. THE GUEST. 
 
 WITH the next day's sun came Elvira's marriage day. 
 No hope of flight fate was against her, and so her envi- 
 ous women dress her for the sacrifice. 
 
 The great hall of the castle is filling with lords and 
 ladies, retainers and vassals. There is a sudden stir 
 'tis the entrance of the duke, dressed grandly, and wear- 
 ing all his orders. He walks gravely to his grandee's 
 chair, and sits down as the crowd do homage.
 
 ERNAXI. 239 
 
 In those days four hundred years ago it was the 
 custom to give shelter to any pilgrim who should demand 
 it. Hence scarcely a day passed without "the castle" 
 containing many guests of this sort. 
 
 The don had hardly sat down when a servant ap- 
 proached and said that a pilgrim was at the gate, craving 
 hospitality. 
 
 Gravely and readily was given the order to let the pil- 
 grim enter. The next moment a tall, upright man, dress- 
 ed in the pilgrim's loose sombre dress, came forward and 
 up to the don as he sat in state. 
 
 " I greet thee, noble knight." 
 
 " Good pilgrim, be at ease. ISTor whence thou comest, 
 nor who thou art, we do not ask. Be welcome for this 
 day and night. My hospitality I promise thee." 
 
 " The deepest thanks I have are thine ! " 
 
 " We do not ask for thanks the guest is as the lord. 
 But stand aside, good pilgrim." And the don rose and 
 walked quickly to the door to meet a lady dressed in 
 bridal garments. 
 
 " My bride," he murmured. 
 
 "His bride," said the pilgrim, throwing his cowl from 
 his head a little, so that those who had chosen to look 
 might have seen a handsome, brave face within it. " His 
 bride." 
 
 "Senor as well as others, a poor pilgrim should offer 
 thee a marriage gift I offer one of price my head. 
 Let no one fear I will no resistance offer I am Er- 
 nani ! " 
 
 " He li ves he lives," said the bride to herself. 
 
 The don's face contracted angrily as he saw the pilgrim 
 standing his gown flung off fearless among them. 
 
 "Deliver me to the king a price is on my head. 
 Hark ! they have tracked me even here. I hear the 
 horsemen near the castle gate. Deliver me, and thou 
 shalt gain a high sum for my head ! n 
 
 In those old times a brutal ferocity was atoned for by 
 a kind of honor of which, in these degenerate days, we 
 have but slight idea. Above all, the promise of hospitality 
 was sacred, and to keep it inviolate the accorder would 
 run all risk and dangers. When life was so unhesitatingly
 
 240 TALES FROM THE OPEKAS. 
 
 taken, perhaps this sacredness of hospitality was*the only 
 means whereby men lived in society. But for it each 
 man would have kept to his own home as a wild beast 
 does to its lair, and no more have trusted himself in his 
 neighbor's stronghold than that same beast would besiege 
 another's den. 
 
 Hence the don, having promised to give hospitality to 
 the pilgrim without conditions awarding' it to him no 
 matter whence he came, or who he was, he was bound to 
 save this guest from his pursuers, even though they were 
 the royal troops themselves. 
 
 So far this man whom he abhorred whom ho recog- 
 nized as the intruder of the night before for this man 
 the very marriage was stayed, and he, the grandee, left 
 his hall for his ramparts. And soon there was heard the 
 clicking of the lowering poi'tcullis, an<J the raising of the 
 drawbridge. 
 
 As he left the great hall the gentlemen followed him ; 
 and the only man left in the room was the false pilgrim, 
 standing in the midst of the frightened women. 
 
 Their chief, the Donna Elvira, motioned them away, 
 and soon she stood alone with the robber. 
 
 " Ernani Ernani they told me thou wert dead ! " 
 
 " And thou didst believe them." 
 
 "Yet I hoped I would have hoped even to the 
 altar." 
 
 "And then then thou wouldst have sworn to love 
 Don Ruy." 
 
 For all answer she showed him the dagger she had 
 wrested from the king. So, she would have hoped till 
 living death were forced upon her, and then she would 
 have welcomed death itself. 
 
 " The king the king ! " 
 
 Again the cry was heard, " The king was at the gate." 
 The king demanded that it should bow to him, and again 
 the clicking sound was heard as the bridge was lowered 
 before the king. 
 
 But ere the king reached the great hall, the lady and 
 the robber had left it. The don returning, discovered 
 them together. 
 
 Again, despairingly, the robber offered his life, but tho
 
 241 
 
 don was inflexible ; hospitality he had promised, and hos- 
 pitality he would grant. True, the very necessity of this 
 hospitality would nerve his hand to greater vengeance 
 when the time came. But now his guest's life was as his 
 own ; so the trembling Elvira saw the don open, a secret 
 sliding door, and her lover was safe. 
 
 " Begone to thy rooms, Elvira the king the king." 
 
 No second bidding needed she. And when Carlos 
 came proudly into the great hall he found there only the 
 grandee, humbly bowing. 
 
 " Fair cousin, why in arms, we are not at war? You 
 bow enough. Let it be known there is but one king of 
 Castille. When his sword is in its sheath all swords must 
 sleep." 
 
 " Your Majesty can never think a Silva dreams re- 
 bellion." 
 
 "Prove yourself loyal. The chief of the rebels has 
 sought refuge here in your castle. His men destroyed, 
 he seeks to save himself by your protection. Deliver 
 him!" 
 
 " If the king will hear his subject. A pilgrim came 
 and entreated hospitality, which I promised. The loy- 
 a ty I bear the king will not allow me to betray his 
 subject." 
 
 "Thou wouldst lose thy head, fair cousin." 
 
 " Rather than mine honor." 
 
 The king turned and gave some orders to the gentle- 
 men about him. Then again his eyes were upon the 
 door " Thy head or his, my lord? w 
 
 "Mine own." 
 
 Yet a little, and the gentlemen of the king's suite re- 
 turned, saying the royal troops had searched the castle 
 through and could not find the rebel. 
 
 Thy head, I say." 
 
 But as he spoke, the king's eyes turned from the grand- 
 ee, and rested upon the Donna Elvira, coming towarda 
 him with hands clasped, and white open lips. 
 
 " Mercy mercy king ! " 
 
 "Mercy, fair lady! Thou art mercy's self, and even 
 kings must here obey. But thou shalt be the don's best 
 hostage for his loyalty." 
 11
 
 242 TALES FROM TIITC OrEUA.8. 
 
 "Nay! my king. Is there no other hostage for a loyal- 
 ty yet unshaken ? She is my only hope, my only joy. I 
 have loved her from her very birth. My king, thou wilt 
 thou wilt not take her from me ? " 
 
 M Then Ernani. One or the other." 
 
 " Nay, I am steadfast in my loyalty. Therefore please 
 you, my king take her my hope, my life." 
 
 " Come, lady," said the king, seizing the hand of the 
 luckless lady. " Come, I'll strew thy path with flowers. 
 Time shall bring thee no heavy hours. Rather let smiles 
 be where now are tears and whitened cheeks. Come, 
 come." 
 
 So with his prey the Christian king departed, leaving 
 the old lord bent and wretched with grief. 
 
 But not for long not for long. Now, his eyes spar- 
 kled, for hate was there. His head was erect again, and 
 his breath came and went in short angry catches. He 
 ran to the secret door, and as though calling to a dog, he 
 bade the robber chief come forth. 
 
 As Ernani stepped into the room, the grandee ran to 
 the wall, and took down a couple of swords. 
 
 " Now, robber, doubly robber, vengeance is mine." 
 
 " What ! will a grandee fight with a poor bandit ? " 
 
 " At least, thou wast born noble, even if now thou art 
 vile. Follow me ! " 
 
 No, no." 
 
 " What has all nobility left thee? " 
 
 * I am still too noble to fight with age, Senor." 
 
 " See is my hand firm ? " 
 
 M Again, thou hast saved my life ! " 
 
 That I might take it from thee." 
 
 " Ah, well ! Kill me, thou hast the right, perhaps." 
 
 M Kill thee." And the old lord raised his sword as 
 though a rat were before him. 
 
 " Kill, kill. Yet hear a prayer of mine." 
 
 tt Prayers are for heaven, not man." 
 
 " ' Tis a prayer to man to thee." 
 
 " Speak on." 
 
 But once again, but once again, let me see Elvira." 
 
 ** If thou wouldst see her, thou must travel. The king 
 has torn her from me."
 
 ERNAOT. 243 
 
 " The king, the KING ! Old man, the king loves Elvira." 
 
 "Loves loves Elvira! The king loves Elvira! Vas- 
 sals, vassals," he weakly called as he staggered to a seat. 
 
 " Nay, call me vassal, and the strength of this strong 
 heart and arm is thine." 
 
 " Stand from me. Aid from thee from thee ! Thou 
 who art doomed to die." 
 
 " My life is thine. I know my life is thine. At any 
 time my life is thine. But let me live to hate where now 
 thou hatest so strongly." 
 
 " Thy life at any time is mine. True. Well, wilt thou 
 promise me thy life at any time I ask it ? " 
 
 The other hesitated for a moment. Then took from 
 his side his hunting-horn, and placed it in the unwilling 
 hands of the old lord. 
 
 " Take thou this horn, when from it sounds a blast, 
 'Twill tell Ernani that his days are past." 
 
 "Upon what dost swear that oath?" 
 " The memory of my murdered father." 
 "So be it. Let heaven's darkness fall on thee if thou 
 dost break thy word." 
 
 PAKT III. THE PARDON. 
 
 CHARLES the Fifth was not unforgiving, not even in- 
 clined to be harsh ; and no one ever disputed his bravery. 
 When he was intriguing for his election as emperor 
 the election which made him the great emperor, Charles 
 the Fifth Castille was full of plots to oppose his plans, 
 nay, to take his life ; and at the head of these conspira- 
 cies was Ernani and Don Ruy. 
 
 On the very night when the electors were to assemble 
 to decide on the choice of an emperor, the king heard 
 that this most formidable band of conspirators, formida- 
 ble because its members were moved by personal hate, 
 were to meet in the subterraneous catacombs of Aquis- 
 grana, the royal open burying-place. 
 
 The king fearlessly determined to be present at this 
 traitorous assembly, and to crush it at its work. Soldiers
 
 244 TALES FROM THK OPERAS. 
 
 were posted about the cavern ; the king himself remained 
 concealed in the tomb of one of his ancestors, and the 
 hour of the meeting was close at hand. The king had 
 given orders that if he were elected emperor, cannon 
 should roar from the castle-walls, and that thereupon the 
 lords of the court should present themselves at the cav- 
 ern, that they might see how a great king treated rebels 
 and traitors. Charles also commanded that the Donna 
 Elvira should be conducted to the gloomy spot. 
 
 As the conspirators slowly gathered in the wide central 
 space of the catacombs, no sounds were heard but those 
 they themselves made. 
 
 Creeping creeping guiltily, they came, and stood in 
 a whispering throng. Then came the casting for a regi- 
 cide : he on whom the lot fell was to slay the king. 
 
 There was a little rustling of papers, and then one slip 
 was taken from the heap, brought quickly to the light of 
 a lantern, and the name upon it read. 
 
 " ERNANI ! " 
 
 " My father my father ! I will avenge thee ! " 
 
 " Ernani, thou knowest my voice ? " 
 
 " Surely, thou art Don Ruy." 
 
 " I am Don Ruy. I am the master of thy life ; yield 
 me the privilege you hold." 
 
 No, no." 
 
 " Think ! thou mayst fail, and thou wouldst then surely 
 die ; yield me the task ? " 
 
 " No, no. And mightest not thou also fail ? " 
 
 " See, here is thy horn ! I will give it thee back, if thou 
 wilt let me strike this guilty man." 
 
 "No." 
 
 " What ! can I not kill thee by a note on this same 
 horn ? " 
 
 " I care not ; chance hath given me the order, I will 
 not barter it." 
 
 Then fear me, Ernani." 
 
 Suddenly boomed over their heads the loud sound of 
 triumphant artillery. Victory ! victory ! Charles of Cas- 
 tille was the Emperor Charles the Fifth. 
 
 As the sound roared forth, the emperor strode from his 
 concealment, and the soldiery coming quickly forward, 
 behold the conspirators were prisoners.
 
 ERNANI. 245 
 
 Again the cannon burst forth, and the next moment 
 the courtiers were coming down among the tombs by 
 torchlight, to congratulate the new emperor. 
 
 The electors headed the procession, and, kneeling, greet- 
 ed the emperor by his new title. 
 
 " The will of heaven be mine. See these traitors ; they 
 ha\ T e formed against me a plot. Tremble, ye traitors, as 
 ye learn an emperor's vengeance ! Let the plebeians be 
 cast into prison ; let the nobles bow to the block." 
 
 " Accord the block to me, O emperor ! for I, Ernani, 
 lord of Arragon, Cordova, and Segovia." 
 
 Why does he start and tremble ? Is it that he sees his 
 dear mistress again flinging herself at the emperor's feet ? 
 Again she pleads for mercy ; again she asks for happiness 
 and justice. 
 
 " Thou askest, lady, what is already granted ; what the 
 king could not forgive, the emperor will not look on as 
 
 ofience You are all pardoned ! . . . . And as for thee, 
 
 my lord Ernani, let the memory of the father's death be 
 forgotten in the justice done his son. Thou art again 
 lord of Arragon, Cordova, and Segovia; and thy lady 
 behold her ! " 
 
 The new emperor placed the hand of Elvira in that of 
 Ernani. And then again the emperor spoke, "YE ARE 
 
 ALL PARDONED ! " 
 
 But how black was the menacing cloud near at hand. 
 The old grandee, sternly frowning, and pressing his hand 
 about a certain hunting horn, whose blast was death. 
 
 PART IY. THE MASQUERADE. 
 
 IN Sarragossa, in the palace of the reinstated lord, his 
 marriage was being celebrated. Happy at last the 
 couple bound together for life. 
 
 The palace of Ernani, or rather Don Giovanni of Arra- 
 gon, was all ablaze with light ; and the pale moonbeams, 
 shooting into the palace-grounds, showed numberless 
 mysterious masquers flitting to and fro. It was a grand 
 masquerade the bridegroom was giving. 
 
 But among the masquers was one wko spoke to no-
 
 246 TALES FROM THE OPERAS. 
 
 body; who took note of nobody ; who moved along Bteal- 
 thily from group to group with a firm merciless tread. 
 They who looked very closely at the mysterious masquer, 
 noted that his hair was white, and that his eyes glittered 
 fearfully below his mask. 
 44 Who is he?" 
 
 " See how angrily he looketh about him." 
 " He seemeth a wizard ! n 
 
 Still he took no notice, but went from group to group. 
 
 " Gentle love thou hast not seen thy lover's face so 
 oft to-night that thou shouldst wear thy eyelids down ; 
 look up, and light my very soul ! " 
 
 M In truth, dear husband, I have some mysterious fear, 
 I know not why, and yet I tremble. A coming ill seem- 
 eth near." 
 
 "Those who have felt the storm do tremble when the 
 lightning flashes. But now our sky is all unclouded, love; 
 our life as happy as our hearts are light. See how tran- 
 quil all about us seems ; see, too, the guests are going, the 
 twinkling lights die out each after each, and tell us that 
 the morn is breaking. Dost thou still fear ? " 
 
 " Who that has had nought but fears for what he hath 
 I fear, my love, I fear. For thee for thee alone." 
 
 A low winding blast upon a horn swept past their ears. 
 
 " Why dost thou tremble, love, my Ernani ? Is the air 
 cold ? or have I frightened thee, perchance ? " 
 
 Again the low destroying blast swept past them. 
 
 " See, see, Elvira ! dost thou not see his eyes sparkling 
 in the darkness ? I see his white teeth as he smiles mock- 
 ingly !" 
 
 " Ernani ! Ernani ! I am terror-stricken ! " 
 
 He looked quickly at her, as though he would confide 
 in her some great terror. Then a world of pity flooded 
 his face, and he said quickly 
 
 "'Twas an old wound, Elvira, which leapt in pain. 
 Leave me a little, love ; I'll come to thee soon." 
 
 " A loving wife doth lovingly obey. I go." 
 
 He followed her with his eyes till he could see her no 
 longer, in the moon-light, and then he knew he was alone
 
 247 
 
 with death. Yet for a moment hope sprang up; the 
 sound was surely fancy; the dread of what might be. He 
 was so little used to joy that now it was come he could 
 not believe in it. So he let go the dagger he had touched; 
 and rising, prepared to follow his bride. 
 
 Then again came the wailing sound, and following it 
 were whispered the mocking words 
 
 " Take thou this horn when from it sounds a blast 
 'Twill tell Ernani that his days are past." 
 
 "MERCY!" 
 
 Creeping through the moonlight came the mysterious 
 masquer his face seen now to be the unforgiving, re- 
 vengeful face of Don Ruy, come to seek atonement for 
 the loss of a bride, and to demand the fulfilment of a rash 
 oath. 
 
 " So soon ! " 
 
 " Aye so soon ! " I come to turn thy myrtles to cy- 
 presses." 
 
 "Think oh think! I have drunk from the cup of 
 bitterness all my life have tasted no happiness till now. 
 Tarry a little be merciful tarry a little." 
 
 " ' Take thou this horn when from it sounds a blast 
 5 Twill tell Ernani that his days are past' " 
 
 " Again mercy ! " 
 
 " I am a Spaniard." 
 
 Then came flitting through the shade the white figure 
 of the doubting bride. As she came near the spot where 
 she had left Ernani she saw the grandee, and needed no 
 words to be assured that her foreboding was no weak 
 fear. 
 
 " See, she comes thy bride to see thee fall. For- 
 ward, fair lady forward, fair widow ! " 
 
 " Don Ruy art implacable ? " 
 
 "As death 'Twill tell Ernani that his days are 
 past.' " 
 
 " Don Ruy I love him I love him ! Mercy, dear 
 guardian, mercy ! " 
 
 " That thou lov'st him is thy fault. Hasten, Ernani, if 
 thou art of Spanish blood."
 
 248 TALKS FROM THE OPERAS. 
 
 " Elvira do not plead it weakens my weak arm ' " 
 But she was too loving to obey too terror-stricken to 
 look upon her husband. She still remained upon the 
 ground pleading hopelessly to the don for mercy. Mercy, 
 she could not tell for what ; yet mercy she saw he had 
 the power to give. 
 
 "I knew it. Fate hath but spread this feast before 
 mine eyes to make yet blacker the bare truth. Don Ruy 
 _if_if_ 
 
 " ' Take them this horn when from it ' " 
 
 Ah " 
 
 There was a dull thud, a swingeing sound, and the 
 bridegroom was on the ground, pressing his hand upon 
 his side. 
 
 Spanish honor was appeased he had paid the debt of 
 the life he had placed in the grandee's hands, and which 
 he had refused to purchase in the catacombs. 
 
 " Farewell dear love farewell. Nor seek to follow 
 me. Thou dead, who is there left in all the world to 
 love or think of me ? As thou dost love me, live for 
 me weep for me guard my grave ! Our happiness 
 was but a phantom. I knew 'twould vanish. Farewell 
 farewell!" 
 
 And still with his hand upon his side, his head fell 
 upon her breast, and he spoke no more. 
 
 There, on that spot, there were but two living human 
 beings. The young bride mutely clasping her dead 
 husband in her arms ; and the remorseless noble standing 
 over her unpityingly unforgivingly and glorying in 
 his terrible revenge !
 
 MARTHA. (FLOTOW.) 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 THE Lady Henrietta no, I will not divulge her sur- 
 name the Lady Henrietta was ennuyed and bored 
 though she lived in the sixteenth century. Furthermore, 
 the honest fact is, that being bored, Henrietta was far 
 from agreeable, as two persons knew, to wit, Nancy, her 
 ladyship's sharp waiting maid, and Lord Tristram, who 
 was old and a fool. 
 
 A fool decidedly for courting a young and handsome 
 woman. Hence, by inference, you see that the Lady 
 Henrietta was young and handsome. Yes, young, hand- 
 some, rich, noble, healthy, and miserable ! 
 
 She could not tell anybody why she was miserable, but 
 on one particular day, when her ladyship was rather more 
 miserable than usual, within her castle at Richmond; 
 at Richmond statute fair some hundred yards off, not a 
 single lassie offering herself out for hire, on the dismal 
 conditions of that day, but was happier than my Lady 
 Henrietta. 
 
 On that particular morning she was sitting snappishly 
 at her toilette though, indeed, she was naturally good- 
 tempered; but aristocracy has its miseries, or where 
 woitlcl the balance of things be? when Lord Tristam 
 arrived. One might have solemnly declared, without 
 seeing my lord's face, that my lord had been tripped up 
 by youth and had never overtaken that early visitor. 
 The way in which the lair Henrietta treated him was a 
 satire upon man's supremacy indeed, this lord of Cos- 
 mos was a supreme fool. 
 
 The old youngster coming in, she told him to kneel. 
 He did. She told him to get up. He did. She bade 
 11*
 
 250 TALES FEOM THE OPERAS. 
 
 him shut the window. Click went the latch. Immediate- 
 ly he heard the command to open it again. Then and 
 there he did it, and was rewarded by the sight of a pair 
 of scornful shoulders. 
 
 And it was just when her ladyship was stamping her 
 foot pettish'.y, and the lord looking on in a doleful state, 
 that, i' faith, such happy sounds of singing stole through 
 the window ! Why, the voices must have belonged to 
 creatures as happy as lords. No, no, no ; a mistake, kind 
 reader, a mistake. As happy as as poor servants not 
 knowing where their morrow's bread lay. Blessed 
 blessed blessed hope, which paints that same to-morrow 
 so gaudily that we have not much grief for our rags and 
 crusts of to-day. And the morrow is to-day, and the 
 morrow yet again, and still we hope on, hope ever. 
 Faith, I would sooner be Tom Tumbler at the next show, 
 with the "hope " of getting on Drury Lane boards, than 
 the richest and handsomest peer in England, if he has no 
 aspirations whatever. 
 
 These poor servants were going to the statute fair, to 
 get hired, if they could; to hope for hiring if they could 
 not ; and, as they went on, they sang merry songs. 
 
 Oh ! the sudden thought struck her. There was not a 
 poor servant wench but wished to be a lady ; why should 
 not a lady wish to be a servant wench ? 'Tis but the law 
 of reciprocity. 
 
 The very thought made her more joyful, or rather, less 
 dismal than she had been for some time. A moment 
 more, as her natural good-temper came back, and she had 
 decided. Yes, she would dress in that peasant masque- 
 rade dress of hers; and she would be Martha; and 
 Nancy should be Nancy. And and would not his 
 lordship join them ? Of course his lordship would. His 
 lordship should be John 1 
 
 His lordship used plainer language than he had ever 
 before used ; his lordship, in a word, declined flatly ; but 
 ah! love will lead self-satisfied' old-young men the queer- 
 est of dances ; so, it is but just old parties should go 
 through their little hops and jigs, and puff and blow all 
 the way through the pretty little pas. 
 
 So let us just imagine Martha, Nancy, and John, mak-
 
 MAETHA. 251 
 
 ing for the fair ; Martha laughing as she has not laughed 
 for years, Nancy playing a polite, impertinent second, and 
 John doing his very best to be gay and happy. Poor 
 fellow! 
 
 CHAPTER IL 
 
 EVEN- in this enlightened hour, at statute fairs English 
 girls stand in rows and exhibit their points mental, 
 menial, and physical, to as many farmer's wives as have 
 tongues and eyes, ' Tis not a happy mode of hiring ser- 
 vants, choosing them as you would sheep ; but let us hope 
 that a better time is coming. 
 
 And, of course, in the dark middle age, statute fairs 
 were held in England ; hence, we naturally get to that 
 fair for which those blythe singers were bound, and whom 
 Lady Henrietta and her court of two followed. 
 
 ' Twas the usual scene : stout farmers' wives marching 
 about in the superior manner, the girls looking about in 
 rows of rosy cheeks and giggles, and scandal every- 
 where ; for at statute fairs the way in which the maids 
 run down their old mistresses, and the way in which the 
 mistresses run down their old maids, can easily be 
 imagined. 
 
 In one quiet part of the market stood Lionel and 
 Plunket, brothers and farmers. 
 
 These two personages had come to hire two servants; 
 but whether the servants were of a very bad kind, or the 
 farmers very difficult to please, certain it is that these lat- 
 ter were servantless, though the fair was half over. 
 
 They had not long lost their mother, a good mother, 
 so they were not to be satisfied with any kind of ser- 
 vants. 
 
 I love to make all plain, and therefore I may as well 
 say at once that these brothers were not brothers. If 
 affection and sacrifice, and all that kind of thing, made 
 men real brothers, they would have been brothers ; but 
 the same woman did not bear them. Plunket was the 
 real son of the mother whose death we have just men- 
 tioned, and Lionel was the foundling, though as the
 
 252 TALES FROM THE OPERAS. 
 
 mother had been a good woman, she had always had 
 enough love for both her own son and the foundling, and 
 some, indeed, left for the world in general. This old 
 mother, in a year long gone to sleep, had opened her 
 door late one night, for being good she had a stout heart, 
 and there found a man and child upon the threshold. 
 The man died, the child lived to be her foundling, and 
 her second son. Who the man was they never learned. 
 He died, and made no sign. Ah, yes that little diamond 
 ring given to the good woman in keeping for his son. If 
 ever he was in trouble, this son of his, the ring was to be 
 carried to the queen. But Lionel had never been in any 
 trouble up to the time of the good woman's death ; soon 
 after which the two farmers wanted two servants, and 
 came to the fair to seek them. 
 
 And thus naturally are we brought back to the fair. 
 
 Neither Lionel nor Plunket could find a single servant 
 to their mind, much less two, and so they went wander- 
 ing about, and submitted to the hard sarcasm of the 
 would-be hired. 
 
 Meanwhile, in another part of the fair the sheriff was 
 doing his duty like a sheriff. Said duty being to an- 
 nounce, as usual, that all agreements between servants 
 and masters were binding for twelve months said bind- 
 ing to be a legal fact from the very moment the said 
 servants took earnest money from the said masters. Also 
 the sheriff was a blessed go-between, announcing to the 
 servants the wants of -the masters, and to the masters the 
 wants of the servants. ' Twas surprising how clever all 
 the servants were according to their own showing, and 
 how doubtful the masters were in believing those same 
 statements ; and indeed, 'tis true these statements might 
 have led an observer to surmise that all the good servants 
 in the county had been discharged at one and the same 
 moment. 
 
 And it was just at the precise moment when the 
 sheriff was going to retreat, overwhelmed by numbers, 
 that the Lady Henrietta or Martha, rather Nancy, 
 and the troubled John Lord Tristam came upon the 
 noisy scene. 
 
 Now, neither Martha nor Nancy were within a hundred
 
 MARTHA. 253 
 
 yards of the sheriff, when Lionel and Plunket marked 
 them both, and bore down upon them. 
 
 As the lord saw this, he was very urgent indeed that 
 all this disreputable masquerading should come to an end. 
 
 Whereupon Martha called out to my lord, " Sir, I'll not 
 have thee for my master." And Nancy added her objec- 
 tion too. 
 
 " So please thee, good man, thou canst not force the 
 girls to serve," said Plunket, at whom the old lord stared. 
 However, he could not stare long, for all the servant girls 
 about, hearing Martha refuse the old gentleman's service, 
 pressed about him, each playing her own little trumpet at 
 the top of her voice. And, to be short, the old young 
 lord thought himself perfectly justified in running away. 
 Lady Henrietta was Lady Henrietta, but that was no 
 reason why his lordship should be worried dead, so he 
 thought he had better go ; and did. 
 
 " Nancy, Nancy, they are looking at us." True, indeed, 
 spoke Martha ; Lionel and Plunket were looking at " us," 
 and in the act of questioning each other touching " us." 
 
 And it was at this precise moment that Nancy told La- 
 dy Henrietta she was trembling, and Lady Henrietta told 
 Nancy that she suffered also from the same cause. 
 
 The chroncicles do not state which of the quartette 
 spoke first, while on the other hand the author was not 
 present at the interview. But let it be admitted that 
 Plunket spoke first, and said " Hem do ye seek a ser- 
 vice, maidens will ye bargain with us ? " 
 
 " A capital bargain," said the other farmer. 
 
 " Well," said Ladv Henrietta. 
 
 u Ha-ha-ha-ha-ha," said Nancy, who, being a lady's-maid, 
 was infinitely scornful at the idea of being a farmer's ser- 
 vant. 
 
 " Oh," said stout Plunket to the latter, " I love laughter 
 work is better done by far when servants all gay- 
 hear f ed are." 
 
 The " maidens " were still doubtful, so the farmer Plun- 
 ket set to work to show the "place" was not an every-day 
 place and and the upshot of it all was that Lady Hen- 
 rietta, and, oh, more terrible by far, Lady Henrietta's 
 maid, engaged themselves as farm servants to the two
 
 254 TALES FROM THE OPERAS. 
 
 Btout young farmers and then took their earnest money 
 (Lady Henrietta didn't know what to do with her Queen 
 Elizabeth's shilling, and so she dropped it) their earnest 
 money, which bound these two to their masters for twelve 
 whole weary months. 
 
 As her ladyship gave up the first money she had ever 
 earned in her life, Lord Tristam came to view again 
 still harassed by not a few stout handmaidens, who, it 
 seemed, had determined he should choose one of them. 
 However, he flung a good amount of silver about ; then, 
 feeling at liberty once more, he came with an air towards 
 the two girls; whereupon he was warned off by their new 
 masters, who seemed rather proud of their proprietor- 
 shin. 
 
 Then it was that the Lady Henrietta proposed to return 
 home. Alas, that despised shilling! Within five minutes 
 more she learned she was actually a servant bound as 
 surely as any apprentice ; and, indeed, the sheriff arrived 
 precisely at that moment, to settle the matter beyond all 
 dispute. Meanwhile, my lord stood in the background, a 
 picture of bewildered despair, and Lady Henrietta stood 
 in the foreground almost in tears. Why, if the court 
 heard of alt this she should never be able to show herself 
 in that court's presence ! At all events, the truth could 
 not be spoken then and there. Let her be silent before 
 the horrid mob. Hence it was that Lady Henrietta went 
 off quite meekly as a farm servant, while Nancy took the 
 same road, jerking her head and flouncing her garments 
 as only lady's maids of all climes and times could and can 
 manage it. 
 
 As for Lord Tristam, he looked as nearly ridiculous as 
 an English lord ever could look ! 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 IMAGINE that the two farmers and their new servants 
 have arrived at the farm-house a large, roomy, old build- 
 ing, with deep bay windows of wavy green glass, in the 
 Very heart of the forest. 
 
 " Home at last," said Plunket, who had pioneered the
 
 MARTHA. 255 
 
 flouncing Nancy, as he thrust the key into the lock. Aa 
 they all entered, Lady Henrietta could not help compar- 
 ing the place to a prison. However, she did not make 
 the odious comparison in a loud voice. 
 
 "There," said Plunket, who was spokesman for the 
 two, and addressing the girls, " there, that's your room." 
 
 " Oh tha-a-a-ank you," said the Lady Henrietta. 
 
 "JVi-deed," said the sharp Nancy. 
 
 "Good night," said her ladyship, and turned sleepily 
 towards the door; for, truth to tell, her ladyship had 
 never even dreamed of such journeying as she had per- 
 formed that luckless day. "Good night," and she had 
 her hand upon the latch. 
 
 The stout Plunket stared. " Good night why there's 
 work to do ! " 
 
 " Wo-o-o-ork," said Henrietta. And Nancy too, 
 shrieked out the little word. 
 
 " Of course take my hat," said Plunket* 
 
 Nancy took the hat immediately, but she privately shot 
 it into a corner. Lionel also held out his hat to Henriet- 
 ta, but he seemed to do so rather because it brought him 
 near her, than as the act of her legal master for twelve 
 months, less one day. Henrietta took it, and knowing 
 no more what to do with it than she had known what to 
 do with the fast binding shilling, dropped it. But Lionel 
 did not mark that fall his eyes were on the new ser- 
 vant's handsome face. Indeed, he was in love with her, 
 I think. 
 
 " Work work work," said Plunkett. 
 
 " But I'm shivering with cold 1 " 
 
 " And so am I," said Nancy. 
 
 " Brother," said Lionel, " brother, she's shivering with 
 cold, you know." 
 
 Then Nancy committed herself to this sharp remark, 
 
 " I'm sure this house is damp ! " 
 
 If anybody had told the Lady Henrietta on the previ- 
 ous day that she could fall asleep before two strange men 
 of the farmer kind, she would have been justified in de- 
 nying the proposition, but 'tis a fact that now she sat 
 down, laid her head upon her hands, and was off into a 
 nap. Whereon, it need not be said, Nancy fell asleep
 
 256 TALES FROM THE OPEKAS. 
 
 too, for Nancy knew her duty. Indeed, it may be said 
 that Nancy was very considerably enjoying this comedy 
 in her way. However, she did not enjoy the horrid 
 shake with which rough farmer Plunket woke her. 
 Plunket, somehow, did not use quite so much violence in 
 waking up Henrietta. Perhaps this was because Lionel 
 quietly touched him on the arm. And and perhaps the 
 Lady Henrietta was more handsome than ever, with her 
 eyes closed. 
 
 "Hullo what are your names?" said rough farmer 
 Plunket. 
 
 "Name name," said Henrietta, as though puzzled at 
 that plain question. "Name, sir. Oh, I'm I'm MAR- 
 THA, so please you." And she made a bob curtsey. 
 
 "And Pm Betsy," said Nancy, and she made a broken- 
 backed curtsey. 
 
 " And not a bad name for a good girl is Betsy," said 
 farmer Plunket. " Betsy, put my cloak away." 
 
 Which the indignant handmaiden did in the manner of 
 the hat. 
 
 And then it was that Plunket proposed spinning. Why, 
 neither of the girls knew a distaff from any other staff in 
 the world. And then, surely, it would have been delight- 
 ful to hear the great men direct the little women how to 
 spin, still more delightful to see their great hands pressing 
 the thin thread. But ah ! nor one nor the other could 
 have given the delight which the young farmer of the 
 name of Lionel felt, when he found himself bending over 
 the beautiful, delicate-handed servant, and actually touch- 
 ing those same delicate hands. 
 
 Br-r-r-r-r, br-r-r-r-r, br-r-r-r-r, went the wheels, the 
 industrious wheels, and soon Martha was producing 
 a highly creditable thread. Meamvhile, Nancy was 
 making Plunket half wild, for her wheel kept flying first 
 one way and then the other, and the flax got all manner 
 of ways, the whole machinery looking as though in a fatal 
 fit. Meanwhile, Martha was industriously spinning, and 
 her young master as industriously praising her. At last 
 Plunket got into a rage as Miss Betsy finally upset the 
 wheel with a crash, and he was preparing to pounce upon 
 Ler in the real old English middle age manner, when tho
 
 MAKTHA. 257 
 
 spinster showed herself deft at running at least, and fled 
 from the room, followed by Plunket, with threats of divers 
 kinds. 
 
 As she was scudding round the door post, and looking 
 over her shoulder, Martha looked up from her demure 
 employment (neither she nor Lionel had heard the crash) 
 and no longer seeing Nancy, or Betsy, behold the birr- 
 birring of her wheel ceased, and she started up from the 
 work-a-day, wooden seat. 
 
 " Kay, thou art not afraid." 
 
 Afraid I ? Of you oh no." 
 
 And she thought, for a farmer, he seemed very gentle ; 
 he also thought she was very superior, for a servant ; and, 
 as he was his own master, he had a right to think as he 
 liked. Truth to tell, I think she was beginning to feel 
 kindly towards the gentle farmer. 
 
 " So thou art not afraid of me, Martha? " 
 
 " Oh no," she said again ; still, nevertheless wishing 
 Nancy to return. 
 
 " I promise thee, Martha, I will be a kind master a 
 better master thou shalt not wish for." 
 
 " And I promise thee, master, I shall be a bad servant 
 a worse servant thou wilt never wish to be rid of. 
 The honest truth and the plain truth is, I'm only fit for 
 laughing." 
 
 " Well, if thou canst only laugh - i'faith, laugh. Thou 
 doest that bravely. I'll not part with thee, Martha. I'd 
 rather die than part with thee, Martha ! " 
 
 " Sir," said the new servant, in faint surprise. ' Twaa a 
 love-at-first-sight declaration, she knew. 
 
 " And can you sing, Martha, as well as laugh ? Sing 
 now, sing about this rose," here he took the little blossom, 
 from her bosom. 
 
 " Give me the rose." 
 
 " Nay, thou wilt let me keep it." 
 
 " Give me the rose, I say." 
 
 But but." 
 
 " Nay, master, if you will keep- it, keep it." 
 
 And she sang. The Lady Henrietta was beginning 
 to enjoy the comedy. There was a deal of unlooked-for 
 happiness about it, somehow.
 
 258 TALES FKOM THE OPERAS. 
 
 It was at the end of this song, the honest' chronicler 
 states, that Lionel went down on his knees before the new 
 servant, and in plain straightforward terras told her lie 
 loved her. This may appear a highly rapid mode of 
 courtship, but reference to middle age authorities and 
 the authorities of Elizabeth may surely be called mid ile 
 aged will thoroughly set at rest this question in the 
 mind of any sceptical reader, if I have to deplore such a 
 one. I do not know the authorities by name, but that 
 has nothing whatever to do with it. 
 
 The lady smiling a little as the impromptu lover tore 
 away all question of inferiority of rank on her part ; this 
 latter, as see the authorities again, was for suicide and 
 sudden death, but the perky Nancy coming into the room, 
 followed by Plunket, the young farmer Lionel only got 
 up off his knees. 
 
 The new servant, Nancy, it seemed, had drawn a mug 
 of beer, but forgotten to turn the tap off, hence flight on 
 her part and pursuit on the part of farmer Plunket, who, 
 chasing his prey up into a sharp corner, caught a crashing 
 box on her saucy ears. 
 
 Then it was that the village clock struck such a late 
 hour as farmers should never hear, except on the nights 
 of fairs. 
 
 So the candles were lit, and the new servants respect- 
 fully lighted their young masters to the door. 
 
 Then left alone, the two girls looked at each other in 
 the blankest manner possible. Beyond a doubt the whole 
 casl-le was in an uproar; everybody hunting for her, 
 ( Nancy said, " hunting for us," ) and how should she ex- 
 plain her absence to the scandal-mongers ? 
 
 " Well," said Nancy, " they seem brave lads and honest." 
 
 " And respectful." 
 
 " Hum good rough kind of souls, my lady." 
 
 " Yes, I wish heartily we were at home." 
 
 " We might as well wish for the queen's diamonds." 
 
 And here it was both the girls started, for a very dis- 
 tinct tapping came at the window. They were still trem- 
 bling when the tapping was renewed, and a weak old 
 voice cried, " Cousin cousin." 
 
 Perhaps Lady Henrietta never heard the old lord's
 
 MARTHA. 259 
 
 voice with less dislike than now. She opened the case- 
 ment herself, and Tristam jumped in as lightly as possible. 
 
 Joy ! their imprisonment was at an end. But but 
 the lady Henrietta seemed a little sorry to go. Indeed, 
 when she had stepped lightly through the window-case, 
 she half hesitated, as though she would turn back ; but 
 the impetuous Nancy in a measure drove her forward, 
 and the next moment she was galloping away from the 
 farm on her horse's back, kindly brought by his lordship ; 
 but but her thoughts were at the farm. 
 
 My Lord Tristam in making his hurried exit from the 
 people's place, overturned a table; and barely had he 
 reached the ground through the window, when Lionel 
 was up and preparing to enter the room where the spin- 
 ning machines stood. 
 
 He tapped at her door no answer. Again he tapped 
 no answer. Then he called Plunket, who came stomi- 
 ily into the room, but when he heard that the servants 
 made no answer, he was alarmed, for he felt fi-iendly 
 towards the troublesome Betsy, and he flung the room 
 door open. Empty ! Then the window was open ! He 
 went to it ; listened ! and sure enough in the distance he, 
 and Lionet too, heard the sound of horses' feet, and at 
 one and the same moment each felt a blank at his heart. 
 Lionel fell upon a chair overwhelmed, like a youjth deeply 
 in love as he was, but stout farmer Plunket, boiling with 
 rage, called out in a voice of thunder to his farm servants; 
 and when these people came hurrying in, he promised a 
 golden guinea to the two men who should catch the run- 
 aways, and he then set to work, to earn his own guinea 
 by a search after Nancy; but he and the men did not 
 dream of that fugitive being within the walls of " the 
 castle," and they passed the mighty building, and went 
 on hunting, long after Martha, Betsy, and John were 
 safely housed. 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 PLUNKET had a heart, and had perhaps been inclined 
 to bestow it upon Nancy, for this kind of thing is catch-
 
 260 TALES FROM THE OPERAS. 
 
 ing ; but the jade had flown, Plunket was not the man to 
 go about filling the air with big sighs he set to work, 
 drinking beer, and plenty of it, and singing jolly songs. 
 After all, farmer Plunket was wise. Now, on the other 
 hand, Lionel actually went melancholy mad. 
 
 Not three days after the catastrophe, Plunket was out 
 in the woods humming away, when he came up against 
 
 Betsy; and in quite a grand hunting costume. She was 
 as full of presence of mind as of sauciness. She stared 
 at the man with lazy curiosity. 
 
 In a dozen strong words he told her she was his ser- 
 vant, and the sheriff should decide it. 
 
 "'Tis a wild beast!" And giving the view halloo of 
 that day, a number of huntresses were soon about him, 
 and kept him at bay. And indeed, they quite protected 
 Nancy, and Plunket had the worst of it. 
 
 Meanwhile, poor Lionel was wandering in this very 
 wood, at this very time, and disconsolate as Ariadne, but 
 not one millionth part as faithless. 
 
 It was a grand court hunting day in fact; Elizabeth 
 Tudor had got up that morning at six to chase the deer, 
 and one of many huntresses present was Lady Henrietta. 
 Coming again to Lady Henrietta, I may mention that the 
 company she had most loved since her forced visit to the 
 farm house was her own; indeed, she too had grown 
 melancholy, but hers was very far from such a dismal 
 strait as Lionel's. 
 
 Well in one part of the forest sat on the turf Lord 
 Tristam and Martha (let us call her Martha now and 
 then). vThe thing which my lord could not comprehend 
 was why her ladyship had left the queen's party the 
 queerfs party. He could see no significance in the answer 
 
 because she wished to be alone. At last she plainly 
 asked him to leave her, and, hardly believing the testimo- 
 ny of his ears, he ambled away. 
 
 And then it was that her tears went tumbling down 
 upon the dewy grass. Oh ! if no bitterer tears had ever 
 been shed than Lady Henrietta's what a blissful world it 
 would have been down to that precious May morning ! 
 
 And thus Lionel, ever wandering in the wood, found 
 her.
 
 MARTHA. 261 
 
 The next scene is really so painful that I would rather 
 shut my eyes to it ; but alas, did I do so there would be 
 such an hiatus in this true history that you might fancy 
 the printing gentlemen engaged upon it were of the ec- 
 centric kind. So in a few short and unwilling words let 
 me tell the cruel truth. He recognized her and she 
 screamed. Thereupon, Lord Tristam, who, of course, 
 was not far offj made his appearance, and with him a 
 perfect posse. Then and there Lionel declared the lady 
 his servant the Lady Henrietta ! So they declared he 
 was mad, and were going to fall upon him, when she 
 interceded for him and prayed that they would let him 
 go. Then it was that Plunket came on the scene and 
 recognized Martha ; but little said he, smart farmer. 
 
 Suddenly, the sound of loud trumpets declared Eliza- 
 beth, Queen of England, was near at hand, and, as they 
 finally drove Lionel back, he, poor fellow and foundling, 
 thought of the small diamond ring which was to be so 
 tnlismanic. He took it from his finger, pressed it within 
 Plunket's right hand, and bade him give it to the queen. 
 
 "Aye aye, lad," said Plunket; and meau,t it. 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 THAT pleasant old farm house, once so happy, was as 
 dull as the forest at midnight. Lionel grew more and 
 more melancholy; and, indeed, farmer Plunket was not 
 very cheerful, though he would not give in. 
 
 Plunket was sitting by himself one day, and waiting 
 for somebody whom? The Lady Henrietta herself. 
 Her conscience was at work. So she determined to save 
 him. 
 
 A little and farmer Plunket gave a start of relief 
 't\vas the arrival of the lady and her maid Nancy, now 
 no longer the saucy, for she had a kind heart, as she felt 
 somewhat the gloomy end of the masquerade at the fair. 
 
 Well, the farmer and Nancy left the lady by herself. 
 And then, then she sang the little song she sang when he 
 asked her to sing on that night when Lionel brought her 
 home as his servant.
 
 262 TALES FROM THE OPEEAS. 
 
 She looked tremblingly about her as she sang on and 
 on to the end of the verse, and then Lionel came slowly 
 into the room. 
 
 Ah I have forgetten to say this farmer Lionel was 
 an earl. The dead owner of the diamond ring had been 
 unjustly banished; years and years before his sentence 
 was declared unjust ; years and years had people wonder- 
 ed where the earl tarried, and now, the diamond ring 
 placed in the queen's hands, was the clue to the whole 
 mystery. 
 
 I know that the coming of Lady Henrietta to the farm- 
 house must look interested. 'Tis a pity almost that 
 Lionel does not remain a poor farmer ; but there, the 
 queen has the ring his birth is recognized; and so, 
 Martha must remain under the imputation of telling him 
 she loved him, not for himself, but for his title. For truth 
 to tell, she went up to him, and whispered that she loved 
 him. But alas ! he was too sunk in melancholy to feel 
 his heart beat high at hearing those words. He turned 
 away from her with angry pride. 
 
 But as the Lady Henrietta did not feel outraged, as she 
 Btill strove to find a way of leading Lionel back to his old 
 self, perhaps these little circumstances will be set down 
 in favor of disinterested love on her part; and if tho 
 gentlemanly reader will remember, I have said she was 
 very dreamy in the woods. 
 
 Well, this was the lady's next plan : It was as old as 
 romance. It seems if one bereft of sense is brought 
 into a scene similar to one which gave him great happi- 
 ness, the effect may be so great as to restore him to con- 
 sciousness. And as the Lady Henaietta knew 'twas a 
 happy hour for Lionel when he engaged her as a servant, 
 she determined to have a mock statute fair, sheriff and 
 all, in her park. 
 
 I am always so eager to tell good news that I cannot 
 stand dallying with the trumpet in my hand ; and having 
 told it, I frequently find I am at a loss what to say, in 
 continuation, which is a disconcerting drawback. Yet 
 nevertheless, though I could make a fine scene here by 
 borrowing from the chonicle, I prefer at once to say that 
 there never was such a success as this imitation statute
 
 MARTHA. 263 
 
 fair for Lionel came to his loving senses and took 
 Martha to his very heart. 
 
 And now, I do not know what to say next! I have 
 told all my news I am at a standstill! 
 
 What can come next? 
 
 Oh ! of course. They were married, and lived happy 
 ever afterwards. 'Tis just like the end of a comic opera. 
 
 And stout farmer Plunket was married to Nancy. She 
 made the best of wives, says the old chronicle with a con- 
 cluding flourish. 
 
 THE END.
 
 15 
 
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 UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA 
 
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 STAMPED BELOW. 
 
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