Chapter XII: Part IV: The Twilight of the Gods (11)

In reply, the Princess bade her "waiting-maid" fetch her a certain jewelled medallion in which was set a miniature of Octavian; and showing the portrait to the Baron, she asked him if he would like the original to perform the office of rose-bearer to his bride-elect, Sophia. The Baron gladly answered in the affirmative, entreating that the matter should forthwith be arranged by the Princess, who agreed to the plan; then, upon gazing more closely at the miniature, he noticed the likeness between the pictured youth and the pretty young "waiting-maid," and his royal cousin informed him that they were, in fact, related, and that though their relationship was not quite "canonical," she nevertheless for that reason chose to keep "Mariandel" always about her own person and away from the other maids.

Once more the Baron tried to make advances to the pretty "Mariandel," inviting her to sup with him that night, and boldly seeking an opportunity to snatch a kiss, to the increasing amusement of the Princess; but Octavian at last managed to make his escape through one of the doors, which he slammed in the amorous Baron's face.

A stream of attendants, vendors of goods, suppliants and servitors now poured into the room through another door; and the Princess, seating herself at the toilet-table, gave herself up into the hands of her hairdresser, who proceeded to arrange her head-dress whilst she listened to the various petitions that were made to her for charity and patronage.

The Princess's attorney having entered with the others, the Baron immediately drew the man of law aside and made arrangements with him for the drawing up of his marriage contract; and very soon he was singled out as a likely customer by a couple of disreputable Italians--an uncle and niece, Valachi and Annina--who earned a doubtful living as panderers and by spying, tale-bearing, and finding proofs of scandals. This shady pair of hangers-on were not long ere they found an opportunity of asking the Baron to employ them in his numerous love affairs; and when, at the end of the reception, he retired with the rest of the company, they followed closely upon his heels in the hope of proving their usefulness to him.

The Princess, thus left alone for a few minutes, fell into a pensive mood, reflecting upon the emptiness of the frivolous life around her, and of the only too probable passing of her present happiness; but her reverie was soon broken by the return of Octavian, once more clad in his own male garments, and laughing merrily over the part he had just enacted so cleverly. Soon, however, observing that his beloved one looked sad, he clasped her in his arms in alarm, and begged to know what ailed her; and when the Princess admitted that she feared their love would soon come to an end, since he would almost certainly bestow his affections on some fair young girl sooner or later, he passionately declared that he should never cease to love her, his adored Princess, adding, in extravagant terms, that she had no equal.

The Princess, however, dismissed him with quiet tenderness, bidding him to hold himself in readiness to do her will and to enact the part of rose-bearer for the Baron; but when he had departed, she remembered with a pang that he had forgotten to kiss her as usual, and she sighed deeply as she realised that her sad thoughts were probably nearer the truth than she had imagined.

* * * * *

Later in the day great excitement reigned in the household of the newly-ennobled merchant-prince, Herr von Faninal, whose gorgeous palace glowed with decorations of brilliant colours, and whose fair young daughter, Sophia, attired in elegant garments, awaited the arrival of her _fiancé's_ rose-bearer--a royal alliance for a merchant's daughter being an achievement to be proud of; so that the worthy Faninal's citizen friends were all envious of what they considered his good luck in having secured so distinguished a son-in-law.

Consequently, all the neighbours were agog with excitement and curiosity to see the arrival of the rose-bearer; and in the reception chamber of the gaudy palace, after the departure of Faninal to meet the bridegroom, the pretty Sophia vainly endeavoured to quell her eager heart-beats by uttering fervent prayers for humility, whilst at the window her fussy duenna, Marianne, interrupted her every minute by drawing attention to the merry doings in the street below, where little groups of curious neighbours were gathered to watch the arrivals.

Presently, loud greetings and shouts announced the arrival of the eagerly-expected rose-bearer; and, next minute, Octavian, dressed in dazzling garments of silver and white, entered the reception-room, carrying in his hand a lovely silver rose, which, upon his bended knee, he gracefully presented to Sophia. He was followed by a party of elegant attendants, who grouped themselves around the room; but Sophia saw no one but the handsome young Octavian, whose glowing eyes instantly held her own enthralled.

In that first long look the two young people felt themselves transported, as it were, to another world--a rosy world of joy and love, where they two were the only dwellers; and though they gradually came back to the scene around them and talked of ordinary matters, they both felt the glory of a new happiness and knew that love had dawned, unbidden, in their hearts.

Scarcely had they recovered themselves than the doors were once more flung open, and Faninal, with great pomp and ceremony, ushered in the Baron Ochs von Lerchenau, who, in spite of his noble birth, soon showed himself to be nothing but a vulgar boor. He treated the obsequious Faninal first with insolent condescension and next with downright rudeness; and he quickly offended the modest Sophia with the rough boorishness of his wooing and the leering suggestiveness of his bold glances. His coarse words and manners filled the poor girl with disgust; and when he drew her down on to a seat beside him and began to fondle her with easy familiarity, she wrenched herself free from his arms with flaming cheeks, full of indignation, and forbade him to touch her again.

Her resistance, however, vastly amused the licentious Baron, who was now delighted with the loveliness and spirit of his plebeian bride-elect; and he eagerly followed her about the room, in order to force his unwelcome attentions upon her--to the furious anger of Octavian, who only repressed his rage with the utmost difficulty. It was, therefore, a relief to all when Faninal and the notary called the Baron into the adjoining chamber to examine the contract-document before the ceremony of signing it took place.

The remainder of the guests and attendants followed; and, for a few moments, Octavian and Sophia were left alone.

Full of despair at the now hideous prospect of the marriage which had been arranged for her, the humiliated Sophia turned to the rose-bearer and tearfully entreated him to help her, declaring that she would never wed with the Baron; and for answer, Octavian clasped her tenderly in his arms, passionately declaring his love for her and vowing to spare her at all costs from the fate she dreaded.

Now full of joy, Sophia gladly responded to the ardent declaration of Octavian, shyly avowing her own love in return; and for a few happy moments the lovers indulged in sweet converse, oblivious of their surroundings and the awkwardness of their position.

They were quickly reminded of this latter fact, however; for whilst they were still in each other's arms they were disturbed by the sudden appearance of the two Italian scandal-mongers and spies, Valachi and Annina, who had concealed themselves behind a curtain in the hope of hearing something which they could turn to profit.

Delighted with the unexpected discovery they had thus made, the pair now rushed into the adjoining room and excitedly called to the Baron to come and behold his future bride in the arms of a lover.

A number of the guests and attendants hurried into the room, together with the Baron, who, however, laughed at the confusion of Octavian and Sophia, rallying them on their hasty love-making and coarsely declaring himself pleased that his bride should have a lover. He then seized Sophia by the hand and endeavoured to draw her into the next room in order to sign the marriage contract; and when the indignant girl drew back, declaring that she would never wed with him, he tried again and again to drag her into the presence of the notary.

Octavian, now beside himself with rage, bade him unhand the girl at once, declaring that she had no intention of marrying him, notary or no notary; and upon receiving merely an insolent laugh in reply, he drew his sword and furiously challenged the Baron to a duel.

The Baron instantly whistled for his servants; but Octavian compelled him to draw, and, after a couple of passes, wounded him in the arm. The Baron, terrified at his hurt, trifling though it was, dropped his sword at once, and calling for help, made a great fuss, groaning and declaring himself to be nearly killed as the attendants hastened to his side and led him with obsequious solicitude to a couch.

Faninal was soon on the scene, full of perturbation, giving orders for a surgeon to be called, upbraiding Octavian and angrily scolding his daughter, declaring the latter should marry the Baron yet, whether she would or no.

He politely entreated the rose-bearer to depart, fearful of offending one of such noble birth, yet anxious to be rid of him; and Octavian, seeing that nothing further could be gained at present by remaining, quietly took his departure, after having whispered to Sophia that she would hear from him again very soon.

Sophia was now packed off to her own chamber by her angry parent; and the cowardly Baron, whose cries and groans had diminished somewhat on the arrival of the surgeon, who quickly assured him that he was but slightly hurt, desired to be left alone a while in peace. The fussy Faninal, therefore, drove all his servants and guests out of the room; and the Baron was left alone.

His rest, however, was almost immediately disturbed by the entrance of the little Italian, Annina, who crept in upon tip-toe and with an air of great secrecy handed to him a note, which she declared came from "Mariandel," the Princess's "waiting-maid." The note stated that "Mariandel" had been better pleased with his lordship's attentions that morning than he supposed, and that she would now gladly accept his invitation to supper that night, naming a certain inn as the _rendezvous_, and the time she would be there.

Quite cheered at the thought of having made another conquest, the vain Baron gleefully decided to keep the assignation; but when Annina importunately demanded payment for the zeal she had already shown in his interests, he testily bade her begone, saying he would settle with her later on.

Annina departed therefore sulkily enough, shaking her fist at this unsatisfactory patron; and the Baron was left to rest and indulge in eager anticipation of his coming intrigue, and to make arrangements later with the landlord of the inn for the carrying out of his plans.

* * * * *

Now young Octavian was blessed with an excellent sense of humour; and on thinking matters over, he determined to gain his own ends and to get the better of the Baron by playing on him a merry trick which should lead to the undoing and ridicule of the vain-glorious libertine.

He therefore engaged the services of the two Italian spies; and after having despatched Annina to the Baron with the note from the imaginary "Mariandel," he proceeded to the inn named therein, where he made elaborate arrangements for the carrying out of his joke. He hired several rascally-looking loafers and hid them in various parts of the room he had engaged, giving them instructions to show their villainous faces at signals from himself; and having also sent messengers to Faninal and the Princess, begging them to appear at the inn at a certain time, and made further plans with Annina to enact a part in his little farce, he proceeded to array himself once more in the clothes of "Mariandel," the pretended "waiting-maid," and then sallied forth to meet the amorous Baron.

In a few minutes he returned to the inn leaning on the arm of the latter and pretending to be pleased with his foolish remarks and maudlin love-making. They seated themselves at the supper table; but the Baron was so delighted at his seeming conquest of the pretty and saucy "Mariandel" that he preferred to make love to her rather than to feast.

But the enticing "waiting-maid," after partaking, under protest, of a glass of wine, pretended to grow sleepy; and when the Baron presently tried to draw her into his arms, he was startled and alarmed by the sudden appearance of strange, evil-looking faces staring at him from various parts of the darkened room.

The apparitions vanished as suddenly as they had appeared; but the Baron soon had another bad fright. Annina now appeared, disguised as a middle-aged lady in deepest mourning garments and accompanied by four young children also garbed in black; and as she flung herself into the arms of the amazed Baron, declaring herself to be his deserted but still loving wife, the little ones clung around his legs and hung on to his coat-tails, calling out plaintively "Papa! Papa! Papa!"

The Baron was furious at this interruption to his pleasure, but was at the same time confused, not remembering which of his many victims of amorous intrigues this particular one could be, and thinking to bluster the matter out, he ran to the window and called loudly for the watch.

When, however, in answer to his calls, the Chief Commissary of Police appeared, he found himself in a worse predicament than ever, for the Commissary insisted upon asking him many awkward questions, and accused him of having the young girl, "Mariandel" at the inn without the consent of her guardians.

As the now bewildered Baron tried to find a way out of his difficulty his confusion was still further increased by the arrival of Faninal with Sophia; for he had tried to appease the Commissary by declaring his supper companion to be his _fiancée_. On hearing this statement from the Commissary, Faninal became so furiously angry at the Baron's conduct that he fell down in a fit and had to be removed to another chamber, where he was attended by Sophia.

Meanwhile, Octavian, having found an opportunity of whispering secretly to the Commissary, retired to a curtained recess, where he hastily discarded his female garments, and presently reappeared in his own garb, just as the Princess entered the room.

The Baron was now completely nonplussed; for, at this moment, Sophia also returned to announce to him that her father was so disgusted at his loose behaviour that he withdrew his consent to the marriage which had been arranged, and refused to have anything further to do with so disreputable a suitor.

The Princess next stepped forward and explained that the whole of the evening's proceedings had been a hoax--a diversion which had been planned by the young Octavian, his own kinsman and rose-bearer, who had also enacted the part of the pretty "Mariandel"; and finally, the Baron, covered with confusion and ridicule, was obliged to beat a hasty retreat and retire from the neighbourhood altogether.

The Princess now sadly realised that young Octavian's fancy for herself--which she had so foolishly returned with interest--had been swamped by the real love which he had conceived for the fair and charming Sophia; and, generously, she bade him woo the latter, whilst she retired to the inner chamber to secure the consent of Faninal to their union.

Gladly Octavian clasped Sophia in his arms and poured forth his love vows once more into her willing ear; and soon the joy of the lovers was crowned by the ready approval of Faninal, who was delighted to have thus secured a husband of noble birth for his daughter, after all.

All the party now retired from the inn to join in the rejoicings for the betrothal of Octavian and Sophia; and if, in the midst of the revels and gaieties that ensued, the heart of the Princess was sad, she did not complain, but only sighed regretfully because she had awakened from a fair and rosy dream that had been too sweet to last!

ELEKTRA

After the murder of Agamemnon, King of Mycene, by his own Queen, Clytemnestra, and her paramour, Ægisthos, dark days fell to the lot of the Princesses of the land; for their unnatural mother, after marrying her guilty lover, was determined not to endure the just reproaches of her children, and, therefore, degraded them to the rank of slaves, so that they might be kept out of her sight.

Her son, the young Prince Orestes, she had tried to slay at the time of the King's murder; but he had been saved from sharing the same terrible fate by the timely help of his sister, Elektra. He had, however, been forced to leave the country, and had taken refuge in Phocis, where he remained for seven years, awaiting a favourable opportunity to return to Mycene and take vengeance upon his mother and her lover by slaying them both.

Meanwhile, his sisters, Elektra and Chrysosthemis, were enduring great hardships in the palace at Mycene, where, after being degraded to the level of the slaves, they were subjected to many indignities. But worse than their own personal sufferings was the grief in their hearts, not only for the untimely death of their beloved father, but for the banishment of their brother, for whose return they longed passionately.

In the heart of Chrysosthemis, grief and the longing for freedom only reigned; but in the heart of Elektra the desire for vengeance against her mother had obsessed every other natural feeling, and she only lived for the consummation of the vengeance she believed the gods would surely grant her.

She longed even more than did her sister for the return of their brother, Orestes, whom she intended to use as her instrument of justice; but when seven years had gone by she began to lose hope of his assistance. Her thirst for revenge, however, had not diminished one iota, but had increased with the years, having grown to be so completely a part of her being that she lived only to see it accomplished; and when, at the end of seven years, Orestes was still absent, she determined to carry out her fell design without him.

Though for the purposes of her intended crime, she endeavoured to hide her savage passion from the curious eyes around her, she could not altogether conceal it; and the light of burning hate which shone in her eyes when she gazed upon the guilty King and Queen was seen and marked by many. She was carefully shunned by her slave companions--all save one, who still kept to her allegiance and suffered the blows of her fellows for so doing--who despised her for the degraded position she had been forced into, and spoke against her haughty behaviour and denunciatory words; and Clytemnestra herself went in secret fear of her wrathful daughter, and avoided her presence as much as possible.

One day, when seven years had gone by and still there came no signs of Orestes, Elektra's passionate feelings so far overcame her that she at last resolved to carry out vengeance upon the murderers of her royal father ere another sun should rise; and to this end she sought the assistance of her sister, who was physically stronger than herself and could, therefore, use a weapon with surer effect.

Chrysosthemis, however, was of a far gentler nature, and instead of having nursed feelings of vengeance in her heart during the seven dark years that had passed, she only desired freedom from her enforced servitude and the protecting care which a husband's love would give to her; and, full of horror at Elektra's bloodthirsty designs, she entreated her to put away such terrible thoughts from her mind, declaring that their guilty mother already suspected her designs and would presently cause her to be cast into prison.

Hearing the Queen even now approaching, Chrysosthemis departed, entreating her sister to accompany her; but Elektra was not afraid, and she determined to disarm suspicion from her mother's mind by holding flattering talk with her.

When Clytemnestra presently appeared, therefore, she addressed her in respectful tones, as though speaking to a goddess; and the Queen, completely deceived, desired her attendants to withdraw that she might talk alone with her seemingly humbled daughter, heedless of their whispered words of warning to her against the latter.

When the slaves had retired, Clytemnestra, who had a hunted frightened look in her eyes, told the ragged Princess that she had been troubled with terrible dreams, and asked advice for recovering her peace of mind; and Elektra, in a tone of deep mystery, declared that this could only be attained by the sacrifice of a woman--the deed to be done by a man who must be of noble nature and not base as was Ægisthos.

Immediately Clytemnestra guessed who was in the mind of Elektra--her own son, Orestes, of whom she went in constant fear, believing him to be still alive; and Elektra, realising from her mother's sudden look of fear that she had never received definite news of the death of Orestes, though she had caused false reports of the same to be given to her daughters, now flung off her pretended mood of mildness, and once more furiously denounced the Queen as a murderess and declared that vengeance would surely fall upon her.

Clytemnestra shrank back in terror before her daughter's torrent of passionate words; but at that moment one of her attendants returned and informed her that a messenger had just arrived and had brought with him a report that Orestes was indeed dead.

Relieved by this, to her, welcome news, Clytemnestra retired to her own chamber with a laugh of triumphant scorn; and soon afterwards Chrysosthemis ran weeping to Elektra, telling her of the report of their brother's death which had been given to her by the slave who had been sent by the Queen to inform Ægisthos of the fact.

Though stricken with woe at this confirmation of her own fear, Elektra once more earnestly entreated the help of her sister in carrying out her scheme of vengeance against the murderers of their father, telling her that she had already in hiding the great axe with which the guilty pair had done the fell deed; but though she promised her great honours and many gifts afterwards, and even offered to become her slave, Chrysosthemis only trembled with horror at the idea of slaying her own mother, and, utterly refusing to take part in so terrible a crime, she rushed away, followed by the curses of Elektra, who, obsessed by her one desire for vengeance to the exclusion of every other natural emotion, now resolved to carry out her purpose alone and unaided.

As she moved away stealthily to unearth the hidden axe with which she intended to deal the fatal blow, she was accosted by a stranger, who, noting her ragged and humble attire, mistook her for one of the slaves, and addressed her as such; and when the Princess haughtily demanded his business, he informed her that he was the messenger who had come to announce the death of the young Prince, Orestes, declaring that he had been servant to the latter and had witnessed his end.

Full of grief and anger, Elektra passionately reproached the travel-worn messenger for being so poor-spirited as to be yet alive himself to bring news of the death of the Prince, for whom he should have been ready to give his own life; and the stranger, realising from her noble bearing and poignant grief that she could be no slave but must be of some kin to the person of whom they spoke, now asked her name.

On learning that it was the Princess Elektra who stood before him, the stranger seemed deeply moved; and he drew closer and whispered into her ears the words: "Orestes lives!"

At this moment, a party of the late King's own body-servants appeared, and, kneeling before the stranger, greeted him as their prince and master.

Thus realising that it was her own long-absent and dearly-loved brother, Orestes, who stood before her, Elektra greeted him joyfully; and the young Prince's brow darkened with deep anger when he learned from her of the degradation to which she and her sister had been subjected during his enforced absence.

Orestes also desired above all things to avenge the death of his father--having, in fact, spread the false reports of his own death in order to deceive Clytemnestra and Ægisthos into a mistaken sense of security from him, their most dreaded enemy; and he gladly agreed to Elektra's eager request for him to assist her by slaying the guilty pair.

Producing the great axe which her own weak arms would have failed to wield, the Princess quickly led Orestes to their mother's chamber; and as, next moment, Clytemnestra's screams brought forth her attendants and the Princess Chrysosthemis upon the scene, Elektra stood aside with a triumphant air upon her face, gloating over the fact that the vengeance for which she had lived was at last accomplished.

Ægisthos, rushing into the chamber as the Queen's dying groans pierced the air, was himself met by the avenging Orestes, who instantly dealt him his death-blow; and thus were the murderers of Agamemnon brought to justice by his own son.

The people of Mycene all rejoiced greatly at the deaths of the guilty King and Queen, who had ruled them with much tyranny; and they hailed Orestes at once as their new King with the wildest enthusiasm, greeting him lustily as he presently appeared in their midst.

Chrysosthemis at once joined her brother as he received the acclamations of the people; but Elektra, in her passionate exultation at the consummation of her long-desired vengeance, sang first a hymn of thanksgiving to the gods, and then began to execute a marvellous dance of triumph.

All the people ceased their greetings to Orestes and watched the exultant Princess with bated breath, held spellbound as they followed her wild and fantastic movements; but, heedless of them all, Elektra worked herself up into a mad frenzy of triumph, her dance growing ever wilder and wilder, until, at last, utterly exhausted and spent, she fell lifeless at the feet of the new King.

MIGNON

One festal day, a lively scene was taking place in the streets of a certain little German country town; for gay crowds of holiday-makers had all turned out in their bravest attire to make merry from morn till night. A troupe of gipsy mountebanks had just arrived in the town, and seeing that a holiday was in progress, they had quickly set about regaling the idle populace with an impromptu entertainment. A merry crowd soon gathered around them, and loud bursts of applause greeted the efforts of the gipsies, who accompanied their wild songs and fantastic dances with the twanging of guitars and tambourines.

Amongst these spectators was one who seemed almost regardless of the gay scene before him: a noble-looking old man with long grey elf-locks, whose shabby, way-worn garments, and a harp which he carried, proclaimed him to be a wandering minstrel. There was a look of unutterable grief in this old man's eyes, together with a strange restless gleam, as though the soul within sought constantly for some beloved object it never could find; and every now and again he would break forth into wild snatches of song, full of heart-broken sadness, which were received by the bystanders with good-humoured indulgence, for old Lothario the Harper was a familial figure to them, and it was well known that some great sorrow had rendered him half-crazed.

The gipsy mountebanks found their audience an appreciative one; and seeing that the impromptu entertainment was likely to prove profitable, the chief, a fierce-looking rascal named Giarno, announced that Mignon, the fairest and most talented of their gipsy maidens, would now give an exhibition of the famous egg-dance. So saying, he thrust forward a beautiful young girl, in whose soft dark eyes fear and scornful resistance seemed struggling for the mastery; and it was soon plain to all that she regarded the lusty Giarno as a cruel tyrant, whom she was at last determined to defy, for, upon being bidden by him to commence her dance, she utterly refused to do so.

Alas, poor Mignon! Of noble birth, she had been stolen from her home in early childhood by the gipsies with whom she had been brought up; and Giarno the Mountebank, seeing in her beauty and grace a means of attracting audiences and securing gain, had compelled her to dance in the streets of every town and village they passed through, frequently beating her cruelly when, through fatigue or misery, she failed to please him.

For many years the poor child, through fear of her harsh master, was forced to obey his will; but as she advanced to maidenhood, all her natural high-born instincts of refinement and modesty revolted against the publicity of the life she was compelled to lead, and now, at last, she determined to resist. Outraged by the free glances of admiration cast upon her by the careless gallants in the crowd, she shrank back and tried to escape, and when Giarno roughly seized her by the arms and angrily ordered her again to dance, she announced boldly that she would not perform. Enraged at her refusal, the fierce Giarno seized his stick, and declared that he would beat her unless she obeyed him instantly; but, in spite of his threats, brave little Mignon still declined to do his bidding.

The old harper, Lothario, had been watching this scene with eager interest, feeling himself drawn to the pretty Mignon by some unaccountable attraction; and on seeing the poor girl shrink back from the upraised arm of her tyrant master, he hurried forward, calling out as he approached: "Courage, maiden! I will protect you!"

Before he reached her side, however, a second defender arrived upon the scene: a handsome youth, who, rushing forward and snatching the stick from Giarno's hand, bade him promise instantly not to harm the gipsy girl, as he valued his life. Cowed by this sudden onslaught, the bully drew back, muttering apologetically that he did but seek additional gains by the performance of his dancing-girl; but upon receiving from his assailant a few coins in compensation for his loss, he was contented, and withdrew with Mignon from the crowd.

The bold cavalier who had thus so timely come to the rescue of the pretty gipsy maid was a Viennese student, by name Wilhelm Meister, who, being young, rich, and gay, was for the time being amusing himself by travelling from place to place, being eager to see the world and engage in the excitements of youth. His natural generosity and kindly pity had led him to interfere on Mignon's behalf; and now, as he strolled away to a refreshment garden near by, he felt elated by his encounter, and longed for further adventures.

Now it happened that the whole of this little scene had been witnessed from a balcony opposite by two strangers to the town--an actor named Laertes, and Filina, his leading lady, an actress of much beauty, and fascinating but coquettish manners; and being greatly struck by the handsome appearance and gallant behaviour of Wilhelm Meister, the lady desired to make his acquaintance, hoping to add him to her already long list of admirers.

Consequently, the two made their way to the refreshment gardens; and here Laertes soon entered into friendly conversation with Wilhelm, telling him of the misfortunes of the strolling theatrical company to which he belonged, and of the attractive charms of the lively Filina.

Wilhelm was greatly amused by the exaggerated conversation of the actor; and when he was presently introduced to Filina, he was so delighted with the sparkling looks of the fair actress that he quickly fell under the spell of her fascinations. He walked about with her for some time; and when she at length left him, he determined to see her again, in spite of the fact that Laertes had warned him that she was a born coquette.

As he came away from the garden, he met the gipsy troupe once more; and suddenly catching sight of her defender, the grateful Mignon sprang forward at once, and kissing his hand, began to pour forth heart-felt thanks for his protection of her. Wilhelm was touched by her simple gratitude, and began to question her, being struck by her refinement and ethereal beauty; and then Mignon told him her pitiful little story, how she had been stolen by the gipsies when scarcely more than a babe, and how harshly she had been treated by them since.

She could remember little of her early life, except that one terrible day, when playing near the brink of a clear blue lake, she had been suddenly seized and borne off by the lawless Bohemians; but her memory being stirred by the questions put to her, she presently broke out into a rapturous recollection of her native country, describing it as a land of orange-trees and roses, of soft breezes and everlasting blue skies, from which Wilhelm gathered her home to have been in Italy.

Whilst they were talking together, the mountebank, Giarno, approached, and remarking that Wilhelm seemed to have taken a fancy to Mignon, he suggested that the young student should buy the girl's freedom, paying him a ransom for her, upon receipt of which he would renounce all rights in his favour. Eager to rescue the poor girl from so harsh a master, Wilhelm gladly agreed to the proposal, paying over to the gipsy a hundred ducats at once; and Giarno quickly departed, rejoicing at the good bargain he had made.

Mignon, delighted at the thought of her freedom, again poured forth grateful thanks upon her benefactor, for whom a passionate love, excited by his generosity and pity, was already springing up in her maiden heart, and then, turning to old Lothario the Harper, who was also hovering near, still attracted by some deep feeling he could not fathom, she begged him to rejoice with her.

Leaving the now happy girl with Lothario, Wilhelm strolled back to the gardens, where he was soon joined again by Filina and Laertes, who announced that they had just received the news of an important engagement. A certain Baron Rosenberg, who was entertaining a company of noble guests at his castle in the neighbourhood, had instructed the strolling players to perform at a splendid _fête_ he was giving in their honour; and Filina, determined not to be parted from her new admirer, now suggested that Wilhelm should accompany them as poet attached to the company.

Wilhelm, just ripe for such an adventure as this, and dazzled by the charms of the coquettish Filina, with whom he already fancied himself in love, readily agreed to the proposal, promising to join them at the _fête_; and when the two players had departed, he returned to Lothario and Mignon, telling the latter that he intended to place her with some worthy people in the town, who would watch over her welfare.

But Mignon, already passionately devoted to her benefactor, whom she persisted in regarding as her master, implored him not to send her away from him; and she begged hard to be permitted to accompany him on his travels in the disguise of a page, that she might serve him wherever he went.

Wilhelm shook his head, gently removing her clinging hands from his arm; and the old harper now came forward and offered to be her guardian, declaring that if she would roam with him, he would watch over her with loving care.

Then Wilhelm, seeing the look of disappointment and grief upon the sweet face of the gipsy girl, relented, and, touched by her devotion, said that she might remain with him for the present, if she chose.

So when, some days later, the young student, after completing his preparations, set off for the Castle of Rosenberg, Mignon joyfully accompanied him in the garb of a page; and old Lothario, determined to keep a watch over the beautiful maiden whose appearance so strangely moved him, followed to the same neighbourhood, that he might be near at hand should harm befall her.

Upon arriving at the castle, Wilhelm quickly obtained admission to the suite of handsome apartments that had been allotted to the fair Filina, who, as the favourite "Star" of the theatrical company, was receiving every mark of attention and admiration from the Baron and his distinguished guests; and the charming actress greeted him with such evident pleasure that the young student, intoxicated by her subtle witcheries, was filled with delight.

The timid Mignon, after being received with coldness and laughing scorn by the actress, retired to a recess at the far end of the boudoir; and as she heard her beloved benefactor's protestations of admiration and regard for the gay pleasure-seeker before him, a dull, hopeless pain came into her heart, for she felt that she, the poor gipsy maid, could never hope to share in the sunshine of his love.

She wondered childishly whether she could ever make herself sufficiently like Filina to attract him; and when the pretty actress presently departed to the _salon_ with Wilhelm, she determined to try the experiment.

Finding herself alone in the room, she drew forth one of Filina's gorgeous robes, and arrayed herself in it; and then, sitting before the mirror, she began to enhance her delicate complexion with the various accessories to beauty used by the artful coquette, laughing with delight at her altered appearance.

Suddenly, however, she heard the sound of approaching footsteps, and fearing to be discovered in her borrowed finery, she sprang into an adjoining room, just as the intruder entered the boudoir.

The newcomer was a foppish youth, named Frederick, nephew to Baron Rosenberg, who, wishing to pose as an admirer of the fascinating Filina, had now come to pay his court, expecting to find her alone; but no sooner had he entered the room than he was followed by Wilhelm, who had returned to speak with Mignon, whom he was about to send back to the town at the request of Filina.

Recognising in Frederick a young gallant whom he had seen before in the town with the pretty actress, Wilhelm demanded to be told his business; and Frederick, knowing the handsome student to be his most formidable rival, instantly provoked a quarrel with him, and furiously drew his sword.

Wilhelm, to humour the youth, who was little more than a boy, and whose attempted gallantry amused him, playfully drew his sword also; but at this moment, Mignon rushed from the inner chamber, and flung herself between them.

Quickly seeing that a duel had never been seriously intended--Frederick having already sheathed his sword in evident relief--Mignon, suddenly remembering her borrowed plumes, began to make a shamefaced apology for her folly; but Wilhelm gently took her aside, and told her that they must now part, since he had quite decided to send her back to the town.

Filina, who had followed her admirer into the room, mockingly added that since the gipsy maid had taken a fancy to the dress she had adorned herself with, she might keep it; but Mignon, stung by the laughing scorn of her rival, and rendered desperate by Wilhelm's decision, furiously tore the gauzy robe to ribbons, and rushed away in a tempest of tears and angry feelings.

Wilhelm, astonished at this outburst of jealousy on the part of Mignon--whom until now he had regarded as a child--suddenly felt an awakened interest in her, and began to wonder at the depth of passion she had betrayed; but as the evening _fête_ was now about to commence, he departed to witness the performance.

The play chosen for representation that night was _A Midsummer Night's Dream_; and Filina, in the character of "Titania," won golden opinions from one and all. In her dainty fairy garments she bewitched the hearts of her audience by her charming acting and fascinating coquetry, and the old castle walls rang with the loud bursts of applause that were constantly accorded to the lovely actress.

Meanwhile poor Mignon, having passionately torn off her borrowed finery, and donned her own old gipsy garments once more, had flown from the castle, and made her way to the bank of a lonely lake in the grounds; and here, overcome by the grief of her hopeless love, and rendered frantic by the bursts of applause in praise of Filina that ever and anon reached her, she was just about to throw herself into the water, when she suddenly heard the sad, yet entrancing sounds of a harp played close at hand.

Turning round, she beheld Lothario the Harper, who had been hovering in the castle grounds all evening; and thus saved from her terrible resolve by his timely appearance, the unhappy girl calmed herself, and poured forth the whole story of her grief into the sympathising ears of the old man.

Leading her gently back to the illuminated grounds, Lothario soothed his companion as best he could, feeling strangely that her sorrows were his own; and when, carried away by her jealous emotions on hearing another loud burst of applause ring out upon the evening air, Mignon uttered a rash wish that the building in which her rival now triumphed might suddenly burst into flames, a curious gleam came into the old harper's wild eyes, and he left her side at once.

In a few minutes he returned, and told her exultingly that, in accordance with her desire, he had set the castle on fire, and that the flames would soon burst forth; but before Mignon could fully grasp the meaning of what her half-witted friend had done to prove his zeal on her behalf, the festive entertainment came to an end, and guests and performers alike came out into the illuminated grounds to refresh themselves in the cool evening air.

The praises of Filina were being sung on every side, and as the triumphant actress came forth on the arm of Wilhelm, she was received with great enthusiasm. Wilhelm soon noticed Mignon standing in the gloom with Lothario, and hurrying forward, he greeted her with tenderness, for, alarmed at her prolonged absence, he had been searching for her. Filina, hating to see the two together, soon joined them, and desired Mignon to return to the theatre and fetch a bouquet she had left upon the stage; and Mignon, her despair brought back by the voice of Wilhelm, hurried into the doomed castle at once, remembering Lothario's words, and hoping to be overcome by the fumes within.

The interior of the castle was already burning fiercely; and as the startled guests suddenly saw flames bursting out from the building they had just left, they rejoiced at their own safety.

But Mignon was within the burning castle; and quickly realising her danger, Wilhelm, with a cry of horror, dashed through the smoking doorway to seek for her. Struggling against the fumes and suffocating heat, he made his way to the theatre, and finding Mignon lying half-dazed upon the already burning stage, he snatched her up in his arms, and, despite her frantic pleading that she might be left to her fate, bore her triumphantly through the blinding smoke into the safety of the grounds beyond.

Here he was quickly joined by Lothario, upon whom he saw that the recent excitement had had the effect of restoring his reason to its normal balance and clearness, for, to his surprise, the old harper presently announced in cool, decided tones his intention of conveying the unconscious girl to the palace of Cipriani in Italy, where he had influence to secure her every attention and care.

Seeing that Lothario was in earnest, and would not be diverted from his purpose, Wilhelm agreed to help the old man in conveying Mignon to Italy; for he now felt drawn to the beautiful young girl more closely than ever, and already his passing fancy for the frivolous coquette, Filina, was dying away.

So with every care and tenderness the old man and his young companion bore the hapless Mignon to Italy; but upon arriving at the palace of Cipriani--a stately building upon the borders of a beautiful lake--the poor girl fell into a fever, brought on by the dangerous excitement and mental suffering she had lately endured.

Wilhelm found to his astonishment that the directions and commands of Lothario were all obeyed by the servants of the palace as though the old harper were their master, but he scarce found time even to wonder at this, for all his thoughts were now centred on the suffering Mignon. In her delirium, the poor girl constantly breathed his name, thus betraying her passionate love for him; and as Wilhelm gazed upon the sweet, pale face of the fair maiden he had rescued, and remembered her wonderful devotion and gratitude to him, an answering passion, deep and tender, gradually awakened within his own breast. So, one day, when at last Mignon had sufficiently recovered to be brought into a large, sunny room overlooking the sparkling lake, the young student told her of his love, and Mignon's faithful heart was filled with joy and sweet content.

Whilst the two lovers were rejoicing together, Lothario entered the room; but instead of his old familiar, way-worn garments, they saw, to their surprise, that he was now clothed in rich attire, and moved with the proud bearing of a noble. He greeted them in courtly tones, and in answer to their astonished looks, introduced himself as the owner of the palace in which they now resided, the Count of Cipriani, whose only child, Sperata, had been stolen from him many years ago.

He then told them that, half-crazed with grief at the loss of his child, he had wandered forth in the garb of a harper from city to city and country to country, in search of his darling; and for fifteen years he had never once given up the hope of finding her at last.

From the first time of seeing Mignon, he had felt unaccountably drawn to her, for her features had reminded him of his dead wife; and now, after having heard from Wilhelm the story she had told to him of her early recollections, he had come to prove that the gipsy girl was indeed his own long-lost child.

As he spoke, the Count produced a casket, and drew from it a girdle, which he said had been almost constantly worn by his little Sperata; and at the sound of this name, a chord of memory was struck in the heart of Mignon, and she eagerly drew forth another relic from the casket. This was a little prayer-book, from which the Count said his lost child had always spelled her evening prayer; and Mignon, in whose breast a stream of sweet recollections now rushed, closed her eyes, and repeated from memory, in soft, clear tones, the same simple childish prayer that was contained in the book.

Satisfied at having thus proved beyond a doubt that the beautiful girl before him was indeed his own beloved daughter, Count Lothario clasped her in his arms with great joy; and then, placing her hand in that of Wilhelm, he bestowed his blessing upon them both.

The soft breezes and warm sunshine of her native land soon brought Mignon back to health once more; and then, restored to the arms of a devoted parent, and enraptured by the possession of Wilhelm's love, she quickly forgot her troubled past, and looked forward to a future of happiness and peace.

EUGENE ONEGIN

It was a warm evening in the late autumn, and Frau Larina, a wealthy landowner in Russia, was sitting in the garden of her beautiful country house, busily engaged upon the homely task of peeling fruit, in which she was assisted by an old nurse named Philipjewna. Through the open windows of the mansion close by came the sound of the sweet singing of her two fair young daughters, Olga and Tatiana; and as she listened to their song, the mother's heart was filled with sympathy and tender recollection, for the song was one she had herself sung in the days of her youth.

Darkness was fast closing around, and presently a band of merry peasants came trooping into the grounds, carrying sheaves of corn, which they presented to Frau Larina, for to-day was the last of the Harvest, and they had come to lay their customary tribute at the feet of their Lady Benefactress.

Frau Larina received the peasants with great kindness, inviting them to sing and dance before her; and to partake of the refreshment she had ordered to be prepared for them. So the lively youths and maidens, in spite of weariness after their long day's toil, began to go through the mazy figures of a country dance upon the moonlit lawn, singing a merry harvest song as an accompaniment.

On hearing the song of the peasants, Olga and Tatiana came out into the garden and stood beside their mother, listening to the singing and watching the dance with interest.

The two sisters, though both fair to look upon, presented a great contrast to each other; for whereas the elder, Olga, was light-hearted, matter-of-fact, and frivolous, loving gaiety and amusement, Tatiana, on the other hand, was dreamy, romantic and retiring, caring little for the usual excitements of youth, but preferring to wander off alone to read in solitude, or indulge in day-dreams.

This difference in disposition was shown now, as they emerged from the house; for Olga, exhilarated by the lively music, was ready enough to join the peasants in their merry dance, but Tatiana, in whom the music had awakened more romantic thoughts, retired to a quiet corner of the terrace to read a favourite book, and to enjoy the beauty of the night.

Seeing that her young daughter was more than usually quiet and dreamy this evening, Frau Larina, with motherly solicitude, approached to inquire if all was well with her; but Tatiana declared that nothing ailed her, and that she was but deeply interested in her book and musings.

When the peasants had finished their dance, they trooped away again to partake of their patroness's hospitality; and immediately after, a carriage drove up, from which alighted two gentlemen who lived in the neighbourhood. These were Vladimir Lenski, a young nobleman who was betrothed to Olga, and his friend, Eugene Onegin, who, although he owned land in the neighbourhood, yet was unknown to Frau Larina and her daughters.

At sight of the stranger, the shy and timid Tatiana would have retired to the house, but was detained by her mother; and a few moments later, Lenski came forward to greet the ladies, at the same time introducing his friend.

Onegin was a handsome man, who had seen much of the world, and possessed an interesting and fascinating personality; and as the impressionable Tatiana lifted her timid eyes and gazed shyly upon him, she was strangely attracted by him, feeling that he was the very impersonation of the romantic hero of her girlish dreams. Onegin, too, was interested in the pensive girl, who was more to his taste than the laughing Olga; and entering into conversation with her, they presently strolled into the garden together, leaving Lenski and his _fiancée_ to their own sweet devices.

Lenski was overjoyed at finding himself alone with his beloved Olga, and poured forth passionate protestations of devotion into her ear, which, although she received them with merry bantering, were nevertheless pleasing to his _fiancée_; and the time passed all too quickly for the happy lovers.

Presently, however, Frau Larina interrupted this pretty scene by bidding them to the evening meal, which was now ready; and as the lovers retired to the house, Tatiana and Onegin emerged from the garden, deep in conversation, and passed in after them.

Tatiana, in spite of her shyness, had found intense enjoyment in the society of Onegin; and although his conversation revealed him to be a world-weary cynic, with little belief in human goodness, yet his personality thrilled her to her utmost being, and her heart throbbed wildly with a strange delirious joy that would not be suppressed. As the night advanced, this sudden passion grew more and more intensified; and when at last she retired to her chamber, her agitation was so great that she could restrain her feelings no longer.

The old nurse, who had accompanied her to attend to her wants, endeavoured to soothe the young girl, seeing that she was over-wrought; but she found her task a hard one, for Tatiana insisted on hearing the story of Philipjewna's own love and betrothal, and was not to be diverted from this all-enthralling subject. So, to satisfy her young mistress, the old nurse described the events connected with her marriage, which were prosaic and unromantic enough; since, according to the usual custom of the Russian peasantry, a husband was chosen for her, and she was bidden to wed him, the short courtship being a mere matter of form, and the question of love having nothing whatever to do with the transaction.