Chapter XIII: Part IV: The Twilight of the Gods (12)

Tatiana, however, paid little heed to the story she had asked for, being too much engrossed with her own conflicting emotions; and as the recital came to an end, she desired the old nurse to bring writing materials into the room, and then retire.

Philipjewna, thinking it best to humour the young girl, obeyed her behest at once; and having placed writing materials on the table, she kissed her nursling tenderly, and left the room, hoping that sleep and pleasant dreams would restore her to calmness by the morning.

But sleep was very far from the thoughts of the agitated Tatiana; for, unable to restrain her feelings any longer, she had determined to write a letter to Eugene Onegin, to confess the passionate love she had conceived for him, and to ask him to grant her a meeting in the grounds next day. For a long time conflicting thoughts assailed her, maidenly modesty and natural reticence struggling with her new-born love and the longing desire to have it returned; but at length the intensity of her passion overcame all other feelings, and, seizing a pen, she began to write. But even now, when her decision was made, she found it a difficult task to put her overwhelming thoughts upon the paper; and many were the sheets she destroyed, and the new attempts she made.

The night crept on, but Tatiana was heedless of the passing hours; and at length, as the first signs of dawn appeared, she finished the letter, and, with trembling hands and much misgiving, placed it in an envelope ready to be delivered.

The letter was characteristic of the girl's disposition, and every line breathed of the sweet trustfulness that had prompted its writing. It was the simple outpouring of a generous, beautiful nature, and the depth and intensity of passion it revealed but proved the value of the gift offered--the gift of a pure young maiden's heart.

Having sealed the letter, Tatiana went up to the window, and, drawing aside the curtains, pensively watched the rosy dawn of another beautiful autumn morning; and a short time afterwards Philipjewna came in to awaken her, according to her usual custom. Amazed to find her young mistress already risen, the old nurse hurried forward to greet her, noticing with alarm that the bed had not been slept in; but Tatiana, scarcely waiting for her greeting, hastily placed the letter she had written in her hands, and nervously entreated her to have it conveyed to Eugene Onegin without delay.

At first the nurse hesitated, knowing that this was an extraordinary request; but seeing that the girl was still in a state of nervous excitement, she again thought it best to humour her, so took the note and promised to have it delivered at once. As soon as Philipjewna had left the room, Tatiana buried her face in her hands, half-regretting that she had sent the letter, and wondering if Onegin would grant her the appointment she had asked for, first hoping that he would come, and the next moment praying that he would not.

However, later in the day, as the time appointed for the meeting drew near, she gathered her courage together, and went out into the grounds, with doubt and longing in her heart, trembling at the thought of what the result of her interview would be, fearing lest her love should be scorned, yet equally full of shy fears should it be returned.

As she appeared in the grounds, she found that a group of village maidens were continuing their harvest festivities by indulging in further merry songs and dances on the lawn; but presently they departed to another part of the grounds, leaving Tatiana alone, and a few moments later Eugene Onegin appeared and hurried towards her.

At the sight of the man she loved so passionately, Tatiana's little stock of courage entirely forsook her, leaving her trembling like an aspen leaf, and she would certainly have run away again, had not Onegin imperiously bidden her to remain. Then, drawing nearer to the agitated girl, he told her gently that he had received and read her letter, and since she had been so frank with him, he would, in return, be frank with her.

He then went on to declare in passionless tones, yet half-regretfully, that he was too world-weary to accept the fresh young love she had to offer, and was neither worthy to receive so generous a gift, nor had he a like passion to offer in return.

As the trembling Tatiana listened to these cold, yet truthful words, each one of which stabbed her to the heart, she felt crushed to the earth; and, overcome with grief and shame, she buried her face in her hands. Onegin, sorry for the pain he was thus inflicting upon the heart of this romantic girl, now bade her, in a more tender tone than he had yet used, to restrain her feelings, since another, less conscientious than himself, might use such impulsiveness for his own selfish ends; and then, taking her by the hand, he led her into the house as though she had been a little child.

A short time after this, Frau Larina gave a splendid ball in honour of Tatiana's eighteenth birthday, and all the _élite_ of the neighbourhood were invited to join in the festivities, prominent amongst the guests being Lenski and Eugene Onegin.

The entertainment was an elegant one, and the assemblage brilliant; but Onegin found it dull, and was frankly bored. He passed most of his time with Tatiana, for the romantic girl still interested him; but Tatiana was restless and silent, and at last he left her to her own reflections, seeing that she seemed ill at ease with him.

Being now more bored than ever, he felt annoyed with Lenski for having persuaded him to come; and presently the spirit of mischief suggested a means for paying off this small grudge against his friend. Seeing the pretty smiling Olga approaching at the moment, he invited her to dance with him several times, including the cotillion she had promised to her _fiancé_, and Olga, being by nature a daring coquette, gaily accepted his attentions with such evident pleasure, that Lenski's brow grew black with disappointment and jealousy, for he loved her passionately, and could brook no rival in his affections. Full of gloom, he watched the pair as they danced through the intricate figures, noting with increasing anger the many roguish glances bestowed by the coquettish Olga upon her partner; and when the cotillion came to an end, unable to restrain his feelings any longer, he openly accused Onegin of endeavouring to steal away the affections of his _fiancée_, and before all the guests, he furiously challenged him to give him satisfaction and fight with him on the morrow.

At first, Onegin tried to laugh the matter off, declaring that he had no thought of doing his friend a wrong; and Olga, now frightened and full of remorse that her giddy conduct should have thus been the means of causing strife, also implored her _fiancé_ to calm himself and think no more of the matter.

But Lenski's jealous passion would brook no interference; and he continued to pour such angry reproaches and stinging taunts upon Onegin, that the latter at length lost control of himself also, and, goaded beyond bearing, angrily accepted the challenge. The guests, alarmed and dismayed, at once look a hurried departure, and the ball, which had commenced so brightly, ended in confusion and gloom.

Early next morning, Lenski and Onegin, with their seconds, met in a retired part of the grounds, and there, with all the usual ceremonious etiquette, the duel was fought. Both felt sad at the thought that their long and happy friendship should end in this terrible way, and longed to utter the one word that would have reconciled them; but pride kept their lips sealed, and when the signal was given, they raised their pistols and fired instantaneously.

Lenski fell to the ground at once; and when Onegin, who was untouched, ran forward with the seconds, and clasped him in his arms, he found to his horror that he was dead.

Full of grief and remorse that he had thus for the sake of a foolish code of honour slain the dearest friend of his youth, Onegin, dazed and miserable, left the neighbourhood at once; and for several years afterwards he wandered restlessly from country to country, in the vain endeavour to drown the tormenting regrets and harrowing recollections that haunted his brain.

But neither change of scene nor wildest adventure could succeed in bringing any comfort or peace to his wounded and remorseful heart; and at last, overruled by an irresistible longing to return to the scene of his trouble, he travelled to Russia once more, and upon arriving in St Petersburg, was sought out by his old friends, and induced to remain there for a while. On receiving an invitation to a magnificent ball from one of his near relations, Prince Gremin, a nobleman of high position and honours, he was persuaded to accept this; and when the evening arrived, he proceeded to attend the function, though very much against his will.

But even such a brilliant scene as this could not bring distraction to the torn and weary heart of Eugene Onegin; and as he wandered restlessly from room to room, his self-accusing thoughts still haunted him, and the memory of the fatal duel was again pictured in his mind as vividly as ever. Presently, however, he noticed a stir among the guests, and a subdued murmur of admiration; and following their gaze, he saw that the centre of attraction was a beautiful young woman, richly clad, and sparkling with jewels, who was passing from one group to another with easy dignity, bestowing smiles and gracious words on all. A second glance told Onegin that this brilliant figure was Tatiana, the young daughter of Frau Larina, the romantic maiden who had so impulsively offered him her fresh girlish love a few years ago; Tatiana, no longer a dreamy child, but grown up into a lovely, soulful woman, gracious and self-controlled, a very queen even amidst this dazzling array of fair women.

It was indeed Tatiana, who had been taken from her quiet country home to become the admired wife of Prince Gremin, who, though many years older than she, yet loved her tenderly, and did all in his power to make her happy; and the fair young girl, though she could not give him love, yet made him a dutiful and devoted wife, and soon learned to bear her exalted position with becoming dignity.

Now, as Onegin gazed once again upon Tatiana, always interesting to him, but doubly so in her matured beauty, with all her natural charms of mind, body and disposition intensified a hundredfold, his heart suddenly throbbed with a new and strange feeling of exaltation, and he who had thought himself dead to all passion, felt his pulses quicken and a thrill of the keenest joy pass like an electric current through his whole being.

His emotion increased presently when Prince Gremin brought his beautiful young wife forward, and introduced her to him with pride and affection; for although Tatiana greeted him with easy calm and even coldness, making no attempt to hide their former acquaintance, yet the intense look of repressed passion in her deep tender eyes told him plainly that her feeling for him had not altered, but had deepened with her growth. As she moved away again on the arm of her husband, Onegin felt the sharp pangs of jealousy for the first time in his life, and knew that he now loved this woman with his whole heart; and he was seized with a passionate desire to possess the love he had once refused.

Unable to restrain his overwhelming feelings, he determined to declare himself at all costs; and, making his way to a retired spot, he waited until Tatiana came by alone; and then, hastening towards her, trembling with emotion, he told her of his love, and implored her to grant him hers in return; but Tatiana reminded him bitterly that he had slighted her proffered affection in former years, treating it as the mere fancy of a sentimental girl, and even blaming her for her boldness.

Cut to the quick by this just retort, Onegin sank to his knees and begged her with increasing emotion to have pity and to grant him the love he now longed for above all things; and his pleading was so powerful that Tatiana, unable to keep up her pretence of coldness any longer, admitted that her passion for him was still the same, and for a few moments a feeling of delirious joy filled her heart at the thought that her love was at last returned.

But when Onegin next entreated her to leave her home with him, that they might be yet happy together, since theirs was a love that would not be denied, then the young wife declared in broken accents that she would not be untrue to her husband, no matter how hard it might be to refuse the pleading of the man she loved.

Again and again Onegin passionately besought her to obey the dictates of her heart, and to fly with him; but Tatiana, though tempted almost beyond endurance, still brokenly, yet firmly, refused, and at last, fearing to remain longer lest her resolution should break down, she fled away from his presence with a last distracted look.

Then Onegin, full of despair, and feeling that happiness could never now be his, drew forth a pistol that he had carried with him on his travels; and, since he cared no longer to live, he drew the trigger, and fell lifeless to the ground!

ERNANI

In the wild mountainous districts of Arragon, in the year 1519, a large company of bandits and mountaineer rebels were gathered together one day in their stronghold; for they had been summoned thither at the command of their chief, who, though in reality a noble fallen under the ban of the King of Castile, was known to them only by the name of Ernani.

These lawless folk gave their leader unquestioning obedience and loyal service; for Ernani had won their fierce hearts, not only by his noble and commanding presence, but by his just dealings, his faithful heart, and his unimpeachable honour. Never had the bandits known their chief to break his word, to betray a friend, or to deceive even an enemy; and it was with eager sympathy that they now listened to his appeal for their help.

Ernani told them that he had conceived a passion for a certain beautiful lady of Arragon, whose name was Elvira, and who returned his love, since they had already met on several occasions; but, unhappily for the lovers, Elvira had been betrothed against her will to Don Silva, a Grandee of Spain, who, though advancing in years, was so eager to be united to her that he had already found means to convey her to his castle, where the nuptials were to be celebrated next day. The bandit chief implored the help of his friends to rescue this fair lady from her unhappy position, and to assist him to carry her off from the castle; and the merry rebels gladly agreed to do so.

Having thus made his arrangements with his followers, Ernani betook himself to the castle of Don Silva, where he managed to effect an entrance unobserved; and then concealing himself in an alcove near the apartments of Elvira, he awaited a suitable moment for revealing himself to her.

The captive Elvira was in a most unhappy state of mind; for though her bandit lover had assured her that he would rescue her from her fate, she feared lest he should come too late.

As the day wore on, Don Silva was called away for a time; and, during his absence, Elvira was surprised and dismayed by an unexpected visit from the young King Carlos of Spain, who, though she knew him to have professed admiration for her, she had hoped would be too much engaged with the conspiracies and difficulties arising upon his recent accession to the throne to find time to press his attentions further.

The young King, however, could not quell his youthful passion so easily; and, knowing that Elvira was at the castle of Don Silva, he had made this surprise visit in order to declare his love for her, and even to invite her to share his throne.

But Elvira's heart was already given to Ernani, and she begged the King not to press his suit further, since she could not love him; and this reply enraged Carlos, who had heard of her preference for the bandit chief, so that he seized her by the hand, and would have compelled her to follow him, had not her cry for help quickly brought forth Ernani from the alcove.

An angry altercation now took place between the rivals; but as they were about to engage with their swords, Elvira flung herself between the pair and besought them to desist.

At this moment Don Silva returned, and was filled with grief and indignation at thus finding his betrothed speaking with two lovers in her apartment; and, calling for his weapons, he furiously challenged both the intruders, vowing vengeance for the insult.

The royal attendants, however, now arrived on the scene; and when Don Silva thus discovered that it was his King whom he had challenged and addressed so cavalierly, he was filled with dismay, and knelt for pardon. Carlos, who was at that time eager for the support of his chief nobles, could not well refuse; but, as he departed, he warned Ernani to fly from his wrath, since it was his intention to exterminate the bandit hordes of which he was the chief.

Elvira now begged her lover to escape whilst he could, assuring him that she would remain faithful to their love until he could return and claim her as his own; and since Ernani's honour would not permit him to desert his bandit friends in their hour of peril, he was thus compelled to leave her, though with many misgivings.

The rebels and bandits, however, met with no success, for the King pursued them with pitiless zeal, and did not rest until he had dispersed the band; and presently a report of Ernani's death was brought to Elvira, who was filled with despair at the news. In spite of her grief, however, she was compelled to listen to the suit of Don Silva once more; and upon the old nobleman now insisting upon her fulfilling her betrothal with him, she was thus forced to consent, being too much dazed and overcome with grief for the loss of her lover to resist.

All arrangements for the celebration of the nuptials were accordingly made; and on the day of the wedding splendid festivities were held at Don Silva's castle.

But Ernani was not dead, though he had been for some time a fugitive; and having at last made his way back to the neighbourhood of his beloved Elvira, and hearing of revels to be held at the castle, though he knew not the cause, he disguised himself as a poor pilgrim, and asked for admittance and hospitality.

Don Silva, who took a pride in his hospitality to high and low alike, gave the pilgrim welcome, treating him as an honoured guest; and inviting him to join in the festivities, he informed him that they were in honour of his own marriage, which was about to be celebrated. At this moment the bridal party entered the hall, accompanied by a gorgeous train of pages, high-born ladies, and Grandees of Spain; and, to his utter woe, Ernani saw that the bride was none other than Elvira herself.

Filled with anger and despair at her seeming unfaithfulness, Ernani flung aside his pilgrim's robe and recklessly revealed himself to the company, demanding to be given up to the King for execution, since he no longer desired to live.

Don Silva, however, though furious at the intrusion of his hated rival, refused to give him up to justice, declaring that it was a particular point in his code of honour to regard the person of one whom he had received as his guest as sacred from harm or betrayal. With these proud words the old noble retired with his followers to give directions for the extra guarding of his castle, fearing lest a party of fugitive bandits might be lurking near their leader.

Ernani and Elvira were thus left alone for a few moments; and as her angry lover began to pour forth reproachful words upon her, the unhappy lady related to him how he had been reported to her as dead, and how she had been compelled to accept Don Silva's suit, declaring, however, that it had been her intention to destroy herself afterwards. Finding, therefore, that Elvira's heart was still faithful to him, Ernani clasped her in his arms once more; and the wretched pair bemoaned their sad fate together, knowing that they were in great peril.

At this moment Don Silva returned to the hall; and thus seeing that Elvira still loved the proscribed bandit, his jealousy was roused again, and he vowed vengeance upon Ernani. When, however, the proud bandit declared once more that he was willing to die, Don Silva still refused to give him up, hoping for a more subtle and terrible revenge.

The attendants now announced that the King and a company of soldiers were clamouring at the gates for admission; and when Ernani had been hastily concealed in a secret chamber, and Elvira had retired to her own apartment, Don Carlos was admitted. The young King announced that he had scattered the bandit hordes, and now sought their chief; and adding that he had tracked Ernani to Castle Silva, he sternly demanded that he should be delivered up to him.

This command Don Silva stubbornly refused to carry out; whereupon the King gave orders for the castle to be searched. The soldiers, however, being unacquainted with the secret chamber, were unable to find the bandit; and then Carlos, furious at being defied, declared that if Ernani's head were not forthcoming he would take Don Silva's.

Whilst the nobleman was still protesting against betraying one who had been his guest, hoping thus to reserve Ernani for a more cruel fate, Elvira hastily entered the hall, and, falling on her knees before the King, she besought him not to engage in strife, but to have mercy on his foes.

On beholding the beautiful Elvira again the King's suppressed love for her burned fiercely once more; and, taking her gently by the hand, he declared that he would now hold her as a hostage for the good faith of Don Silva, until Ernani should be delivered up to him. It was in vain that Don Silva protested against such a proceeding; and the weeping Elvira was at once taken away by the King to his palace.

When Ernani was at length led forth from his hiding-place, and learned that his beloved one was held as a hostage by the King, he was furious; and now regarding Don Silva as a companion in misfortune, he offered to join him in a scheme of vengeance against Carlos, who was their mutual enemy and rival in the affections of Elvira. Regarding his life, however, as forfeited to Silva, to whom he was grateful for having protected him so long, Ernani declared his willingness to die whenever his rival should desire it; and as a pledge of his solemn promise, he gave the nobleman his hunting-horn, saying, "By this token, in the hour when thou wilt have Ernani perish, sound this horn, and I shall know it is the hour for me to die!"

Don Silva, thus recognising that he had Ernani in his power, gladly accepted him as a colleague in taking vengeance on the King; and the pair immediately sought out a band of conspirators who were at that time seeking to assassinate Carlos, who had not yet been unanimously accepted as King, and offered to join them in their enterprise. They were eagerly welcomed by the conspirators; and it was arranged that they should meet on a certain day in the Catacombs of Aquisgrano, and, by drawing lots, decide who should strike the fatal blow.

Meanwhile, Carlos had received information that a conspiracy had been formed against him; and as he was now almost certain of being accepted as King by the majority of the people, he bravely determined to face his secret foes and denounce them. He therefore bade his esquire to cause three salutes of cannon to be sounded should he be accepted as King at the final meeting of Electors to be held that day, that he might be sure of his regal power before denouncing his foes; and he also gave orders for the Ministers of State, together with the Lady Elvira, to be brought to him in the conspirators' meeting-place.

He then made his way alone to the Catacombs of Aquisgrano, and took up a position beside the mausoleum of his illustrious father, Charles the Great; and here many solemn and noble thoughts passed through the mind of the young prince. The sacred responsibility of his high position impressed itself upon him for the first time, so that a sense of his own frailty and weakness made him humbly conscious of his utter dependence upon a Higher Power than his own; and he solemnly registered a vow that if his kingship should be accepted that day, he would forego the careless pleasures and passions of youth, and devote himself loyally to the service of his country and people, and thereby win for himself a glorious name and virtue's "crown of deathless fame."

Having made this sacred resolve, the young King now concealed himself in the royal mausoleum, from whence he could see and hear all that passed without being observed; and a few minutes later the conspirators entered, all wrapped in long dark cloaks. Don Silva and Ernani had established themselves as the leaders; and after reciting their hatred of the monarchy, they drew lots for the privilege of killing the young Carlos.

The name drawn was that of Ernani; and Don Silva, greatly disappointed, entreated the bandit to resign the right in his favour. Ernani, however, refused to forego his privilege; and in spite of Silva's angry warning that his vengeance should quickly follow, he firmly declared that he alone should kill his royal rival.

Just as the lot had been thus decided, the conspirators were startled by the sound of a cannon shot repeated three times from the fortress of the city; and this being the signal for Don Carlos, he stepped forth from the mausoleum with a stern and regal air. At the same moment there entered from another door six Electors and the Ministers of State, followed by royal pages who bore the crown and regalia; and after these came a retinue of splendidly dressed lords and ladies, amongst whom was the pale and drooping Elvira.

At the bidding of the Electors the crown was placed upon the head of the young King, and he was solemnly hailed as the Sovereign; and Carlos, with equally dignified solemnity, accepted the charge laid upon him. Then, turning to the discomfited conspirators, he exposed their plot; and, denouncing them as traitors, he condemned the nobles to the block and the plebeians to prison. Ernani was herded with the latter; but refusing to bear such an insult, he now disclosed his true identity as a Duke of ancient family, and haughtily claimed the death of an aristocrat.

Carlos readily granted this plea; but Elvira, in despair at thus losing her lover for ever, fell on her knees, and passionately implored the King to pardon Ernani, adding as her plea, "Virtue sublime is mercy in kings!"

As Carlos listened to the pleading voice of the beautiful Elvira, he was reminded of the sacred vow he had so recently made; and, desiring to win the affection of his people by ruling them with love and clemency, he now magnanimously proclaimed a gracious pardon for all the conspirators. Further than this, he steadfastly quelled the longings of his youthful heart, and resigned all further thoughts of Elvira; and knowing that her love was given to Ernani, he declared it to be his royal will that the pair should be united.

So the faithful lovers were wedded at last; and Ernani and his fair bride retired to the ex-bandit's ducal palace, where a noble company had assembled to bid them welcome and join in the bridal festivities. But amongst the merry company of wedding guests there glided a masked stranger, who greeted no one, and held himself aloof from all; and this was none other than Don Silva, who, less noble than his King, was consumed with fierce jealousy at the happiness of his favoured rival, and had now come to indulge in a cruel vengeance.

When the guests had departed, and Ernani and his bride were alone, they embraced each other with great joy, thankful that their troubles were over, and wondering at the unexpected happiness which lay before them; but suddenly they were startled by the loud lingering blast of a hunting-horn.

Ernani became pale as death, and his heart stiffened with horror; for he remembered his vow to Don Silva, and knew that this was the signal for him to die. Elvira was filled with alarm at his altered looks; but Ernani declared that he was unwell, and bade her fetch him a cordial, that in her absence he might brace himself for his fearful act. Full of grief that his cup of happiness should be thus snatched from him as he was about to enjoy it, he thought wildly for a moment of escape; but just as he was about to follow Elvira, Don Silva himself entered the room, and calmly bade him fulfil the solemn promise he had made, adding, with fiendish triumph, that one so nobly born and of such high character could not stoop to forswear himself.

Well did Ernani know this; for never yet had he broken his word to any living soul, nor could his high sense of honour permit him to do so now. Just as he drew his dagger, however, Elvira returned to the room; and now hearing of the fearful compact which had been made between the two rivals for her hand, she knelt before Don Silva and besought him, with distracted sobs, to release her beloved husband from his vow.

But Don Silva had steeled his heart to withstand this piteous appeal, and coldly announced that he awaited the fulfilment of his rival's vow; and Ernani, knowing well that he could expect no mercy from such a remorseless foe, and too proud to tarnish his honourable name by forswearing himself, clasped the weeping Elvira in a last embrace. Then quickly grasping his dagger he resolutely stabbed himself to the heart, faithful to the fatal promise he had made; and as Elvira, with a terrible cry of woe, fell senseless beside him, he expired and Don Silva's vengeance was accomplished.

RIGOLETTO

During the sixteenth century there reigned over the fair city of Mantua a handsome young Duke, whose brilliant Court was one of the gayest and most licentious of its age. For the youthful ruler cared little for the responsibilities of State, and instead of seeking the welfare of his people, he chose to gather around him a band of careless nobles of his own age, and to pass his time amidst the excitements of wild excesses and love-intrigues. Susceptible, ardent, and inconstant, his amours were frequent, passionate, and short, and there was scarcely a lady at his Court--not to mention various pretty maidens of more humble birth--with whom he had not, at some time or other, fancied himself in love.

In all his intrigues the Duke was constantly aided by his Jester, Rigoletto, a hunchback, who was the most privileged person at Court; for, beneath the cap and bells, the buffoon possessed a fertile, scheming brain that never failed to devise cunning ruses to gratify the lawless passions of his unscrupulous master.

For this reason Rigoletto had gained many enemies, for, besides exciting the jealousy of the courtiers by making himself the favourite of their royal master, he was also hated by many haughty nobles whose honour had been assailed by his intrigues. The jealous lords constantly vented their spleen upon the hated Jester by scornful taunts and slights, all of which Rigoletto returned with interest, making the proud courtiers the subjects of his spiteful wit and stinging raillery, whilst inwardly he triumphed in a joy they knew naught about.

For Rigoletto had a beautiful daughter, named Gilda, whom he loved passionately, and fearing lest the maiden's loveliness should lead to the ruin of her innocence, he had ever kept her existence a secret even from his most intimate acquaintances.

To this end, on coming to Mantua, he placed her in a humble house in a quiet part of the city, under the care of her old nurse, Giovanna; and every evening after dark he went to receive the sweet caresses of this darling child, a stolen happiness that more than compensated him for the scorn of his enemies.

Little did the poor Jester guess that the precious treasure he guarded so lovingly was doomed to become the prey of the very person whose notice of her he most dreaded--his royal master; yet so it was ordained.

For every morning Gilda attended matins in the neighbouring church, and here she was at length seen by the young Duke, who quickly became enamoured of her beauty. Every day he stole into the church to watch her at her devotions; and Gilda, though she scarcely dared return the ardent glances bestowed upon her by the handsome cavalier, soon felt an answering thrill in her own heart. Yet, fearing her father's anger, she kept this new sweet joy a secret; and since the Duke did not need his favourite's help in such a simple enterprise, it came about that Rigoletto remained in ignorance that his happiness was at stake. But in spite of the care he took, his secret visits to the humble house at length became known to the jealous courtiers; and this discovery was made soon after the Duke had first seen Gilda at the church.

One evening, a splendid entertainment was being held at the Ducal Palace, and in an ante-room a group of courtiers, freshly smarting under the spiteful wit of Rigoletto, were gathered together venting their grievances, and listening to the special complaints of one of their number, Count Ceprano, whose pretty wife was for that evening the Duke's plaything, thanks to the machinations of the hated Jester.

Whilst they were talking angrily together, they were joined by another noble, named Marullo, who declared that he had great news for them; and in answer to their eager questions, he told them he had discovered that Rigoletto had a sweetheart, since he went nearly every evening after dark to pay a visit at a humble house in a certain quiet street--a sure sign that his mistress dwelt there.

The courtiers all laughed derisively at the idea of the ugly hunchback being in love; but Ceprano, seeing in the incident a means of revenging himself upon the scheming Jester, quickly proposed a plan to them. He suggested that they should repair to the humble dwelling pointed out by Marullo, and, forcing an entrance, carry off the fair lady who dwelt therein; and by this means they would punish the hunchback for the insults he had piled upon them.

The courtiers eagerly fell in with the plan, and having promised to meet Ceprano late next evening in order to carry out the enterprise, they returned to the brilliant _salon_. Here, dancing, feasting, and merriment were being indulged in with an utter absence of restraint, for it was the delight of the Duke of Mantua to pursue his pleasures with an extravagant recklessness.

But suddenly the revels were strangely interrupted, for after a loud altercation with the servitors at the door, who vainly tried to detain him, an uninvited guest dashed through the careless throng in the salon, and quickly made his way to the spot where the Duke was standing. The intruder was an aged noble, the Count of Monterone, whose beautiful daughter had lately been stolen from her home to gratify the evil passion of the libertine Duke; and in a voice trembling with scorn and anger, the outraged father demanded the restoration of his child, calling down vengeance upon her betrayer.

But Monterone's appeals and threats were drowned in derisive laughter, and the Duke, impatient at such an unpleasant interruption to the revels, instantly ordered his guards to imprison the Count in a cell beneath.

Rigoletto, taking up his cue from his master's humour, made merry over the poor father's despair, and uttered mocking quips at his expense; but soon he regretted his words, for as Monterone was being led away by the guards, he turned upon the Jester and cursed him with great fury.

Now, Rigoletto was very superstitious, and so was filled with fear as he realised that a father's curse had fallen upon him, and though the revels went on as before, the incident took such a hold on his imagination that he felt some terrible woe was in store for him.

Late next night, these disturbing thoughts were still in the Jester's mind as he hastened towards the humble abode of his beloved daughter; and when he was presently accosted by a begging bravo, he stopped to converse with him, thinking that he might have occasion later on for the services of some such desperate rogue.

The bravo, who gave his name as Sparafucile, declared that for gold he would dispose of any enemy who lay in the Jester's path, stating that his abode was an outlying, lonely inn, where intended victims were easily lured by the attractive looks of his pretty sister, a gipsy-girl named Maddalena.

Having agreed to seek the bravo's aid, should he need it, Rigoletto hurried into the courtyard of his house; and here he found the beautiful Gilda already waiting for him with her attendant, Giovanna.

Now, Gilda had been kept in complete ignorance of her father's name and profession; and to-night, after greeting him with her usual joyful embraces, she begged of him to reveal his true identity, being weary of the mystery that so constantly surrounded her.

But Rigoletto firmly refused her plea, gently bidding her to love him only and ask no questions; and then he turned to Giovanna, sternly demanding whether she guarded her charge with the strictness he had commanded. Gilda trembled at this question, remembering the gallant whom she met each day at church, and whose admiring glances had aroused love in her heart; but Giovanna, less fearful, boldly answered her master's question, and assured him that he had no cause for alarm.

Then Rigoletto bade his daughter a loving farewell, and departed; for he never dared to remain long with her, for fear his absence from Court should be noticed.

No sooner had he gone than the young Duke of Mantua suddenly appeared in the courtyard, having at last discovered the abode of his new love, and determined to seek an interview with her that night; and rushing forward, he clasped Gilda in his arms, declaring that he loved her. Giovanna, having secretly received a purse of gold from the Duke upon his entrance, quietly departed into the house, and the pair were thus left alone in the courtyard.

Gilda was at first alarmed at finding herself alone with the stranger, whom she quickly recognised as the handsome cavalier whose ardent glances had thrilled her at her morning devotions; but, utterly unable to resist the passionate wooing of the Duke, she at length submitted willingly to his caresses, and admitted that she loved him in return. The cunning gallant described himself as a poor scholar, who would nevertheless make a humble home for her; and Gilda was filled with rapture at the thought that no barrier of rank would thus separate her from her lover.

Presently, approaching footsteps in the street beyond warded them that this sweet interview must end; and the Duke, fearful of discovery, bade the maiden a hasty, but passionate farewell, and quickly hurried away. Then Gilda, gazing lovingly after his retreating figure, reluctantly entered the house; but not before she had been seen by the newcomers, who were none other than Count Ceprano, Marullo, and their companion plotters, who, masked and cloaked, had come to carry out the plan of vengeance on Rigoletto which they had arranged the night before.

They were astonished at the beauty of the Jester's supposed mistress, but ere they had time for further comment on the matter, they were suddenly confronted by Rigoletto himself, who, being uneasy in his mind, had returned to take another look at his daughter's sanctuary.

Marullo, quickly seeing additional zest for their scheme in this unlooked-for interruption, gaily accosted the Jester, and making himself known, invited him to join in their enterprise; and to deceive the poor hunchback further he declared that they were about to carry off the wife of Count Ceprano, and take her to the Duke.

Rigoletto, thus imagining that his own secret treasure was not sought, quickly fell into the trap, for Ceprano's palace was situated on the opposite side of the street, a circumstance which gave credence to the story; and delighted to assist in bringing dishonour upon one of his most hated enemies, he readily agreed to join the ravishers.

Marullo then declared that since the others were all masked, Rigoletto must also have his face hidden; and seizing a scarf, he bound it so tightly over the Jester's eyes and ears, that he could neither see nor hear. He next made his victim hold the ladder they had brought against the wall of his own house, and then he and his companions, hardly able to restrain their mirth at the trick they were playing, climbed up to an open window above, and made their entry.

Rigoletto, holding the ladder below, still imagined that it was his enemy's house that was being entered; and when the ravishers presently returned, bearing Gilda in their arms, he rejoiced, thinking that the victim was Ceprano's wife. His hearing being dulled by the tight bandages over his ears, he did not catch the stifled cries of the poor girl as she was quickly borne away; and it was not until the maskers were far out of his reach that he discovered he had been left alone.

Then, tearing off his bandage with difficulty, he saw that the ladder was leaning against the wall of his own house; and realising the cruel trick that had been played upon him, he was filled with rage and despair. He rushed madly down the street towards the palace, trembling for the fate of his beloved child; and forcing his way to the ante-room adjoining the Duke's private chamber, he found his enemies already there. For the plotters had immediately brought their prize in triumph to their royal master, declaring her to be the mistress of Rigoletto; and the Duke had received her with joy, on recognising the lovely features of his own new lady-love.

When Rigoletto reached the ante-room, he passionately demanded to have his precious daughter restored to him, being filled with woe on learning that she was even now in the power of the Duke; but the courtiers, though astonished to know that she was his child, only met him with derisive laughter, utterly disregarding his frantic appeals for mercy.

But at that moment, Gilda herself rushed forth from the Duke's room, and flung herself in her father's arms, having heard his voice in the ante-room; and as the Jester quickly hurried her away, she poured forth into his ears the whole story of her infatuation for the handsome cavalier who had admired her in church, of his visit to her that evening, and of her despair on now discovering him to be but a base libertine, who only desired to use her as his plaything.

Yet, even in spite of this knowledge, the poor girl loved him still; and when Rigoletto swore vengeance on the false betrayer, she entreated him to spare her lover, whom she had already forgiven for the wrong he had done her.

But Rigoletto's anger against his royal master was so furious that nothing but death would satisfy his longing for revenge; and quickly sending for Sparafucile, the bravo, he bargained with him for a sum of gold to entice the Duke to his lonely inn and murder him there. A few days later Sparafucile returned, saying that his sister, Maddalena, had already brought herself before the Duke's notice, and enticed him into a promise to visit the inn that evening, when his murder would be easily accomplished during the night; and Rigoletto determined to take Gilda to the spot also, that he might convince her of her base lover's faithlessness, and so cure her infatuation for him.

So when dusk fell, the Jester and his daughter quickly made their way to a wild spot on the outskirts of the city; and on arriving at the bravo's lonely inn, Rigoletto drew the maiden into the shadows near a window, from whence they could see and hear all that took place in the room beyond.

A few minutes later, they saw the Duke, in disguise, enter the inn; and as Sparafucile left the room, after serving the guest with wine, his pretty gipsy-sister, Maddalena, took his place. The Duke at once began to make love to the girl, who, however, only laughed and teased him in return; and when Gilda thus saw for herself how soon her fickle gallant had forgotten her, and heard him utter the same sweet love-speeches to the gipsy-girl that he had whispered into her own delighted ears only a few evenings ago, she was filled with deepest grief.

Rigoletto, seeing that his daughter was at last convinced of her lover's faithlessness, was now eager to get her away from the inn, not wishing her to know of the tragic end in store for the false betrayer; and bidding her hasten home at once, he told her to disguise herself in the garments of a youth, which he had provided for her, and to then fly on horseback to Verona, where he would meet her later on. At first, Gilda could not bring herself to leave the spot; but when her father sternly repeated his command, she hurried away at once to obey his will.

Sparafucile now came out to learn his final instructions, and Rigoletto told him that after murdering the Duke, he was to place the dead body in a sack, that it might be ready for him to throw into the river Mincio that flowed close by. He then gave the bravo half of the money agreed upon between them, and promising to return at midnight with the remainder of the money, when he should expect to find the deed accomplished, he departed.

Throughout the evening, the unsuspecting Duke amused himself with the pretty decoy, Maddalena; and the gipsy-girl at length became so fascinated with him that she could no longer bear to think of taking his life, and a feeling of pity for his fate took sudden hold of her heart. She was therefore filled with repulsion when her brother next appeared and invited the guest to retire to rest in the upper chamber set apart for him; and when, after a last tender glance at her, the Duke had mounted the rickety stairs and stretched himself on the couch above, she besought Sparafucile to spare the young man's life, declaring she felt a tender interest in him.

But Sparafucile muttered angrily that the hunchback's gold was more to him than the gay cavalier's life; and it was not until Maddalena again passionately implored him with tears in her eyes to grant her request, that he at length agreed on a compromise. He promised to spare the cavalier only on condition that some other stranger called at the inn before midnight, whom he could slay instead, and pass off to the hunchback as his victim; and with this, Maddalena was forced to be content, though she felt little hope of gaining her wish, since it was a stormy night, and no strangers were likely to call.

Now, the whole of this conversation between the brother and sister had been overheard by Gilda; for, though she had been to her home and changed her garments for male attire, according to Rigoletto's orders, she had been unable to resist the temptation to return to the inn that she might look once again upon the features of the man she still loved so dearly.

She arrived just in time to hear the gipsy-girl pleading for the life of the Duke; and realising that he was about to be murdered, she was overcome with horror. But on hearing the condition by which he might yet be saved, a wild enthusiasm filled her heart; and she resolved heroically that since her own life was ruined by a hopeless passion, she would sacrifice herself for the sake of her faithless lover.

Having commended her soul to Heaven, she calmly approached the door and knocked; and instantly there was a dead silence within. Maddalena trembled on hearing the sound; but Sparafucile drew his dagger, and upon a second knock being heard, he flung open the door and fiercely stabbed the supposed youth standing there. Gilda fell to the ground without a single word; and hastily producing a sack, the brother and sister fastened the body within it.

It was now midnight; and a few minutes later, Rigoletto entered, and paying down the remainder of the money promised, demanded his victim. Sparafucile produced the sack, and not wishing his trick to be discovered, suggested that the body should be immediately thrown into the river, and offered his assistance for this purpose.

Rigoletto, however, declined the offer, desiring to gloat over his victim alone; and when the bravo had reluctantly relinquished the sack, he dragged it a few yards distant, and then sat down to rejoice over his fallen enemy. But at that moment he heard the sound of a voice singing in the upper chamber of the inn; for the Duke had been awakened by the talking below, and was now indulging in gay snatches of song.

Instantly recognising the voice as that of the Duke, Rigoletto was filled with amazement and angry disappointment; and furious at having been thus cheated of his prey, he tore open the sack, and by the light of the moon beheld the beloved features of his own beautiful daughter!

Horror-struck, the poor hunchback lifted his child in his arms, and wildly implored her to speak to him once again; and Gilda, who was still breathing, opened her eyes and murmured a few words, saying that she had willingly given her life to save that of her lover.

She then sank back, dead, in her father's arms; and Rigoletto, suddenly remembering the curse that had been laid upon him for having mocked at a distracted parent's grief, realised that his retribution was just, and, with a despairing cry of woe, fell senseless beside the prostrate body of his beloved child.

IL TROVATORE, OR, THE GIPSY'S VENGEANCE
(_The Troubadour_)

During the Middle Ages there lived, in the kingdom of Arragon--one of the powerful divisions of Spain--a proud nobleman, known as the Count de Luna, whose two young sons were the joy and pride of his heart.

The Count loved his children so dearly that he could not bear to think of ill befalling them; and so, when he was told one day that the youngest child, who was still but a babe, had suddenly fallen sick, he was much alarmed, although the ailment was only a trifling one.

Thus it happened that when darkness fell the devoted nurse of this high-born babe was bidden to keep watch over her charge throughout the night; and when the anxious Count and his household had retired to rest, the faithful attendant began her vigil. Gently she soothed the sick child until he fell asleep; and then, through the long hours of darkness that followed, she kept a patient watch in the silent chamber.

The babe slept peacefully all through the night, and at last the grey dawn appeared. Then, quite suddenly, the nurse heard a sound as of someone moving in the room, and knew that she was no longer alone; and quickly springing to her feet, she beheld a strange and alarming sight.

Standing close beside the sleeping child was an old Zingara, or Spanish gipsy-woman, clad in curious fantastic robes, gazing with fierce, dark eyes upon the little one, who was now moving restlessly in his sleep. With her skinny arms upraised as though uttering an incantation, and her piercing eyes fixed upon the slumbering child, the old Zingara looked such a malevolent figure that the startled attendant shrieked aloud with terror; and her cries very soon aroused the whole household.