Chapter VII: Part IV: The Twilight of the Gods (6)

The King's Son could scarce believe his companion to be aught but a fairy, so fresh and fair were her looks; and his eyes grew more and more tender as, in answer to her wondering questions, he told her the uses of his flashing sword, of his father's kingship, of his own yearnings and dissatisfaction, and of his wanderings and adventures, in which he had learned to brave dangers, to despise wounds, and to take a proud delight in freedom and the joy of living.

The little goose-girl listened, enthralled and spellbound, to his every word; and when, at the end of his recital, the King's Son asked her if she had ever heard of anyone so foolish before, she put her hands in his and said earnestly:--"Nay; with thee I'd go, for thou hast grown so dear to me!"

For answer, the King's Son clasped the maiden in his arms in a tender embrace, telling her that she should indeed wander forth with him, since she was his love and he was hers; and after a long passionate kiss, the lovers remained silent for a while, too happy for words and lost to their surroundings.

Suddenly, however, a gust of wind blew off the goose-girl's wreath; and springing up in dismay, she ran after it. But the King's Son picked it up first, and thrusting it into the bosom of his tunic, declared he should keep it as a love token; and though his companion wept and entreated him to restore it to her, since it was precious in her sight as the symbol of her maidenhood, he refused to give it up.

Then, seeing that she still grieved for it, the King's Son unfastened a small bundle he had with him, and drawing from it a golden crown, he made as though he would place it upon her head in place of the one she had lost. But the goose-girl was afraid, and refused to allow him to place the crown on her head, declaring that she liked her own pretty flower wreath better, since she cared nothing for gold and jewels, but only wanted love and peacefulness; and the King's Son flung the golden crown into the grass, and putting his arms around the maiden, offered her his love once more and the protection of his good sword, if she would go forth with him.

The goose-girl said that his love was the only thing she valued, and that she would now gladly go with him; and, hand in hand, the happy pair ran to the edge of the wood. There, another strong gust of wind nearly took their breath away, and the straying geese came flocking around the goose-girl, who now stood stock-still and terrified, as she remembered the witch's parting words; and when the King's Son impatiently asked her what was wrong, she cried out wildly that she dared not leave the place, since a magic spell had been cast over the bushes and that they were holding her back.

The King's Son, not understanding her terror, but thinking that she cared more for her geese than for his love, was offended and declared that he would leave her if this was the case; and when the goose-girl, once more failing to free herself from the spell of magic she felt was cast around her, and fearful of the consequences of her disobedience to the witch, sank sobbing to the ground, the royal youth, beside himself with wrath and disappointment, poured forth angry reproaches upon the poor girl, declaring that a beggar-maid such as she was not fit to mate with kings, and that she would never behold him again unless a miracle should happen--until a star of light should fall from the heavens above into the opened heart of her closed lily-bud.

With these words the King's Son rushed away into the depths of the forest, and was quickly lost to sight; and the goose-girl, overcome with despair, flung herself face downwards on the grass, weeping and wailing because she had not been born a kingly child and the equal of her royal lover, whom she believed would not then have deserted her, forgetting that, if she had but conquered her fears, she would not have lost him.

She was quickly roused from her grief, however, by hearing the approaching steps of the witch; and hastily picking up the golden crown which still lay in the grass beside her, she slipped it over the head of her favourite goose and drove the bird behind a neighbouring bush just as the old dame appeared.

The witch, nevertheless, quickly guessed that a stranger had been with the girl, whom she forced to tell her the whole story of the visit of the King's Son; and then, hearing approaching sounds of music played upon a fiddle, together with men's voices, she cuffed the weeping maiden and bundled her into the hut, slamming the door just as three more strangers issued forth from the wood.

These were a fiddler, a woodcutter, and a broom-maker, who had all come thither to consult the witch, having been sent with an important message to her from the councillors and inhabitants of the town of Hellabrunn; but the two latter were a couple of cowards--though they had boasted of their great courage before setting out--and now that they had at last reached their goal, they trembled with fright, and would gladly have returned without delivering their message, in spite of the reward they had been promised.

The fiddler, however, was a seer, or wise man, who, having a brave and pure heart, had no fear of evil influences; and boldly marching up to the hut, he knocked long and loudly at the door, which was instantly opened by the witch, who angrily bade the three strangers begone if they valued their lives.

The woodcutter and the broom-maker shivered in their shoes on hearing these words, being mortally afraid of the dealer in magic; but the fiddler, after merrily paying a number of flowery compliments to the old hag, whose sour visage he pretended to admire, bade the quaking pair state their business.

In fear and trembling, the two cowards began to mumble out their message; but the fiddler soon pushed them to one side and told the tale himself. He stated that the good people of Hellabrunn had recently lost their beloved old King, who had died without leaving an heir to succeed him; and since they longed for a new and glorious ruler to place upon the empty throne, the present ambassadors had been sent to the wise witch-woman to ask if, by means of her magic, she could tell them where they could quickest find the ruler they sought, who might be either a prince or a princess, but who must be of royal birth and of the kingly kind.

Even as he spoke, the fiddler caught sight of the little goose-girl peeping out of the window; and recognising at once by her noble air that she must be of royal birth, he was filled with joy, and knew that here he should find a queen, at least.

He said nothing of what he had seen, however, but made a sign to the maiden to keep in hiding for the moment; and in reply to the petition, the old witch, eager to be rid of her unwelcome visitor, and remembering that the King's Son had departed towards the town, told the ambassadors that they might ring the joy-bells in Hellabrunn next day, since he who was of royal birth and worthy to be their King, even though he might come without pomp and poorly clad, would be the first person to enter their town at noon on the morrow--adding, moreover, that the townsfolk were all fools, and through their own stupidity would as likely as not lose the good King they sought; with which parting shaft, she retired into the hut and slammed the door once more.

The broom-maker and the woodcutter chuckled as they realised that by bringing this good news, they would certainly gain the fine reward which had been offered by the councillors and greybeards of the town; and the fiddler, disgusted with their mercenary natures, drove them away from the place, and then returned alone to the hut, determined to free the captive maiden, whom he felt sure was of royal birth.

He soon forced the old witch to bring forth the goose-girl; and when he had heard the old dame's story of how she had come by the child, he proved by a corresponding story he now remembered that the maiden was indeed of royal birth, and declared that she should come away with him to reign as Queen in Hellabrunn, since she was worthy to be the bride of the King's Son, who was to enter the town as its ruler on the morrow.

Full of joy on thus learning that she was a kingly child, the goose-girl quickly fetched out the hidden golden crown she had refused to wear that morning; and shaking down her long golden hair, which fell like a dazzling mantle around her, she placed the crown upon her head.

Twilight had now fallen; and the goose-girl, longing for a sign that she should indeed behold her royal lover once again, fell upon her knees and prayed for a token to be given to her; and, to her joy, a star of light fell from the heavens above into the heart of her beautiful golden lily-bud, which opened at that moment to receive it.

And now, full of exultation as she remembered the words of the King's Son, the goose-girl, no longer afraid of the old witch, whose power over her was thus broken, ran quickly out into the dark woodlands, closely followed by the happy fiddler, who sang merrily to the cheerful music of his fiddle; and the angry old hag was left alone, deprived of her captive, to curse and grind her teeth with rage.

Early next morning the worthy folk of Hellabrunn turned out in good time, in order to decorate their town and make preparations to receive their promised King; for the woodcutter and the broom-maker had returned the evening before with the news that the first person to enter the city gates at noon next day would be the royal ruler they desired--and, inflated with their own importance and eager to gain additional praises from the people, they gave out that the new ruler would come in a golden car, be clad in dazzling garments, and be surrounded by a splendour of great glory.

The consequence was that when the eventful day dawned, the expected royal stranger was already in their midst, unknown to anyone; for the King's Son, footsore, ragged, and travel-stained, had entered the town the evening before, passing through the gates unnoticed, being merely regarded by the gate-keepers as a poor beggar.

But the royal youth, though faint with hunger and weariness, was too proud to beg; and finding a sheltered spot behind the swine-pen adjoining an inn which stood at the entrance to the town, he passed the night there.

He slept until late in the morning, and then arose wearily; and knowing nothing of the excitement that prevailed in the town, he wandered into the yard of the inn. Here he was greeted by the inn-keeper's daughter, who had seated herself thus close to the town gates in the hope of being the first person to welcome the expected King; and being possessed of handsome looks, he greatly attracted the coquettish maiden who was eager for a new sweetheart, and always ready for a flirtation.

She ordered a maid to bring out for the hungry stranger some food, which, however, was so coarse that the King's Son could not touch it, though he gladly drank a little of the sour wine that accompanied it; and then the inn-keeper's daughter drew him aside and made him sit down with her upon a bench, brazenly inviting him to kiss her. But the King's Son refused to do so; and when he presently drew forth the little goose-girl's wreath of flowers from the bosom of his tunic, and pressed it tenderly to his lips instead, the bold hussy, furious at the rebuff, boxed his ears and rushed away into the inn in a pet.

The King's Son, heedless of the girl's tantrum, put the wreath back into his tunic, longing for the time when he should see his beloved one again; for he had long since regretted his hasty words to her of the day before, and knew now that she was his love for ever.

To such straits had he been reduced by his wanderings, however, that, since he was too proud to beg for food, he determined to work for it; so when the inn-keeper presently appeared in the courtyard, he asked him for employment, and gladly accepted the lowly work of a swineherd which was all the busy landlord had to offer him.

By this time a bustling crowd of townsfolk in gala attire had gathered together in the square before the closed city gates; and the worthy councillors and elders seated themselves on a decorated daïs, ready to receive the expected King, all chattering at once, every now and again stopping to listen eagerly to the exaggerated tales of their previous day's adventures told by the woodcutter and the broom-maker. The latter had brought his fifteen children with him, one of whom, a pretty little flaxen-haired girl of ten summers, immediately noticed the King's Son, and hastened to make friends with him; and the royal youth gladly played with the fair child, grateful for her welcome.

The King's Son next inquired the reason for the gay assemblage; and on learning that the people were actually in need of a king, and were, in fact, even now expecting a stranger of royal birth presently to appear in their midst, whom they were prepared to acclaim as their ruler, he for the moment, rejoiced, feeling that he, himself, must be the King prophesied for them. Too soon, however, he realised that they were not worthy to be the people of a great king, for when he described to them the kingly qualities of true nobility they should hope to find in their coming ruler, they all laughed him to scorn, declaring that they only looked for one who would do as their smug councillors bade him.

Then, seeing also that they expected their new King to appear before them in dazzling garments, he asked them if, supposing the stranger came before them clad in ragged or travel-stained apparel instead, they would still have sufficient wisdom and discernment to recognise him as of royal birth by his kingly bearing and nobility of heart; and when, in reply, they ridiculed the idea that royalty could be recognised by any other means than by obviously royal garments, the King's Son felt such contempt for their small-minded vulgar conception of kingship that his dark eyes flashed with scorn, and he passionately denounced them as unworthy to be the subjects of a real king.

A hubbub quickly ensued, since the dull, self-satisfied townsfolk were offended at hearing such home-truths from a ragged stranger; and when the inn-keeper's daughter now came forward and maliciously declared that she had supplied food to him for which he had not paid, the people accused him of being a thief, and rushed upon him with sticks, declaring that they would beat the life out of him.

At this moment, however, their hands were stayed by the clanging of the noon-tide bells, which suddenly rang out; and all the people drew back as the town gates were flung wide open, since this was the hour at which they expected the royal stranger to appear.

To their amazement and disappointment, however, no gorgeous king stood before them; but through the open gates there passed the fair young goose-girl, still clad in her short ragged gown, but with a golden crown upon her long, flowing locks. She was attended by her flock of faithful geese, and closely followed by the fiddler; and all the people stared in astonishment as she addressed the King's Son, holding out her arms to him and telling him that she was now worthy to wear his crown, since her love had cast out all her fears, and she would evermore be true and faithful to him.

The King's Son, full of joy, rushed forward to clasp the beautiful maiden in his arms, pouring forth sweet tender words of love and devotion, and addressing her as his queen.

On hearing the poorly-clad strangers thus addressing each other as king and queen, the crowd burst forth into peals of derisive laughter; and though the fiddler eagerly declared that the loving pair were indeed of royal birth and entreated his neighbours to receive them as their rulers, bidding all to observe that they possessed the noble bearing that only belonged to kingly children, the stupid people of Hellabrunn would have none of them, but drove out the King's Son and the beautiful royal goose-girl with contumely from their town, and closed the gates upon them.

Only one amongst them all believed the words of the fiddler; and this was the broom-maker's little flaxen-haired daughter, who flung herself weeping upon the ground, crying out aloud that they had driven forth from their midst the noble and gracious kingly children who had been sent to rule over them.

But no one paid any heed to the weeping little child, for all were too busy hustling the poor fiddler off to the town gaol, where they kept him for many months as a captive, because he had asked them to accept a couple of ragged strangers as their rulers.

Not satisfied with this, they also sent a party of stalwart men to seize the old witch, since they considered that she had deceived them, whereas, for once in her life, the old dame had told them the truth; and they burnt her at the stake as a dealer in magic which was of no avail.

When at last the fiddler was released from prison, it was winter-time; and he would certainly have starved had not the broom-maker's little flaxen-haired daughter brought him food, and helped him to reach the witch's deserted hut, for he was still lame from the broken leg he had received when dragged off to prison. He gladly made friends with the little maid, and was filled with great gladness when she told him that she had persuaded all the other children in the town into the belief that the luckless pair of strangers whom their parents and elders had so stupidly driven from their midst were indeed the expected King and Queen whose coming had been prophesied--the kingly children who were worthy to be their rulers; and one day, all the children came trooping out through the snow-clad woods to entreat him to go forth with them to seek the royal lovers whom they believed were still wandering in the forest.

At first the fiddler, wishing to spare them from exposure to the cold, asked them to wait until the spring should appear; but when they told him that by that time the kingly children might have perished, he agreed to go with them and guide them in their search.

That same day, whilst they thus talked together, the broom-maker and the woodcutter appeared with the news that the fiddler had now been forgiven by the townsfolk, who desired him to return to them, and cheer them with his merry music once more; but the fiddler indignantly refused to dwell with people who were too stupid and mean-spirited to understand the true meaning of noble kingship, and who had not the discernment to recognise a king, even though he came before them in humble garments. He turned aside, therefore, and led the children away into the woods to begin their search; and the broom-maker and the woodcutter took shelter for awhile in the hut, shutting the window and door to keep out the cold.

The Hellabrunn children were right in their belief that the royal wanderers were still in the forest; for, a little later in the day, the King's Son struggled out into the snow-clad glade, bearing in his arms the beautiful goose-girl, who was too exhausted and numbed with cold to walk another step. During the months that had passed they had found many sheltered spots in which to rest and partake of the scanty food which the woodlands had yielded to them; but now, at last, they had come to the end of all their resources and were dying for want of food and from exposure to the cold.

Seeing that the hut was occupied, the King's Son knocked at the door, and when it was opened, entreated for some food for his companion; but the stingy pair within refused to part with anything without payment.

The King's Son was in despair, for he had no money left; then taking the golden crown which he had always managed to preserve until now, he broke it and offered half in payment for the ancient cake which the woodcutter had found in a cupboard, and which had been left there by the old witch. The greedy woodcutter, however, demanded both the pieces of gold; and the King's Son, now thinking only of his beloved one's dire necessity, eagerly flung the entire crown to him, receiving in return the precious stale cake.

The goose-girl revived somewhat for the moment after swallowing some of the cake, and insisted upon her companion taking some of it too; and then the pair talked happily together for awhile in their weak low voices, recalling the bright days of the autumn-time when they had sat together in the sunshine and decked one another with flowers.

But the cake they had partaken of was a poisoned one, and the King's Son and the goose-girl soon felt that they were dying; and as another storm began to blow and the snowflakes quickly covered the royal lovers as they lay in each other's arms, they kissed one another tenderly for the last time, and softly sank into the sleep of death.

And there they were found at last by the fiddler and the children of Hellabrunn, who all fell on their knees and wept for the sad fate of the royal pair who had come to a people who knew them not--a people who, in their folly and stupidity, had driven forth their promised king and queen to perish in the forest, thus shutting out from their midst the light of a great glory that might have been theirs, because they lacked discernment to recognise the fact that inward nobility of heart and mind makes for true kingship, and not the outward pomp of fine raiment and gorgeous surroundings!

Alas, short-sighted, misguided townsfolk! And, alas, poor rejected kingly children!

PAGLIACCI
(_The Mountebanks_)

It was the Feast of the Assumption, and the light-hearted inhabitants of a pretty village in Calabria had turned out in full force to make the most of the last day of a successful fair that had been held in their midst. The fair ground was crowded with holiday-makers, all bent on amusement, and a brisk business was carried on at the various shows and booths from morning till night.

A company of strolling players had been one of the chief attractions of the fair; and when during the afternoon, Canio, the master of the troupe, mounted the steps of his portable theatre, and, beating a noisy drum, invited the holiday-makers to attend the last performance to be given that evening, the announcement was hailed with great delight. The merry youths and maidens all signified their intention of witnessing the play, and then Canio, assured of a good audience, went to spend the intervening time at the village tavern, together with his friend Beppo, the Harlequin of the company.

The travelling theatre had been set up close beside a high wall that separated the fair ground from the country road; and no sooner had Canio departed, than his pretty young actress wife, Nedda, came out from the booth, and began to stroll towards this wall, as though expecting to see someone appear above it.

At the same moment, a hunchback named Tonio, who was clown to the troupe, quickly approached and addressed her in endearing terms; for, though distorted in mind as well as in body, the poor buffoon had yet fallen a victim to the charms of his master's wife, and had long awaited this opportunity to declare his love. But the pretty Nedda, who hated and despised the hunchback, only laughed in derision at his protestations; and when the eager Tonio, rendered reckless by his passion, attempted boldly to seize her in his arms, she angrily snatched up a whip that was lying near, and began to belabour him with it. The wretched hunchback was now obliged to beat a hasty retreat; but, full of rage at her scornful treatment of him, he determined to revenge himself upon her, and slunk off with evil in his heart.

As Nedda heaved a sigh of relief after watching Tonio vanish in the crowd, she heard her own name softly uttered in tender accents; and, seeing the form of a handsome young man appearing above the wall, she hurried forward with delight, this second intruder on her solitude being as welcome as the first had been distasteful. For the pretty young actress had already wearied of her husband, whose coarser nature, and rough, almost savage love, repelled her; and so, when Silvio, a rich young farmer in the district who had fallen in love with her at the theatre, found an opportunity to declare his passion, she had quickly returned his love, finding relief and pleasure in his gentler manners and softer moods.

The lovers met in secret every day; for Nedda, though constantly afraid of her husband's anger should he discover the intrigue, was yet daring enough to seek happiness at the risk of danger; and now Silvio had come for a last interview, knowing that the troupe were to depart on the morrow, since this was the final day of the fair.

The rustic youth quickly scaled the wall; and, clasping his sweetheart in his arms, he besought her to fly with him that night, and leave a husband who was no better than a tyrant, and a life that was distasteful to her. For a short time, Nedda tried to resist Silvio's pleading, begging him not to tempt her; but at length, overcome by his passionate entreaties, she yielded, and promised to meet him that night after the last performance was over at the theatre, that they might escape away together.

Whilst the lovers were thus engrossed, Tonio returned, and watched this pretty scene for a few moments unobserved; and then suddenly seeing in this incident a means of revenging himself upon Nedda for her disdainful treatment of himself, he crept softly away, and departed to the village tavern to disclose to Canio the story of his wife's faithlessness.

On hearing the hunchback's tale, Canio was overwhelmed with rage and jealousy, and instantly returned with him to the theatre; and he arrived on the scene just in time to see Silvio disappearing over the wall and waving a tender farewell to Nedda, who answered him lovingly from below, repeating her promise to meet him after dark.

Enraged at this proof of his beautiful wife's infidelity, the injured husband ran forward to intercept the departing lover; but Silvio was already on the other side of the wall, and beyond his reach. Canio then turned furiously upon the trembling Nedda; and roughly seizing her by the arm, he demanded the name of her lover. But Nedda, though terrified by her husband's angry words and threatening aspect, boldly refused to betray the man she loved; and Canio, maddened by her refusal, impetuously drew his dagger from its sheath, declaring that he would kill her.

At this moment, Beppo appeared, having followed his friend from the tavern, fearing that something was wrong; and, hearing Canio's threat, he sprang forward, at once, and snatching the weapon from his hand, begged him to calm himself and prepare for the evening's performance at the theatre, since the holiday-makers were already clamouring for admission.

After much trouble, Canio was at length persuaded to remember the duties of his profession, and to release Nedda, who quickly escaped to the theatre; and having thus pacified his friend for the time being, Beppo began to make preparations for the approaching entertainment. The hunchback, too, seeing now that he must wait a little longer before carrying out his plan of vengeance, begged his master to dress for the play, cunningly suggesting that Nedda's lover would probably attend the theatre that night, and thus give them an opportunity of attacking him; and at last, Canio, full of grief and despair (for he loved his wife passionately in his rough, savage way), was persuaded to take part in the comedy, although a tragedy was in his heart.

A lively audience of village lads and maidens now quickly filled the benches that had been placed before the open stage; and those who could not get seats, stood on the rising ground at the back, all chattering together and eager for the play to begin.

Amongst those who managed to get a place near the front was the handsome Silvio, who, as Tonio had predicted, had not been able to resist the temptation of watching his sweetheart from afar; and when Nedda, now clad in her stage dress as Columbine (which part she took in the play) presently appeared amongst the audience to collect the entrance money, he whispered in her ear a tender reminder of their meeting later on.

As it happened, the play chosen for performance that night, by a strange coincidence, proved to be a burlesque of the very incidents the actors themselves had just experienced, and the unsuspecting audience, though they little guessed it, were to be regaled with a page from real life, a repetition of the events that had occurred unobserved by them outside the theatre that afternoon--a comedy that was to end in a tragedy!

When the curtain went up Columbine (personated by Nedda) was discovered waiting for her lover, Harlequin (played by Beppo), whom she was about to entertain to supper during the absence of her husband, Punchinello. An idiot-servant, Taddeo (played by Tonio), entered after the opening speech, carrying food for the supper; and after placing the viands on the table, he began to make a grotesque declaration of love to Columbine, causing much laughter amongst the audience. Columbine, however, scornfully rejected his addresses, and bade him begone, and Harlequin, who entered through the window at that moment, soon drove off the importunate servant, and sent him to keep watch below. Harlequin and Columbine next went through an exaggerated love-scene, the faithless wife yielding to her lover's request to fly with him that night; and then, just as they settled down to enjoy the feast together, Taddeo ran into the room again, announcing in dramatic tones to Columbine that her husband had just returned home unexpectedly, and was already vowing vengeance on her for entertaining a stranger during his absence. With a parting injunction, Harlequin very ungallantly disappeared through the window, following the example of Taddeo, who had already decamped in another direction; and just as Columbine called out a tender farewell to her departing lover, Punchinello (personated by Canio) dashed into the room.

Until now, the play had been a most amusing burlesque, and the audience had been kept in a state of constant laughter at the many ridiculous situations; but with the entrance of Punchinello, they quickly saw that more serious work was to follow. Now, it happened that Nedda, as Columbine, in her farewell speech to Harlequin, had unconsciously made use of the very same words she had addressed to her real lover in the afternoon; and Canio, remembering only too well the speech that had brought such despair to his heart, gave vent to his jealous rage once more, and, forgetting the words of the play, he seized his wife by the arm, and again demanded the name of her lover. Nedda, surprised and alarmed by this unrehearsed incident of the play, went on with her Columbine speeches, and for a short time Canio returned to his part of Punchinello, and the play proceeded. Columbine explained to her enraged spouse that it was only the foolish servant Taddeo who had been her guest at supper, and Taddeo, being discovered hiding in a cupboard, made a ludicrous speech, beseeching Punchinello not to doubt the fidelity of his wife, declaring in exaggerated terms that she would never deceive him. These words caused Canio's suppressed passion to break out once more, and, forgetting all but his own wrongs, he once more ordered Nedda to reveal the name of her lover, declaring passionately that he was Punchinello no longer, but the husband she had deceived.

The audience had at first been delighted at what they considered the fine acting of the injured Punchinello, frequently giving vent to enthusiastic rounds of applause; but now they began to grow restless, feeling uncomfortably that such an intensity of passion could hardly be assumed. It was in vain that Nedda endeavoured to go on with the words of the play; and, seeing that her maddened husband was in deadly earnest, she only sought to defend herself. In spite of his threats, she utterly refused to declare the name of her lover; and at last, driven to madness by her refusal, Canio, in a frenzy of jealousy, drew his dagger and plunged it into her heart.

The audience, no longer deceived, but now seeing that a real tragedy was going on before their eyes, uttered loud shrieks of dismay; and Silvio, full of horror and despair, sprang upon the stage at a bound, and, lifting his dead love in his arms, implored her in grief-stricken accents to speak to him once again. But Canio leapt upon him instantly, knowing now that the handsome young farmer was his rival and the cause of his woe; and with a second stroke of his dagger, he laid the bereaved lover dead beside his stricken mistress.

For a few moments, the frenzied Canio stood dazed and stupefied, gazing upon his dreadful handiwork; and then, as the spectators sprang forward to seize him, he yielded himself quietly into their hands, muttering as they led him away: "The comedy is finished!"

CAVALLERIA RUSTICANA
(_Rustic Chivalry_)

It was Easter morning, and the inhabitants of a certain pretty little village in the island of Sicily were wending their way towards the church to join in the customary special service of praise and thanksgiving in honour of the festival. They were light-hearted, peaceful peasants, who worked hard for their living, and so were glad to rejoice and be merry on feast days; and though shut off from the outside world, like other island folk, they had considerable pride, and jealously guarded the honour of their native village. As they approached the church this bright Easter morning, their simple hearts were filled with joy and gratitude for the life of peaceful calm allotted to them; and yet, though they knew it not, a tragedy was even now being enacted in their midst.

Turiddu, one of the handsomest youths in the village, had become a soldier, and before going off to the wars, had obtained the promise of his sweetheart, Lola, to remain faithful to him, that they might be wed on his return.

But the pretty Lola found the waiting time long and wearisome; and, at last, tiring of an ever-absent lover, she accepted the advances of Alfio, the prosperous village carrier, who had a comfortable home to offer and loved her dearly.

So when Turiddu at length returned from his military service, he found his faithless sweetheart the wife of the happy Alfio; but though filled with disappointment and grief, he determined in his pride not to let Lola see that he cared aught for his loss. To this end, knowing that he was looked upon with favour by another fair village maiden, named Santuzza, he began to pay his addresses to her with much ardour; and he pursued his false wooing with such success that in a very short time he had not only stolen this poor girl's heart, but her honour, also.

Now, when Lola saw that Turiddu had taken a new sweetheart in her place, she was filled with unreasonable resentment; and all her old love returning with the sting of jealousy, she sought to draw him back to her side once more, regardless of her wifely vows to Alfio. Nor did she find her task a difficult one; for Turiddu's passion for her had never altered, although he had found comfort for a time in the smile of Santuzza, and he gladly accepted her invitation to resume their old sweet intercourse.

Every day the lovers met in secret, being careful to keep all their movements concealed from the unsuspecting Alfio; and for a little while they were able to rejoice in their lawless love.

But the secret did not long remain hidden from the betrayed and deserted Santuzza, who still passionately loved Turiddu; and when she discovered that he had returned to his old love she was filled with grief and jealousy. For a while, she kept the secret to herself, hoping to persuade the man she loved to come back to her, and give up his dangerous intercourse with Lola; but when after many weeks had passed, and still Turiddu came not, she determined to go and seek him out.

Having learnt from a neighbour that her false lover had been seen lingering near the abode of Alfio on the previous evening, she made her way, full of misery, to the abode of Turiddu's mother, Lucia, a cottage situated near the church in an open square. Here she waited until Lucia came out from the cottage, ready for church; and then, hurrying towards the good dame, she asked her where Turiddu was to be found.

Lucia replied that her son had gone a few days ago into the neighbouring town of Francoflute to fetch wine, and had not yet returned; but Santuzza declared this could not be true, since he had been seen in the village only the evening before. On hearing this, Lucia was surprised and troubled; for, although she knew nothing of Turiddu's secret love, his movements had been mysterious to her of late, and she had felt that all was not right with him.

Just then, Alfio, the carrier, entered the square with his team, singing a merry song as he drove by. He stopped at the cottage to ask for a cup of wine, and upon the name of Turiddu being mentioned, he told Lucia, with a sudden frown, that her son had been lurking near his own cottage that very morning, and had been seen there several other times of late. Lucia was about to say more on the subject, when Santuzza, not wishing to betray her faithless lover, made a sign to her to desist; and a few moments later Alfio went off with his team, but with a troubled look on his face, for a suspicion as to Turiddu's object in haunting his wife's abode now flashed across his mind for the first time.

When he had gone, Santuzza, unable to bear her grief in silence any longer, determined to take Lucia into her confidence; and, in despairing tones, she now poured out the whole wretched story to the dame--how Turiddu, in pique, had won her love and betrayed her, deserting her in order to return to his former sweetheart, Lola.

Lucia listened to this sad story with grief in her heart for the sin of her son, and pity for the unhappy girl he had wronged; and when it came to an end, she folded Santuzza in her arms, and said that she would offer prayers for her comfort even now. She then went into the church, which was already filled with worshippers singing their Easter anthem; but Santuzza remained weeping by the cottage door.

Presently, she saw Turiddu enter the square, and, hurrying forward eagerly, she greeted him with reproaches, passionately imploring him to return to her love once more. But Turiddu, who had come to look for Lola on her way to church, was in no mood to hear the reproaches of Santuzza; and he declared that her pleadings were in vain to move him, for she was nothing to him, and Lola's love was all he wanted.

At this moment Lola herself came by, singing on her way to church, and seeing Santuzza and Turiddu together, a momentary wave of jealousy seized her. She began to mock at them both for choosing the public square for their love-making; and when Turiddu tried to draw her away with him, she shook herself free, and scornfully bade him stay with his beloved Santuzza. She then turned away with a careless laugh, and went into the church, and Turiddu, rendered furious at her mocking words, which had been incited by the presence of her rival, turned angrily away from Santuzza, and bade her leave him.

The wretched Santuzza, however, refused to be dismissed; and again she implored him to have pity and return to her loving heart once more. But Turiddu declared cruelly that everything was now over between them, his love for Lola being all-absorbing, and when Santuzza clung to his arm in her wild eagerness, he flung her passionately from him, and hastened into the church, heedless that she had fallen to the ground.

Poor Santuzza lay for a few moments where she had fallen; and when she had recovered sufficiently to raise herself, she saw that Alfio the carrier had returned to the square again, and was standing close beside her. Maddened by Turiddu's cruel treatment, she now determined to be revenged upon him, and, turning eagerly to Alfio, she related to him the story of his wife's intrigue. She kept nothing back, not even Turiddu's betrayal of herself, and Alfio knew from her deep distress and passion that she spoke the truth, which his own recently awakened suspicions too surely confirmed.

The injured husband listened with grief and rage in his heart, and when the story came to an end, he exclaimed vehemently that all his love for his faithless wife was now changed to hate, and that he would surely avenge himself speedily upon the betrayer of his honour.

Santuzza was terrified at the tumult of passion she had thus raised, and would gladly have recalled her words, could she have done so; but Alfio flung her detaining arm from him, and fled away to collect his agonised thoughts.

The service at the church was now at an end; and the worshippers came pouring forth into the square, laughing and rejoicing together, for the rest of the day was to be spent in merriment.

Turiddu and the pretty Lola came out together with happy faces, for the careless girl's jealous outburst had quickly flown; and as they passed a little inn at one side of the square, Turiddu snatched up a cup of wine from a table that stood without, and drank it off to the health of his sweetheart. Lola recklessly responded to the pledge; and then, Turiddu carried away by the delirium of the moment, began to sing a lively drinking song, in which he was heartily joined by the merry bystanders.

As the song came to an end, Alfio suddenly broke into the group; and from his pale, set face, and the look of suppressed passion in his burning eyes, it soon became plain to all that some fearful act was in contemplation. The women drew together, and began to whisper in frightened tones; but the men called out a friendly welcome to Alfio, who returned their greeting with calmness.

But when Turiddu, still keeping up his gay tone, offered the newcomer a cup of wine, and boldly invited him to drink to their friendship, Alfio refused with the utmost scorn, and he declared in resentful tones that wine offered by Turiddu was to him but deadly poison. On hearing these words, Lola uttered a cry of fear, knowing now that her wronged husband had discovered all; and, full of despair, she allowed herself to be led away by the trembling women, who quickly guessed that she was concerned in the quarrel, and were eager to remove her from the scene.

Turiddu also saw that his secret was known by the man he had wronged, but was not afraid to meet the consequences of his guilt; and seeing that Alfio meant to satisfy his honour by fighting, he went boldly forward and made the first challenge himself. This he did by biting the left ear of his opponent, according to the local custom of the island; and at the same time, he took all the blame of the intrigue upon himself, and begged Alfio not to deal harshly with Lola.

Alfio calmly accepted the challenge, and, leading the way to a garden near by, he bade Turiddu follow him, that they might fight there undisturbed. As Turiddu followed, he stopped at the door of his home and called for his mother, and when Lucia hurried out, alarmed at his excited tones, he begged her in case he was killed, to guard and care for poor Santuzza, whom he had so cruelly wronged. He also implored her to bless him and pray for his forgiveness; and then, with a last tender embrace, he drew his dagger, and rushed into the garden to begin the duel.

Lucia was terrified at her son's aspect, and guessed at once what had happened; and when, at that moment, Santuzza ran up, asking wildly for her lover, she folded her in her arms with a sobbing cry.

Suddenly, a loud shout of "Turiddu is slain!" came from those who had followed to watch the fight, and as the cry was taken up in the square, Lucia and Santuzza, grief-stricken, sank senseless to the ground.

Thus was rustic honour satisfied, and Alfio avenged of his wrongs; but the bright Easter morn that had dawned so joyously ended in gloom and the dark shadow of death!

ROBERT THE DEVIL
(_Robert le Diable_)

A brilliant scene was taking place in the port of Palermo one day in the beginning of the eleventh century, for a large number of noble cavaliers and knights had lately arrived from various cities in Europe to take part in a grand Tournament to be held there, and all were talking about the great event as they greeted one another and quaffed wine together.

The Tournament was to be held under the auspices of the Duke of Messina, the hand of whose daughter, the beautiful Princess Isabella of Sicily, was offered as the prize of victory; and it was for this reason that so many of the proudest knights in Christendom had determined to enter the lists, for the fair Princess was indeed a dazzling reward.

Amongst the latest arrivals was a handsome young knight, whose rich equipment and splendid train of attendants quickly attracted the attention of the assembled cavaliers, and excited their curiosity as to who he might be; for he was unknown to them, though not a stranger in Palermo. This newcomer was in reality Robert, Duke of Normandy, who had gained for himself the ill-famed title of "Robert the Devil"--a name which, though first bestowed on him from the supposition that his father had been a fiend, he had afterwards fully earned by his own recklessly wicked conduct, which had at length resulted in his expulsion from Normandy.

During his subsequent wanderings and adventures in Europe, Robert had made the acquaintance of the lovely Princess of Sicily, for whom he had instantly conceived a true and deep passion; and Isabella, though warned by his evil reputation, had quickly returned his love, being irresistibly attracted by his handsome looks, and the glimpses of a noble nature which he exhibited when in her presence.

His wild and passionate disposition, however, quickly led him into a violent outburst of jealous rage against his beloved one's father, who did not encourage his suit, and not content with insulting the proud ruler, he also challenged all his knights to combat. This brought disaster upon him, for the Duke of Messina's angry knights were too powerful for him to overcome, and soon compelled him to take to flight.

Robert was in despair at the result of his rash conduct, for Isabella was deeply offended, and though still secretly loving him well, seemed inclined to favour the addresses of the Duke of Granada, whose suit was constantly urged by her father. But when the Tournament and its prize for victory were shortly afterwards announced, Robert determined to seek pardon of the Princess, and enter the lists as a candidate; and to this end he now arrived in Palermo with a gorgeous retinue, displaying every mark of extravagant splendour.

Now, in all his evil pleasures and wild excesses, Robert had always been aided and encouraged by a sinister-looking knight, named Bertram, who was his constant companion, and who, though he knew it not, was in reality his fiend-father; and so, upon arriving in Palermo, this favoured friend was in close attendance upon the young Duke as usual.

Robert greeted the assembled nobles in a courtly manner; and then, observing that some Norman troubadours were also in the company, he tossed a piece of gold to one of these, and bade him sing a lay. The minstrel, whose name was Raimbaud, at once stepped forward; and little guessing that it was his royal master who stood before him, he announced to the expectant lords that he would sing to them the true story of Normandy's ill-fated young Duke known as "Robert the Devil."

He then tuned his harp, and began his lay, relating how the proud Princess Bertha of Normandy, after scornfully refusing many noble suitors, at length accepted the love of a stranger prince, who was, in truth, a fiend in disguise. He went on to describe how the son of this strange marriage was young Robert, called the Devil, because, inheriting a love of evil from his demon-father, he had constantly indulged in wicked excesses of every kind; and led away by the excitement of his theme, the minstrel portrayed the vices of Normandy's banished Duke in the glowing colours of popular dread.

Strange to say, Robert himself had never before heard the story of his supposed fiend-father; and as he listened to the minstrel's lay he became so full of rage that when it came to an end he could no longer restrain his feelings. Haughtily announcing that he himself was Robert of Normandy, he commanded his attendants to seize and hang the troubadour without delay; and instantly the wretched Raimbaud, realising what a terrible mistake he had made, fell on his knees, entreating for mercy. He declared that he had not recognised his royal master, for whom he had brought an important message; and he added that he and his betrothed, a young village maiden, had come to Palermo together for this very purpose.

On hearing this, Robert now declared that he would take the village maiden in compensation for the minstrel's life; and ordering Raimbaud's release, he sent for the girl, promising her as a prize to his cavaliers. The unhappy Raimbaud uttered a cry of woe; but the gay cavaliers quickly surrounded the pretty maiden he had indicated, squabbling fiercely as to which should obtain possession of her.

The poor girl cried aloud for mercy; but as she was helplessly dragged forward, Robert himself ran to her aid, for he had instantly recognised her as his foster-sister, Alice, with whom he had played as a child, in Normandy. He quickly released her from the rough hands of her lawless captors, and as the cavaliers fell back, grumbling at the loss of their prey, proclaimed that the maiden was under his protection, for the sight of her sweet, innocent face had roused within him once more the better feelings of his childish days.

He then asked her how she came to be in Palermo, and Alice replied that she and her betrothed, Raimbaud, had deferred the day of their union, in order to bring a message to their royal master from his sainted mother. In answer to Robert's eager questions, she told him that Princess Bertha was now dead, and that her last message to her erring son had been that as she prayed for him on earth, so would she also never cease to pray for him in Heaven.

Full of grief at hearing of the death of his mother, Robert told Alice that naught was left to him but despair, since he had also had another terrible trouble to bear; but on relating to her the story of his now hopeless love for Isabella, the village maiden comforted him greatly by declaring that she would seek out the Princess, and implore her to pardon him. But suddenly catching sight of the sinister knight, Bertram, she trembled violently, saying that his dark face reminded her of a picture she had once seen of the Evil One; and seeing that he was about to approach, she crept away to rejoin her released lover.