STORIES FROM THE OPERAS

ISOLDA SNATCHED THE CUP FROM HIS TREMBLING HAND, & DRANK.

STORIES FROM THE OPERAS

BY
GLADYS DAVIDSON
Author of "Two Hundred Opera Plots,"
"The Old Testament Story"
PHILADELPHIA
J. B. Lippincott Company
Printed in Great Britain

PREFACE

Owing to the appreciation which has been accorded to my three series of "Stories from the Operas," it has been decided to re-issue the collection in one volume, and to include in this additional stories of new and popular operas recently produced in England.

The plan of the work, as before, is to present all the incidents of each libretto in the clear, readable form of a short story; and it is hoped that the combined volume will continue to prove of interest, not only to opera-goers but to all lovers of dramatic tales. The three volumes have been entirely reset and re-collated in a manner which it is hoped will make them easier for reference.

AUTHOR'S ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

I wish to express my best thanks to the following Publishing Houses and holders of copyrights for their kind permission to include in this volume the stories of the various operas selected, and for the helpful information they have given me regarding libretti, etc.:—

Messrs. Ascherberg, Hopwood & Crew, Ltd., London. (For Mascagni's Cavalleria Rusticana and Leoncavallo's Pagliacci.)

Messrs. Boosey & Co., Ltd., London. (For Auber's Fra Diavolo, Flotow's Martha, and Meyerbeer's Robert the Devil.)

Messrs. Breitkopf & Härtel, Leipzic. (For Wagner's Lohengrin and Tristan and Isolda).

Messrs. Brockhaus, Leipzic. (For Humperdinck's Königskinder.)

Messrs. Chappell & Co., Ltd., London. (For Gounod's Faust.)

Messrs. Cramer & Co., Ltd., London. (For Offenbach's Tales of Hoffmann.)

Covent Garden Opera House Management. (For courteous assistance.)

Herr Adolph Fürstner, Berlin, W.10, and Herr S. Fischer Verlag, Berlin, W.57. (For Strauss's Elektra and Rosenkavalier.)

(The story of Elektra is published by authorization of Herr Adolph Fürstner, Berlin, W.10, and Herr S. Fischer Verlag, Berlin, W.57. Copyright, 1908, by Adolph Fürstner, Berlin.)

(The story of Rosenkavalier is published by authorization of Herr Adolph Fürstner, Berlin, W.10. Copyright, 1909, by Adolph Fürstner, Berlin, W.10.)

Messrs. Frederick Harris, London. (For Verdi's Il Trovatore.)

Messrs. Heugel et Cie, Paris. (For Thomas's Mignon.)

Messrs. Hutchings & Romer, London. (For Wallace's Maritana.)

Mr. Charles Manners and the Moody-Manners Opera Company. (For Tschaikovsky's Eugene Onegin.)

Messrs. Novello & Co., Ltd., London. (For Beethoven's Fidelio, Bellini's La Sonnambula, Meyerbeer's Star of the North, Verdi's La Traviata and Rigoletto, and Wagner's The Flying Dutchman and Tannhäuser.)

Messrs. Rendle & Co., Ltd., London. (For Bizet's Carmen and Gounod's Philemon and Baucis.)

Messrs. G. Ricordi & Co., London. (For Puccini's La Bohème, Madam Butterfly and Manon Lescaut.)

Messrs. Schott & Co., Ltd., London. (For Wagner's The Mastersingers, The Nibelung's Ring and Parsifal.)

Herr Josef Weinberger, Vienna. (For Wolf-Ferrari's The Jewels of the Madonna.)

G. D.

CONTENTS

LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS

AUBER

STORIES FROM THE OPERAS

FRA DIAVOLO

One bright Easter Eve, early in the nineteenth century, a lively group of carbineers were gathered together in the inn of Terracina near Naples, drinking success to the enterprise they were engaged upon; for they were just about to attack a horde of brigands supposed to be in that neighbourhood, and were expecting to meet with many exciting adventures.

The captain of the outlaw band, Fra Diavolo, was the most celebrated bandit in Italy, and fully justified his sinister name, for his daring raids and impudent roguery had made him a terror to the country-side, and the mere mention of his name caused peaceful travellers to tremble in their shoes.

All previous attempts to capture the cunning outlaw had proved ineffectual; so when at last a troop of carbineers was sent out from Naples to lie in wait for the whole band, joy was felt in every village round about, and the peasants hoped to be freed from their dreaded enemy at last.

The soldiers had been awaiting news at the inn of Terracina, but on learning that Fra Diavolo and his rogues had been seen in the neighbourhood, they at once received orders to start off in pursuit. In merry haste, they drank the stirrup-cups poured out for them by old Matteo, the inn-keeper, and his pretty daughter, Zerlina; for a price had been set upon the head of Fra Diavolo, and they were eager to win the reward.

But the captain of this gay troop, a handsome young brigadier named Lorenzo, sat alone at a side table, full of gloom; and when the inn-keeper presently invited all the company to attend the wedding of his daughter with a neighbouring farmer on the morrow, the look of sadness on his face deepened still more.

For Lorenzo, on arriving at the inn, had quickly fallen in love with the pretty Zerlina himself, and when he had declared his passion for her, the maiden had gladly responded with an answering love as deep and tender as his own. But Matteo, the inn-keeper, would not hear of his daughter wedding a poor brigadier who had naught but his wretched pay to live upon, and to settle the matter he hastily arranged a marriage for her with Francesco, a well-to-do young farmer who came forward as a suitor just at this time. Negotiations were quickly made, and the ceremony fixed to take place on Easter Morn; and now, on the evening before, Zerlina, compelled to obey her parent's will, was bidden to say farewell to her portionless lover.

Whilst the two were whispering together in a sad undertone, a loud noise of excited voices was suddenly heard without, and next moment a lady and gentleman rushed wildly into the inn, both dishevelled, and showing signs of great alarm. They declared in agitated tones that they had just been set upon by a band of fierce brigands, who had robbed them of all their jewels and available property, and they added that it was only by leaving the robbers in undisputed possession of their travelling carriage that they had been able to escape with their lives.

Whilst Zerlina ran to attend to the exhausted lady, the gentleman, who was extremely fussy in manner, introduced himself as Lord Allcash, an English peer of great wealth touring through Italy with his newly-wedded wife, explaining that it was scarcely a mile away that their postillion had been stopped by the bandits.

On hearing this, Lorenzo exclaimed that it must have been the very band of outlaws he had been sent to capture—that of the famous Fra Diavolo—and calling his men together, he bade them march forth to the hillside at once. Full of joy, the carbineers sprang to their feet and hurried from the inn, eager for their expected prey; and with a last sad farewell to the now weeping Zerlina, Lorenzo quickly followed.

Lord Allcash immediately sat down to write out a notice, offering a reward for the recovery of his stolen property; and his wife, having noticed the tender parting between Zerlina and her lover, drew the girl aside and asked the cause of her trouble. Having learnt that it was only a matter of dowry that kept these two loving hearts apart, the lady, being of a sentimental disposition, persuaded her husband to make the reward a thousand ducats, hoping that the prize would be gained by the handsome Lorenzo, who would thus become an eligible suitor for the inn-keeper's daughter.

The notice was then fastened in a prominent place; and Lord and Lady Allcash were just about to retire to the private apartments that had been hastily prepared for them, when a splendid carriage suddenly drew up at the inn door. A handsome man, of gay débonnaire appearance, stepped lightly to the ground, and bowed gracefully to the English tourists; and Lady Allcash, to her delight, recognised a charming fellow-traveller who had followed in their wake for several days past, and with whom she had more than once indulged in a pleasant flirtation.

But her husband uttered an angry exclamation, for, being somewhat dull and stupid himself, he was already jealous of his coquettish wife's brilliant admirer; and seizing her by the hand, he led her into an inner chamber, very much against her will.

The gay newcomer, who gave his name as the Marquis of San Carlo, entered the inn and ordered a repast, announcing that he meant to remain the night; and old Matteo bustled his servants about in high good-humour, blessing the good fortune that had brought two great lords to his hostelry on the same day.

He informed the Marquis, with many humble apologies, that he himself would be absent from the inn until morning, since he intended to spend the night with his future son-in-law, Francesco, who was to be married to his daughter on the morrow; but he assured him that every possible attention would be accorded to him during his absence.

So far from expressing annoyance at this announcement, the Marquis showed signs of pleasure, and as he sat down to the supper that had been quickly spread before him, he asked the landlord for the news of the neighbourhood. Matteo informed him that the talk of the country-side at that time was all of the daring bandit, Fra Diavolo, whose lawless band had only a few hours ago set upon and robbed the rich English lord and lady whom he had seen on entering the inn; and seeing that the Marquis was inclined to scoff at the notion of brigands, he bade his daughter sing to their guest a ballad well known to the peasants round about, in which the wild deeds of the famous robber were set forth in glowing colours.

Just as the song came to an end, two rough, swarthy men, wrapped in dark, ragged cloaks, entered the inn, and asked for shelter for the night; and when Matteo, suspicious of their rascally looks, declared that he did not harbour vagabonds, the Marquis good-naturedly begged him to grant their request, saying that he would gladly pay for their board and lodging. Matteo, though somewhat surprised at the great lord's generous offer, made no more objection, but ordered one of the servants to provide the tramps with food, and afterwards to lodge them in the barn; and then, bidding his noble guest farewell for the night, he set off to the farm of Francesco, calling to Zerlina to accompany him part of the way.

No sooner had the inn-keeper and his daughter departed, than the two vagabonds, casting hasty glances around, approached the Marquis and began to talk familiarly with him; for, though old Matteo little imagined it, the dashing guest he had served so obsequiously was in reality none other than the famous Fra Diavolo himself, now engaged on one of his most desperate enterprises! Having heard that a rich English lord and his lady were travelling through Italy, the daring brigand had determined to relieve them of all their available belongings, and to this end, being of gentlemanly aspect and manners, he had provided himself with fashionable attire, and made their acquaintance under the name of the Marquis of San Carlo. The coquettish Lady Allcash had quickly fallen under the fascinating spell of the brilliant Marquis, who, regardless of the fussy husband's black looks, had flirted desperately with her from the beginning; and, following in their wake from hotel to hotel, he had discovered under the pretence of friendly interest, the exact amount of all the valuables the wealthy pair had brought with them from England.

Having learnt that Lord Allcash intended to bank the sum of twenty thousand gold pieces at Leghorn, the disguised brigand had given orders to his band to waylay the travellers on their journey thither, and to possess themselves, not only of the gold, but also of the lady's handsome jewels; and he had also bidden two of the gang to follow him to the inn of Terracina, to give him an account of their raid.

These two rogues, whose names were Beppo and Giacomo, now told their daring leader that they had stopped the English travellers at the spot agreed upon; but though they had easily secured the diamonds and other jewels, they declared they had been unable to find the gold. On hearing this, Fra Diavolo was disappointed and perplexed, but declaring that he would quickly discover the whereabouts of the money, he bade the bandits retire to the barn to await his further orders.

As the two rascals departed, Lady Allcash entered the parlour, announcing carelessly that her husband was resting, and, being somewhat dull, she had come to indulge in a little conversation with the charming Marquis; and the disguised bandit, determined to make the most of this fortunate circumstance, plunged at once into another amiable flirtation with the frivolous lady. They were, however, quickly interrupted by the angry husband, who had no intention of being supplanted by a mere stranger; but the pretended Marquis, with careless ease, refused to quarrel, and cleverly inveigled the duped one into friendly conversation.

With great cunning he expressed sympathy with Lord Allcash in the loss of his valuables, enquiring casually if he had managed to save the large sum of gold he had been conveying to Leghorn; and with conceited pride, the Englishman replied that his own wits had served him in this matter. Having heard that bandits were in the neighbourhood, he had changed all the gold into bank-bills, which he had caused to be sewn up in the coat he was wearing, and also in the large sleeves of his lady's gown, and by this simple ruse he had managed to cheat the robbers.

Whilst they were talking together, and Fra Diavolo was inwardly rejoicing at the information he had gleaned, approaching footsteps were heard outside, and next moment, Lorenzo and his carbineers hurried into the inn, exclaiming that they had gained a victory. Having cut off the brigands' retreat, they had caught the whole band in an ambush, and, attacking them unawares, had quickly killed twenty of their number, after which the remainder had fled away in a panic.

Zerlina, who had also returned, quickly hastened to the side of her lover, rejoicing to see him again so soon; but Lorenzo declared that they must set off again immediately, for they had not yet captured the leader of the band, and could not rest until that deed was accomplished. He had, however, good news for Lord Allcash, whose lost valuables he had himself recovered from one of the bandits; and to the great delight of the travellers, he placed their jewels before them once more.

Lady Allcash now announced that Lorenzo was entitled to the reward offered for the recovery of the jewels, and demanding her husband's pocket-book, which he had already replenished from his hidden store of bank-bills, she took therefrom a note for a thousand ducats, and handed it to the young brigadier. Overjoyed at the good fortune that had so suddenly made him even richer than his rival Francesco, Lorenzo clasped Zerlina in his arms with delight, knowing now that there was nothing to keep them apart; and declaring that he should return on the morrow to wed her, in spite of the farmer, he hurried off with his men to search for the brigand chief.

All this time the disguised Fra Diavolo had been gnashing his teeth with rage, inwardly furious at the defeat of his band, and vowing vengeance for the death of his brave rogues, yet outwardly compelled to preserve the unconcerned demeanour of the gay Marquis; but as soon as an opportunity occurred, he slipped from the inn and made his way to the barn where Beppo and Giacomo had been lodged for the night.

He quickly arranged a scheme for again robbing the English travellers of their jewels, and also of the bank-bills hidden in their clothing; and having bidden the bandits to join him a short time later, he returned to the inn parlour to gather further information for the perfecting of his plans.

It was now getting late into the night, and at last Zerlina led Lord and Lady Allcash to their sleeping-chamber, which lay beyond her own; and in answer to the lady's request, she remained a little while to assist her in disrobing.

Whilst the maiden was thus absent, her own chamber was entered by the supposed Marquis, who had discovered that this was the only means by which the English lord's apartment could be reached; and creeping on tip-toe to the window, he opened it to admit Beppo and Giacomo, who were now waiting outside. Informing them in a whisper that they would have to wait until the girl had also retired to rest before they could accomplish their purpose, the bandit captain led them towards a large lumber-cupboard, with glass doors, at one end of the room; and here the three concealed themselves just as Zerlina returned.

Having already ascertained that all in the house had retired to rest, Zerlina at once prepared for bed; and as she undressed, she sang softly to herself, for joy was in her heart. She knew that her father would no longer refuse her in marriage to her beloved Lorenzo, since the brigadier had now a fortune even larger than Francesco's, and she felt that the young farmer could soon be persuaded to resign a bride who would never have loved him.

Catching sight of her pretty figure in the mirror on her dressing-table, she was suddenly struck with her own good looks, and with a thrill of innocent pleasure she uttered aloud a few words of admiration for the charming reflection before her, to the great amusement of the hidden bandits, who kept indulging in sly peeps through the glass doors of the cupboard, and could hear every word uttered in the room beyond. Several times they nearly betrayed their presence; but Zerlina was too much occupied with her own pleasant thoughts to think of any lurking danger. She was soon ready for rest; and having uttered a prayer for protection during the night, she put out the light and retired to bed.

Having waited until the maiden's regular breathing assured them that she was asleep, Fra Diavolo and his two rascals crept forth from their hiding-place and made their way towards the door of Lord Allcash's apartment; but on passing the bed, Beppo suggested in a whisper that they ran a great risk in leaving Zerlina free to rouse the household, should she be awakened by any noise they might make. Fra Diavolo replied that if he had any such fear, he had better silence the maiden once and for all; and seizing his dagger, Beppo crept to the bedside.

But just as he raised his arm to strike, Zerlina murmured softly in her sleep, repeating the sweet childish words of her simple prayer, and the brigand, conscience-stricken, let his arm fall limply to his side again.

At that moment a loud knocking was heard outside at the inn door, and the voice of Lorenzo shouted eagerly for admission; and finding that their enterprise must now be delayed a little longer, Fra Diavolo and his companions quickly withdrew to the cupboard once more, just as Zerlina, awakened by the noise, sprang out of bed.

Hastily dressing herself, the girl ran to open the window, and discovering to her joy that Lorenzo and his carbineers were waiting below, she threw a key down to her lover, bidding him let the men into the kitchen. She then finished dressing, and was just about to go below, when Lorenzo, impatient to greet her, entered the room; and almost at the same time Lord Allcash issued forth in hasty attire from the chamber beyond, indignantly demanding the cause of the disturbance.

Lorenzo explained that he and his men had hopes of soon securing Fra Diavolo, for after pursuing him in a wrong direction on the hillsides for some time, they had casually learnt from a peasant that their quarry had been seen on the Terracina road. They had consequently retraced their steps, but deeming it necessary for his men to have a few hours' rest, having been long on the march, he had called in at Matteo's hostelry for that purpose. Zerlina quickly ran off to provide the carbineers with food, but Lord Allcash detained the brigadier a few minutes longer to listen to a pompous tirade against a country where peaceful travellers were set upon by brigands in the day-time, and roused thus rudely from their slumbers at night. Suddenly they were startled by a loud noise within the cupboard, for Beppo, by an awkward movement, had accidentally overturned some heavy object he had not noticed in the darkness. Fra Diavolo, however, was instantly ready with a subtle scheme to save the situation, and as Lorenzo and Lord Allcash crossed to the cupboard to discover the cause of the noise, he stepped forth, coolly smiling and bowing with the easy grace of the brilliant Marquis.

In answer to the indignant questions poured upon him, he blandly declared that he had concealed himself in the cupboard to keep a tender assignation; and by the aid of his clever wit, he led the Englishman to suppose that his intended meeting was to have been with Lady Allcash, whilst Lorenzo imagined that Zerlina was the expected fair one.

The young brigadier, filled with grief at this seeming proof of Zerlina's defection, instantly challenged the man he supposed to be her lover to a mortal duel, a challenge which was gaily accepted by the pretended Marquis, who arranged to meet him at seven o'clock next morning in a rocky pass near by.

Lady Allcash, attracted by the angry voices, now appeared on the scene, only to be met by indignant upbraidings from her outraged husband; and when Zerlina presently returned to announce that food was ready below, Lorenzo turned coldly aside and refused even to speak to her.

All was now confusion and dismay; and in the midst of the general disturbance, Fra Diavolo and his companions managed to escape unobserved from the inn.

Bidding Beppo and Giacomo return to the barn, and there await his further instructions, which he would convey to them next morning in a note concealed in a hollow tree near the inn, the bandit captain hastened to his familiar haunts on the mountain-side, and there, with the remnant of his scattered band, he arranged a third plot for the capture of the English travellers' wealth. It was decided that when Lorenzo came to keep his appointment for the duel in the rocky pass, he should be instantly surrounded and killed by a few ambushed rascals, and that when all the party from the inn had departed to the village church for Zerlina's wedding, and the carbineers had started on their march, the captain and remainder of the band should make a quiet raid on the hostelry and possess themselves of the treasure they had so long desired. Having completed his plans, Fra Diavolo wrote them down on a note for Beppo and Giacomo, bidding them to give him notice directly the inn was deserted by ringing the bell of a little hermitage on the hillside; and this message he slipped into the hollow tree agreed upon.

Just before seven o'clock next morning Matteo arrived at the inn with the young farmer, Francesco, and the rest of the wedding party, and poor Zerlina, who had vainly tried to learn the cause of Lorenzo's sudden coldness to her, was filled with despair. Seeing that the young brigadier was just about to depart with his carbineers in search of the brigand chief, and was making no attempt to prevent her marriage with Francesco, she ran to him once again, imploring him to say in what way she had offended him; and Lorenzo, still believing her to be false, at last declared in tones of suppressed anger that she had betrayed him by concealing another lover in her chamber the night before. He then hastened away to place himself at the head of the troop, remembering his appointment with the Marquis at seven o'clock; and his distracted sweetheart was left more mystified than ever.

At that moment, however, her attention was attracted by the two vagabonds, Beppo and Giacomo, who were drinking together at a little side-table close beside her; for having secured the captain's note, they were now awaiting the opportunity to carry out his instructions. Seeing Zerlina approach, Beppo nudged his companion, reminding him that this was the same pretty maid they had watched at her toilet the previous evening, and carried away by the amusing recollection, he repeated in a loud whisper the words of admiration she had uttered when standing before the mirror.

Every word of this careless whisper was heard by Zerlina, who was filled with amazement, and feeling sure that some mysterious plot was on foot, she called aloud to the carbineers to seize the two tramps, declaring they had just repeated certain words she remembered to have uttered when she believed herself alone in her chamber the night before.

Instantly the two rogues were seized, in spite of their struggles to escape, and as the carbineers searched them for proof of their guilt, they found the note containing the whole of Fra Diavolo's cunning plot.

Lorenzo, determined that the famous robber should not escape his hands this time, quickly decided to catch him in his own trap; and bidding the wedding guests retire within the inn, he ordered the carbineers to conceal themselves on the hillside down which Fra Diavolo intended to come. He next dispatched Beppo to toll the hermitage bell, with two soldiers hidden close by, covering him with their carbines; and then, concealing himself behind some bushes with Zerlina and Lord and Lady Allcash, he waited to see the result of his ruse.

The wretched Beppo, not daring to disobey the command given him, began to toll the hermitage bell, and almost immediately afterwards Fra Diavolo appeared on the hilltop. Although now attired in the gorgeous garb of a brigand chief, the hidden watchers instantly recognised him as the gay Marquis who had successfully deceived them all, and, amazed at the discovery, Lorenzo's contrite eyes sought Zerlina's in a silent appeal for forgiveness, whilst Lord and Lady Allcash joined hands in token of renewed good-fellowship.

Seeing that Beppo still tolled the bell undisturbed, Fra Diavolo concluded that all was well, and gaily descended the hillside with confidence; but at a sign from Lorenzo, the carbineers sprang suddenly from their ambush, and seized him ere he had time to realise his danger. In another moment his arms were tightly bound and shackled, and as he was led away between two files of carbineers, a loud cry of triumph arose from the spectators now assembled below, who all rejoiced together at the capture of the dreaded bandit.

A few hours later, Zerlina's wedding was celebrated in the little village church, and the happy bridegroom who joined hands with her that day was not Francesco the farmer, but Lorenzo, the proud vanquisher of the famous Fra Diavolo.

THE BOHEMIAN GIRL

One bright summer day, towards the end of the eighteenth century, high revels were being held in the little city of Presburg, on the Danube; for a merry troupe of Austrian soldiers had just returned from the wars, flushed with success, and elated by their victorious invasion of the fair, but unhappy land of Poland.

The gayest scene of all took place in the beautiful grounds before the castle of Count Arnheim, their leader, for here preparations were being made for a great hunt, and the retainers and peasants on the estate were merry-making in honour of their lord's return.

Count Arnheim, accompanied by a number of neighbouring nobles whom he had invited to join in the chase, presently came forth from the castle, and as soon as he appeared, a loud shout of welcome arose from the whole party of holiday-makers.

Amongst these brilliant newcomers was the Count's nephew, Florestein, a conceited, foppish young man, whose gorgeous appearance was only surpassed by his foolish conversation; and in and out amongst the guests tripped little Arline, the heiress of Arnheim—a lovely child, who was the joy of her widowed father's heart.

The Count gravely acknowledged the hearty welcome accorded to him with a sad smile, for since the death of his beautiful young wife a deep melancholy had settled upon him, and the only joy he now knew was his love for his only child, Arline, who alone could comfort him. He did not care to join in the chase, but having seen that his noble guests had all they needed for their sport, he tenderly caressed his beloved child once more, and returned to the castle.

BALFE

The huntsmen now sounded their lively bugle calls, and when all were ready, the brilliant cavalcade moved off, climbing the hillsides, and disappearing behind the rocks and trees. The little Arline, after much coaxing, at length persuaded her attendant maid, Buda, to allow her to follow the hunters a short distance; and since all the retainers and peasants had also rushed off to watch the sport, the castle grounds were left quite deserted for a time.

Presently, a handsome young stranger, dressed in the garb of a Polish officer, ran into the gardens in a breathless and exhausted state, seeking a hiding-place; for a band of Austrian soldiers, whose vigilance the proscribed exile could no longer elude, were now close upon his track, and every moment he expected them to come in sight.

Poor Thaddeus of Poland! A scion of a noble family, he had bravely fought and bled for the freedom of his country, as a true patriot; but now, defeated and pursued, he wandered forth homeless, without friends or fortune, and his only hope to find some place of present shelter.

A statue of the Austrian emperor before the entrance to the castle warned the unhappy exile that he was on the very threshold of his enemies, and that this was no safe haven for him; and, full of despair, he was just about to make his escape, when a band of wild-looking gipsies suddenly swarmed into the grounds from the woodland glade, and quickly surrounded him.

The sight of these merry gipsies brought a sudden hope of safety to the wretched Thaddeus, and turning to their leader, a light-hearted, clever rogue rejoicing in the name of Devilshoof, he cried out eagerly: "Let me join your ranks! I am a homeless wanderer, without country, friends, or fortune, but I have youth, strength, and courage, which I will expend in your service if you will save me from my enemies, who are even now upon me!"

Devilshoof and his gipsy companions were so pleased with the boldness of the hapless young stranger that they were glad enough to let him join their ranks; and as his pursuers could already be seen approaching, they quickly stripped off his soldier's garb and dressed him in gay gipsy clothes. Whilst this quick change was being made, a roll of parchment with a seal attached fell to the ground, and Thaddeus, as he hastily snatched it up and hid it within his bosom, explained that it was his commission, from which he would never be parted, since it was the sole proof of his noble birth.

He had only just time to mingle with the other gipsies when the Austrian soldiers, who had pursued him so long, entered the grounds, and demanded news of the fugitive; but upon the wily Devilshoof carelessly announcing that a young Polish officer had passed up the hillside only a few minutes ago, they dashed off in that direction at once.

As they vanished out of sight, the triumphant Devilshoof seized the hand of Thaddeus in token of comradeship, swearing to befriend him all his life; and then he gaily led him off to watch the chase, followed by the rest of the gipsy band.

Meanwhile, the great hunt was going forward with much spirit, lively bugle calls sounding in every direction; but suddenly loud cries of alarm came from the woods, and a crowd of peasants rushed into the grounds, all talking at once, and seemingly full of distress. Upon the heels of this crowd came Thaddeus in his gipsy dress, and seeing that the people seemed distraught, he demanded what was wrong.

Learning from their excited cries that the little child, Arline—whom he had already seen and admired in the woods—had been set upon by an infuriated stag, he was filled with dismay, and snatching up a rifle that lay on a seat near by, he hurried off to her aid. He quickly reached the spot, and killed the maddened animal, and then he returned to the grounds with the rescued child and her terrified attendant.

The wild cries of the peasants quickly brought Count Arnheim upon the scene, and on learning of the danger his precious child had been in, he clasped her in his arms with great relief. Seeing, however, that her arm had been wounded by the stag's horns, he bade the nurse carry her within doors, and attend to her hurts; and then, turning to Thaddeus, he seized his hand, and poured forth words of gratitude upon him for saving the life of his beloved child, who was the one joy of his lonely heart.

On being next invited by the Count to partake of refreshment and join in the festivities, Thaddeus at first proudly refused, remembering that these were the enemies of his country; but the merry guests would not accept his refusal, and good-naturedly dragged him off to the refreshment tables that had been laid out near the castle steps. Here the company seated themselves, whilst a troupe of dancers went through a mazy figure before them; and presently the little Arline, with her wounded arm now bound up, appeared at an upper window with her nurse, to watch the revels.

When the wine-glasses had all been filled, the Count rose from his seat and invited his guests to drink the health of their Emperor; but, though everyone else rose to do honour to the pledge, Thaddeus remained seated, and did not touch his glass. The young fop, Florestein, soon noticed his attitude, and pointed it out to his uncle, and Count Arnheim immediately filled up another goblet and handed it to Thaddeus, challenging him to drink loyally to the health of the Emperor.

But the heart of Thaddeus was full of rage against the invader of his beloved Poland, and in answer to the Count's challenge, he seized the glass and dashed it to pieces at the foot of the Emperor's statue. Instantly there arose a chorus of indignation, and the guests leaped upon Thaddeus with drawn swords; and at the same moment, Devilshoof, the gipsy leader, who had been watching the scene for some time, sprang forward to protect his new comrade.

The enraged guests instantly attacked Thaddeus and Devilshoof, with intent to kill them both, but at a word from Count Arnheim, the huntsmen and retainers dragged the two gipsies apart, and marched them off in different directions. Thaddeus was led away towards the woods, where, however, he soon broke from his captors, and escaped to his gipsy friends; but Devilshoof was taken into the castle and locked in an upper room.

After this the guests settled down to their festivities once more, and the dancing and games continued with great merriment.

The waiting-maid, Buda, left her little charge for a short time, and went out into the grounds to assure the Count that his child was now recovering from her fright; and whilst she was away, the gipsy, Devilshoof, took his revenge for capture.

Having escaped from his prison chamber during the absence of the guards, and reached the castle roof, he gently lowered himself down to the open window of Arline's room, and stepping on to the sill, he entered, and shut the window behind him. He then snatched up the little child, and hurried from the room with her, and making his way along the deserted passages, escaped through a side door with his prize.

None of the revellers had noticed the gipsy's daring climb from the roof, and when Buda presently returned to Arline's chamber and found it empty, she was filled with amazement. Wildly she searched in every room, and then, uttering loud cries of alarm, she rushed outside, declaring that the child had been stolen. Quickly the nobles rushed into the castle, and finding that the captive gipsy had also vanished, they knew well enough that he had carried off the child in revenge.

When the Count heard the terrible news, he uttered a cry of despair, and at that moment, Devilshoof appeared on the hillside carrying Arline in his arms, and stifling her cries as he sprang from rock to rock. With a shout of rage, Count Arnheim and the nobles sprang after the spoiler, but Devilshoof ran to a deep gorge between two rocky cliffs, and having crossed over the tree-trunk that served as a bridge, he kicked it down into the gulf below, so that none might follow him further.

His baffled pursuers then took up their rifles, but the cunning gipsy held the little Arline in front of him, and they dared not fire. Count Arnheim, in a frenzy of despair, was about to fling himself into the gorge, but his guests seized his arms, and whilst they carried him back senseless to the castle, Devilshoof, still holding the child as a shield, made his escape, and vanished into the depths of the forest.

Twelve years had passed away, and the gipsy tribe, after many wanderings, were again encamped in the city of Presburg. On the open side of a quiet street the tent of the gipsy queen was pitched; and here, one moonlit summer night, Arline lay sleeping, whilst Thaddeus watched beside her.

All was quiet and peaceful, for it was growing late, and only one inn kept its lights burning; but presently a party of gipsies, wrapped in dark cloaks, entered the street, headed by the bold Devilshoof, who had brought them there to rob the late revellers as they left the inn. Quietly they crouched in the shadows and dark corners to await their prey; and in a short time their patience was rewarded, for a gorgeously-clad figure soon issued from the inn, and staggered down the street with uneven steps. This was Florestein, the foppish nephew of Count Arnheim, who, regarding himself as the heir of his wealthy uncle since the kidnapping of his little cousin Arline, squandered his own fortune recklessly, and spent all his time in feastings and revellings.

Seeing in this foolish roysterer an easy and profitable victim, Devilshoof accosted him at once, calling his companions about him at the same time; and in a few minutes they had stripped him of every valuable he had carried, for Florestein, being a coward as well as a fop, was too terrified even to cry out.

Having possessed himself of a rich jewelled medallion and chain, Devilshoof made his escape, leaving his companions to finish what he had begun; but whilst the exulting gipsies were eagerly dividing their spoils, another cloaked figure suddenly appeared in their midst. Full of surprise and dismay, they started back, for the cloaked figure was that of their own gipsy queen, and they could read anger in her mien.

With a haughty gesture she bade them instantly restore all they had stolen from their victim, and not daring to disobey her command, the gipsies sullenly handed back the rings, chains, and other jewels they had been so eager to secure.

"Is that all?" demanded the queen, and Florestein, in a voice trembling with fright, replied that he yet lacked a handsome gold medallion, set with diamonds, worth all the rest. The gipsies explained that Devilshoof had gone off with this jewel as his prize; and then the queen led Florestein away, saying she would protect him, to a place of safety, and beckoning to the gipsies to follow her.

When the street was quiet once more, Arline, who had been awakened by the noise, arose and came forth from the tent into the moonlight, followed by Thaddeus. These two had grown to be lovers during the years that had passed, and they only awaited the gipsy queen's pleasure to join their hands in marriage.

Arline had no knowledge of her noble birth, though she had always felt herself to be different from the careless gipsies with whom she lived, and to-night, as she stood in the moonlight, she told Thaddeus of a dream she had just awakened from, which seemed to bear a message for her. She had dreamt that she dwelt in marble halls, amidst great riches and splendour, bearing a high ancestral name; that countless suitors sought her hand; and yet, which charmed her most of all, that Thaddeus still loved her just the same.

When her story came to an end she begged her lover to tell her the secret of her birth, for she felt that he knew it, since he had already told her that a certain scar upon her arm had been caused by the charge of a wild stag, from which danger he had saved her years ago; but for answer Thaddeus only showered kisses upon her, for he knew full well that if he disclosed her true birth they must be parted.

Whilst they were thus folded in each other's arms, the gipsy queen—who also loved Thaddeus—suddenly returned, and, advancing towards Arline, angrily demanded how she thus dared to aspire to the love of one who was the chosen lover of her queen. But Arline was not afraid of her rival's anger; and standing aside, she said that Thaddeus should choose between them. Instantly Thaddeus folded her in his arms again, and then Arline, with a triumphant smile, turned towards the other gipsies who had now gathered round, and declared that it was their desire to be wed. Then Devilshoof, whose delight it was to make mischief and stir up jealousy, reminded the queen that it was her duty and right as a ruler of the tribe to join the hands of those of her subjects who desired to be united; and the queen, afraid of losing her authority should she refuse, came slowly forward, and haughtily placed the hand of Arline in that of Thaddeus, according to the gipsy custom of betrothal.

But she was full of inward disappointment and rage, and when Arline and Thaddeus presently wandered off in the moonlight, she turned upon Devilshoof, and passionately accused him of having brought this evil hour upon her, declaring she would only pardon him on condition that he yielded up to her the jewelled medallion he had stolen that night.

Devilshoof, though he feared naught else, dared not disobey the queen of his tribe, so he delivered up the medallion, but muttered vengeance as he strode away. The gipsy queen also thought of revenge; and as she hid the jewel in her dress, she laid a cunning plan for bringing trouble upon her rival by means of it.

Next day a great fair was held in Presburg, and all the gipsy tribe went to join in the revels. Arline and the other Bohemian maids took their tambourines, and sang and danced for the amusement of the holiday-makers; and many of the gay youths of the town sought to obtain favours from the pretty strangers.

Amongst these revellers was the fop, Florestein, decked in all his bravest attire, who was greatly struck with the beauty and grace of Arline; and seeing her standing alone one time, he swaggered up and made flattering remarks to her. Finding that his foolish speeches were not listened to, he next tried to snatch a kiss, but to his surprise and dismay, Arline turned sharply round upon him and boxed his ears!

As he turned away, angry and discomfited, the gipsy queen, who had been watching the scene, recognised him as the roysterer whom she had protected the night before, and running after Arline, she fastened the jewelled medallion round her neck, saying that it was a reward for her pretty conduct, but knowing full well that Florestein would soon see it, and accuse the girl of theft.

Having thus carried out the evil plan she had laid, the queen left the fair ground, and soon afterwards the rest of the tribe departed also. But just as Thaddeus and Arline were moving away, Florestein caught sight of his medallion hanging round the maiden's neck; and hurrying forward, he loudly accused her of having stolen it from him, rejoicing to thus bring trouble upon one who had repulsed his advances. Arline indignantly defended herself, but at the command of Florestein, she was quickly surrounded by the city guards, who seized and bore her off in triumph to the Hall of Justice.

Here Count Arnheim sat, waiting to do justice on those offenders who should be brought before him that day; for his high position had made him the Chief Judge of the district. The twelve years that had gone by had aged him very much, for all his efforts to trace his stolen daughter had been in vain; but never for a moment had he altogether given up hope, and never did he cease to think of the sweet little maid who had been the only comfort of his lonely heart.

He was thinking of her now as he sat in the Hall of Justice on the day of the fair; but presently his sad thoughts were rudely interrupted by the entrance of the city guards, with Arline in their midst, and Florestein bringing up the rear.

With swaggering, self-satisfied demeanour, Florestein approached his uncle, and in angry, excited tones, accused Arline of having stolen his diamond medallion; but Count Arnheim, greatly struck with the beauty and innocent looks of the young girl, who reminded him strangely of his own lost child, begged her to defend herself.

Then Arline explained in clear, sweet tones that the jewel had been but a short time ago bestowed upon her by the gipsy queen, who, she now saw, had intended to bring trouble upon her by this very gift; and she proudly declared that, rather than be accused of such baseness as common theft, she would take her own life. She drew a dagger as she spoke, but ere she had raised her arm, Count Arnheim, whose chords of memory had again been touched by the maiden's sweet voice, sprang forward and snatched the weapon from her hand.

His action was so sudden that Arline's loose sleeve slipped back from her elbow, disclosing the rough scar upon her white arm, and as the Count's gaze fell upon this wound mark, he turned suddenly pale, and in trembling accents demanded eagerly how she came by it. Full of surprise at his tone, Arline repeated the story of the maddened stag that Thaddeus had told to her, and Count Arnheim, knowing now beyond a doubt that this beautiful Bohemian maiden was indeed his long-lost child, clasped her in his arms with frantic joy, declaring to all that she was his beloved daughter.

And now Arline was quickly restored to the high position she had been born to; and as soon as the young girl had recovered from the strangeness of her new life, the proud and happy Count sent out invitations for a magnificent fête and ball, that he might introduce his lovely daughter to his friends in fitting style.

But on the night of the ball, Arline, dressed in richest garments, sat alone in one of the splendid salons of the castle, with a sad look upon her face; for she was thinking of her faithful lover, Thaddeus, and felt that she could never enjoy her new prosperity unless he shared it with her. The Count and his foppish nephew had just left her, at her own request; and as they went off to receive the first guests, she knew that Florestein, whom she greatly despised, was already petitioning her hand in marriage.

With a heavy sigh, her thoughts turned quickly to the free and happy past; and at that moment, the low window of the salon was suddenly opened, and Devilshoof entered from the grounds beyond. He begged her not to be alarmed, since he had but brought a message from his tribe, asking her to return to her old friends; and as he spoke, the window was opened again, and Thaddeus entered the room.

With a cry of joy, Arline rushed into her lover's arms, and when Thaddeus besought her to remember him sometimes, even amidst wealth and splendour, she declared that she cared naught for wealth and splendour unless he would love her still. As they stood there, folded in each other's arms, Count Arnheim's voice was heard as he conducted his guests towards the room; and Arline, fully aware that this was not the time to present her gipsy lover to her father, hastily thrust Thaddeus into a curtained recess, whilst Devilshoof escaped through the window.

In another moment Count Arnheim entered the salon with the early guests, and with a proud smile, took Arline by the hand, and introduced her to his noble friends.

Now, whilst Arline and Thaddeus had been rejoicing together, the gipsy queen had watched them without the window, with bitter rage and jealousy in her heart; for she still loved Thaddeus, and followed him wherever he went. She saw Arline hide him within the recess, and as the gaily-dressed guests afterwards trooped in, she quickly thought out a plan for revenging herself upon her rival. Opening the window, she softly entered the salon, and making her way to Count Arnheim, threw off her cloak, and declared that she had a message for him.

Greatly surprised at the appearance of this strange figure, the Count bade her speak on; and with a triumphant glance towards the now pale and trembling Arline, the gipsy queen cried: "The daughter you prize so fondly is deceiving you! She loves a gipsy of my tribe, and he is even now hidden in this room!"

She pointed to the recess as she spoke, and Count Arnheim, stepping forward, drew aside the curtain, and Thaddeus appeared before the eyes of the astonished guests.

Full of indignation and disappointment, the proud Count poured forth bitter reproaches upon the daughter he now felt to be unworthy of his love; and drawing his sword, he passionately bade Thaddeus depart ere he took his life.

The gipsy queen seized Thaddeus by the hand, and triumphantly tried to drag him away with her; but Arline ran to her lover's side, and turning towards the bewildered guests, begged them to leave her alone with her father. When the guests had all retired to the salon beyond, and only her father and lover remained, she fell on her knees and implored the Count to consent to her marriage with Thaddeus, whom she loved so dearly, declaring that she would rather die than live without him; but the Count only exclaimed the more against the disgrace to his name should his daughter wed an outcast gipsy.

On hearing this, the ancestral pride of Thaddeus could no longer be restrained, and caring naught for the danger it might bring, he haughtily declared that he was of as equally pure and noble birth as the Count himself, even though he wore the garb of a gipsy. He then told the whole story of his exile from Poland, and his reason for joining the gipsy tribe, and drawing forth his commission, from which he had never departed, he handed it to the Count as the proof of what he said.

Count Arnheim was greatly moved at the sad story told by the exile, and when he had glanced at the commission and read there that Thaddeus was indeed of noble birth, he took him by the hand, saying that the feuds of their countries should be forgotten, and that they should be friends. He then placed Arline's hand in that of Thaddeus, and the lovers embraced with great joy.

Meanwhile, the queen of the gipsies, who had left the salon when the guests retired, had gone in search of a young gipsy whom she knew to be devoted to her service, and bidding him bring his musket and follow her, she once more crept round to the open window of the salon. With gleaming eyes she watched the three figures within, and then, when she saw the lovers folded in each other's arms, she turned to the gipsy at her side, and, in a transport of jealous rage, bade him shoot Thaddeus instantly.

But Devilshoof had also followed closely upon her track, suspecting her evil design, and just as the musket was raised, by a dexterous movement he diverted the young gipsy's aim, and turned the muzzle upon the queen. There was a loud report, and a shriek, and the queen of the gipsies fell to the ground, slain by the shot she had intended for her lover.

FIDELIO

One bright summer day, during the seventeenth century, in the courtyard of a certain prison castle in Spain, the jailer's daughter, a pretty girl, named Marcellina, stood ironing linen in the doorway of her father's lodge; and though not in reality pressed for time, it pleased her to make a great pretence of being very busy, in order to avoid the attentions of Jacquino, the porter of the prison, who was constantly passing to and fro, and engaging in conversation with her.

It was quite in vain, however, that the amorous porter tried to get the maiden interested in his pretty speeches, for pert Miss Marcellina would have none of him to-day, and was even cruel enough to hint that her thoughts were with some more favoured suitor elsewhere; and Jacquino felt himself very badly used. For until lately, he alone had been the favoured swain of this rustic coquette; but since the recent advent of a new assistant, a handsome youth rejoicing in the name of Fidelio, the jailer's pretty daughter had looked coldly upon her old sweetheart, and bestowed all her most bewitching smiles upon the newcomer.

BEETHOVEN

It was of Fidelio she was thinking now, knowing that the youth would shortly be returning from an errand upon which he had been sent some hours before; and so, when a loud knock was presently heard at the outer gate, she was filled with joyful anticipation, and eagerly bade Jacquino unfasten the bolts at once, which the porter did very reluctantly and with much grumbling at such untimely interruption to his own suit. He was somewhat grimly pleased, therefore, when, on opening the gate, he admitted Rocco, the jailer, instead of the new assistant; but even this small satisfaction was short-lived, for almost immediately afterwards, his rival, Fidelio, appeared, and so laden with packages and baskets, that Marcellina ran to relieve him of them at once, commiserating tenderly with him on being thus heavily laden on so hot a day.

Now, in reality, though none suspected it, Fidelio was not the person he represented himself to be, but instead a lady of high degree, who had thus taken on the disguise of a youth from a very noble motive. Within this prison castle there were a number of political prisoners, who, though innocent, were the victims of despotic power, and pined in captivity, because some private enemy refused to speak the word that would have set them at liberty.

Amongst these prisoners was a certain Don Florestan, a nobleman, who, having had the misfortune to offend Don Pizarro, the governor of the fortress, had been by him accused of some slight political misdemeanour, and thrust into a deep dungeon of the prison. Having thus got his hated enemy into his power, the crafty Governor gave out clearly afterwards that he had died, so that he should not be released when his short time of imprisonment was over; and thus, by keeping him closely chained in the deepest dungeon, and slowly starving him, he hoped that the wretched man would really die, and his own private vengeance be thus satisfied without resort to actual violence.

However, his plans were to be frustrated from quite an unexpected source; for Don Florestan had a beautiful young wife, the Lady Leonora, who loved her husband so devotedly that, refusing to believe the report of his death, she determined to learn the truth at all costs, and, if he still lived, to rescue him from the hands of his unscrupulous enemy, Pizarro, who she knew would not hesitate to murder him so soon as he could do so without fear of discovery.

Being of a brave and heroic disposition, Leonora was not afraid to risk her life for the sake of the man she loved; and so, having donned masculine attire, she boldly made her way to the fortress where her husband pined in captivity, and, giving her name as Fidelio, humbly requested the jailer to engage her as his assistant, hoping that in this way she would at last discover how Don Florestan was faring, and perhaps be able to plan some means of escape for him. Rocco, the jailer, being greatly struck with the pleasant looks and manners of the supposed youth, very willingly took her into his service; and, since the new assistant was neat-handed, useful and obliging, he quickly became a favourite with all within the castle, to the great chagrin of Jacquino, who, being clumsy and somewhat dull, now found himself quite out of favour.

Poor Jacquino felt more aggrieved still when saucy Mistress Marcellina also showed preference for the newcomer whose handsome face and air of melancholy attracted her fancy and caused her to treat her old sweetheart with disdain; and when discovering in addition that his master, Rocco, favoured his daughter's new choice, he felt justly jealous of the unknown stranger who had so coolly supplanted him.

So to-day, as Marcellina and her father ran to relieve the supposed Fidelio of his burdens, Jacquino kept sulkily in the background; and presently he departed to perform some duties within the castle, determined to press his own suit at some more favourable time.

Rocco now began to praise his new assistant for the clever manner in which he had carried out his instructions that day; and to show his approval of this and of his conduct in general, he announced that he was quite willing to welcome such a likely youth as a son-in-law, since Marcellina seemed to regard him also with evident favour, and he even hinted at a very early date for the wedding-day.

Marcellina was delighted to hear this, and to know that her father favoured her fancy for her dear Fidelio; but Leonora was greatly embarrassed, not knowing how she could get safely out of this new difficulty, for though she had tried to ingratiate herself with the jailer's daughter for her own purposes, she did not wish to pain the maiden in any way.

However, she succeeded in hiding her embarrassment for the time being, and presently managed to direct the conversation into a safer channel, by begging Rocco to allow her to accompany him in his daily visits to the prisoners in the lower dungeons, and to assist him with this work, which the jailer had hitherto performed alone; for, in this way, she knew she would be able to discover if her beloved husband still lived, since she had not seen him amongst the more favoured prisoners, whom she was permitted to wait upon.

At first Rocco refused this plea, declaring that Fidelio was too young to witness such dreadful sights as these wretched chained captives, and to emphasize his refusal, described the miserable state of one of these, who was nearly at the point of death through close confinement and starvation; but when Leonora, on hearing this, redoubled her entreaties, feeling sure from the description that this unhappy prisoner must be her own dear husband, he at length consented, feeling better pleased than ever with the youth's evident desire to assist him even in such disagreeable duties as visiting the dungeon captives.

At this moment Don Pizarro, the cruel Governor of the prison, entered the courtyard with some of the guard; and, after giving orders to the captain, he proceeded to read the despatches brought from the town by Fidelio, and now handed to him by Rocco.

Amongst these despatches, Pizarro found a missive warning him that the Prime Minister intended to pay a surprise visit to the prison that evening, having been informed that certain victims of despotic power were still unjustly held captives there; and, suddenly filled with fear at the thought of how he should account for the presence of Don Florestan, so long believed to be dead, he began to form a plan to avoid this new danger to himself, and soon decided to kill his hated enemy within the next few hours. However, he did not mean to do this dreadful deed himself, if possible; and so, when the guard had presently gone on duty, he detained Rocco, intending to make him his instrument of vengeance.

Carelessly handing the jailer a purse of gold, he hinted darkly that he desired the death of this wretched prisoner in the lowest dungeon; but Rocco, recoiling from the thought of such cold-blooded murder, refused to do the deed, although, being afraid of offending his unscrupulous superior, he tremblingly agreed to dig the victim's grave, if Pizarro himself would strike the fatal blow. With this the Governor was fain to be content; and the two departed separate ways, having first laid their plans and arranged that the grave should be dug beneath an old ruined cistern at the side of the dungeon.

Now it happened that Leonora, having suspected from the dark looks of Pizarro that he intended ill to someone, had crept back to the courtyard, where she had remained hidden in such a position that she could overhear the conversation between the Governor and Rocco; and filled with horror at the thought of the violent death now destined for the unhappy prisoner, whom she felt sure was her own beloved husband, she determined to rescue him that evening if possible, and hurried after Rocco, in order to be with him wherever he should go, and so learn all his plans.

Later on, she returned with the jailer to the courtyard, where she discovered Marcellina and Jacquino engaged in a lively dispute; and, finding that the squabble was about herself as the supposed Fidelio, whom Jacquino regarded as a rival and Marcellina desired as a new sweetheart, she hastily changed this embarrassing subject by entreating Rocco to allow the more privileged prisoners to walk for a short time in the courtyard to enjoy a breath of fresh air, a request he had several times promised to grant when a suitable opportunity should occur. As Marcellina also added her entreaties to this kindly request, hoping to please her dear Fidelio by so doing, Rocco agreed, promising to keep Pizarro engaged for a short time on business at the other end of the fortress; and so, when he had departed, Jacquino and Leonora unlocked the cells, and invited the wretched inmates to walk outside for a while.

Full of gratitude for this unexpected pleasure, the prisoners poured forth into the courtyard, walking about with slow painful steps, but uttering cries of delight at the sight of the brilliant sunshine, and inhaling the fresh summer air with deep thankfulness.

Presently, Rocco returned, and informed the new assistant that Pizarro had consented to his helping him in the duties of attending upon the dungeon captives, and that he should begin that day by helping to dig the grave for the victim who was to die so soon as it was ready; and Leonora was filled with conflicting emotions, joyful at the thought of meeting her beloved one again, should the captive indeed prove to be her husband, but terrified by the prospect of her dreadful task.

Whilst they were still talking together, Pizarro unexpectedly appeared on the scene; and, enraged at the sight of the captives walking in the courtyard, he poured forth angry abuse upon Rocco for daring to permit such a thing. The jailer, however, stopped this outburst by reminding Pizarro of the dark deed he was presently to assist him with; and, anxious to keep on good terms with one who knew his wicked plans, the Governor ceased to bluster, but gave orders for the prisoners to be once more locked up.

When the wretched captives had returned reluctantly to their cells, uttering deep sighs of regret as they quitted the bright sunshine for the gloomy darkness of the prison, Rocco called the supposed Fidelio to one side; and, laden with spades and pickaxes, they made their way to the deepest dungeon to commence their gruesome task.

Little dreaming that the one person in all the world he most longed to see, his beloved wife, was even now approaching, Don Florestan lay suffering upon the floor of his horrible cell, with despair in his heart; for he had now been so long without food, and was so terribly exhausted, that he knew death could not be far off. All hope of escape had long since deserted him, and he had quite resigned himself to his fate, looking forward to death as the end of his sufferings; but even now the image of his beautiful Leonora shone brightly in his heart, and every now and again he would breathe her name tenderly, and stretch forth his arms with a loving gesture, as though about to embrace her visionary form, or call a passionate greeting to her, thinking in his wandering delirium that she indeed stood before him.

Just as he sank back exhausted after one of these flights of feverish fancy, Rocco the jailer entered the dungeon, followed by the trembling Leonora, who shivered as she felt the chill, damp air of the subterranean cell, and glanced apprehensively at the huddled form on the ground, fearing, yet hoping, that it would prove to be her husband.

Rocco at once proceeded to the ruined cistern situated at one side of the dungeon, and, taking his spade and pickaxe, began to dig the grave, calling to his assistant to do likewise, speaking in gruff but not unkindly tones, thinking that the youth's evident reluctance to commence the horrid task was due to the softness natural to his tender years, rather than to any deeper feeling.

At length, however, Leonora, in order to keep up her disguise, took her spade and began to assist in the work; but every now and again, she turned her eyes upon the crouching form of the poor prisoner, who appeared to be sleeping.

Presently, however, Don Florestan raised his head, and addressed the jailer; and Leonora, seeing now that he was indeed her own beloved husband, was so overcome that she sank back in a swoon. Rocco, not noticing the agitation of his assistant, approached the prisoner, who demanded, as he had already done many times before, the name of the tyrant whose cruelty thus doomed him to a living death. Rocco, knowing that the poor man was to die within the next hour, felt that there could now be no harm in granting this request; so he told Florestan that his enemy was Don Pizarro, the Governor of the prison.

The name of Pizarro recalled Leonora's wandering senses; and still keeping her face hidden from Florestan, she tried to persuade Rocco to permit her to give the captive some bread she had brought with her for this purpose. Though the jailer at first refused, his own pity for the wretched prisoner at length got the better of him, and he gave his consent, even making him drink a little wine from a small flagon he had himself brought.

No sooner had Florestan eagerly partaken of the welcome food, which quickly brought back some little strength to his weary frame, than the dreaded Pizarro entered the dungeon, his first words being to bid Rocco send his youthful assistant away. Leonora, however, though she pretended to obey, only retired into the shadows of the dungeon; and then Pizarro, flinging open his cloak, and drawing his dagger, strode towards the prisoner, and in cruel, triumphant tones bade him prepare to die, hoping to see him fall on his knees and beg for mercy.

But Florestan, who had now risen to his feet, bravely drew himself up to his full height with quiet dignity; and his look of calm contempt so exasperated the wicked Pizarro, that he sprang forward immediately, intending to stab him to the heart. Ere he could strike, however, Leonora flung herself upon him, and bade him desist; and as Pizarro, taken by surprise, drew back, she now boldly declared herself to be the wife of his intended victim.

Florestan, seeing the face of the supposed youth for the first time, was amazed to recognise his beloved Leonora; and full of joy, even in this awful moment of danger, the long separated husband and wife embraced tenderly.

Pizarro, enraged at this untimely interruption of his evil plans, and knowing that he had little time to lose, since his superior officer would arrive very shortly, sprang forward again, intending to stab them both; but Leonora, in a flash, drew forth a loaded pistol she had concealed in her garments, and, covering him with it, declared she would fire if he moved a step further.

Chagrined, and completely nonplussed at this sudden turning of the tables upon him, Pizarro stood helpless, glaring furiously upon the brave Leonora; and as they stood thus, the sound of a trumpet was heard, and Jacquino, accompanied by several officers of the castle, appeared in the doorway, announcing that Don Fernando, the Minister, had just arrived, and demanded an immediate interview with the Governor of the prison.

Pizarro, baulked of his prey, and feeling that disaster was about to fall on him, yet not daring to disobey the command of his superior, turned angrily on his heel, and left the cell.

When their enemy had departed, Florestan and Leonora again fell into each other's arms, and rejoiced together, full of gladness at meeting once more, and hopeful that their troubles would now shortly come to an end; and then as soon as the exhausted Count had sufficiently recovered, Rocco escorted them both to the large court of the castle, where the Minister, Don Fernando, surrounded by soldiers and officers, was receiving the thanks of the grateful captives, whom he had just ordered to be set free, knowing that they had unjustly been kept in bonds.

The jailer, eager to bring his cruel master into disgrace, led Florestan and Leonora forward at once, and appealed to the Minister for justice; and Don Fernando, astonished at thus beholding the young Count, whom all had believed to be dead, received him with great kindness, and gave him a hearty welcome. Then, when he was told the whole story of Pizarro's infamous plot, and how it was frustrated by the intended victim's brave wife, he declared that Florestan was free from that moment, and that Leonora herself should have the joy of removing the chains that had been put so unjustly upon him.

When this pleasant task had been performed by the now happy Leonora, the whole assemblage were free to rejoice together, for all were glad at the downfall of the tyrant Pizarro. The released captives were glad because they were at liberty once more; Jacquino was glad because the dangerous Fidelio could no longer be a rival to his claim upon the pretty Marcellina, who was even now ready to smile on him again; and Florestan and his faithful Leonora were the most joyful of all, since they were restored to each other and a life of perfect peace and happiness.

LA SONNAMBULA

In a certain pretty village in Italy, the light-hearted peasants were gathered together one summer evening on the shady green, talking in groups as they waited to witness the betrothal of Elvino, a prosperous young farmer, and his fair sweetheart, Amina, whose nuptials were to be celebrated on the morrow. The wreaths and garlands of flowers for the wedding decorations were being merrily set up by willing hands, and the village already wore a gala air; for all were looking forward eagerly to the coming festivities, with the exception of one person, who alone refused to be joyful.

This was Lisa, the pretty young hostess of the village inn, who having once received attentions herself from the handsome Elvino, had felt slighted when he fixed his affections upon Amina, whose beauty and sweet winning ways had made her the belle of the village; and now, as she mingled with the merry throng on the green, she was filled with envy for the happy fate of the bride-elect, and could do nothing but make spiteful remarks about her rival, declaring her to be a mere nobody, and not worthy of so great a piece of fortune.

BELLINI

For Amina was but a poor orphan, who had been brought up by Dame Teresa of the Mill, a worthy woman who had loved and cared for her as though she were her own child; but in spite of her unknown birth and dependent position, Amina was beloved by all the villagers, whose hearts she had won by her many deeds of kindness. But Lisa's jealousy would not allow her to see any perfection in the gentle Amina; and so full of envy and disappointment did she feel just now that to all the remarks made to her by her devoted admirer, Alessio, she only returned snappish replies, which, however, disconcerted her swain but little. For Alessio was a merry, lively fellow, full of fun, and not easily discouraged; and having conceived a great admiration for the pretty but sharp-tongued Lisa, he was for ever coaxing her to marry him, and in spite of her many snubs, still felt confident of success in the end.

As they walked about the green this evening, he said again; "Come, Lisa, let us also sign our marriage contract whilst the Notary is here, and save him the trouble of coming again!"

But to this cool suggestion, however, Mistress Lisa merely tossed her head, and turned impatiently away; and Alessio, nothing daunted, began to join heartily in the merry wedding song he had himself composed in honour of the day, which the villagers had just raised as the pretty Amina appeared on the green, accompanied by Dame Teresa.

When the song came to an end Amina thanked her friends in a gentle voice for their kindly wishes; and then, turning to Alessio and Lisa, she mischievously suggested that they should follow her example and plight their troth with her that night.

"'Tis just what I have been saying!" cried the irrepressible Alessio, gleefully. "Come, Lisa, say that you will, for I feel I must get married to-day, and if you won't have me, I'll have to marry Dame Teresa!"

All laughed merrily at this; but Lisa sulkily refused to join in the fun, for Elvino had now arrived, and the sight of his devoted attentions to Amina caused her jealousy and disappointment to smart afresh. The Notary having also now arrived with the marriage contract, the guests gathered around a table which had been placed beneath the trees outside Dame Teresa's house; and Elvino and Amina, having signed their names to the paper, their betrothal was thus formally concluded.

Just as the happy pair were receiving the congratulations of their friends, a strange cavalier—whose gay attire, aristocratic bearing, and deferential attendants proclaimed him to be a person of rank—approached the inn, and inquired of the bystanders if the landlord's château was near at hand; and on being informed that it was some little distance away, he announced his intention of passing the night at the inn.

On hearing this, Lisa, mindful of her duties as hostess, hurried forward officiously, and offered her best accommodation to the stranger; and then, having received some gallant compliments from her guest, who had an appreciative eye for a pretty face, she hastened within doors to make all ready, beaming with pleasure.

The stranger was, however, more greatly struck with the beauty of Amina, to whom he next addressed himself, declaring that she reminded him of someone whom he had long since loved and lost; and so intense was his gaze, that after he had departed within the inn, Elvino, seized with a sudden pang of jealousy, reproached the maiden for having thus spoken with the newcomer. But Amina tenderly reassured her anxious lover, declaring that she loved but him alone; and the little cloud that had threatened to gather, now quickly vanished.

As they moved away happily together, Alessio presently came running out to announce that he had discovered the stranger to be none other than the Count Rodolpho, their own Lord of the Soil, whose château overlooked the village, and who had not visited his native place since he was a child; and upon hearing this interesting news, the villagers were all filled with great excitement, and, as they trooped away to their homes arranged to proceed to the inn at break of day to sing a song of welcome to their Seigneur, and to show their joy at his arrival.

Some hours later, Count Rodolpho was conducted to the finest chamber which the old-fashioned inn afforded, and which, though it had the reputation of being haunted, he had laughingly insisted upon occupying, finding it quaint and comfortable; and before retiring for the night, though it was already late, Lisa appeared at the door, to ask if all his wishes had been attended to, and also to offer her respects to him as her Seigneur.

The Count, being a gay cavalier, and accustomed to making conquests wherever he went, invited her to enter, thinking that a flirtation with his pretty hostess would pass the time pleasantly; and Lisa, nothing loath, but delighted at the impression she imagined she had made on her guest, was willing enough to accept his attentions. The Count's pretty speeches pleased her very well, nor did she object when he snatched a kiss or two; but, not daring to remain longer, since the night was advancing, she was just about to depart, when a strange interruption came. Just at that moment, a slight female figure, clad in a long white robe, softly entered the room, and walked slowly across the floor, speaking aloud, as though holding a conversation with some unseen person; and to the great amazement of the Count and Lisa, they saw that this mysterious nocturnal visitor was Amina, who, although her eyes were wide open, saw them not, since she was walking in her sleep. For, though unknown to anyone, and still less to herself, Amina was a somnambulist, and had quite unconsciously walked from her own home and entered through the unfastened door of the inn; and as Count Rodolpho now gazed in astonishment upon the maiden, whose lovely face had so interested him earlier in the evening, he was filled with a strange, deep emotion, and listened eagerly to the words she said, from which he gathered that she imagined herself speaking to Elvino, since she spoke reproachfully of his having for a moment doubted her faithful heart.

But Lisa, though at first alarmed, quickly saw in this unforeseen circumstance, a means for satisfying her petty spite against the orphan she despised; and, quickly making her escape from the room, she determined to seek out Elvino, and prove to him that his betrothed was base and unfaithful to him, since she had found her in the chamber of the Count Rodolpho.

Meanwhile, Amina continued to speak in tender accents of her love for Elvino; and, unconsciously taking the Count's hand in hers, she softly caressed it, repeatedly avowing her passion.

Count Rodolpho watched the sleeping maiden with increasing emotion, feeling the charm of her ethereal beauty creeping over him like a spell; and at last, fearful of awakening her, and not daring to trust himself longer in her sweet presence, since, though her helplessness appealed to his chivalry, he felt drawn towards her by a strange attraction, he hastily left the room, and, leaving the inn at once, made his way to his own château.

After he had gone, Amina ceased to speak; and, presently sinking upon a couch, remained there in peaceful slumber.

It was now day-break; and the peasants, in accordance with the arrangement of the evening before, assembled in the inn, and, making their way to the Count's chamber, began to sing a joyous song of welcome, which they hoped would presently arouse him from his slumbers. Soon afterwards, Lisa entered the room with Elvino, whom she had brought to behold for himself his betrothed slumbering in the chamber of the stranger, cruelly and unjustly keeping from him the fact that Amina had walked there in her sleep.

Elvino, who had indignantly refused to believe her story, now uttered an exclamation of grief and despair on beholding what appeared to him the proof of Lisa's statement; and at that moment Amina, awakened by the singing, opened her eyes, and was quickly filled with amazement on beholding her unaccustomed surroundings. As she rose from the couch in bewilderment, Elvino burst forth into angry reproaches, declaring her to be faithless and base; and in spite of poor Amina's piteous assurances of innocence, since she could not explain how she came to be found in such a compromising situation, he spurned her with scorn, and, thrusting aside her clinging arms, departed in anger.

Amina, overcome with grief and despair, sank sobbing into the arms of Dame Teresa, who, though not understanding the mystery, yet believed her to be innocent, and led her away with great tenderness; and the peasants then sadly dispersed, loath to think ill of the pretty maiden they loved so well, yet compelled to admit the evidence of their own eyes. But they were not satisfied; and later on in the day they set off to seek out Count Rodolpho in his château, and to learn what he knew of this strange matter, and if he had indeed enticed the poor girl to her ruin.

Meanwhile, Lisa was triumphant; and, having thus succeeded in bringing disgrace and ignominy upon her rival, she sought out Elvino, who had wandered into the woods near the château, and tenderly offered words of comfort to him, and by encouraging his rage against Amina, led him artfully to think of renewing his vows to herself; and then wisely refraining from becoming too importunate, she left him to his own reflections again, and wandered alone down another glade. Here she was joined by the lively Alessio, who, after first bewailing the sad fate of Amina, made the brilliant suggestion that Lisa should marry him at once, so that the wedding decorations should not be wasted, a suggestion, however, which was again disdainfully flouted by the captious Lisa, who informed him that she already felt assured of eventually securing the more prosperous Elvino as a husband. Alessio, well used to such rebuffs, and not the least disconcerted by this surprising announcement, still pressed his own claims; and then seeing that the peasants were approaching from the château, the wrangling pair set off to join them.

Meanwhile, Amina, accompanied by the sympathetic Dame Teresa, had also sought solace for her woe in the woods; and presently coming face to face with the unhappy Elvino, she once more besought him to believe in her innocence. Elvino, though filled with emotion at beholding the maiden whom he believed had wronged him, still refused, however, to listen to her pleadings, and again turning from her with scorn and anger, hurried quickly away; and as Dame Teresa vainly endeavoured to comfort the now heart-broken girl, the peasants came in sight, headed by Count Rodolpho, who, having heard from them of Amina's sad plight, had now come to prove her innocence.

Full of compassion, he approached the half-fainting girl; and, seeing that she was utterly exhausted by the strain that had been put upon her, he bade Dame Teresa to take her into a neighbouring mill, and make her rest for a while, promising that in the meantime, he would seek out Elvino and try to convince him of the innocence of his betrothed.

When Dame Teresa had led the weary Amina into the mill, the peasants went to seek Elvino; and when they had at length found and persuaded him to return with them, the Count bade him be of good comfort and cease to mourn, since Amina was still worthy of his love. He then described to him that the maiden had entered his room the night before in her sleep, explaining that she was a somnambulist, and, as such, utterly unconscious of her actions at the time; but Elvino and the simple peasants, never before having heard of this strange phenomenon, were scarcely yet convinced, finding it difficult to realize such a curious circumstance, which had not come within their experience before. But whilst they were still wondering at the story that had been told to them, they saw Amina softly approaching from the mill, passing them with wide-open, unseeing eyes, and uttering Elvino's name in loving accents; and, seeing that the maiden was again walking in her sleep, the Count explained this fact to the peasants, and bade them remain quiet until she should awaken.

Elvino, overjoyed at this final proof of his beloved one's innocence, could scarcely restrain his happy feelings, watching the lovely maiden's movements with eager interest; and when she presently awakened to full consciousness, he clasped her in his arms with joy, beseeching her to forgive him for doubting her faith.

Amina, full of happiness at thus learning that Elvino still loved her, and no longer believed her to be false, was soon restored to her accustomed gaiety; and so the reunited pair were wedded that same day ere the sun went down, amidst the great rejoicings of the villagers, who were filled with delight that the fair maiden they loved so well was now cleared from all reproach.

I PURITANI

During the great Civil War between the royal House of Stuart and the Parliament, at the time when Charles the Second was a fugitive, the fortress of Plymouth was held by the Parliamentary Army; and here the commander of the fortress, Lord Walton, a Puritan sternly devoted to the side he had espoused, had brought his lovely young daughter, Elvira, that she might be safe from the many dangers of that troublous time.

The sweetness and grace of Elvira quickly gained her many admirers; for even the sombre Puritans were not proof against the enthralling charms of youth and beauty.

Amongst these admirers was Sir Richard Forth, a colonel in the Parliamentary forces; and being of good family and excellent repute amongst the Puritans, he met with a very favourable reception when he brought his suit to Lord Walton, who readily accepted him as his future son-in-law.

Elvira, however, had already, unknown to her father, given her heart to a Cavalier officer, Lord Arthur Talbot, who held a high position in the Royalist Army; and when she was told that the Puritan officer had been accepted as her suitor, she was filled with dismay, knowing such a loveless marriage could bring nothing but misery, yet believing that her father would never consent to her union with her Cavalier lover.

In this dilemma, she confided her troubles to her uncle, Lord George Walton, who, though a retired Puritan officer, yet remained in the fortress to assist his brother in the command; and this gentleman, who loved Elvira as his own child, was so deeply moved by her passionate appeal for his aid that he promised to use every endeavour in his power to bring about her union with the man she loved.

At first, Lord George was not successful in his interview with his brother on Elvira's behalf; for the stern Puritan officer had no desire to connect himself with a Cavalier family, and declared that he had already promised his daughter to Sir Richard Forth, who was in every way a suitable husband for her.

When, however, his brother, who cared less for political and religious distinctions, declared that Elvira's highly-strung system and loving nature could never bear the tragedy of a loveless marriage, and that it would certainly break her heart should it be forced upon her, Lord Walton was no longer proof against such an appeal as this; for he was a devoted father, and loved his daughter with very tender affection. He therefore agreed that the undesired betrothal with Sir Richard Forth should be set aside at once; and he also signified his consent to Elvira's marriage with Lord Arthur Talbot, giving instructions for the young Cavalier to be admitted into the fortress on the morrow, that the nuptials might be celebrated there without further delay.

Elvira was filled with the utmost joy when her uncle brought her these glad tidings; and preparations for the wedding ceremony were commenced forthwith, so that a merry bustle was quickly set up in the sombre castle.

The young Cavalier was also overjoyed at this happy turn of events; and he needed no second bidding to prepare for his wedding with the beautiful maiden he loved so well.

On his arrival at the fortress next morning, Lord Arthur received a joyous welcome from all; for his many deeds of bravery and chivalry had won him universal renown, so that even the Puritan followers of Lord Walton had words of praise and admiration for this noble young Cavalier, who was to be wedded to their leader's daughter that day.

A glad meeting took place between Elvira and her lover; and then, whilst the happy maiden retired to don her bridal robes, Arthur remained in the courtyard of the castle, where his tender thoughts were unexpectedly diverted into another channel.

As he waited there, a captive lady, closely guarded, was brought out from the fortress into the courtyard, where she was informed by Lord Walton that she was about to be escorted to the Parliamentary tribunal, there to receive her sentence.

The despairing looks of the captive lady moved Arthur to deep pity; and on learning from Lord George that she had been imprisoned several months in the fortress as one strongly suspected of favouring the Stuart cause and of having acted as their spy, and that she would certainly be condemned to the scaffold, the young Cavalier, as a fellow-adherent of the Royalists, determined to seek speech with her.

Therefore, whilst the attention of the officers and guards was turned in another direction for a short time, he managed to get sufficiently near the lady to enter into a low-toned conversation with her; and then, to his utter horror and dismay, he discovered that the captive was none other than the widow of the unfortunate Charles the First, Queen Henrietta, who, whilst engaged in disguise on a secret enterprise on behalf of her fugitive son, had been captured by her enemies and thrust by them into Plymouth fortress, where, though still preserving her incognito, she knew herself to be in the utmost danger.

Arthur, ever faithful to the Stuart cause, now felt it to be his sacred duty to rescue the unfortunate Queen from her desperate situation; and he told the unhappy Henrietta that he would do all in his power to save her.

At this moment, the bride and her maidens returned to the courtyard; and Elvira, whose tender heart could not bear that another should be in trouble when she herself was so full of joy, at once approached the captive lady, for whose sad fate she had many times grieved, and tried to cheer her with words of comfort. She even playfully removed her long bridal veil, and drooped it over Henrietta's dark locks, clapping her hands merrily at the effect, and declaring she would make a beautiful bride; and the Queen, forgetting her sadness for the moment, was so charmed with the youthful grace and sweet innocence of Elvira, that she indulgently suffered her artless playfulness.

The time for the ceremony was now almost due; and Elvira was hurried away by her uncle to the chapel so quickly that she had not time to don her veil again, but gaily called to Henrietta to follow her with it, forgetting in her eager excitement that the poor lady was a captive.

As the bridal party trooped into the chapel, Arthur slipped back to the courtyard, blessing the happy chance which had left Henrietta in possession of the bridal veil; and bidding the Queen to wrap it closely about her face and form, he hurried her to the gates of the courtyard, hoping that she might now be mistaken for Elvira, and be thus permitted to pass through.

In spite of his anguish at being compelled to leave his beloved Elvira at the very moment of their union, Arthur was too loyal a Royalist to forsake his Queen in her extremity; and crushing down the strong temptation to return to his waiting bride, he steadfastly conducted his royal charge to the fortress gates.

Here, to his dismay, he found Sir Richard Forth on guard; and the Puritan officer, severely smarting from the sudden cancellation of his betrothal with Elvira, and believing the veiled lady to be the bride, refused to let them pass, and challenged his successful rival to mortal combat. When, however, Henrietta lifted her veil, and in terrified accents bade the pair sheathe their swords, the Puritan saw that he had made a mistake; and he at once gave his permission for them to pass through the gates, hoping that by reporting the secret departure of Arthur with the captive lady, he would prove to Elvira the faithlessness of her Cavalier lover, and thus further his own suit once more.

Arthur and the Queen thus escaped safely from the fortress; and as soon as the news became known, the greatest consternation prevailed. A number of Parliamentary soldiers were quickly sent out to search for the fugitives, but Lord Arthur cleverly succeeded in eluding them, until he had placed the Queen on board a ship, in which she was safely conveyed to France.

Meanwhile, Elvira had received a terrible shock on learning of the desertion of her lover at the very moment of their marriage; and being led by the story of Sir Richard Forth to believe him faithless, her grief was so frantic that she completely lost her reason. The poor girl would wander out alone into the woods every day, now prattling childishly of happy days gone by, and anon imagining herself in the company of her beloved Arthur; and all the inmates of the fortress were filled with sorrow at the terrible change which had taken place in her.

Lord Arthur Talbot was now proscribed and condemned to death by the Parliamentary Government for having effected the escape of a political prisoner; but Sir Richard Forth, who had special influence with his party, was at length persuaded by Elvira's uncle to plead for the young Cavalier's life to be spared, should he be captured, for the kindly old Puritan hoped that if his distraught niece could be brought face to face with her lover once more, her reason might be restored.

At last, Arthur, having succeeded in eluding his enemies for several months, managed to return to Plymouth, intending to enter the fortress once more, in spite of danger, and to claim his bride; and as he hurried cautiously through the neighbouring wood, he happened to meet Elvira herself, who was aimlessly wandering there as usual, singing wild and plaintive ditties with the unmistakable air of one bereft of reason.

Terribly grieved and shocked at beholding his beloved one in such a condition, Arthur approached, and gently folded her in his arms, uttering tender words of greeting. As Lord George had foretold, the reappearance of Arthur did indeed restore Elvira's mental balance; and with great delight, she returned his embraces, and listened gladly to the story of his adventures, and his explanation as to the true identity of the captive lady whom he had thought it his duty to save from the scaffold.

Even as the restored lovers thus talked happily together, the Puritan search-party arrived on the scene, having learnt of Arthur's return to the neighbourhood, and now tracked him to the wood; and dragging the young Cavalier from the arms of Elvira, they bade him prepare for instant death.

At this distressing moment, however, another party, headed by Lord George Walton and Sir Richard Forth, came galloping up, and ordered the immediate release of the prisoner; and as the search-party drew back in surprise, they were triumphantly informed that news had just arrived that the Parliamentary forces had finally conquered the Royalists, and that in celebration of the event, all political prisoners were pardoned.

All was now peace and rejoicing; and Elvira, the Puritan maiden, completely restored to reason once more by the return of her lover, was united to the young Cavalier without further delay.

THE LILY OF KILLARNEY

One summer evening, a gay company of merry-makers were gathered together in the brilliantly lighted hall at Torc Cregan, an ancient Irish mansion beautifully situated in the romantic district of Killarney; for Hardress Cregan, the handsome young owner of the estates, was entertaining his friends with all the generous prodigality and light-hearted carelessness of his race.

The old hall rang with laughter and the sound of boisterous songs; and the merry guests now rejoiced with their host for his bachelor state and freedom from care, and anon rated him for not taking on himself the sweet bonds of matrimony.

All were bent on enjoyment and ready for any mad frolic; and when a moonlight steeplechase was suggested in order to try the disputed merits of two of the guests' steeds, it was hailed with zest, and the whole party trooped out into the open air to watch the sport.

But Mrs. Cregan, the widowed mother of Hardress, remained behind in the deserted hall; and upon a servant, a few moments later, announcing a newcomer, "Mr. Corrigan," her gaiety quickly vanished, and a careworn, hunted look came into her eyes. For Corrigan was an agent, or "middleman," a low-bred, officious fellow who held a mortgage on the Cregan estates; and being ambitious and eager to make a position for himself in Kerry, he did not hesitate to dictate insolent terms to the aristocratic family he thus had in his power. Knowing that the Cregans were considerably embarrassed for money, and feeling that his chance for early payment was small, he had requested Mrs. Cregan to persuade her son to seek marriage with Miss Anne Chute, the richest heiress in Kerry, with whose wealth the matter of the mortgage could be comfortably settled; and it was his practice to intrude occasionally to learn how Hardress's suit was progressing.

To-night, however, he had a new suggestion to make; for being impressed by the still youthful looks and charms of Mrs. Cregan, he had the assurance to remark that, should Hardress not succeed in securing the heiress, he would himself be willing to accept the hand of the handsome widow in lieu of payment. To this suggestion Mrs. Cregan, who loathed and despised the man, gave a proud refusal; but her indignant demeanour was quickly changed to dismay when Corrigan, angered by her scorn, declared that if she intended Hardress to settle the debt by marrying the heiress, she must keep a strict watch upon him, since he was indulging in a secret amour with an unknown peasant girl, whom he kept hidden in a cottage on the opposite shore of the neighbouring lake.

Mrs. Cregan incredulously repudiated his statement; but her angry speech was interrupted by the sound of a song sung by a lake boatman, whom Corrigan triumphantly declared to be Danny Mann, the devoted, though humble, follower of Hardress, for whom he was evidently now waiting, in order to convey him to his mysterious sweetheart on the opposite shore.

To convince Mrs. Cregan of the truth of his statement, Corrigan drew her behind a curtain, from whence, unseen, she could watch the result of the boatman's signal. A few moments later, Hardress, having made his escape from his friends on hearing the boatman's song, entered the room, and spoke with Danny Mann through the open window; and then, taking up a lighted candle, he exposed it and shaded it three times, finally extinguishing it altogether, upon which a similar light in a cottage window on the opposite shore of the lake likewise flashed and vanished.

After this unmistakable signal had been made, Hardress hurried down to the water, and was rowed across the lake in Danny Mann's boat; and Mrs. Cregan, now only too well convinced of her son's intrigue, was filled with dismay. But Corrigan left the house in triumph, knowing that the startled widow would now hurry forward her son's suit with the heiress, since her pride of birth would not suffer her to contemplate the young man's present love affair with serenity; and he chuckled as he thought how remorselessly he would insist upon the second mode of paying the debt, should the first one fail.

Meanwhile, in the cottage on the other side of the lake, Eily O'Connor, the Lily of Killarney, a lovely young Irish girl, whose silky raven locks had won for her the name of the Colleen Bawn, eagerly awaited the arrival of Hardress Cregan, who was indeed not only her lover, but her lawful husband also; for Hardress had fallen so passionately in love with this beautiful peasant maiden that, fearful lest he might lose her through the opposition of his own people, he had persuaded her to enter into a secret marriage with him. He had, however, bound her by a solemn promise not to reveal their true relation to each other, knowing that the thought of his probable union with Miss Anne Chute was the only safe means he had of keeping Corrigan from pressing for immediate settlement of his debt; and Eily, who loved her aristocratic admirer with the whole-hearted devotion of a true and trusting nature, readily consented, and at his bidding kept herself hidden in the little cottage on the shore of the lake. Here she was watched over and guarded by a good priest, known as Father Tom; and here also she was frequently visited by a peasant lover, a smuggler outlaw named Myles-na-Coppaleen, who, though knowing her to be the wife of Hardress Cregan, still showed his devotion to her by keeping close at hand, in order to serve her should the occasion arise.

To-night, as he was conveying a keg of smuggled whisky to his friend, Father Tom, to whom, as a good Catholic, he always gave a tenth of his possessions, Myles had met with the agent, Corrigan, who, knowing him to be in the confidence of Hardress Cregan, had endeavoured to draw information from him as to the identity of the mysterious hidden maiden in the lake-shore cottage; but his fair words and promised bribes made little headway with the staunch Myles, whose lively Irish wit made him more than a match for the prying agent.

When Corrigan had departed, Myles made his way to the Colleen Bawn's cottage, where he found the inmates somewhat upset; for Father Tom, jealous of the good name of the pretty maiden over whom he exercised guardianship, had been pressing Eily to persuade Hardress Cregan to acknowledge their marriage, declaring it to be unjust to her that he should continue to visit her by stealth. Nor was the good father satisfied when Eily declared that Hardress doubtless felt ashamed to introduce a peasant wife to his fine relations, and that he might even leave her altogether should he be pressed to do so; but when he again sternly insisted upon her securing her rights, she agreed to do so.

On the entrance of Myles, however, gaiety once more reigned in the cottage; for the merry outlaw insisted on brewing a big bowl of punch, to the accompaniment of a lively Irish song.

As the song came to an end, Hardress Cregan appeared; and Eily soon noticed that he was anxious and upset, since her strong Irish brogue irritated him more than usual, so that he scolded her for mispronouncing her words. Presently she learnt from him of the difficulty he was in with regard to the mortgage on his estate; and he eagerly desired her to give up her marriage certificate, that he might be free to make the union his mother desired, declaring that otherwise he would visit her no more.

Eily's love for Hardress was so great that she was even willing to make the monstrous sacrifice he required, in order to save him from ruin; but Myles-na-Coppaleen indignantly interposed to prevent such a selfish design from being carried out, whilst Father Tom sternly compelled Hardress to give into his own keeping the certificate which the trusting Eily had yielded up.

Young Cregan, angry at being thus foiled, and equally ashamed at the base part he had felt compelled to play for the sake of his mother's welfare, left the cottage in a passion, declaring that he would never visit it again, and bidding the Colleen Bawn farewell for ever; and poor Eily, overcome by this distressing scene, fell senseless to the floor, heedless of the words of comfort uttered by her two faithful friends.

Hardress, though soon filled with deep remorse for his recent heartless conduct, now began to pay his addresses to Anne Chute with such earnestness and success that their engagement and early marriage was presently announced; but the young man's thoughts constantly reverted to the deserted Eily, whom he still loved dearly, and whose gentle image he could not drive from his mind.

Soon, his troubled thoughts and embarrassing situation became known to Danny Mann; and the wily boatman, whose devotion and love for young Cregan was intense, suggested a desperate means for securing his freedom. He hinted that he would himself willingly resort to violence in order to remove the Colleen Bawn from his master's path; and even when Hardress refused with horror and indignation to consider such a scheme, he still declared that he was ready to do the deed at any time, if Cregan would send him his glove as a token that he desired Eily O'Connor to vanish.

Shortly after this, Mrs. Cregan received another visit from Corrigan, the agent, who, still doubting whether Hardress would ever marry the heiress, began to press his hateful alternative upon her; but his undesired attempts at love-making were summarily stopped by the entrance of young Cregan, who, grasping the situation at a glance, forcibly ejected the agent, pouring fiery words of indignation upon him, to which Corrigan replied with sulky threats of an early triumph.

It happened that Danny Mann, the boatman, who was waiting without, overheard the whole of this conversation; and after cautiously watching Corrigan and Hardress to a safe distance, he came forward to speak with Mrs. Cregan, declaring that the only way to make a break between her son and his sweetheart, the Colleen Bawn, was to pack the girl off to America, slyly undertaking to arrange the matter himself with Eily, who he knew would consent, if he could show to her Hardress's glove as a token that it was his desire that she should go.

Mrs. Cregan, unaware that the pair were married, and equally unsuspicious that Danny had any darker scheme in his mind, went at once in search of the required symbol, feeling that if only Eily could be got away from the district, Hardress would think no more about her, and thus his marriage with Anne Chute could be hurried forward; and soon she returned with one of Hardress's gloves, which was joyfully seized by the boatman, who eagerly set about carrying out his base design, by which he intended to force the Colleen Bawn, by threats of murder, to give up her marriage certificate, knowing that if once this could be destroyed, she had no legal claim on Hardress Cregan, since the priest who had wedded them, and all other witnesses of the marriage, were dead.

With stealthy haste, Danny Mann got out his boat; and, making his way to the cottage of the Colleen Bawn, he informed her that Hardress had sent him to fetch her away at once. The unsuspicious Eily was filled with joy on hearing this, for she had seen and heard nothing of Hardress since the night he had left her in anger; and she eagerly stepped into Danny Mann's boat, believing that her beloved one had forgiven her, and was about to acknowledge her as his wife. The fact that Danny appeared to have been drinking somewhat heavily did not cause her any alarm for her safety; for it never entered into her trusting heart that the old boatman, who had always loved her, could ever do her harm, much less that he had deliberately bolstered his courage with drink for this very purpose.

Too soon, however, her fears were awakened; for Danny Mann, instead of taking her to the opposite shore as she had expected, hastily rowed her to a dark and lonely water cave, where he roughly bade her step out on a rock. Then he commanded her to either deliver up to him the marriage certificate which he knew she now always carried in her bosom, or be thrown by him into the lake to drown; and poor Eily, at last full of fear, implored him to have pity upon her, since she had sworn to the priest, Father Tom, that she would never part with her marriage lines.

But Danny Mann was too devoted to Hardress Cregan to be kept from his resolve by even the tearful entreaties of the fair Lily of Killarney; and still believing that he was acting in the real interests of his beloved young master, he fiercely demanded the marriage certificate, and upon Eily again firmly refusing to part with it, he pushed her remorselessly into the water.

At this moment a shot was fired, and Danny Mann, mortally wounded by his unseen assailant, fell also into the water.

The person who had fired this shot was none other than Myles-na-Coppaleen, the Colleen Bawn's peasant lover, who used this solitary water cave as a hiding-place for the kegs of whisky and other contraband goods which he smuggled from time to time; and swinging himself by means of a long rope into his secret domain at the moment of Eily's fall into the water, and seeing a moving form on the rock, he mistook it in the darkness for an otter, took aim, and fired.

He was just chuckling over the excellent shot he had made, when he noticed something white floating in the water; and soon, to his horror, recognising this as the form of his beloved Eily, he instantly dived in to her rescue. After some little difficulty he reappeared with the now unconscious girl in his arms; and placing her tenderly in his boat, he hastily rowed her away from the cave, and conveyed her to his own cabin.

Here, with great tenderness, he restored her to consciousness once more; but on learning from her that it was Danny Mann who had thrust her into the water, and whom he had himself shot in the cave in mistake for an otter, he suspected foul play, and determined to keep the girl hidden for the present, believing the old boatman to be dead.

But Danny Mann, although mortally wounded, did not die immediately; and after a long and painful effort, he managed to crawl from the cave and reach a place of safety, where aid was forthcoming. He begged his rescuers to send for Father Tom, that he might confess to him before he died; and on the arrival of the priest he told him of the whole plot, and that he had drowned Eily O'Connor in the hope of being of service to Hardress Cregan.

The unaccountable disappearance of the Colleen Bawn confirmed his story, which quickly spread; and this information coming to the ears of Corrigan, the agent, he at once went before the magistrates, and accused Hardress Cregan of complicity in the crime. An order was accordingly made out for the arrest of Hardress; and Corrigan set off with the officers of justice and soldiers for this purpose, maliciously triumphing in the revenge he could now take upon the Cregans for their contempt of him.

He led his men to the mansion of Anne Chute, where a gay company of guests had already assembled for the wedding festivities, which were even now being held; but even as the soldiers surrounded the house, Hardress Cregan, unable to keep up the deception any longer, drew the heiress away from her guests, and confessed all to her, telling her of his secret marriage with the Colleen Bawn, for whom he now deeply mourned, believing her to be dead.

Anne Chute possessed a gentle and kindly nature; and instead of spurning him, as he had expected, she had only sympathy for his sorrow, and willingly expressed her forgiveness for his conduct to herself.

It was at this moment that Corrigan entered with the officers of justice to arrest the now despairing young man for his supposed complicity in the murder of Eily O'Connor; and a scene of the wildest consternation followed. Anne Chute and all her guests declared stoutly that Hardress could not be guilty of such a horrible crime; but Corrigan triumphantly produced the glove which Danny Mann had obtained, declaring this to be the token agreed upon between the old boatman and his master that the unfortunate girl should disappear.

Hardress indignantly denied that he had ever sent such a token, declaring that though Danny Mann had indeed made the dark suggestion to him, he had instantly repelled it with horror; and Mrs. Cregan, who had been half-dazed by the shock of her son's danger, now rushed forward, and related how the old boatman had enticed her to give him the glove, thus proving beyond doubt that Hardress was entirely innocent in the matter.

Then, to the utter surprise and relief of all, there came a sudden and welcome interruption to this distressing scene; for Eily O'Connor herself entered the room, accompanied by Myles-na-Coppaleen, who, hearing of the dangerous position of Hardress Cregan, had judged this to be the right moment in which to produce the girl whose life he had saved.

With deep joy and thankfulness, Hardress clasped his beloved Eily in his arms, and introduced her to the astonished company as his lawful wife; and seeing the turn affairs had taken, Corrigan, the agent, slunk quietly out of the room.

Nor had he again the power to annoy or persecute the Cregans; for, with splendid generosity, Anne Chute insisted upon settling the matter of the mortgage as her wedding gift to Hardress and his lovely Colleen Bawn.

CARMEN

One noon-tide, during the early years of the nineteenth century, a group of light-hearted soldiers were standing together outside the guard-house in the great public square of Seville waiting for the change of guard; and as they stood there, idly watching the ever-moving crowd, they whiled away the time by making merry remarks on the passers-by.

It was a bright and lively scene, for at this time of the day the square was filled with youths and maidens just freed from morning work, who, seeking relaxation, were glad enough to sing and dance, and indulged in gay badinage one with another.

One of the soldiers without the guard-house, a brigadier named Morales, found endless amusement in watching the living panorama before him; and presently he noticed a pretty young girl, who, by her timid glances and innocent, hesitating manner, he guessed at once to be a stranger from the country.

The newcomer was indeed a humble peasant maid, by name, Micaela, who had journeyed from her village home some miles distant in search of her foster-brother, Don José, a young brigadier in the regiment now quartered at Seville, to whom she bore a message from his mother; but having made her way into the busy square, she was so much bewildered by the noisy crowd that she hardly dared to venture further.

Seeing her hesitancy, the dashing Morales swaggered forward, and asked her in easy tones whom she sought; and on learning from the trembling maiden that she wished to speak with Don José, he told her that the young brigadier would presently appear with the change of guard, and suggested that in the meantime she should accept the company of himself and his friends. But the bold, admiring glances of the gay soldiers alarmed the shy Micaela, and with a startled cry she broke from the persuading arms of Morales, and ran off to await her foster-brother's appearance in a quieter spot.

A few minutes later the guard was changed, and with the relieving party came the brigadier, Don José, a handsome youth who had some months ago left his quiet country home for the excitement and stir of a soldier's life. On being told by Morales that a pretty peasant maiden had been asking for him, Don José guessed at once that it was Micaela, and rejoiced; for having grown up together, he regarded her with much affection, and even intended to marry her, knowing this to be his mother's cherished desire.

Just as the guard was changed, the bell of a large cigarette factory at one end of the square clanged forth its noon-day chimes, and a few minutes later a noisy troop of girls employed as cigarette-makers came pouring forth from the building, laughing and chattering gaily as they mingled with the idlers in the square.

Amongst this merry throng of newcomers was a beautiful young girl of gipsy birth, named Carmen, whose dark, flashing eyes and scornful lips spoke of passionate emotions and reckless daring, and whose saucy, sparkling glances proclaimed the born coquette; and no sooner did she appear than a court of admiring youths instantly crowded around her, clamouring for her smiles and favours.

But the capricious beauty would have none of them this day, for her roving eye had fallen upon the handsome form of the young brigadier, Don José, and being greatly struck with his manly appearance, she presently went boldly forward and made acquaintance with him, declaring plainly that she liked his looks, and inviting him to meet her when next he came off duty.

Now Don José had been warned of the dangerous attractions of the lovely cigarette-girl, and so received her advances somewhat coldly; but when the saucy Carmen flung him the rose she had been wearing as she laughingly tripped away, he picked it up eagerly, enthralled by her dazzling glances in spite of himself.

At this moment Micaela appeared in the square once more, and Don José, hurrying forward, greeted her with much affection and eagerness, longing for news of his country home. The gentle peasant maiden placed in his hands a letter from his mother, and also a gift of money; and, faithful to her charge, she delivered the lonely widow's loving message, even bestowing upon him the kiss she had sent at parting.