LUCIA DI LAMMERMOOR
During the turbulent times of the seventeenth-century revolution, many of the noble families of Scotland were plunged into poverty and ruin; and under the lax and uncertain rule of changing parties, many occasions arose for unjust oppression by the ambitious holders of powerful offices, and for the pursuit of private feuds and motives of revenge.
Thus it came about that the Barons of Ravenswood, an ancient family who had dwelt for many centuries in the south-east of Scotland amidst the wild hills of Lammermoor, became gradually poor, and lost the power they had enjoyed so long; and the young Lord Edgar, the surviving Master of Ravenswood, found himself forced to struggle against overwhelming difficulties.
The young Edgar, enthusiastic and full of spirit, did not grudge the sharing of his country's troubles; but when most of his lands and possessions fell into the hands of the Ashtons, the long hated foes of his race, and a less noble family than his own, his heart was indeed filled with bitterness.
By ingratiating themselves with the most powerful party then in office, the Ashtons had gained considerable influence in the southern provinces; and they did not fail to use their power by taunting and annoying the family of Ravenswood, whose hatred they returned with equal zest.
But whilst Edgar of Ravenswood still managed to dwell securely in his crumbling old castle, though shorn of his wealth, his foes, in their ambitious flights and grasping pride, eventually overreached themselves; and at last, Sir Henry Ashton, on coming into the estates, found himself faced with ruin. He had become entangled in a Government conspiracy; and suspicion having quickly fallen upon him, he knew himself to be in the utmost danger.
In this desperate situation, one person alone could save him from the traitor's awful doom—his fair young sister, Lucy. For Lucy Ashton's exquisite beauty and gentle nature had gained her the admiration of Sir Arthur Bucklaw, a gay young nobleman, who held high offices, and whose great influence was sufficient to remove the danger which threatened the involved Henry.
This influence Sir Arthur was willing to exert if Lucy's hand were bestowed on him in marriage; and as Henry Ashton spoke of this matter one day with his henchman, Norman, and his chaplain, Bide-the-Bent, he anxiously sought to allay his fears thus.
Bide-the-Bent, who had been Lucy's tutor, and loved her dearly, knowing that she had no affection for Sir Arthur, begged his master not to harass the maiden, since she was still too young to think of such matters; but Norman, the henchman, laughed derisively on hearing this, and declared that, so far from being too young to think of love, Lucy already had a devoted lover, to whom she granted secret interviews in the grounds.
Henry, angry at hearing such news, demanded further information; and Norman declared that Lucy, when walking one day in the park, having been rescued from the furious attack of a wild bull by a handsome young stranger, had straightway fallen in love with him, and was now in the habit of meeting him frequently.
"And what is the name of this bold stranger who thus dares to woo my sister in secret?" cried Henry, pale with wrath; and Norman answered: "Edgar of Ravenswood!"
On hearing that Lucy's lover was none other than his own hated foe, Ravenswood, Henry Ashton became furious, and passionately vowed vengeance on the pair; and, full of angry, uneasy thoughts, he determined to hasten the alliance of his sister with Sir Arthur Bucklaw, after which he hoped to soon find means for vanquishing the disappointed lover.
Meanwhile, knowing her brother to be engaged with his followers, Lucy, attended by her maid, Alice, had crept down to the secret trysting-place in the park, to await the coming of her lover, whom she expected that day; for the henchman, Norman, had spoken the truth, and a deep love had indeed sprung up between Edgar of Ravenswood and the fair daughter of his enemies. As the young girl and her attendant drew near to an ancient fountain, around which a legend had grown up to the effect that a dead-and-gone Ravenswood had there slain a maiden who loved him, and that her spirit still haunted the spot, Lucy declared that she had herself recently beheld this wraith, which had made strange signs, as though warning her against some unseen danger; and Alice begged her young mistress to no longer continue her secret love passages, since such a solemn warning evidently meant that trouble was in store for her.
But Lucy heeded her not; and seeing Edgar approach, she ran to greet him with great joy. Soon, however, when the first happy moments were passed, she noticed that her lover was anxious and somewhat preoccupied; and on asking the cause, she was quickly filled with sorrow when Edgar announced that in a few hours he would be compelled to leave the country on a secret mission to France, a mission which had been entrusted to his care by the political party to which he belonged.
The young man also declared that he would now boldly seek an interview with Sir Henry Ashton, in order to secure his consent to their union; but Lucy, fearing her brother's anger, and knowing well that he would never consent to bestow her upon one for whom he bore such intense hatred, begged him to keep their love a precious secret until his return, lest evil should fall upon her during his absence.
Edgar's reply was a passionate tirade against the man who had so ruthlessly persecuted his race and brought ruin upon him; but quickly melted by the tears and entreaties of the gentle Lucy, he granted her request, and comforted her with great tenderness.
The lovers now exchanged rings, as their solemn pledge of faithfulness to each other; and with many loving embraces, they at length bade each other farewell, and parted with heavy hearts.
A sad and harassing time was now in store for Lucy; for Sir Henry Ashton, beset on all sides with dangers and difficulties, was determined to save himself from utter disaster by wedding his lovely sister to Sir Arthur Bucklaw, who alone had the necessary influence to extricate him from the compromising political sea of trouble in which he had become immersed.
It was in vain that Lucy refused to agree to the marriage, even summoning courage to declare her plighted troth to Edgar of Ravenswood; her brother absolutely declined to consider her wishes in the matter, and ruthlessly resolved to sacrifice her happiness to his own selfish ends. He therefore made all the arrangements for her marriage with Sir Arthur Bucklaw to be carried out; and he proceeded to invite all their relations and friends to attend the ceremony of signing the marriage contract and the wedding of the pair.
Lucy, finding herself helpless in the matter, could only hope that her beloved Edgar would return in time to claim her as his plighted bride, and thus free her from her terrible position; but to her sorrow, she received no replies to the letters she sent to her lover, and was soon plunged in despair. The fact of the matter was that Sir Henry's henchman, Norman, intercepted all the letters sent by the absent Edgar, and took them to his master; and, between them, they also concocted a forged letter, in which the Master of Ravenswood was made to announce that his affection for Lucy had waned, and that he had taken another lady to be his wife.
This letter Henry Ashton kept as his last argument; and on the day on which the bridal guests were expected, he had a final interview with his sister, bidding her to be of more cheerful demeanour, since she must sign her marriage contract with Sir Arthur Bucklaw that day.
Again the unhappy girl begged for mercy, declaring that she could not marry Bucklaw since she had plighted herself to Edgar of Ravenswood, and refusing to heed her brother when he insisted that a vow made without the consent of her guardians was not binding upon her; and then, still finding her obdurate, Sir Henry produced the forged letter and bade her read it.
The hapless Lucy, believing the writing to be that of her lover, whom she was thus compelled to acknowledge as faithless, was now plunged into the deepest grief; and her brother, taking advantage of her dazed and helpless condition, besought her eagerly to turn her thoughts from such an unworthy object, and to sign the contract of the brilliant marriage which had been arranged for her, declaring that he himself would certainly forfeit his life unless she would consent to wed Sir Arthur Bucklaw, who alone had the power to save him, and was willing to do so on this one condition.
Lucy, thus basely deceived, felt that life had no further joy for her; and feeling now that it was her duty to save her brother from ruin, she fell into a state of wretched apathy, and finally consented to the marriage, caring naught for what might befall her.
The wedding guests now arrived; and Lucy, quite dull, and heedless of Sir Arthur Bucklaw's eager greeting, at the whispered stern bidding of her brother, signed the marriage contract with a trembling hand.
No sooner had she done the deed, than a cloaked stranger dashed into the room; and, to the surprise and consternation of all, the intruder proved to be none other than Edgar of Ravenswood himself, who, having just returned from France, had come to claim his plighted bride.
For answer, Henry Ashton triumphantly showed him the signed marriage contract; and Edgar, thus seeing that Lucy had broken her troth, fell into a passion of rage and grief, and, scorning all explanations from the distracted girl, snatched her ring from his finger and returned it to her, passionately demanding his own back again.
Half-dazed with the shock of his sudden appearance, the unhappy Lucy, as in a dream, slowly and almost unwittingly drew the ring from her finger; and Edgar, after passionately trampling the love pledge beneath his foot, rushed from the room, uttering wild curses on the family of Ashton.
Hurrying to his crumbling and dismantled castle, the unhappy Master of Ravenswood remained plunged in the deepest grief; and here he was some hours later visited by the triumphant Henry Ashton, who came to announce that his sister's marriage with Sir Arthur Bucklaw had duly taken place. Passionate words passed between the two men, who had been implacable foes from childhood; and after proudly agreeing to settle their differences by a duel next morning, Henry Ashton returned to his mansion to join in the wedding festivities.
But woe was quickly to succeed to this forced merriment; for, shortly after the bride and bridegroom had been escorted to their chamber, wild shrieks were heard, and the chaplain, Bide-the-Bent, rushed into the presence of the alarmed guests with a fearful story on his lips. Lucy Ashton, tortured and racked with the anxiety and sorrow of the last few weeks, and utterly stunned and prostrated by the final shock of Edgar's return and passionate reproaches, had lost her reason; and in a paroxysm of frenzy, she had slain her newly-made husband.
Overwhelmed with horror, Henry Ashton and his guests hurried to the scene of this awful tragedy; but though they endeavoured to calm and restore the distraught girl, their efforts were in vain, and Lucy, worn out in body as well as in mind, died a few hours later.
Bide-the-Bent and some other retainers of the family, quickly brought the sad news to Edgar of Ravenswood, who, unable to rest, was passing the night in wretchedness amidst the tombs of his ancestors in a wild and craggy spot; and when the unhappy lover thus heard of his beloved one's tragic death, and understood that he had wronged her, since she had been cruelly deceived, his woe was so great that, determined not to live without her, he stabbed himself to the heart, and fell dead at the feet of the horrified attendants.
THE DAUGHTER OF THE REGIMENT
(La Figlia del Reggimento)
During the occupation of the Swiss Tyrol by the French, the soldiers of the Eleventh Regiment of the Grand Army of Napoleon had many special opportunities for distinguishing themselves; and, having one day, after a short period of rest, once again received orders to march against the enemy, the news was hailed with joy, and the camp was soon full of the bustle of departure.
But this particular day was destined to bring forth much trouble to the Eleventh Regiment, and to mark an event which caused deep disturbance in their happy camp life; and all this woe arose from their chance meeting with a party of travellers early in the morning.
It happened that a rich lady, the Marchioness of Berkenfeld, was driving through the Tyrol on a return journey to her château; and on passing the camp of the Eleventh Regiment, she was filled with dismay when her carriage was suddenly stopped by the soldiers. Her fears, however, were soon set at rest by the Sergeant in charge, an elderly man named Sulpizio, who, on learning her name and destination, politely declared that no harm was intended her; and on being invited to rest awhile in the camp, she very gladly alighted from her carriage, and retired to the tent indicated.
As the Marchioness retired, the soldiers raised a loud shout of welcome at the appearance of a pretty young girl, dressed in the garments of a vivandière, whom they all greeted eagerly as their beloved Marie, the Daughter of the Regiment; and as the maiden tripped merrily amidst the men, Sulpizio sighed deeply, for the unexpected coming of the Marchioness of Berkenfeld now reminded him of a certain duty in connection with this fair child.
The story of Marie's life was a strange one. When quite an infant, she had been discovered by Sergeant Sulpizio on the battlefield; and since no one came to lay claim to her, the Regiment had unanimously decided that she should be adopted by them, and brought up in their camp. She was given the name of Marie; and as the years went on, she quickly won the hearts of all by her winning ways, so that she was tenderly cherished by her numerous adopted fathers, and entitled by them the Daughter of the Regiment.
Marie had a loving and loyal heart, and returned the affection lavished on her with interest; and as she grew up to womanhood, she determined to repay her friends' kindness by serving them in the capacity of a vivandière. Nor was there ever a merrier or more light-hearted maiden than Marie, the vivandière; and she was toasted everywhere as the truest comrade, the gentlest nurse, and the tenderest of comforters in time of woe.
When Marie had been first discovered on the battlefield by Sulpizio, he found pinned to her clothing a letter, evidently written by her father, and addressed to the Marchioness of Berkenfeld; but not having the means of delivering this letter at that time, the Sergeant had carefully hidden it away amongst his own possessions. Now, however, as this same Marchioness had at last so strangely and unexpectedly come into his life, he felt it to be his duty to give the document into her hands.
As this thought began to trouble him, he glanced tenderly towards the pretty Marie; and noticing that she looked somewhat sad, and remembering that she had appeared less lively of late, he questioned her as to the reason. Marie, who loved Sulpizio with the most filial affection, soon made a full confession to him; and the Sergeant was astonished to learn that she had not only fallen in love, as he had rather suspected, but that the object of her affection was one whom she ought to have regarded as an enemy.
The girl related that one day quite recently she had been saved from a great danger by a young Swiss named Tonio, to whom she had very quickly lost her heart; and that her love was as ardently returned was proved by the fact that this young man had followed the Eleventh Regiment in all its movements ever since, in spite of the risk he thus ran by haunting the neighbourhood of his country's enemies.
Even as the fair vivandière spoke, there came the sound of a commotion, and a party of soldiers dragged into the camp a young man, whom they had just captured and apprehended as a spy; and, to her surprise and joy, Marie recognised in the prisoner her beloved Tonio.
To the astonishment of all she ran to embrace him; and when she had presently related the story of the service he had rendered her a short time ago, the men released him and welcomed him as a friend.
Tonio now boldly declared his love for Marie, and asked her hand in marriage; and when the elders of the Regiment saw that their beloved Daughter's happiness was bound up in this youth, they gave their consent, declaring, however, that Tonio must join their ranks and serve Napoleon in future. Tonio willingly agreed to this condition, and thus became a soldier of the Grand Army; but he was not yet destined to enjoy the happiness he thought he had secured.
As he entered into sweet converse with his beloved sweetheart, the Marchioness of Berkenfeld came out from the tent where she had been resting; and Sulpizio, unable to stifle the calls of his conscience, now entered into conversation with her on the subject of Marie, and handed to her the letter which he had found pinned to the child's clothing.
When the Marchioness had read this letter, she became much agitated; and hurrying forward, she clasped Marie in her arms, declaring that the document proved the vivandière to be her own lost niece, and the daughter of her sister, who had contracted a secret marriage with a young French captain.
As the soldiers listened to this declaration with dismay, the Marchioness next calmly announced that Marie must now return with her to her château, that she might be properly educated to fill the high position of her birth; and though the poor girl, horrified at the thought of leaving her beloved friends, entreated to be left with them, declaring that she had no desire to be a fine lady, her new relation was adamant in her resolve to remove her niece from such surroundings.
The elders of the Eleventh Regiment were also compelled to admit that they had no right to keep the weeping girl from her own family; and, though they were heart-broken at being thus compelled to part with their darling, they gently persuaded her that she must leave them.
The Marchioness, afraid that further opposition might arise with delay, declared it was necessary for her to continue her journey at once, and that she must certainly take her niece with her; and at last, Marie, on the advice of her friends, agreed to go. So the weeping vivandière took a tender farewell of her lifelong friends, and kissed them all for the last time. When she came to Tonio, she embraced him passionately, declaring that in spite of her altered position, she should always remain faithful to him; and as the sorrowful young man watched his sweetheart drive away with her aristocratic relation, he vowed that he would do great deeds, and win for himself such an honourable name and position that he might be worthy to claim her yet.
On reaching the Château Berkenfeld, the Marchioness engaged masters and teachers to instruct her niece in dancing, music, foreign languages, and all the accomplishments she considered necessary for the education of a young lady of high rank; and Marie, though finding such a life very cramping and irksome after the unrestrained freedom of the camp, endeavoured to please her aunt to the best of her ability.
But the girl's heart was with her military friends; and every now and again she would break out into enthusiastic reminiscences of her childhood, and indulge in snatches of the merry regimental songs, to the horrified dismay of the decorous Marchioness, who was much shocked at such unladylike proceedings.
At the end of a year, Marie was declared by her masters to be vastly improved in her social demeanour; and the Marchioness, eager to establish her niece more firmly in her aristocratic circle, now arranged a marriage for her with the son of a Duchess. However, Marie could not forget her soldier sweetheart, Tonio, whom she still loved as dearly as ever; but in spite of her declarations that she could never wed with another, the Marchioness still continued her negotiations with the ducal suitor, and even arranged the day on which the marriage contract was to be signed.
It was about this time that Sergeant Sulpizio was wounded in an engagement not many miles distant from the Château Berkenfeld, and was sent to the Marchioness to crave her hospitality for awhile until he should be better. The Marchioness received the Sergeant with much kindness, bestowing the utmost attention upon him; and when he had recovered somewhat from his wounds, she even permitted him free intercourse with Marie, and told him of her plans with regard to the grand marriage she had arranged for her.
Sulpizio at first could scarcely recognise the merry little Daughter of the Regiment in the richly-gowned and elegant young lady whom he was now bidden by his hostess to admire; but when Marie, forgetful of her recent lessons in deportment, rushed enthusiastically into his arms, and hugged him with the most unmistakable joy, he knew that her faithful heart had not changed amidst her new surroundings.
The Marchioness was eager to show off her niece's accomplishments to the Sergeant, and desired her to sing to him a sentimental French ballad she had just received from Paris; but she was greatly scandalised when Marie, half-way through the ballad, suddenly broke out into the old rollicking song she had always loved so well, and roguishly went through a number of military evolutions as accompaniment.
But though Marie was cheered for a while by the arrival of the Sergeant, she soon grew unhappy again; for she could not prevent her aunt from carrying out the scheme of the grand marriage.
At last the day arrived upon which the marriage contract was to be signed; and Marie went out into the grounds of the château early in the morning with despair in her heart, feeling that she would certainly be forced to carry out her aunt's wish. However, as she stood there with the sympathetic Sulpizio, she suddenly heard the sound of distant drums and fifes; and as the merry "rataplan" drew nearer, she recognised with joy that it was the marching tune of her brave soldier friends.
It was indeed the Eleventh Regiment on their way from the war; and as they had to pass the Château Berkenfeld, they made a halt there in order to greet their adopted Daughter.
Marie was delighted at this happy meeting with her old comrades; but her crowning joy was the moment when she was clasped in the strong arms of her beloved Tonio, who was now the commanding officer of the Regiment, having been thus rapidly promoted for his gallantry on the battlefield.
Tonio soon boldly announced that his military rank now rendered him a fit suitor for Marie; and he at once asked her hand in marriage of the Marchioness, a request in which he was loyally supported by the whole Regiment, who were eager that their darling should wed the man she loved, and not be forced into a marriage she detested.
But the Marchioness haughtily refused to give her consent, being bent upon her niece wedding into an aristocratic family; and since the notary had already arrived (although the prospective bridegroom had been detained at Court), she declared that Marie must sign the marriage contract without further delay.
On hearing this cruel resolve Tonio stoutly declared that, contract or no contract, he should certainly carry off his sweetheart by force; and then the Marchioness, in order to avoid such a scandal, revealed to Marie that she was not merely her niece, but actually her own daughter, the child of a marriage she had contracted with a poor Savoyard Captain, at whose death she had concealed the whole affair, lest the knowledge of such a mésalliance should injure her in the good graces of her aristocratic relatives.
She therefore now claimed parental authority over her daughter; and Marie, feeling that she could not refuse to obey her own mother, consented to sign the marriage contract, declaring, however, that it would break her heart to part from her beloved Tonio.
The gentle submission of the despairing girl, however, at last overcame the hard resolve of her mother; and the sight of Marie's deep affection for her humbly-born lover brought back to the proud Marchioness the remembrance of happy days when she herself had loved. With tear-dimmed eyes and softened heart, she now called the lovers to her side; and placing Marie's hand in that of Tonio, she gave her consent to their union.
The contract with the son of the Duchess was thus promptly broken off; and whilst Marie and her lover rejoiced together, the delighted soldiers raised mighty cheers for the happiness of their beloved Daughter of the Regiment.