Stories from the Operas

by Gladys Davidson

RIGOLETTO

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

IL TROVATORE, OR, THE GIPSY'S VENGEANCE
(The Troubadour)

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

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

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

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

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

Quickly the servants seized the old hag, and dragged her from the room; and in spite of her explanations that she had but come to read the fortune of the sleeping child, they roughly thrust her from the castle, saying that she was a witch, and meant mischief.

Their fears were confirmed next day, when the sick babe was found to be somewhat worse; and then, according to the superstitions of those times, the Count, full of grief and rage, declared that his child had been bewitched and spellbound by the intruder of the night before. All his friends and servitors were of the same mind, and after searching in the neighbouring country-side, they at length found and seized the old Zingara, and hurried her off to be burnt as a witch.

In vain the poor creature begged for mercy, and protested her innocence: with kicks and cuffs she was dragged roughly along, and bound to the stake that had already been set up for her. Quickly the faggots were piled around, and set alight; and as the cruel flames leaped up, and the victim's shrieks rose to the skies her tormentors answered with mocking taunts and howls of rage.

Amongst those in the crowd gathered round the pile was the Zingara's own daughter, a beautiful young gipsy named Azucena, who had followed in the crush with her babe in her arms, trying vainly to get a last word with her doomed mother. But the clamouring crowd, mad with eagerness to see the witch burn, roughly pressed her back; and when the poor girl at length came upon the dreadful scene, the flames were already raging fiercely around the stake, and the wretched victim was almost dead.

The old Zingara, however, cast a dying glance upon her grief-stricken child, and with her last breath cried out: "Avenge me, my daughter! Avenge me!"

Full of rage and despair, Azucena rushed away from the terrible scene, and, determined to take a speedy revenge, she entered the Count's deserted castle, and snatching up the sick child—who was already recovering—she ran back with him to the place of execution, intending to burn him in the same fire that had consumed her mother.

The mad crowd had departed by this time; and stirring up the dying embers into a blaze once more, the young gipsy was just about to fling a second victim into their midst, when the Count's child uttered a plaintive cry.

The child's wailing softened the heart of Azucena for a moment, and putting him down on the grass beside her own babe, she sank to the ground in a semi-conscious state.

Suddenly, however, a vision of her poor mother writhing in the flames and calling out for vengeance arose before her troubled imagination, and starting up in a delirium of rage, she seized the wailing infant, and flung him into the midst of the flames, with a triumphant cry.

But her triumph was quickly changed to horror, for, on turning to pick up her own sweet babe, she found that the Count's son was still alive! In that moment of blind frenzy, she had snatched up her own child in mistake, and cast him into the devouring flames.

Stunned by this terrible blow, Azucena was now filled with remorse and woe, and tenderly lifting the helpless babe who had been the innocent cause of two such dreadful deeds, she bore him away to the mountains of Biscaglia, to be brought up as her own son in the gipsy tribe to which she belonged. But, though Azucena soon grew to love her adopted son with all her heart, she could not forget the past, and she still nursed a deep desire for vengeance against the murderers of her mother.

When, after the burning of the supposed witch, it was discovered that the Count's sick child had been stolen, a great outcry of grief arose; and as the young Zingara, Azucena (who had been observed to rush away during the burning of her mother), had now disappeared from the neighbourhood, it was plain to all that she had taken the missing babe with her, out of revenge. The Count, in despair, sent out search-parties in every direction; but all their efforts were in vain, for no traces could be found of the lost child.

Now it happened that during the evening after the old Zingara's terrible death one of the Count's followers, Ferrando, came past the place of execution, and noticed upon the heap of ashes the charred bones of a little child amongst those of the gipsy-woman; and he at once came to the conclusion that Azucena, in revenge, had stolen away his lord's babe in order to burn him upon the same pile with her mother. He was filled with horror as the certainty of this grew upon him, but he decided to say nothing about it to the Count, thinking it more merciful to let the distracted father imagine that his stolen child was still living. However, he stored up in his memory the picture of the young Zingara's features, that he might know her again; and he determined that if ever he should discover her whereabouts, she should also suffer death by burning for her dreadful deed.

But, in spite of Ferrando's caution, the Count de Luna never recovered from the loss of his little one, but died of grief a short time after; and as he lay dying, he besought his elder son to still continue the search for the stolen child. The young Count remembered his father's wish, and as he grew up to manhood, he never ceased to make inquiries for his missing brother in every place he visited.

Meanwhile the stolen child was living the free and happy life of a gipsy in the mountains of Biscaglia. He was given the name of Manrico; and as he was led from the very first to look upon Azucena as his mother, he had no idea of his true and exalted birth.

He loved his supposed mother with great devotion, and as the years went on, and he grew up into a handsome and noble youth, Azucena felt as proud of her adopted son as though he had indeed been her own.

Manrico, being both brave and daring in disposition, very early had the craving for adventure, and as soon as he had learned how to wield a sword with skill, he left the gipsy band and went off to the wars to seek glory and renown. Success smiled on him from the first, and the brave youth, after distinguishing himself in several campaigns, was spoken of with honour and respect wherever he went.

After many wanderings, Manrico at length found himself with the army he had joined—whose cause he felt to be a just one—engaged in settling a dispute with the powerful kingdom of Arragon; and learning that a grand Tournament was to be held in this very country, he determined to enter the lists himself. So, having donned a suit of black armour, with an unblazoned shield, he rode off to the Tournament, where he soon covered himself with glory; for his valour and skill was so great that he carried all before him, and none could overcome him in single combat.

When the Tournament came to an end, Manrico was consequently awarded the victor's wreath of laurel; and the brave youth knelt to be crowned by the fair hands of the lovely Lady Leonora, who had been chosen to give away the prizes.

Now, this Lady Leonora was the most beautiful of all the fair and noble ladies in attendance upon the Queen of Arragon; and as Manrico gazed upwards into her tender dark eyes, a thrill of love and admiration ran through his whole being, and he felt that she would reign in his heart for ever.

When he returned to his camp, he thought of her constantly, and at last the longing to see, or at least be near to her once again, became so strong within him, that (although he well knew, being of but humble gipsy-birth, as he supposed, he could not aspire to the hand of a high-born lady) he determined to let her know of his love and devotion.

So, every evening, clad in the garb of a Troubadour, he made his way to the palace of Aliaferia, where the Queen of Arragon held Court; and there, beneath the window of his lady-love, he sang a sweet, passionate serenade, to the accompaniment of a soft-toned harp.

Nor was Leonora insensible to these tender strains that nightly swelled beneath her window; for she, too, had constantly thought upon Manrico, whose valour and noble appearance had won her heart at the Tournament.

When she heard the sweet notes of the bold serenader for the first time, she remembered his voice, and a thrill of joy went through her as, flying to the open lattice, she recognised in the Troubadour below the form of her brave hero. Manrico was filled with rapture when he found that Leonora did not despise his love; and after this the lovers frequently met for a few blissful moments in the palace gardens after darkness had fallen, caring naught for the risk they ran.

But Leonora had another suitor, who quickly grew madly jealous of the mysterious Troubadour who was known to haunt the palace grounds, though none had yet beheld him.

This was none other than the young Count de Luna, who, upon attaining to manhood, had risen high in favour at the Court of Arragon; and having fallen in love with the beautiful Leonora, he had early offered himself as a suitor. And even when the fair lady-in-waiting, having no thoughts for any other than her beloved Troubadour, refused to smile upon him, the Count still continued to press his suit; and full of haughty anger against his unknown rival, he also went to walk in the palace gardens at night, in the hope of encountering the favoured Troubadour, whom he little dreamed was his own long-lost brother.

So it happened one night, as he stood beneath Leonora's window, he heard the soft strains of a harp, and following the sounds, presently beheld the noble form of the young Troubadour standing in a secluded dell, with the moonlight shining upon him. At the same moment, Leonora herself appeared, and, addressing her lover in tender tones, declared that she loved him with her whole heart.

Full of jealous rage, the Count de Luna sprang between the lovers, and haughtily called upon the Troubadour to declare his name; and on hearing that his hated rival was none other than the renowned Manrico, the enemy of his country, he at once challenged him to mortal combat.

In fear for her lover's life, Leonora begged them not to fight; but, rivals in love and war, the pair were not to be put asunder, and rushing off to a more distant spot, they began a passionate duel. Although, as the swords clashed together, the proud Count boastfully taunted his youthful rival with lack of courage and skill, he soon discovered that he had met his match; for in a few minutes Manrico had disarmed his enemy, and held him at his sword's point. Some strange inward power, and a sudden feeling of mercy, restrained him, however, from striking the fatal blow, and, sheathing his sword, he allowed the dazed Count to rise and depart.

Soon after this event, the war was continued, and in a great battle, the army in which Manrico served was defeated. Even when he saw that all was lost, the brave Manrico still tried to rally his forces; but at length, in a desperate struggle against a mighty charge of the enemy, led by the Count de Luna, he fell, badly wounded, and was left upon the field for dead.

But it happened that Azucena, the gipsy, was camping in the neighbourhood, with some members of her tribe; and hearing that her brave Manrico had been slain in the battle, she went to look for his body amongst the dead. After a long and weary search she at length found the poor youth, covered with wounds, but, to her joy, still alive; and after binding up his hurts, she had him carried away to his old home in the mountains of Biscaglia.

Here, with great tenderness, she nursed him back to health and strength once more; and since Manrico had been absent at the wars a long time, the reunion was very sweet to her, for she had grown to love him as her own son. Yet when Manrico told her of his two meetings with the Count de Luna, all her old desire to avenge her mother came back with renewed force, and she implored him to slay the young Count the next time he had him in his power. She then told him the story of how her mother had been so cruelly burned as a witch, and of the dreadful mistake she herself had made when seeking vengeance; but as she did not inform Manrico that he was that same stolen child, he still regarded himself as her son.

Whilst they were talking of these things one day, a courier arrived from the wars with a message for the young soldier, announcing that his arms had again met with success, and that the prince in command now desired Manrico to take over the defence of the fortress of Castellor, which was about to be stormed by the enemy. The message had been written by a friend of Manrico's, an officer named Ruiz, and at the end he stated that the Lady Leonora, hearing that her Troubadour lover had been killed in battle, was now about to enter a convent near the fortress.

Full of despair at the thought that Leonora might even now be lost to him for ever, Manrico ordered his fleetest horse to be saddled at once; and, heedless of the pleading of Azucena, who feared for his scarcely-healed wounds, he rode off in hot haste for Castellor, praying that he might yet arrive in time to prevent his beloved one from taking the vows of a nun.

Now, the Count de Luna had also been told that Leonora meant to enter a convent; and as his desire to possess her was still as strong as ever, he laid a cunning plan for carrying her off, even from the threshold of the altar itself.

On the evening upon which Leonora was to take the vows, he secured a small body of soldiers to help him, and hid amidst the bushes beside the little chapel that adjoined the convent; and just as the procession of nuns approached, with the beautiful maiden in their midst, he rushed forth to stop their passage.

Leonora trembled at the sudden appearance of the Count, whom she had always disliked and feared; and when he declared passionately that he meant to carry her off by force to be his bride, she shrieked, and repulsed him indignantly.

At this critical moment, Manrico suddenly rode up, and, springing from his horse, rushed between the pair, who stared at him with utter astonishment. But surprise was quickly changed to joy and relief on the part of Leonora, who clung to her restored lover with trusting arms; and when the Count realised that the hated rival, whom he had left for dead upon the field of battle, was still alive, he was filled with disappointment and jealous despair.

Wildly, he ordered his men to attack the newcomer; but at the same time, a large troop of the enemy's soldiers, led by the officer, Ruiz, rode up to the help of Manrico. Seeing that further resistance was useless, the Count was compelled to retire; and since Leonora had no longer any desire to take convent vows, now that her lover was restored to her, Manrico joyfully led her away to the fortress of Castellor which he had been bidden to defend.

Here, for a short time, the lovers were very happy; and, hand locked in hand, they walked daily upon the battlements of the castle, talking of the sweet time to come when they would be free to live together in peace and joy.

But heart-rending grief was yet in store for them; for the Count de Luna, as leader of the storming party, was determined that the attack on the castle should meet with success, and that Manrico should be utterly defeated. With this object, he sent for additional men, and arranged all his plans with great care; and as he stood within the encampment just before the attack, he knew that Castellor was doomed. Yet he felt little satisfaction in this thought, for he could not get away from the taunting fact that even when he had parted the lovers for ever, Leonora would never care for him, since her whole heart was given to Manrico.

These galling thoughts were quickly interrupted by the sounds of a disturbance in the camp; and a few moments later, the Count's old follower, Ferrando, entered the tent, saying that a gipsy-woman had been found hovering in the neighbourhood, and seized as a spy. A number of soldiers immediately afterwards entered, dragging with them the Zingara, Azucena, who had followed her adopted son to Castellor in the hope of being able to serve him, but had now fallen into the hands of his enemies.

On questioning the gipsy and learning that she came from the mountains of Biscaglia, the Count at once demanded whether she remembered how the young child of the Count de Luna had been stolen away and carried thither; and when the Zingara replied that she had heard the story, he eagerly asked if she had any tidings of the lost one, who was his own brother.

On hearing this, Azucena trembled with excitement, knowing now that she was in the presence of the man upon whom she wished to revenge herself for the death of her mother; and at the same moment, Ferrando, who had been gazing at her intently, suddenly remembered her features, and declared to the Count that this was the very same gipsy-woman who had stolen his brother years ago and burned him upon the witch's pyre, relating, for the first time, how he had seen the child's bones amongst the ashes.

Full of horror at what he heard, the Count ordered the Zingara to be kept a captive, declaring that she should burn at the stake after the storming of the castle; and on learning from poor Azucena's disjointed cries for mercy and help that she called upon the name of Manrico as her son, he exulted cruelly, knowing that he could now give his hated rival additional suffering through the torture of his mother.

No sooner had the Zingara been dragged away than the storming of the castle began; and although Manrico and his followers defended the fortress with utmost bravery, they were at last overwhelmed by the enemy's superior numbers, and were enforced to yield.

Manrico was taken prisoner, but Leonora, with the help of the faithful Ruiz, managed to escape to a place of safety. The Count de Luna, immediately after the conflict, returned to the royal castle of Aliaferia with his captured rival and Azucena the gipsy; and having thrust them together into a strong tower, he quickly made arrangements for their early execution. He gave orders that Manrico should be beheaded as a State prisoner, and the Zingara burnt as a witch; yet even this triumph over his hated enemy could not compensate him for the loss of Leonora, of whom he had heard nothing since the fall of Castellor.

But Leonora was in a safe hiding-place; and on the night before the execution, she made her way, protected by the darkness, into the palace grounds, and standing beneath the tower in which Manrico lay, she began to sing softly to let her lover know that she was near him.

Presently, Manrico, who had recognised her voice with joy, answered in the same fashion; but it was a passionate song of farewell that he sang, for he knew that he was to die at day-break.

On hearing this sad song, Leonora was filled with grief and despair, but determined to make a last effort to save her lover's life even at the sacrifice of her own; and as the Count de Luna a few moments later happened to come past that way, she rushed wildly forward, and falling on her knees, implored him to spare the life of the man she loved.

The Count, though amazed at her sudden appearance, greeted her gladly; but when he found that she was pleading for her lover, he was filled with jealousy once again, and refused her request, even though she offered to give her own life in exchange.

Then, seeing that nothing else would avail with the inexorable Count, Leonora, though she scarce could utter the fatal words, offered to become his bride, if he would only promise to spare the life of Manrico; and De Luna, triumphant now, agreed gladly, and bade her set the captive free at once.

Quickly Leonora went to seek the guards, but on the way she sucked some deadly poison from a ring she wore, for having gained her ends, she was determined to die rather than be wed to her lover's rival.

The captives in the tower had been passing a restless night, for Azucena was filled with terror at the thoughts of the sufferings she must endure on the morrow. To soothe her Manrico persuaded her to sing with him, that they might be reminded of their old happy life in the mountains of Biscaglia, where music had been a constant delight to them; and in the midst of the singing, the bolts were drawn, and Leonora entered the room.

With surprise and joy, Manrico clasped his beloved one in his arms; and then Leonora, explaining hurriedly that she had secured his freedom, besought her lover to fly at once, before his enemy had time to relent.

But Manrico, suspecting at once that Leonora had obtained his freedom by giving herself to his rival, would not stir; and instead, he began to pour forth reproaches upon her, deeming her false to him.

By this time, however, the poison she had swallowed was taking a quick, deadly effect upon Leonora, and, sinking to the ground, the poor girl told her lover, between dying gasps, that she had preferred to die rather than yield to his rival.

Overcome with despair and woe at the terrible sacrifice she had made for him, Manrico sprang forward to receive her in his arms as she expired; and at that moment the Count de Luna entered the room.

On seeing how he had been cheated of his expected bride, the Count, full of rage, ordered Manrico to instant execution; and seizing the Zingara by the arm, he dragged her roughly to the window to see her son die.

Azucena was half-dazed with grief and terror; but when the axe had fallen, and the brave Manrico was no more, she turned upon the taunting Count, and telling him in frenzied tones of the true birth of her adopted son, she ended her story by shrieking out: "Thou hast slain thine own brother!"

On hearing these terrible words, De Luna's gloating exultation was turned into the deepest horror; and thus, at last, was the gipsy avenged for the murder of her mother.