THE MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR
There dwelt at Windsor during the reign of King Henry the Fourth a certain fat, jolly knight named Sir John Falstaff; and in all fair England there was not a merrier old fellow than he. Many were the tales told of his mad escapades in company with gay Prince Hal and his companion Poins; and many a round dozen of mischievous pranks and roguish tricks could be laid to the charge of the fat Knight of Windsor.
As may be readily guessed, one who led such a harum-scarum, careless life was not over-burdened with riches; but although Falstaff lived chiefly by his wits—and, be it admitted, occasionally by the depredations of his three rascally followers, Bardolph, Nym, and Pistol—his portly form did not grow less for lack of goodly cheer, neither did his mighty thirst suffer for want of endless cups of sack.
Nevertheless, at one time, the gay old Knight found himself with a more than usually light purse; and appalled at the doleful prospect of restricted conviviality, he presently conceived the brilliant idea of providing himself with a couple of sweethearts, in order to replenish his fallen fortunes.
He therefore wrote two love-letters, word for word alike, save for the names of the individual charmers, and sent them to two comely housewives of Windsor, Mistress Ford and Mistress Page; and since the husbands of these good dames were prosperous and of good standing, he hoped that his love-making would secure to him many substantial gifts, to say nothing of providing him with a pleasant way of passing his time, since both the ladies were still sufficiently young and well-favoured to prove attractive subjects for a flirtation. He made the letters as flattering and full of sentimental phrases as he could devise; and in each he finished thus:
"Thine own true knight,
By day or night.
Or any kind of light,
With all his might,
For thee to fight.
John Falstaff."
When, however, Mistress Ford and Mistress Page received these amorous effusions, and, being friends and confidantes, had compared notes and discovered the letters to be precisely the same, they were at first very indignant that respectable dames should be thus addressed by such a well-known rake as Sir John Falstaff; but, soon guessing the reason for his sudden expression of affection, they set their quick wits to work to hatch a merry plan, whereby they should make the fat old Knight the laughing-stock of the town as a penalty for his audacity.
They therefore determined to make a pretence of encouraging his advances, in order that they might bring on him the anger of their husbands; and with this object in view, they sent a letter to Falstaff, inviting him to visit Mistress Ford at her house next day, informing him that her husband, who was of a very jealous disposition, would then be safely out of the way.
Meanwhile, other little plots were also afoot in the two households. Mistress Page had a very pretty young daughter, charming Mistress Anne, who had at this time no less than three suitors for her hand. Her father desired her to wed a youth named Slender, who, though foolish and a timid wooer, was rich; whilst her mother favoured a ridiculous and fussy old foreign admirer, one Doctor Caius. But pretty Mistress Anne herself had already fixed her choice upon a somewhat poor, but handsome young courtier named Fenton, whose sincere love for her she had quickly returned with as deep an affection; and, in spite of the machinations of her father and mother, she was determined to wed none other than he. To her father's choice, she said:
"O, what a world of vile ill-favour'd faults
Looks handsome in three hundred pounds a year!"
To her mother's choice, she said:
"Good mother, do not marry me to yond' fool!"
But to her own beloved Fenton, she said:
"I am yours for evermore!"
In the Ford household, too, another plot was brewing; for Master Ford, having heard from Falstaff's servant, Pistol (who had now conceived a spite against his fat master), that the reprobate Knight was carrying on a desperate flirtation with Mistress Ford, his jealousy was quickly roused, so that he set about making plans for exposing the pair.
When the amorous old Knight appeared at Mistress Ford's house at the appointed time, he was enthusiastically received by the lively dame, who pretended to accept his advances with every sign of favour; but very soon after his arrival, Mistress Page entered the room in haste, and with simulated fear announced that Master Ford was approaching in a great rage, accompanied by Master Page and a number of other friends, all bent on dragging forth the lover whom they believed to be in the house.
Falstaff, in a great fright, eagerly begged for protection, having no desire to meet the jealous husband; and the two women quickly hid the timid Knight in a huge buck-basket—a receptacle for dirty clothes—which they had set ready for the purpose, stuffing his portly form in amongst the soiled linen. Then, covering him over with a cloth, they called two serving-men, to whom they gave instructions to carry the basket away to the meadow washing-ground, bidding them also in an undertone to tumble the contents into the river close by.
As the servants departed with the wash-basket, Ford entered, full of jealous fury, declaring that his wife had her lover hidden in the house; but after vainly searching for the ponderous Knight, he was greatly mystified, and determined to pay a visit to Falstaff in disguise, in order to learn his plans.
Meanwhile, the would-be lover had received a very unexpected ducking in the river; but though this unpleasant experience damped his ardour for the time being, he soon grew enthusiastic again next morning, as he sat with his boon companions in the Garter Inn, quaffing deep draughts of sack, and rejoicing over a second letter from Mistress Ford, in which she invited him to visit her again that day, as her husband would be out a-hawking.
Just as he finished singing a jovial song in praise of good wine, Master Ford entered in disguise; and introducing himself by the name of Brooks, asked Falstaff to help him in a love affair, declaring that he had fallen in love with the charming Mistress Ford, but was too timid to plead his own suit. He offered the Knight a fat purse for needful expenses; and Falstaff, nothing loath, accepted this unexpected windfall with great alacrity, boasting that he could easily arrange the matter, since he would be seeing Mistress Ford that day.
Ford then retired, having thus gained the information he needed; and Falstaff departed to keep his appointment with Mistress Ford, who again received him with pretended favour. Very soon, however, as again arranged between the two friends, Mistress Page interrupted the roguish old Knight's love-making by rushing into the room with the news that Master Ford was returning in a greater rage than ever, declaring that if he could catch his wife's lover this time he would certainly kill him.
These alarming words put Falstaff into a woeful trembling, and he sought wildly for a hiding-place. This time the two dames quickly hustled him into an upper chamber, bidding him don the clothes of a certain fat old fortune-telling woman of Brentford, whom they had invited for this very purpose.
Whilst Mistress Page hastily arrayed Sir John in the fortune-teller's gown, Mistress Ford endeavoured to persuade her irate husband not to search the house, as he wildly insisted upon doing; and she declared that no other stranger was there save the Fat Woman of Brentford, who happened to be visiting her that day.
This, as the wily dame expected, roused Ford's wrath still more, since he had a special dislike for the old fortune-telling hag, whom he had forbidden to enter his house again; and when Falstaff presently appeared in the Fat Woman's gown, he was roughly seized by the angry husband, and treated to a sound cudgelling ere he was permitted to depart.
Both the merry wives were by this time convulsed with laughter at the success of their plan; and they now told their husbands the whole truth of the matter, so that Ford's jealousy quickly vanished, and he sought pardon from his wife for his doubt of her.
After peace had been thus happily restored, the friends decided to carry the joke a little further still, and to give Falstaff a third scare, as a final penalty for his many misdeeds; and it was arranged that they should lure him to Windsor Forest at midnight, and there lead him to suppose that he was being attacked by fairies, goblins, and other supernatural beings.
Mistress Ford therefore invited her ponderous admirer to meet her in the forest at midnight, promising to lend him a pair of stag's horns for his head, that he might disguise himself as Herne the Hunter, in which garb, if any of the townsfolk should chance to see him, they would quickly run away in terror, looking upon him as a spirit; for at that time there were plenty of superstitious folk to be found who believed in the legend of Herne the Hunter, which was as follows: In an age gone by, a certain famous hunter named Herne had impiously slain a stag beneath the sacred oak tree, which was always regarded as a place of refuge to hunted creatures; and for this misdeed his spirit was condemned to wear the stag's horns and to hunt in the forest at midnight for evermore, accompanied by a phantom train of fellow hunters and dogs.
It was arranged that pretty Mistress Anne should appear in the forest arrayed as the Fairy Queen, accompanied by a troop of children disguised as elves and gnomes; and Page, Ford, Slender, Doctor Caius, and Fenton would also appear as various other unearthly beings to assist in the teasing and tormenting of Falstaff.
Master Page and his wife, unknown to each other, also determined to use this masquerade as a means for carrying out their opposing wishes with regard to their daughter's marriage. So Anne was first secretly commanded by her father to wear a red gown, that she might thus be recognised by Slender, who meant to run away with her, that they might be married that night by the priest at Eton; and soon afterwards she was stealthily desired by her mother to don a green robe, that she might be noted by Doctor Caius, with whom the crafty dame had arranged a similar elopement.
But merry Mistress Anne herself decided to wear bridal white garments, arranging with her beloved Fenton that he would know her thus, and could slip away with her to the priest at Eton before the other suitors could find her; and in order to complete the confusion, she directed Slender to wear a green robe and Dr Caius a red one in the masquerade, that they might thus run away with each other in mistake for herself.
On the appointed evening, Falstaff, disguised as Herne the Hunter, appeared under the Sacred Oak in Windsor Forest at midnight; and very soon after Mistress Ford and Mistress Page appeared also. The two merry dames, enjoying the joke immensely, encouraged the fat Knight in his extravagant and absurd love-making; but presently, hearing weird noises, and seeing strange forms approaching, they pretended to be terrified, and fled away shrieking, leaving the frightened Falstaff sprawling on the ground, for, in attempting to run away also, he had tripped and fallen.
The prostrate Knight was instantly surrounded by the band of pretended fairies, gnomes, and sprites; and pretty Mistress Anne, attired in a flowing white robe as Titania, drew near, and sang:
Fairies, black, grey, green, and white,
You moonshine revellers, and shades of night.
You orphan heirs of fixed destiny,
Attend your office and your quality.
About, about;
Search Windsor Castle, elves, within and out:
Strew good luck, ouphes, on every sacred room!
That it may stand till the perpetual doom,
In state as wholesome, as in state 'tis fit
Worthy the owner, and the owner it.
The several chairs of order look you scour
With juice of balm, and every precious flower:
Each fair instalment, coat, and sev'ral crest,
With loyal blazon evermore be bless'd!
And nightly, meadow fairies, look, you sing,
Like to the Garter's compass, in a ring:
Th' expressure that it bears, green let it be,
More fertile-fresh than all the field to see;
And Honì soit quî mâl y pense, write,
In emrold tuffs, flowers purple, blue, and white:
Like sapphire, pearl, and rich embroidery,
Buckled below fair knighthood's bending knee:
Fairies use flowers for their charactery.
Away; disperse: But till 'tis one o'clock,
Our dance of custom, round about the oak
Of Herne the Hunter, let us not forget!
As Falstaff listened to these words, he was filled with alarm, believing that he was indeed surrounded by supernatural beings; and sharing the common superstitious notion that it was death to look upon or speak to the fairies, he buried his face in his hands, and lay still upon the ground, hoping they would presently vanish.
But the supposed Fairy Queen now sang out a further command:
About him, fairies; sing a scornful rhyme;
And, as you trip, still pinch him to your time!
Pinch him, fairies, mutually,
Pinch him for his villainy;
Pinch him, and burn him, and turn him about,
Till candles, and starlight, and moonshine be out!
At this command, her lively followers all set upon Falstaff, pinching him, and pricking him with their toy darts, uttering strange wild cries, and indulging in loud peals of eldritch laughter; and the tormented Knight, not daring to stir, and fearing he knew not what, soon began to bellow for mercy.
Whilst this ludicrous scene was progressing, Fenton, in the guise of Oberon, drew near to Anne, whom he recognised by her white gown, and taking her by the hand, hurried away with her to Eton, where the priest they had notified quickly married them; and Slender and Dr Caius, the one in green and the other in red, also joined hands, and slipped away together, each believing the other to be Mistress Anne, in accordance with the directions given them by the supporters of their suits.
When the merry wives were fully satisfied that their corpulent and audacious admirer had received a sufficiently severe pinching, and thorough scare to teach him not to make love to respectable married dames again, they set him free, and revealed the true identity of the weird company of tormentors; and when all had enjoyed a hearty laugh at the old reprobate's expense, in which the jolly Falstaff, bearing no malice, readily joined, the masquerade came to an end.
Then, to the amazement of Master Page and his wife, Slender and Doctor Caius both appeared, full of blustering wrath at the trick which had been played upon them by saucy Mistress Anne, and which they had not discovered until they had reached Eton; and whilst the disappointed suitors were bewailing their loss, the two arch-plotters, Fenton and Anne, arrived also on the scene, and confessing their successful ruse, sued for pardon.
This was readily granted by the parents, who good-humouredly admitted that they had been outwitted by these determined lovers; and Page remarked:
Well, what remedy? Fenton, Heaven give thee joy!
What cannot be eschew'd must be embrac'd!
And Falstaff merrily added:
When night-dogs run, all sorts of deer are chased!
But Ford said:
In love, the heavens themselves do guide the State;
Money buys land, and wives are sold by fate!
After this, the whole party trooped back to Master Page's house, to enjoy a wedding feast; and in deep draughts of his favourite beverage, Falstaff quickly drowned all remembrance of the teasing he had received at the hands of the Merry Wives of Windsor.
THE TALES OF HOFFMANN
(Les Contes d'Hoffmann)
One evening during the early years of the last century, a gay company of noisy young students were drinking together in Luther's famous wine-cellar at Nuremberg. They had come in for refreshment between the acts of the Opera which was being performed in the adjacent theatre; and all were merry and ready for any revel which might arise, with the exception of one of their number who sat apart, full of gloom and leaning his head upon his hand, lost to his surroundings in a deep reverie of sad thoughts.
This was Hoffmann, the poet and musician, a man somewhat older than the others—a man who, though blessed with handsome looks, exceptional grace of form and manner, and a fascinating charm of personality, was yet prone to frequent fits of despondency, from which his boon companions had the utmost difficulty in arousing him. Not even his greatest friend, Nicklaus, had the power to call up a smile to pierce through the dark clouds of these gloomy spells; and to no one had he yet related the story of the circumstances that had made him the victim of such an unhappy state of mind.
That he had suffered sorely from the onslaughts of more than one deep love-passion, they were well aware, and also suspected that he had been drawn into the meshes of some weird supernatural influence; but though Nicklaus could have enlightened them—knowing all the circumstances of his friend's life—the young students, in spite of their curiosity, refrained from asking questions which might lose them the friendship of one whom they loved dearly.
OFFENBACH
This evening, however, to their surprise and pleasure, Hoffmann, on being rallied by his companions upon his unusually deep fit of gloom, suddenly roused himself, and offered to tell them the stories of his three unfortunate love episodes; and the students, abandoning the opera for that night, ordered in a fresh bowl of steaming punch and gathered round the handsome Hoffmann, eager to listen to the enthralling tales he had to tell.
In the first story, Hoffmann appeared as an impressionable and sensitive youth in the throes of a first boyish love-passion.
Having several times beheld the dainty form of a beautiful maiden standing at the windows of the house of Spallanzani, a famous physiologist, young Hoffmann became so fascinated by her fair looks that he fell in love with her, and eagerly sought an opportunity for declaring his passion; and, with this object in view, he offered himself as a pupil to the scientist, hoping thus to secure an introduction to the charming young lady whom he believed to be Spallanzani's child, since the latter talked continually of his wonderful "daughter," Olympia, speaking always in enthusiastic terms of her many graces, of her clever singing and dancing, and of the grand party he intended to give very shortly in honour of her coming-out.
Now, in reality, Olympia was not a human being at all, but merely a marvellously life-like automaton, made by Spallanzani, who had been assisted in the work by another scientist named Coppelius, a mysterious man who had gained a considerable reputation as a wizard and dabbler in the occult arts; but, seeing that young Hoffmann had no knowledge of the wonderful piece of mechanism they had contrived to make, but believed the latter to be indeed a real flesh-and-blood maiden, the pair conspired together to keep him in this belief, in order to retain him longer as a pupil, and also to amuse their friends at his expense.
Consequently, they would not permit Hoffmann any closer inspection of Olympia until the night of the party; and the magician, Coppelius, next informed the young man that his sight was bad, and sold to him a pair of specially prepared spectacles through which he knew that the automaton would appear to him to be indeed a living person.
Coppelius, seeing that a large fortune could probably be made by exhibiting the mechanical figure, now claimed a substantial share in the anticipated profits, he having made half of her body and supplied her with her beautiful eyes; so Spallanzani agreed to buy him out, and to that end gave him a draft on a Jew—knowing the latter to be bankrupt, but craftily concealing the fact from Coppelius, whom he believed was about to depart from the country, and, consequently, would not be likely to discover the fraud until many miles had separated them.
Coppelius, quite unsuspicious, accepted the false draft and departed; and on the same day Spallanzani gave his grand entertainment in honour of the coming-out of his beautiful "daughter."
When all the guests had arrived, the scientist produced the exquisitely made life-sized doll, dressed daintily in pretty girlish garments; and the automaton, having been wound up beforehand, was led round the ball-room by Spallanzani with great pride, and bowed to the guests, greeting them in clear, bell-like tones, and finally singing to them a fine operatic song, full of such finished trills and flourishes that the audience was astounded by the wonderful performance.
The visitors, of course, knew perfectly well that the figure was merely an automaton; but seeing that young Hoffmann—who was wearing the magic spectacles that caused the doll to appear to him more than ever to be a real human being—thought otherwise, they merrily conspired with Spallanzani to pretend that Olympia was indeed his daughter.
Becoming more and more enamoured of the pretty "maiden," as he gazed admiringly at her through his strange spectacles, Hoffmann was at last completely bewitched by her pink-and-white waxen beauty; and sitting down beside her, he took the first opportunity of their being alone to declare his passion for her, utterly regardless of her stolid attitude, stiff, jerky movements and mechanical replies of "Yes! Yes!" to all he said.
So enraptured was he that he became entirely oblivious of his surroundings, continuing to pour forth tender love speeches into the unheeding ears of the pretty Olympia, to the great amusement of the other guests; and when his friend, Nicklaus, who was also present, tried to enlighten him as to the true state of affairs, he thrust him aside roughly, and devoted himself more assiduously than ever to the unresponsive doll.
When dancing began he immediately engaged her as his partner, lovingly encircling her slender waist with his ready arm; but the doll, having been overwound, now got out of control, and whirled the unfortunate Hoffmann round and round the room at so dizzy a pace that he at length fell to the ground in a swoon, Olympia spinning on alone until finally caught and placed in the laboratory once more.
At this moment, to the dismay of Spallanzani, the wizard, Coppelius, rushed into the house in a towering rage, having discovered the fraud which had been practised upon him and returned to wreak vengeance upon his false partner by destroying the mechanical doll; and hastening to the laboratory, he managed to break the wonderful automaton into little pieces before his brother scientist could prevent him.
Hoffmann awakened to his senses once more whilst the work of destruction was in progress; and his magic spectacles having been broken in his fall, he quickly realised, to his shame and mortification, that he had been in love with a mere lifeless doll, and had made himself a laughing-stock to all who had witnessed his folly. Full of confusion, he rushed from the room, amidst the derisive jeers of the amused guests; and thus ended his first adventure in the realms of Cupid.
A few years later, Hoffmann, now in the first flush of hot-blooded manhood, was to be found in Venice, where his ardent nature revelled in the joyous life of love and warmth to be enjoyed there and the glamour of beauty and sensuous pleasure that drew him so easily into its magic circle.
Both he and his friend, Nicklaus, were frequent visitors in the luxurious palace of the beautiful courtesan, Giulietta; for Hoffmann had conceived a violent passion for his lovely hostess, stubbornly refusing to believe evil of her, in spite of the warnings of the more prudent Nicklaus, who assured him that she had numerous other lovers and would certainly deceive and cast him aside in the end.
Giulietta, for her own ends, very willingly encouraged the advances of Hoffmann, graciously accepting his eager declarations of love, and even persuading him into the belief that she returned his passion; for the fair courtesan was in the power of a demon-magician calling himself Dapurtutto, who, by his arts, had obtained such mastery over her that at his command and under his influence she had already obtained for him the shadow of Schlemil, one of her lovers, and had now agreed to take the reflection of Hoffmann in a magic mirror he had given her for the purpose—for it was in this way that the demon secured the souls he coveted.
Giulietta therefore encouraged the enraptured Hoffmann to make love to her; and on one of his visits, after a passionately tender scene with him, she carelessly held up the magic mirror and asked him to gaze within it. Unsuspectingly, Hoffmann did so, wondering at the triumphant laugh with which Giulietta instantly withdrew the mirror; but when Dapurtutto presently appeared and placed another mirror before him, he was horrified to find that it gave back no reflection—a sure sign that magic was at work.
A feeling of uneasiness now came over Hoffmann, a feeling which deepened upon the entry of Schlemil, whom he instantly perceived to be his rival and predecessor in the affections of Giulietta; but the scheming courtesan still led her infatuated victim to believe that she loved him only by telling him to secure the key of her chamber from Schlemil, declaring that the latter had it in his keeping against her will.
She then left her two lovers together, with Dapurtutto; and Hoffmann immediately commanded his rival to give up the key of their hostess's chamber, and upon Schlemil refusing to do so, furiously challenged him to fight.
The sinister Dapurtutto offered his own sword to the unarmed Hoffmann, not wishing the duel to be delayed; and after a few passes with this uncanny weapon, feeling an evil influence enveloping him, Hoffmann, to his horror, stretched Schlemil dead at his feet.
For a few moments, Hoffmann remained staring at the dead body of his opponent in a half-dazed state; then, looking up, he saw that Dapurtutto had vanished, and that he was alone.
Then, presently, a gondola passed by the open balcony; and amongst its luxurious cushions lay the faithless Giulietta, already reclining in the arms of Dapurtutto, her new lover, and waving a mocking farewell to the deserted Hoffmann, who now at last realised that his love had been scorned, and that he himself had been the dupe of a fickle, unscrupulous courtesan.
Twice had Hoffmann passed through the fire of passion and been scorched by its flames; and he seemed fated never to be a happy lover, for in his third adventure—in which he experienced the deepest and only real love of his life—dire misfortune awaited him once more.
Hoffmann's ardent nature had deepened and matured with advancing years, as the follies and fancies of early youth dropped away from him; and when, some years after the Venice episode, he fell in love with Antonia, the lovely but frail daughter of Councillor Crespel, his passion was so strong and overwhelming that every fibre of his being thrilled in his beloved one's presence, and when parted from her the whole world seemed empty.
To his joy, Antonia returned his love; and the pair plighted their troth, against the wishes of Crespel, who, though anxious to secure his daughter's happiness, yet feared that the excitement of so passionate a love would have a disastrous effect upon her delicate health. For Antonia had inherited from her dead mother a glorious gift of song, together with a strong consumptive tendency; and Hoffmann, not knowing of the latter weakness, encouraged the beautiful girl to sing more than was good for her, since he took the greatest delight in her rich voice.
Crespel, therefore, endeavoured to keep the ardent lover away from the house; and having occasion to be absent for a few hours one day, he gave strict instructions to his servant, Franz, not to admit Hoffmann, should he happen to call.
Old Franz, however, was deaf, and misunderstood the words of his master; and, consequently, when Hoffmann presently arrived at the door, eagerly inquiring for Antonia, he admitted him with a smile of welcome, saying that his young mistress would be delighted to receive him.
Next moment, the lovers were in each other's arms; and after some happy talk together, Hoffmann persuaded Antonia to sing to him once again, and the latter, though telling him that her father had forbidden her to use her voice so frequently, gladly agreed to his request, since singing was her greatest delight. During the song, however, she was attacked by a sudden fit of coughing and weakness, which greatly alarmed Hoffmann; and she had only just recovered herself, when the pair were further startled by hearing the opening of the street door and thus learning that Crespel had returned.
Hoffmann, not wishing to distress Antonia by an angry scene between her father and himself, quickly concealed himself behind a thick curtain, hoping to make his escape when a favourable opportunity should occur. Antonia retired into an adjoining apartment; and no sooner had Councillor Crespel entered the room in which Hoffmann was concealed, than he was followed by a tall sinister-looking man whom he knew under the name of Dr Mirakel, and whom he hated and distrusted, and was, moreover, mortally afraid of, since he believed him to have been the cause of his wife's early death, and suspected him now to have designs upon the life of his delicate daughter.
This mysterious Dr Mirakel was, in reality, the evil genius of Hoffmann—a demon who had dogged his path throughout his three love-adventures, first as Coppelius, secondly as Dapurtutto, and now as Mirakel—and from the angry scene that followed between the visitor and Crespel, the concealed lover learned, to his grief, the terrible news that his beloved Antonia had a fatal disease, and that her death might be hastened by the exercise of her wonderful gift of song.
When Crespel finally succeeded in driving Mirakel away from his presence, and had himself retired to another room, the lovers met together once more; and upon Hoffmann now earnestly entreating Antonia to sing no more, she tearfully promised to obey his wishes.
Hoffmann then departed to seek the harassed Crespel to gain his approval and confidence; and no sooner had Antonia been left alone for a moment than the evil Dr Mirakel returned, and representing himself as the friend of her parents, began to chide her for not making more use of her exquisite voice.
On learning that her father and lover had both made her promise not to sing on account of her weak health, the wily demon, not to be outdone, resorted to supernatural means in order to gain his ends; and bidding Antonia gaze upon her mother's portrait which hung upon the wall, he invoked the spirit of the dead woman, whom he caused to speak from the picture and persuade the girl that she was doing grievous wrong by not making use of the precious gift that had been so divinely bestowed upon her.
As her mother's portrait resumed its normal aspect once more, and the sinister Mirakel vanished from the room, Antonia, feeling that she had thus mysteriously received a heavenly command to use her precious gift of song, at once began to sing, quite forgetful of her promise to refrain from such exertion; and her rich voice rose in an exquisite song, the clear bell-like notes ringing through the house in a glorious outburst of passionate feeling such as she had never given vent to before.
But the effort and unusual exertion were too much for her frail strength to bear; and as Crespel and Hoffmann rushed into the room, attracted by the sound of her wonderful singing, she fell, exhausted to the ground, and, a few moments later, breathed her last in the arms of her grief-stricken lover.
Such were the adventures of the ever-thwarted, ill-fated Hoffmann in his search for the happiness of love; and as the recital of them came to an end, the unhappy hero buried his head in his hands, and once more plunged in his accustomed deep gloom.
The merry students, however, determined not to allow him to fall back into melancholy that night, at least; and after thanking him for the stories he had related, and commiserating with him in his misfortunes, they called for yet another bowl of punch, which Hoffmann, grateful for their sympathy, now gladly joined them in draining to the bottom.
PUCCINI