Part 18

"It is the time of my vengeance, now," he muttered to himself. He tried the inn door and found it locked. "He cannot have done the deed yet," he muttered. After waiting a little he knocked.

"Who's there?"

"I am known to thee," he whispered back; at this Sparafucile came out, dragging behind him a sack.

"Bring a light," Rigoletto called, "that I may see him."

"That's all right--but you pay my money first," the cut-throat insisted. Rigoletto impatiently paid him.

"I'll throw him into the river, myself," Rigoletto said triumphantly.

"The tide is shallow here--go farther on--and be sure no one surprises you," Sparafucile advised. "Good night," he said shortly, and went inside the inn. Then Rigoletto stood in the dripping road looking gloatingly at the sack.

"I've got you at last," he chuckled, diabolically, "I have revenge for your treatment of my daughter. My dear daughter! The child of my heart!" At the very thought of what she had suffered the dwarf sobbed. "I'll put my foot upon you, you noble vermin," he cried, kicking the body in the sack. At that moment he heard a song--_La Donna e Mobile_--The voice! Was he going mad? He knew the voice. He had heard it only a few hours ago, in the inn--he had heard it daily at court--_La Donna e Mobile_! He looked toward the windows of the inn. _La Donna e Mobile!_ As he looked he saw the Duke and Maddalena step from the window to the terrace that ran by the river bank. "_La Donna e Mobile_," the Duke sang gaily. With a frightful cry, Rigoletto dragged the sack open and the body of his murdered daughter rolled out upon the road. She moved ever so little.

"Father?" and she gasped out the truth, with a dying breath, while the dwarf shrieked and tore his hair.

"The curse, the curse! Monterone's curse!" he screamed, and went raving mad.

IL TROVATORE

CHARACTERS OF THE OPERA, WITH THE ORIGINAL CAST AS PRESENTED AT THE FIRST PERFORMANCE

Leonora Penco Azucena Goggi Inez Quadri Manrico Baucarde Count di Luna Guicciardi Ferrando Balderi Ruiz Bazzoli An old gipsy. Messenger, jailer, soldiers, nuns, gipsies, and attendants.

The story belongs to the fifteenth century in Spain, and tells of the border wars of northern Spain, carried on in the provinces of Arragon and Biscay.

Composer: Giuseppe Verdi. Author: Cammarano.

First sung in Rome, _Teatro Apollo_, January, 19, 1853; Paris, _Theatre des Italiens_, December 23, 1854 (in Italian); at the _Opera_, January 12, 1857 (in French); London, Covent Garden, May 17, 1855; New York, Academy of Music, April 30, 1855.

ACT I

[Music]

There you are, prepared for almost anything in the way of battle, murder, or sudden death, to the accompaniment of beautiful music; opera in true Italian style, at its second best.

Soldiers and servants were gathered about the beautiful columns of a porch of the Aliaferia palace just before midnight awaiting the return of the Count di Luna. Among them was Ferrando, the captain of the Count's guard. All were lounging in the vestibule of the palace gossiping till it was time to go on duty within.

"Hey, wake up! You'll be caught napping," Ferrando called to his comrades. "It is time for the Count to come. I suppose he has been under the Lady Leonora's windows. Ah, he is madly in love with her--and so jealous of that troubadour who sings beneath her windows that some day they will meet and kill each other."

This was an old story to the men, and in their effort to keep awake they clamoured for the story of the Count di Luna's brother, which all had heard told with more or less of truth; but Ferrando knew the whole horrible tale better than any one else; besides, it was a good story to keep awake on.

"Ah, that was a great tragedy for the House of Luna," Ferrando began with a shiver. "I remember it as if it were but yesterday:"

When the good Count di Luna here resided, Two children fair he numbered; One to a faithful nurse was once confided, By the cradle she slumbered.

At morning when she woke and gazed about her, Sorely stricken was she, And what sight do ye think did so confound her? Cho. ... What, oh tell us did she see?

[Music:

Ferrando.

Swarthy and threatening, a gipsy woman, Bearing of fiendish art, symbols inhuman Upon the infant fiercely she gazes, As if to seize him her arm she raises! Spellbound the nurse watch'd at first the beldame hoary But soon her shrieking was answer'd in the distance, And quicker than now I can tell you the story, The servants of the [Transcriber's Note: music ends here]]

The frightful story was sung in a deep bass voice, by Ferrando. He sang of how the cry of the nurse on that morning years before had brought the servants running and they had put the gipsy out; but almost at once the baby grew ill, and the Count and his people believed the old hag had put a spell upon it, so that it would die. They sought wildly for her, and, when they finally found her, they burned her alive.

While that frightful scene was being enacted, the baby was stolen, outright, and the di Luna family saw it thrown upon the fire which had consumed the gipsy.

This deed was done by the daughter of the gipsy whom they had burned alive. There were those who believed that the child burned had not been the Count's, but a young gipsy baby--which was quite as horrible. The name of the young woman who had done this fiendish thing was Azucena, and the di Lunas searched for her year after year without success.

It was believed that the spirit of the hag they had burned had entered into the younger woman's body. The gossiping soldiers and servants sang:

Anon on the eaves of the house-tops you'll see her, In form of a vampire; 'tis then you must flee her; A crow of ill-omen she often is roaming, Or else as an owl that flits by in the gloaming.

While they were talking of this tragedy for the hundredth time, it approached the hour of midnight. The servants, through fear, drew closer together, and the soldiers formed a rank across the plaza at the back.

Each recalled some frightful happening in relation to witches; how one man who had given a witch a blow, had died, shrieking and in awful agony. He had been haunted. It was at the midnight hour that he had died! As they spoke of this, the castle bell tolled the midnight hour. The men, wrought up with fright, yelled sharply, and the face of the moon was hidden for a moment.

_Scene II_

When the cloud which had hidden the moon's rays cleared away, a beautiful garden belonging to the palace was revealed. The place was very silent, the soldiers and servants, excepting those on guard, having gone within.

The Lady Leonora, whom the Count di Luna loved, was one of the suite of the Princess of Arragon, and when all in the palace were sleeping it was her custom to steal into the lovely gardens with her friend, Inez. Of late, when she came there, she had hoped, secretly, to find a mysterious young troubadour, who sang almost nightly beneath her windows. She loved this troubadour and not the Count.

The first time she had met the handsome youth was at a tournament. There he had come, dressed in a suit of black, and all unknown; wearing a sweeping sable plume in his helmet; and when the jousting took place, he had vanquished all the nobles. It was Leonora, herself, who had placed the wreath of the victor upon his brow. From that very moment they had loved. He had worn no device upon his shield by which he could be known, but she had loved him for a gallant knight.

He belonged to the retinue of a neighbouring prince, who was an enemy of the Princess of Arragon, and he risked his life each time he came to sing in the gardens to Leonora.

"Ah, I fear some harm will come of this love of yours!" Inez said to her friend and mistress. "The Princess awaits thee, dear Countess, and we must go within. I hope your trust will never be betrayed by this unknown knight and singer." The women mounted the gleaming marble staircase, and then Leonora paused for a moment looking down into the garden again.

She had no sooner gone than a man peered out from the shadow of the trees. It was the Count di Luna, jealously watching for the knight who sang beneath the lady's window. Also, he hoped to see Leonora, herself, but all was still, and after watching the balcony a moment, he started toward the marble steps. At that instant a beautiful voice stole through the moonlight.

[Music:

Manrico.

Naught upon earth is left me, Fate of all joy hath bereft me.]

It was Manrico the troubadour!

The Count paused upon the stair and looked down; but Leonora, too, had heard, and ran out upon the balcony, then down the steps, throwing herself into the Count's arms, mistaking him for Manrico. Manrico, still hidden by the shadows, witnessed this, and becoming enraged at the sight, believing Leonora faithless, he rushed upon them just as the moon again shone forth and revealed to Leonora that she was in the Count's arms, instead of the troubadour's.

"Traitress!" Manrico cried.

"Manrico, the light blinded me," she implored, throwing herself at the troubadour's feet.

For thee alone the words were meant, If those words to him were spoken,

she sang.

"I believe thee," Manrico answered; while the Count, enraged in his turn, cried:

"You shall fight with me, Sir Knight!"

"Aye, behold me!" Manrico answered, lifting his visor and standing in the bright light of the moon. At the sight of him di Luna started back:

"Manrico! The brigand! Thou darest----"

"To fight thee? Aye, have at it!" and Manrico stood _en garde_. Leonora implored them not to fight, but too late. They would fight to the death.

"Follow me," di Luna called, drawing his sword, which he had half sheathed when he had seen that his antagonist was not of noble birth like himself. "Follow me," and he hurried off among the trees, followed by Manrico.

"I follow, and I shall kill thee," the handsome troubadour cried, as he too rushed off after the Count. Whereupon the Countess Leonora fell senseless.

ACT II

This opera of shadows and darkness began again in a ghostly ruin in the mountains of Biscay. A forge fire blazed through a yawning doorway of tumbled-down stones. It was not yet day, but very soon it would be; and Manrico, the handsome knight, brigand, troubadour, lover of Leonora, lay wounded upon a low couch near the forge fire. Azucena, his gipsy mother, sat beside him, tenderly watching. Many months had passed since the night of the duel in the palace garden, when Manrico had had di Luna at his mercy, but had spared him. Since that time there had been war between the factions of Arragon and Biscay, and Manrico had been sorely wounded in his prince's service. Here he had lain ever since, in the gipsy rendezvous, cared for by his mother.

All night the gipsy band had been at work, forging weapons with which to fight, and just before the early dawn they were discovered singing a fine chorus, which they accompanied by a rhythmic pounding upon their anvils.

There, beside him, through the long nights, Azucena had sat, conjuring back memories of her fierce past, and soon she broke into a wild song describing the death of her mother, years before, when Manrico was a baby. She sang how that old mother had been burned at the stake by the di Lunas--by the father of the living Count.

"Di Luna, mother?" Manrico questioned.

"Aye, it was di Luna. Why did ye not kill the young Count when ye fought?" she asked, fiercely.

"I do not know," he murmured, rising upon his elbow. "Mother, do you know when I had disarmed him, something seemed to hold me back, to paralyze my arm. I hated him, but I could not strike the death-blow."

"His father burned my mother at the stake, Manrico. Ye must avenge me." And at that moment a gipsy interrupted the talk between mother and son by crying:

"The sun rises! we must be off!" Thereupon the gipsy band threw their tools into bags, gathered up their cloaks and hats, and one by one and in groups they disappeared down the mountain-side, leaving Azucena and her wounded son alone in the ruined hut. He remained wrapped in his mantle, sword and horn beside him, while the old hag continued to croon about the horrors of the past. In her ever-increasing rage she called again and again upon Manrico to avenge her.

"Again those vengeful words, mother! There is something in thy voice which I do not understand."

"Listen! I will tell thee! I have told thee how my mother was accused, arrested by the old Count and burned alive. Well, in that fearful moment, crazed with grief I crept into the palace, snatched the Count's child, and rushed out, thinking only of my revenge. With maddened mind I tossed the babe into the flames that were consuming my mother--or so I thought! But when I looked around there was the child of noble birth, and my own was gone. It was you who were left to me. My own child had gone into the flames. I snatched thee up and fled."

"What is this that ye tell me?" Manrico cried, his eyes strained, his body stiffened with horror. "Thou who art so tender of me--" and he fell back upon his couch overcome with the frightful deed.

"I was mad! but now you must avenge me. You must ruin my enemy. Have I not tended thee as my own, and loved thee?"

"Oh, tale of woe! Mother, speak no more." Frightful as the deed had been, he tried to soothe the demented old woman who had truly cared for him with a mother's care. He had known no other mother, but the tale had distracted him. The knowledge that the Count di Luna, whose life he had spared, was his own brother, explained much to him. No wonder something had stayed his hand when he might have killed him. Yet, he also recalled that his unsuspecting brother loved Leonora. In all their encounters, di Luna had shown only a hard, unyielding heart, and Manrico had no reason to love him. After all, Manrico was but a wild young brigand, living in a lawless time, when nobles themselves were highwaymen and without violating custom. Such a one had little self-control.

"Show di Luna no mercy, my son," Azucena urged. "Art thou not my son? my own, dear son?" Then suddenly remembering all that her distraught condition had betrayed her into saying, she cried remorsefully:

"I am an old and wretched woman who has seen much sorrow. When I spoke I was distracted with my griefs, but remember the Count di Luna and do not spare him. If you do, he will take the Lady Leonora from thee."

"True, mother, and I will kill him," the troubadour said suddenly. The thought of di Luna's rivalry overcame his sense of humanity.

The forge fire died down, and Manrico, exhausted by his mother's story, lay back upon his couch while his mother continued to sit, lost in her tragic thoughts, but while he rested, half sleeping, the long clear note of a horn was heard, and Manrico started up.

"It is Ruiz," he said anxiously, believing it to be his servant. Snatching his horn from his belt, he blew a clear, answering blast. In a moment a messenger, who was not Ruiz, ran in.

"Quick, what is thy news?" Manrico demanded, made apprehensive by illness and the stories he had heard. He expected misfortune from every quarter.

"A letter for thee, Master," the messenger panted, leaning against the rocky wall, worn with running. Manrico read excitedly:

"Our men have taken Castellar. The Prince's order is that thou shalt come instantly to defend it. Unless thy wounds have laid thee low, I shall expect thee. Know that, deceived by the tidings of thy death, the beautiful Lady Leonora will this day become the elect of Heaven." Manrico started, then stared at the letter again. Leonora to enter a convent where he could never see her again! No!

"Bring me my horse, quick. I shall join thee below the hill. Mother, I go! My mantle!" And snatching his cloak and helmet, his mother threw her arms about him.

"Where do you go, my son?" she cried with anxiety.

"To save Leonora--let me go."

"Thou art still ill. It will kill thee, and I shall die if I lose thee."

"Farewell, mother; I go. Without Leonora, I could not live. I go." Tearing himself from her he rushed down the mountain.

_Scene II_

Again it was night; there was always an appearance of darkness and gloom about the lovers. From the cloisters of the convent to which Leonora had gone, there stretched away at the back a deep wood. The Count, having heard where Leonora was hidden, had also started with his followers and vassals, to reach the convent before she could take the veil and retire forever beyond his reach. When he reached the convent it was just before day, and with Ferrando he stole into the gardens, wrapped in his long cloak.

"Everything is still; the convent is sleeping. They have ceased their prayers awhile and we are safe, Ferrando," the Count whispered.

"It is a bold adventure, Count. I fear----"

"Do not speak. A man does not fear when he is in danger of losing the woman he loves." He began to sing softly:

[Music:

On the light of her sweet glances, Joy celestial beameth upon me.]

It was a love song to Leonora, who, within the convent, was about to bury herself from all the world, believing Manrico to be dead. As the light of day slowly flushed the scene, a bell sounded from the chapel tower.

"That bell, Ferrando!"

"It is to summon the nuns to prayer. They will pass this way."

"Now to rescue her!" Di Luna motioned to his men, who had lain concealed in the shadows. "She is coming," he whispered, watching the convent door, while a weird chant floated out. The nuns were singing. While di Luna watched, Leonora came from the convent with her beloved friend, Inez, who was weeping.

"Why weep, Inez?" Leonora asked, gently.

"In another hour shall we not be forever parted?"

"Have no regrets for me, dear sister. There is no longer any happiness for me in this life, since Manrico is dead. Come, weep no more. Let us go to the altar."

"No," di Luna cried, rushing upon her, while the nuns from the convent screamed:

"Sacrilege! Help!" They struggled, and the Count's men rushed up to help him. The Count had overcome Leonora and was about to flee with her, when Manrico leaped into the midst of the fight. His men set upon the Count's men, while Manrico himself lifted Leonora and ran off with her.

His men vanquished the Count's. Leonora believed herself in Heaven upon finding herself in Manrico's arms, and as he carried her away he cried to di Luna that he would be revenged upon him. Then he fled to Castellar.

ACT III

At last this tragedy began to see daylight, inasmuch as the third act began in broad day with the banner of the Count floating from his tent, pitched before the ramparts of Castellar, which could be seen in the distance. Soldiers were moving about, brightening their armour, and a band of strong crossbow-men crossed the ravine behind the camp.

"Those are the troops to reinforce us," some of the soldiers sang out.

"We shall vanquish Castellar then, without delay," others cried; and then comes a famous soldiers' chorus. The Count di Luna came from his tent and looked off toward the grim stronghold of Castellar.

"Thy day is over," he said, vindictively, thinking of Manrico, who, with Leonora, in the castle, was defending the domain. His thoughts were interrupted by a commotion in the camp.

"What is the trouble there?" he asked Ferrando, who came from the hill.

"A wandering gipsy has been found near the camp, and the men believe her to be a spy from Castellar. They have arrested her, and are bringing her to you, Count," he announced as Azucena appeared with some men.

"Let me go!" she screamed, struggling to get away from her captors.

"Bring her here," di Luna said, and they released her before him.

"Where is your home?"

"Not here," she replied sullenly.

"Well, where?"

"The gipsy has no home; she wanders. I come from Biscay, if you must know."

Biscay! Di Luna started at the word. Ferrando looked at him quickly.

"Say, old hag, how long hast thou been among the Biscay mountains? Dost thou remember that many years ago--fifteen--a young child was stolen from a noble, by one of thy people?"

"What is that you say?" she screamed in fright.

"I say the child was my brother."

She stared at him in horror. "Well," she muttered, "thy tale is no concern of mine." But Ferrando, who had been watching her closely, believed he recognized her features.

"Count, do not let her go--it is the murderess herself; she who threw thy brother upon the fire."

"Ah, my God!" The Count cried, shrinking away from her. "Let me punish her. To the stake with her!" and she was instantly surrounded by the men.

She twisted and screamed, calling upon Manrico to come and save his mother, but Manrico was in the castle of Castellar defending it and Leonora from the Count below. He was about to marry the Countess and they were even at that moment on their way to the chapel. They entered the great hall, whose windows opened out upon the horrid scene below, where Azucena was to be burned at the stake. It was now dusk, and the clamour of battle could be plainly heard, within the hall. Leonora, being frightened, asked Manrico if the trouble would never end.

"Banish all sad thoughts, Leonora; our soldiers will win and it will soon be over. Think only of joyful things. We shall live and be happy." The organ sounded from the chapel. "That calls us to our marriage," Manrico said, leading her toward the chapel door, but as they were about to enter, Ruiz rushed in.

"Manrico! Look out--that gipsy." He pointed frantically out of the window. Manrico looked, and there he saw his old mother being tied to the stake, the fagots being piled about her. He yelled with horror.

"Leonora! It is my mother. She was my mother before I loved thee. I go to save her. Call our men, Ruiz, I follow!" Embracing Leonora, he rushed wildly away, while the trumpets of war were heard, and the din of battle began.

ACT IV

Back at Aliaferia, Manrico was held prisoner. All was gloom and darkness again, with the prison tower where Manrico was confined looming near, its bars seeming very sinister, the evening more forbidding by contrast with that first moonlight night, when he had sung to Leonora in the gardens.

Leonora, protected by Ruiz, the faithful servant, stole from the shadows, while Ruiz tried to reconnoitre and spy out where Manrico was hidden. The Countess was worn with fear and trouble. While they stood there, outside the prison, the "Miserere" was dolorously chanted. The sound was ominous.