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.