"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 n.o.ble 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 pa.s.sed 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, s.n.a.t.c.hed 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 n.o.ble birth, and my own was gone. It was you who were left to me.

My own child had gone into the flames. I s.n.a.t.c.hed 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 n.o.bles 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.

s.n.a.t.c.hing 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 s.n.a.t.c.hing 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 va.s.sals, 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 pa.s.s 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?"