PART I.--THE BANDIT.

Who are these houseless men, lying about amongst jagged rocks, laughing gaily, card-playing and drinking--the setting sun lighting up the place with a red glare, and bathing their brown faces crimson?

The sun writes the truth upon their faces; they are men of blood--lawless, houseless plunderers; singing, laughing, card-playing--waiting for the night, and for their captain, that they may begin their work.

They keep a sharp look-out about them though, and at last, start to their feet with a great noise, as a young handsome man comes suddenly in.

He seems to have nothing in common with these men, for he is elegantly dressed, and looks every inch a cavalier. His face is not ferocious; and yet--yes, they have saluted him as captain, and he waves his hat in courteous reply.

Not a thief by birth! O no! this man really is John of Arragon, the son and heir of the Duke of Segovia and Cordova, killed to please the will of King Carlos of Castille. The son narrowly escaped the same fate, but fortune favored him. He reached the Sierras, which, like all mountains, offered the fugitive safe shelter. Hundreds upon hundreds flocked to his standard, and John of Arragon changed his name to “Ernani.” But he dwelt not so far away from his old life, as not to be able to see the Moorish castle of Don Ruy Gomez di Silva. Nor was it for the sake of Don Ruy he kept the castle ever in view. The don had a ward, Elvira, who had held out a hand to save Ernani when the blood-king was tracking him; and for this generous act she had gained his love, giving, however, her own in exchange.

The face of the chief is sad. Would that his men could bear his grief for him, and they would willingly stand between him and death.

“Thank you, brothers--thank you,” replied the chief, as he leapt down amongst them; “but my woe is so deep that even your cheering voices cannot drive it away.”

“The chief, then, is in love--”

“And likely to lose his love, brothers, if you will not help him.”

“Help! Yes--yes--yes.”

“See you that castle there, below us, with the red sun full on it. She lives there--she lives there! If you love your chief, you will help him to bring her here--here to the mountains.”

“Yes--yes--yes!” replied a hundred voices.

“She would follow me anywhere; she will love the mountains for my sake. You _will_ help me!”

“Yes--yes--yes.”

“Then let the night be our friend; when darkness has come we will storm the castle, and then she is amongst us.”

“Hurrah! hurrah! hurrah!”

And while the noble chief was waiting for nightfall, the lady whom he loved was looking from a window of the old castle towards the mountains, amongst which she knew Ernani dwelt.

A real Spanish lady was Elvira, as could be seen, had anybody been able to spy her at the window. But, alas! no one could, for Don Ruy, her guardian, hid her as a jewel which he feared might be stolen. He was seventy, she was seventeen; his hair was grey, hers was black, and yet he had determined that she should marry him.

As she sat at the window, watching the sun go down, she was at least at peace, for the grandee was away from the castle. And so she sat pensive, and dreaming of Ernani, perhaps, hoping he would come and carry her off. At last it was night time, and still the don had not returned.

Suddenly the door of the quiet room opened, and a procession entered; gay in itself, but of ominous import to the lady at the window--a string of young maidens bearing rich gifts, marriage gifts; for, truth to tell, the old don had resolved that his marriage with Elvira should take place on the following day. Listen what they say to her.

“How many Spanish maidens envy thee, fair lady. Thou wilt be the highest lady in all the land. These gifts alone are a mine of wealth. To-morrow thou wilt be a bride.”

“I thank you; but the dazzle of diamonds will not lighten hate into love.” And she again thought, “I would Ernani were here, and that he would fly with me.”

Hardly had they, the present bearers, left the room, than she turned quickly at the sound of a cautious footstep--she thought it was that of Ernani. But no; another had learnt, the secret entrance her bandit lover used. Another, who had watched and seen Ernani enter. Not a mean man this. A king--a KING! Don Carlos, King of Castille. She saw her error, shrunk back, and cried out:--

“Sire, you here, at this hour!”

“I love thee, lady, at all hours.”

“Ah, no--sire.”

“Nay, lady, a king is never told he lies.”

“I pray you, leave me.”

“I will leave with _thee_, lady.”

“With _me_!”

“Ah, if I were Ernani thou wouldst not start thus. Come, thou canst not know the wealth of love I have for thee.”

“And my honor, sire?”

“Thou shalt be honored by all the court.”

“And by myself, think you!”

“Thou wouldst sooner be honored by Ernani’s out-laws--thou lovest the robber.”

“Sire, each heart has its own secret.”

“And I, have not I mine? Ah, Elvira, from the moment I first saw thee I have loved thee. I love thee for thyself, as I would have thee, lady, e’en love me. But--but if a crown will earn me smiles from thee, I offer you the half of that I wear.”

“_With_ thy crown thy love is too high for me, _without_ it, ’tis too low.”

“Thou shalt fall.”

“A king--never forget you are a king!”

“I forget I am a king when I am at your feet.”

He ran towards her, as her eyes flashed defiance upon him; but the next moment he drew back, for she had snatched a jewelled dagger from his girdle.

“Stand back!”

“You see I do stand back, fair lady. But there are more hands here than mine to pluck the dagger from your grasp.”

Suddenly he perceived a great joy flush her fair cheeks. At the same instant he heard a footstep behind him, and turning round, he saw a man, a handsome, daring-looking man, whom he was sure, seeing the lady’s joy, was none other than Ernani, looking on him defiantly, with hate and anger! Ernani, who had entered the castle by a secret door--who was there to bear away the lady--who had come to save her from yet further misery.

“Thou art Ernani--I know it by the hate I feel sparkling in my eyes. Hate! Does the eagle hate the worm? No, he despises it. Rejoice--scourge of a peaceful country! Let thy meanness comfort thee. Wert thou greater, I would raise my hand to thy destruction. I have but to call, and thou art lost.”

“Thou knowest me and fearest me. I am so mean that thou hast robbed me of my fame;--so mean, that thou hast taken from me my wealth;--so contemptible, that thou hast slain my father! And now thou would’st rob me of my bride. What difference is there between us? Thou, noblest, with a crown on thy head and without risk of life--_I_ risk my life to rob where I have been robbed. What difference is there between us? Cowardice! Now--let us be equal. Defend thyself.”

“Hark! some one is approaching,” cried Elvira, in an agony of fear--“forget your quarrel, at least for a little while,--if you are found here I am lost. So, please you, forget your hates, and leave me.”

Still, the two men moved not--still the footsteps nearer drew.

“If you love me, both of you--either of you--leave me--leave this place! Too late--too late!”

For at this moment the door was thrown open, and on the threshold stood the master of the castle--the Don Ruy--his attendants behind him--witnesses to his dishonor.

“Do I breathe?--here, in the sanctity of my house--to find two men quarreling--as though disputing for some poor booty!”

He was a grand old gentleman, with hair as white as honor. But his age had not brought him humility. He was as proud as he was grand, and as merciless as he was proud. Turning to his court--for this grandee retained a court--he continued: “You, Senors, witness this fall of mine! This woman whom I loved, but till now I thought as pure as the moonlight streaming on her through the window. As for these men--my hands are weak, but one can bear a sword--the other a shield. Yet not here within my house shall blood be spilt. Go, pass before me.”

The last few words were addressed to the king and Ernani, and then for the first time he looked upon them--but the light was too feeble for him to recognize even one of them.

“Gently--gently,” said one of these two. But the don cried out haughtily. “None but myself had right to speak.”

Suddenly, high and loud in the air, sounded a herald’s trumpet.

And, within a moment or so, it was whispered among the crowd, still without the door, that it was a king’s messenger.

A lane was made for him by Don Ruy--who turned to the herald, imagining that he came to him. Following the herald came torch-bearers.

On came the herald. He did not salute the master of the castle--he did not even look at him. On past him, past one of the men found in the lady’s room--past the lady even--up to the second intruder, before whom he knelt.

“THE KING,” cried many, as the herald knelt, and above him stood, now in the full light of the torches, the brave man who bore a dagger sheath, but not a dagger.

Then said the king, “Don Ruy, I came to consult thy friendship for me.”

See! The proud Don Ruy has stooped his head; then he steps forward, and humbly welcomes to his house “the king.”

As they crowd about the king--as the latter receives their homage--the robber Ernani and the lady were forgotten, and they stood apart, whispering--

“Until the sun sinketh again in the deep Resist the proud tyrant, nor yield to dismay; For Ernani unbroken thy precious faith keep, And to-morrow from peril I’ll bear thee away.”

* * * * *

“Thou knowest I’m thine--know also this steel Can save me from tyrants--nor do I repine; In wretchedness even ’tis solace to feel That my heart--that my faith, will for ever be thine.”

See, now, the proud noble stoops to kneel before the outraged king, and entreats his pardon. And, graciously, the king accords it.

Hark! the king demands a safe pass for Ernani. He still thinks the eagle should not injure the worm. See, the bandit passes away, out to freedom. The king is gracious, the don trembles, and the Lady Elvira is presented to the king in due form and courtesy.