PART IV.--THE MASQUERADE.

In Sarragossa, in the palace of the reinstated lord, his marriage was being celebrated. Happy at last--the couple bound together for life.

The palace of Ernani, or rather Don Giovanni of Arragon, was all ablaze with light; and the pale moonbeams, shooting into the palace-grounds, showed numberless mysterious masquers flitting to and fro. It was a grand masquerade the bridegroom was giving.

But among the masquers was one who spoke to nobody; who took note of nobody; who moved along stealthily from group to group with a firm merciless tread. They who looked very closely at the mysterious masquer, noted that his hair was white, and that his eyes glittered fearfully below his mask.

“Who is he?”

“See how angrily he looketh about him.”

“He seemeth a wizard!”

Still he took no notice, but went from group to group.

* * * * *

“Gentle love--thou hast not seen thy lover’s face so oft to-night that thou shouldst wear thy eyelids down; look up, and light my very soul!”

“In truth, dear husband, I have some mysterious fear, I know not why, and yet I tremble. A coming ill seemeth near.”

“Those who have felt the storm do tremble when the lightning flashes. But now our sky is all unclouded, love; our life as happy as our hearts are light. See how tranquil all about us seems; see, too, the guests are going, the twinkling lights die out each after each, and tell us that the morn is breaking. Dost thou still fear?”

“Who that has had nought but fears for what he hath--I fear, my love, I fear. For thee--for thee alone.”

A low winding blast upon a horn swept past their ears.

“Why dost thou tremble, love, my Ernani? Is the air cold? or have I frightened thee, perchance?”

Again the low destroying blast swept past them.

“See, see, Elvira! dost thou not see his eyes sparkling in the darkness? I see his white teeth as he smiles mockingly!”

“Ernani! Ernani! I am terror-stricken!”

He looked quickly at her, as though he would confide in her some great terror. Then a world of pity flooded his face, and he said quickly--

’Twas an old wound, Elvira, which leapt in pain. “Leave me a little, love; I’ll come to thee soon.”

“A loving wife doth lovingly obey. I go.”

He followed her with his eyes till he could see her no longer, in the moon-light, and then he knew he was alone with death. Yet for a moment hope sprang up; the sound was surely fancy; the dread of what might be. He was so little used to joy that now it was come he could not believe in it. So he let go the dagger he had touched; and rising, prepared to follow his bride.

Then again came the wailing sound, and following it were whispered the mocking words--

“Take thou this horn--when from it sounds a blast ’Twill tell Ernani that his days are past.”

“MERCY!”

Creeping through the moonlight came the mysterious masquer--his face seen now to be the unforgiving, revengeful face of Don Ruy, come to seek atonement for the loss of a bride, and to demand the fulfilment of a rash oath.

“So soon!”

“Aye--so soon! I come to turn thy myrtles to cypresses.”

“Think--oh think! I have drunk from the cup of bitterness all my life--have tasted no happiness till now. Tarry a little--be merciful--tarry a little.”

“‘Take thou this horn--when from it sounds a blast ’Twill tell Ernani that his days are past’”

“Again--mercy!”

“I am a Spaniard.”

Then came flitting through the shade the white figure of the doubting bride. As she came near the spot where she had left Ernani she saw the grandee, and needed no words to be assured that her foreboding was no weak fear.

“See, she comes--thy bride--to see thee fall. Forward, fair lady--forward, fair widow!”

“Don Ruy--art implacable?”

“As death--’Twill tell Ernani that his days are past.’”

“Don Ruy--I love him--I love him! Mercy, dear guardian, mercy!”

“That thou lov’st him is thy fault. Hasten, Ernani, if thou art of Spanish blood.”

“Elvira--do not plead--it weakens my weak arm’”

But she was too loving to obey--too terror-stricken to look upon her husband. She still remained upon the ground pleading hopelessly to the don for mercy. Mercy, she could not tell for what; yet mercy she saw he had the power to give.

“I knew it. Fate hath but spread this feast before mine eyes to make yet blacker the bare truth. Don Ruy--if--if--”

“‘Take thou this horn--when from it--’”

“Ah--”

There was a dull thud, a swingeing sound, and the bridegroom was on the ground, pressing his hand upon his side.

Spanish honor was appeased--he had paid the debt of the life he had placed in the grandee’s hands, and which he had refused to purchase in the catacombs.

“Farewell--dear love--farewell. Nor seek to follow me. Thou dead, who is there left in all the world to love or think of me? As thou dost love me, live for me--weep for me--guard my grave! Our happiness was but a phantom. I knew ’twould vanish. Farewell--farewell!”

And still with his hand upon his side, his head fell upon her breast, and he spoke no more.

There, on that spot, there were but two living human beings. The young bride mutely clasping her dead husband in her arms; and the remorseless noble standing over her unpityingly--unforgivingly--and glorying in his terrible revenge!

MARTHA. (FLOTOW.)