Tales from the Operas. Various

am sure; I am sure. The tones of the last words he spoke—the very words themselves. Ottavio, as I live he killed my father; ’twas he who entered my room; whom I held, whom I followed, who turned and killed my father! I ask of thee that vengeance that is just, Ottavio. Be but sure, and then act; thy arm shall be strengthened to thy work by my love—by the memory of my bleeding father! Come, come!”

      Barely had the couple left the spot, than Leporello and his master were upon it.

      “If I fly him not, the foul fiend will have me!”

      “Well my little Leporello? All well?”

      “No, little Don Juan; on the other side, all ill.”

      “Wherefore ill?”

      “Wherefore? marry, because ’tis. Have I taken them all to thy house? Yes have I. Have I spoken lies and flattery in thy service, that I am lost for ever? Yes have I. Have I beguiled Masetto till he is a very fool? The tempter knoweth that I have. The men I have set drinking, the women idem (as the lawyers have it), when, who cometh, if not my little Zerlina? And who with our little Zerlina, if not Madame Elvira, who prythee? She should be laid, master; she should be laid like a vexed spirit. And she hath abused me; my faith! hath she abused me—hath she laid about her uncivilly touching me!”

      “And what saidst thou?”

      “Marry, the best thing I could say … nothing. But when she hath worn herself silent, and when she is, if I may thus say it, so to speak, melting in tears, I take me her hand, direct her to the street, and there do I most gingerly leave her.”

      “Then, she being gone, I may be there. Now, my Leporello, wine, wine; bring us plenty of wine, for ’tis the persuader which smoothens my road wonderfully.”

      And, taking the factotum by the arm, he pushed him along before him.

CHAPTER III.

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      “But Masetto, dear Masetto.”

      “Get thee gone. What! thou wouldst caress me, thou false Zerlina!”

      “But I love thee.”

      “Then hast thou a marvellous queer way of showing it. Thou dost bemean me. Thou dost make fingers to point at me, and then, forsooth, thou dost say ‘I love thee.’ Pish! for pure modesty’s sake I cry ‘shame.’”

      “But I love thee. He did deceive me. See, if thou lovest me not, thou dost kill me. Wherefore turnest thou from me? I love thee, I love thee.”

      “Thou art encompassed with immodesty.”

      “Beat me, beat me, thy Zerlina, here she stands, beat me; and I’ll kiss thy hands quite meekly. Beat me, beat me, but forgive me, for I love thee, dear Masetto.”

      “Thou hast the power of the evil one to overthrow me. Truly, man is weak.”

      “Beat me, beat me. Masetto, here’s the don.”

      “Let him approach. I defy him.”

      “I fain would hide myself.”

      “And, marry, I fain thou shouldst not. Ho, ho—she fears I shall learn secrets; ho, ho, ho, thou art falsity. I will hide myself.”

      “Nay, if he find thee, he will beat thee, as thou wattest not of.”

      “Let him fear me, my arm is strong.”

      “’Tis hopeless to speak to him.” This she said softly.

      “Speak loudly, untruthful woman, speak honestly loud. (I have mine ideas, yes, Masetto, I have mine ideas.)”

      And he hid behind a tree.

      Said the little woman to herself, “he hath a wry mind, Masetto;” and then she ran to hiding herself, as she saw the don approach, accompanied by several peasants.

      He dismissed those people immediately, and then called out “Zerlina, come thou here.”

      “So please you, let me go.”

      “My angel, I love thee too well.”

      “So please you, if thou art merciful, let me go.”

      “Masetto, come thou here also.”

      “My faith, he hath marked me,” said the rustic, and came forward sheepishly.

      “Thy Zerlina is unhappy when thou art not near her, why dost leave her? come, be merry, I will go with you and be merry with you,” and he walked away between them, and entered his house with them.

      Nor did he see three masked persons following him. Donna Anna, Donna Elvira, and Don Ottavio. They were following him, marking him, bringing home his guilt to him.

      Suddenly Leporello passing a window of the house within, saw the masks and called out, “O rare, my master, here is fit company for thee, my master; here are ladies, and of a quality! What sayest thou, invite them in. Aye, marry, will I. Masks, list, fair masks; my master greets ye, and prays ye enter; ye shall find good entertainment.”

      Still watching him, still tracing the crime to him, they entered the house of the murderer.

CHAPTER IV.

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      In the house of the don itself, the rustic feast, which he had improvised, was going on—

      “Pray ye, Senors, drink; I, Leporello, who talk to ye, will sip chocolate, but ye shall take what ye will—sherbet, sweetmeats, as you like it—as you like it.”

      “My lovely Zerlina, thou charmest me.”

      “Thou art very kind Senor!”

      “My faith,” said Masetto, “she is as a fine lady!”

      “Oh! rare, I love ye all, ye charmers.”

      “If thou touchest her, Senor Leporello, I will touch thee,” exclaimed Masetto, who saw the factotum eyeing the simple, charming Zerlina.

      “Methinks he’s fallen out with me again,” said the simple Zerlina to herself.

      “Of a verity, I shall go distraught,” said Masetto.

      Here the masks entered.

      The don bowed to them, then called out to the musicians, and went gaily up to Zerlina.

      “That—that is the poor country girl,” said one of the masks, in a low tone: and the three drew together.

      “Verily, I tell thee, nor will I dance myself nor shall she dance: I love not these pousettings.”

      “Verily, and I tell thee, Masetto, thou art a rare fool, a fool such as the world hath never seen. Be merry, I say be merry; nay, thou shalt be merry.”

      And the man of stratagem playfully thrust about the uneasy rustic, while the master led away the young girl. Then the dancing began, and soon the don had thrust Zerlina into a closet, unperceived, he hoped, but fully marked by the eyes under the masks.

      At once they ran towards the door, as the girl called out loudly, “Help! help!”

      “Verily, ’tis her own voice—help me, masters, help!”

      Here the don entered by another door, and, sword in hand, fell upon the luckless Leporello. “What, thou wicked servant, thou destroyer, wouldst thou, in thy master’s house, send thyself to perdition? Ho, ho! thou shalt die.”

      The simple folk were inclined to believe the don, and would have fallen upon the