Tales from the Operas. Various

      Then they threatened him, stood about him with angry glances. Nearer and nearer they came, and as though approving them, the thunder muttered high in the air.

      But he was fearless; on heaven, or earth, or both, he cared not. Like a baffled tiger, he flew at his enemies, cut his way through them, and was saved.

CHAPTER V.

       Table of Contents

      “I tell thee, master, ’twere death to stay with thee.”

      “Then thou hadst best depart.”

      “Verily will I, and quickly.”

      “Yet why desert me, thy old master?”

      “What ho! thou beatest me, thou dost threaten to kill me; am I kicked, am I cuffed? Wherefore is it that I am kicked and cuffed? Now, tell me that, master?”

      “Le-po-rel-lo!”

      “So, my master—”

      “What! shall we not be friends again? I say, yes. Ope thy hand.”

      “How much?”

      “Four pistoles, Le-po-rel-lo.”

      “Good! rare! but I tell thee, that if thou thinkest a man of my mettle is to be bought with dirty gold, as thou wouldst buy of the weaker sex, thou thinkest mainly wrong, my master.”

      “Nay, drop thy hand, there be no more pistoles.”

      “Avaunt! the gold; but if I stay by thee, thou wilt promise to abandon women?”

      “Aye, aye!”

      “Nay, dost thou not harm them?”

      “I, who love them all! Is not he cruel to all who loveth but one? I do abhor cruelty, therefore do I love all women. And yet are there women who stand by thy metaphysics, and call this love of mine perfidy.”

      “If thy love is benevolence, which is charity, then art thou saved, and art sure of a cool heaven.”

      “But thou didst never see so sweet a woman. And I had thy dress?”

      “Marry, is she so sweet that she loveth a patched jerkin?”

      “Her mistress is not a patch upon her; and her mistress is Donna Elvira.”

      “What! wouldst make the maid weep also?”

      “I would rather the maid wept than Leporello. See, ’tis the house, and behold Elvira at the window. I will speak to her—Elvira! dear Elvira!”

      “Who speaketh? Methinks ’tis the voice of the perjured Don Juan!”

      “’Tis Juan, who prays thee to forgive him.”

      “My faith! Of a verity I believe she will trust him. O rare! O rare!”

      “Thou art a traitor, Juan.”

      “Nay, descend, love, that I may kiss thy tears away.”

      “Methinks, I shall very fairly crack with laughing. This is good. This is good, rare.”

      “Dear Elvira, come to me, come to me.”

      “She yieldeth now. By my faith, I would I had such a deft tongue i’ my head. She hath left the window.”

      “Friend Leporello, dost thou not admire me?”

      “Master, if thou comest not from heaven, of a surety I know thy cradle—’tis below, master, ’tis below!”

      “Now remember thee of this. When she cometh out, smother her in thy arms. Speak as I speak, yet not fine like a woman. Then deftly discourse her away.”

      “Good. But if she find me out?”

      “Then hadst thou best scarify thyself.”

      “Good. My faith, a pretty posture mine. I will leave this master. I will leave him.”

      Here the luckless lady came from the house.

      “Nay Juan, did I ever think my sorrow would melt thy heart. Thou dost, then, repent thee of thy desertion?”

      “Aye, do I.”

      “I have sighed as the south wind sigheth all the long night through.”

      “Eugh.”

      “But thou wilt never leave me again.”

      “Angel, never.”

      “Thou wilt forever be mine.”

      “Eugh.”

      “And thou wilt never deceive me again?”

      “Ne—e—ver.”

      “Thou wilt swear.”

      “I swear by this kiss upon thy hand.”

      “Ha! ha! ho! the guard, the guard.” Thus cried Don Juan, while the unfortunate lady ran quickly away.

      The don was about to enter at the open door, when he stopped suddenly, as he saw Masetto come stealthily along, accompanied by some friends. For the young Zerlina’s sake he was interested.

      “Now, who goeth there?”

      “A friend; my faith, ’tis Masetto. Ah, Masetto! What, knowest thou me not?”

      “Why, thou art the very foul one’s servant!”

      “Don Juan’s; ah, ’tis a base man, Masetto; a base man. I have left him for a godly service.”

      “Truly? But canst thou tell me where I shall find him, for we would fain cudgel him to death?”

      “Good. I will help you, my master, to punish this sinner unparalleled. He is near at hand, my masters, and making love, for he hath a rare habit of making love. Go you—all. I and Masetto will follow you.”

      So the peasants went off stealthily on their toes, each hoping to have a hand in towelling the don.

      “So, Masetto, thou wilt cudgel him to the death.”

      “To the very death; good.”

      “Wouldst not be satisfied with a few broken bones?”

      “Talk not to me of broken bones only, he shall soon know of no bones, marry.”

      “Thou’rt well armed, friend?”

      “A cudgel, sir, i’faith such as shall make a broad-chested man fly before thee; feel not its weight. Oh, oh. My head, mercy o’ my head. My back, wouldst twitter my back to a jelly? Marry, now, ’twas an awful thwack to the elbow; help, oh, oh. See what ’tis to trust people. Help!”

      Here the don finding his vicious arm quite weak, stole away in the dark, each of Masetto’s “helps” growing fainter and fainter.

      Now little Zerlina had followed her rustic afar off, and when she heard his yells, she came with quite a run to his side. Arrived there, she saw no one near him; but he was still yelling, and rubbing all of his back he could get at.

      “Masetto, Masetto, what hast thou?”

      “By my faith, what have I not? I am beaten to a jelly!”

      “Who hath beaten thee?”

      “A man of a foul tongue and a strong arm.”

      “Where is he?”

      “I know not, but that he is gone. Why art thou here? Oh, gadabout, why art thou here?”

      “Thou art jealous again.”

      “Why