During the Middle Ages there lived, in the kingdom of Arragon—one of the powerful divisions of Spain—a proud nobleman, known as the Count de Luna, whose two young sons were the joy and pride of his heart.
The Count loved his children so dearly that he could not bear to think of ill befalling them; and so, when he was told one day that the youngest child, who was still but a babe, had suddenly fallen sick, he was much alarmed, although the ailment was only a trifling one.
Thus it happened that when darkness fell the devoted nurse of this high-born babe was bidden to keep watch over her charge throughout the night; and when the anxious Count and his household had retired to rest, the faithful attendant began her vigil. Gently she soothed the sick child until he fell asleep; and then, through the long hours of darkness that followed, she kept a patient watch in the silent chamber.
The babe slept peacefully all through the night, and at last the grey dawn appeared. Then, quite suddenly, the nurse heard a sound as of someone moving in the room, and knew that she was no longer alone; and quickly springing to her feet, she beheld a strange and alarming sight.
Standing close beside the sleeping child was an old Zingara, or Spanish gipsy-woman, clad in curious fantastic robes, gazing with fierce, dark eyes upon the little one, who was now moving restlessly in his sleep. With her skinny arms upraised as though uttering an incantation, and her piercing eyes fixed upon the slumbering child, the old Zingara looked such a malevolent figure that the startled attendant shrieked aloud with terror; and her cries very soon aroused the whole household.
Quickly the servants seized the old hag, and dragged her from the room; and in spite of her explanations that she had but come to read the fortune of the sleeping child, they roughly thrust her from the castle, saying that she was a witch, and meant mischief.
Their fears were confirmed next day, when the sick babe was found to be somewhat worse; and then, according to the superstitions of those times, the Count, full of grief and rage, declared that his child had been bewitched and spellbound by the intruder of the night before. All his friends and servitors were of the same mind, and after searching in the neighbouring country-side, they at length found and seized the old Zingara, and hurried her off to be burnt as a witch.
In vain the poor creature begged for mercy, and protested her innocence: with kicks and cuffs she was dragged roughly along, and bound to the stake that had already been set up for her. Quickly the faggots were piled around, and set alight; and as the cruel flames leaped up, and the victim\'s shrieks rose to the skies her tormentors answered with mocking taunts and howls of rage.
Amongst those in the crowd gathered round the pile was the Zingara\'s own daughter, a beautiful young gipsy named Azucena, who had followed in the crush with her babe in her arms, trying vainly to get a last word with her doomed mother. But the clamouring crowd, mad with eagerness to see the witch burn, roughly pressed her back; and when the poor girl at length came upon the dreadful scene, the flames were already raging fiercely around the stake, and the wretched victim was almost dead.
The old Zingara, however, cast a dying glance upon her grief-stricken child, and with her last breath cried out: "Avenge me, my daughter! Avenge me!"
Full of rage and despair, Azucena rushed away from the terrible scene, and, determined to take a speedy revenge, she entered the Count\'s deserted castle, and snatching up the sick child—who was already recovering—she ran back with him to the place of execution, intending to burn him in the same fire that had consumed her mother.
The mad crowd had departed by this time; and stirring up the dying embers into a blaze once more, the young gipsy was just about to fling a second victim into their midst, when the Count\'s child uttered a plaintive cry.
The child\'s wailing softened the heart of Azucena for a moment, and putting him down on the grass beside her own babe, she sank to the ground in a semi-conscious state.
Suddenly, however, a vision of her poor mother writhing in the flames and calling out for vengeance arose before her troubled imagination, and starting up in a delirium of rage, she seized the wailing infant, and flung him into the midst of the flames, with a triumphant cry.
But her triumph was quickly changed to horror, for, on turning to pick up her own sweet babe, she found that the Count\'s son was still alive! In that moment of blind frenzy, she had snatched up her own child in mistake, and cast him into the devouring flames.
Stunned by this terrible blow, Azucena was now filled with remorse and woe, and tenderly lifting the helpless babe who had been the innocent cause of two such dreadful deeds, she bore him away to the mountains of Biscaglia, to be brought up as her own son in the gipsy tribe to which she belonged. But, though Azucena soon grew to love her adopted son with all her heart, she could not forget the past, and she still nursed a deep desire for vengeance against the murderers of her mother.
When, after the burning of the supposed witch, it was discovered that the Count\'s sick child had been stolen, a great outcry of grief arose; and as the young Zingara, Azucena (who had been observed to rush away during the burning of her mother), had now disappeared from the neighbourhood, it was plain to all that she had taken the missing babe with her, out of revenge. The Count, in despair, sent out search-parties in every direction; but all their efforts were in vain, for no traces could be found of the lost child.
Now it happened that during the evening after the old Zingara\'s terrible death one of the Count\'s followers, Ferrando, came past the place of execution, and noticed upon the heap of ashes the charred bones of a little child amongst those of the gipsy-woman; and he at once came to the conclusion that Azucena, in revenge, had stolen away his lord\'s babe in order to burn him upon the same pile with her mother. He was filled with horror as the certainty of this grew upon him, but he decided to say nothing about it to the Count, thinking it more merciful to let the distracted father imagine that his stolen child was still living. However, he stored up in his memory the picture of the young Zingara\'s features, that he might know her again; and he determined that if ever he should discover her whereabouts, she should also suffer death by burning for her dreadful deed.
But, in spite of Ferrando\'s caution, the Count de Luna never recovered from the loss of his little one, but died of grief a short time after; and as he lay dying, he besought his elder son to still continue the search for the stolen child. The young Count remembered his father\'s wish, and as he grew up to manhood, he never ceased to make inquiries for his missing brother in every place he visited.
Meanwhile the stolen child was living the free and happy life of a gipsy in the mountains of Biscaglia. He was given the name of Manrico; and as he was led from the very first to look upon Azucena as his mother, he had no idea of his true and exalted birth.
He loved his supposed mother with great devotion, and as the years went on, and he grew up into a handsome and noble youth, Azucena felt as proud of her adopted son as though he had indeed been her own.
Manrico, being both brave and daring in disposition, very early had the craving for adventure, and as soon as he had learned how to wield a sword with skill, he left the gipsy band and went off to the wars to seek glory and renown. Success smiled on him from the first, and the brave youth, after distinguishing himself in several campaigns, was spoken of with honour and respect wherever he went.
After many wanderings, Manrico at length found himself with the army he had joined—whose cause he felt to be a just one—engaged in settling a dispute with the powerful kingdom of Arragon; and learning that a grand Tournament was to be held in this very country, he determined to enter the lists himself. So, having donned a suit of black armour, with an unblazoned shield, he rode off to the Tournament, where he soon covered himself with glory; for his valour and skill was so great that he carried all before him, and none could overcome him in single combat.
When the Tournament came to an end, Manrico was consequently awarded the victor\'s wreath of laurel; and the brave youth knelt to be crowned by the fair hands of the lovely Lady Leonora, who had been chosen to give away the prizes.
Now, this Lady Leonora was the most beautiful of all the fair and noble ladies in attendance upon the Queen of Arragon; and as Manrico gazed upwards into her tender dark eyes, a thrill of love and admiration ran through his whole being, and he felt that she would reign in his heart for ever.
When he returned to his camp, he thought of her constantly, and at last the longing to see, or at least be near to her once again, became so strong within him, that (although he well knew, being of but humble gipsy-birth, as he supposed, he could not aspire to the hand of a high-born lady) he determined to let her know of his love and devotion.
So, every evening, clad in the garb of a Troubadour, he made his way to the palace of Aliaferia, where the Queen of Arragon held Court; and there, beneath the window of his lady-love, he sang a sweet, passionate serenade, to the accompaniment of a soft-toned harp.
Nor was Leonora insensible to these tender strains that nightly swelled beneath her window; for she, too, had constantly thought upon Manrico, whose valour and noble appearance had won her heart at the Tournament.
When she heard the sweet notes of the bold serenader for the first time, she remembered his voice, and a thrill of joy went through her as, flying to the open lattice, she recognised in the Troubadour below the form of her brave hero. Manrico was filled with rapture when he found that Leonora did not despise his love; and after this the lovers frequently met for a few blissful moments in the palace gardens after darkness had fallen, caring naught for the risk they ran.
But Leonora had another suitor, who quickly grew madly jealous of the mysterious Troubadour who was known to haunt the palace grounds, though none had yet beheld him.
This was none other than the young Count de Luna, who, upon attaining to manhood, had risen high in favour at the Court of Arragon; and having fallen in love with the beautiful Leonora, he had early offered himself as a suitor. And even when the fair lady-in-waiting, having no thoughts for any other than her beloved Troubadour, refused to smile upon him, the Count still continued to press his suit; and full of haughty anger against his unknown rival, he also went to walk in the palace gardens at night, in the hope of encountering the favoured Troubadour, whom he little dreamed was his own long-lost brother.
So it happened one night, as he stood beneath Leonora\'s window, he heard the soft strains of a harp, and following the sounds, presently beheld the noble form of the young Troubadour standing in a secluded dell, with the moonlight shining upon him. At the same moment, Leonora herself appeared, and, addressing her lover in tender tones, declared that she loved him with her whole heart.
Full of jealous rage, the Count de Luna sprang between the lovers, and haughtily called upon the Troubadour to declare his name; and on hearing that his hated rival was none other than the renowned Manrico, the enemy of his country, he at once challenged him to mortal combat.
In fear for her lover\'s life, Leonora begged them not to f............