, and presently sunk into a broken and troubled sleep. For now
the mind, emancipated from the control of the will, ran riot; and the
quick-changing pictures that were presented to him were full of fearful
things that shook his very life with terror. Awake he could force
himself to think of this or that; asleep, he was at the mercy of this
lurid imagination that seemed to dye each successive scene in the hue of
blood. First of all, he was in a great cathedral, sombre and vast, and
by the dim light of the candles he saw that some solemn ceremony was
going forward. Priests, mitred and robed, sat in a semicircle in front
of the altar; on the altar-steps were three figures; behind the altar a
space of gloom, from whence issued the soft, clear singing of the
choristers. Then, suddenly, into that clear sweet singing broke a loud
blare of trumpets; a man bounded on to the altar-steps; there was the
flash of a blade--a shriek--a fall; then the roar of a crowd, sullen,
and distant, and awful. It is the cry of a great city; and this poor
crouching fugitive, who hides behind the fountain in the Place, is
watching for his chance to dart away into some place of safety. But the
crowd have let him pass; they are merciful; they are glad of the death
of their enemy; it is only the police he has to fear. What lane is dark
enough? What ruins must he haunt, like a dog, in the night-time? But the
night is full of fire, and the stars overhead are red, and everywhere
there is a roar and a murmur--_the assassination of the Cardinal_!

Well, it is quieter in this dungeon; and soon there will be an end, and
peace. But for the letters of fire that burns one's brain the place
would be as black as night; and it is still as night; one can sit and
listen. And now that dull throbbing sound--and a strain of music--is it
the young wife who, all unknowing, is digging her husband's grave? How
sad she is! She pities the poor prisoner, whoever he may be. She would
not dig this grave if she knew: she calls herself _Fidelio_; she is
faithful to her love. But now--but now--though this hole is black as
night, and silent, and the waters are lapping outside, cannot one know
what is passing there? There are some who are born to be happy. Ah, look
at the faithful wife now, as she strikes off her husband's
fetters--listen to the glad music, _destin ormai felice!_--they take
each other's hand--they go away proudly into the glad daylight--husband
and wife together for e