blers and musicians came from distant parts of the country to
take part in the festivities and merry-making. In the village, which was
close to the castle, a fair was held, and the musicians, tumblers, and
mountebanks, who had thronged to it, performed in front of the castle
walls for the amusement of the Count's guests.

"Among these strolling vagabonds was a fiddler who far excelled all the
others in skill. He drew the most ravishing tones from his instrument,
which seemed to speak in trills as liquid as those of the nightingale,
and in accents as plaintive as those of a human voice. And one of the
inmates of the castle was so much struck by the performance of this
fiddler that he told the Count of it, and the fiddler was commanded to
come and play at the Castle, after the banquet which was to be held
on the eve of the wedding. The banquet took place in great pomp and
solemnity, and lasted for many hours. When it was over the fiddler
was summoned to the large hall and bidden to play before the Lords and
Ladies.

"The fiddler was a strange looking, tall fellow with unkempt fair hair,
and eyes that glittered like gold; but as he was dressed in tattered
uncouth rags (and they were his best too) he cut an extraordinary and
almost ridiculous figure amongst that splendid jewelled gathering. The
guests tittered when they saw him. But as soon as he began to play,
their tittering ceased, for never had they heard such music.

"He played--in view of the festive occasion--a joyous melody. And, as he
played, the air seemed full of sunlight, and the smell of wine vats and
the hum of bees round ripe fruit. The guests could not keep still in
their places, and at last the Count gave orders for a general dance. The
hall was cleared, and soon all the guests were breathlessly dancing to
the divine lilt of the fiddler's melody. All except Elisinde who, when
her betrothed came forward to lead her to the dance, pleaded fatigue,
and remained seated in her chair, pale and distraught, and staring at
the fiddler. This did not, to tell the truth, displease her betrothed,
who was a clumsy dancer and had no ear for music. Breathless at last
with exhaustion the guests begged the untiring fiddler to pause while
they rested for a moment to get their breath.

"And while they were resting the fiddler played another tune. This time
it was a sad tune: a low, soft tune, liquid and lovely as a human voice.
A great hush came on the company. It seemed as