elf if Fernando found
Don Florestan in a dungeon. The two men were dear friends, and so
cruelly treated had Florestan been that Pizarro could never hope for
clemency. Hence, he called Rocco, and told him that Florestan must be
killed at once, before the arrival of Fernando.

Rocco refused point blank to do the horrid deed; but as a dependent he
could not control matters, and hence he had to consent to dig the
grave, with the understanding that Pizarro, himself, should do the
killing.

Thus far, Fidelio had been able to find out nothing about her beloved
husband, but she had become more and more of a favourite with the
unfortunate old jailer, and was permitted to go about with a certain
amount of freedom.

Upon the day when Pizarro had directed Rocco to kill a prisoner in a
certain dungeon, she overheard a good deal of the plot, and she began
to fear it might be her husband.

She went at once to Rocco:

"Rocco, I have seen very little of the prison. May I not go into the
dungeon and look about?"

"Oh, it would never be allowed," Rocco declared. "Pizarro is a stern
and cruel governor, and if I should do the least thing he did not
command, it would go hard with me. I should not dare let you do that,"
he said, much troubled with the deed that was in hand.

"But wilt thou not ask him, Rocco?" Fidelio entreated so determinedly
that Rocco half promised.

"Fidelio, I will tell thee. I have a bad job to do. It is to dig a
grave in one of the dungeons." Fidelio could hardly conceal her horror
and despair. Her suspicions were confirmed. "There is an old well,
covered by a stone, down there, far underground, and if I lift the
stone that covers it, that will do for the grave. I will ask Pizarro
if I may have thee to help me. If he consents, it will be thy chance
to see the dungeons, but if not, I shall have done all I can about
it." So he went away to discuss the matter with Pizarro, while Fidelio
waited between hope and despair.

Meantime, Pizarro was gloating over his triumph. Soon his revenge
would be complete, and he sang of the matter in a most savage fashion:

Ha! what a day is this,
My vengeance shall be sated.
Thou treadest on an abyss!
For now thy doom is fated.

The words mean little, but Beethoven's music to them means much:

Remember, that once in the dust I trembled,
'Mid mocking fiends assembled;
Beneath thy conquering steel,
But Fortune's wheel is turnin