the tower room and drink old Southern wines from the
ex-Prime Minister's country, and talk, or tell each other stories. But
the ex-Prime Minister made it a stringent rule that at least one guest
should tell one story during his stay, for while he had been Prime
Minister a Court official had been in his service whose only duty it
was to tell him a story every evening, and this was the only thing he
regretted of all his former privileges.

On this particular Sunday, besides myself, the clerk, the flute-player,
the wine merchant (the friends of the ex-Prime Minister were exceedingly
various), and the scholar were present. They were smoking in the tower
room. It was summer, and the windows were wide open. Every inch of wall
which was not occupied by the windows was crowded with books. The clerk
was turning over the leaves of the ex-Prime Minister's stamp collection
(which was magnificent), the flute-player was reading the score of
Handel's flute sonatas (which was rare), the scholar was reading a
translation in Latin hexameters of the "Ring and the Book" (which
the ex-Prime Minister has written in his spare moments), and the wine
merchant was drinking generously of a curious red wine, which was very
old.

"I think," said the ex-Prime Minister, "that the flute-player has never
yet told us a story."

The guests knew that this hint was imperative, and so putting away the
score, the flute-player said: "My story is called, 'The Fiddler.'" And
he began:--

"This happened a long time ago in one of the German-speaking countries
of the Holy Roman Empire. There was a Count who lived in a large castle.
He was rich, powerful, and the owner of large lands. He had a wife, and
one daughter, who was dazzlingly beautiful, and she was betrothed to the
eldest son of a neighbouring lord. When I say betrothed, I mean that
her parents had arranged the marriage. She herself--her name was
Elisinde--had had no voice in the matter, and she disliked, or rather
loathed, her future husband, who was boorish, sullen, and ill-tempered;
he cared for nothing except hunting and deep drinking, and had nothing
to recommend him but his ducats and his land. But it was quite useless
for Elisinde to cry or protest. Her parents had settled the marriage and
it was to be. She understood this herself very well.

"All the necessary preparations for the wedding, which was to be held on
a splendid scale, were made. There was to be a whole week of feasting;
and tum