F. Marion Crawford is now mostly an encyclopaedia-entry, partly as the son of Thomas Crawford, sculptor of the massive figure which tops the Capitol dome in Washington DC. In his day, however, he was a wildly popular confector of sentimental and historical fiction, the latter of which is the genre represented here. Perhaps the kindest thing to say of this opus is that standards for historical fiction -- a tricky field to cultivate at the best of times -- were even more debased than they are today. This improbable tale involves scenes and situations familiar to opera-lovers from Verdi's DON CARLOS (which vulgar persons insist on calling DON CARLO). Well, the embossed cover was nice anyway. ( )