“ The count, in a whirl of rage, cried, “He is but a coward or a sinner who wears a mask—remove that mask.”
The troubadour took off his mask.
“Thou, Maurico,” said the count. “Thou!—proscribed—condemned to death—a rebel.”
“Defeat thy rival, count, by calling here thy guards.”
“The only guard I call is this—an honorable one.”
And the noble drew his sword. “Thou shalt degrade its blade.”
The troubadour quickly drew his sword, and the count was rushing upon him, when cried the former, “Softly, count. Brave men quarrel not in the presence of trembling women.” ”

“ Joy—a dying joy for her filled all his soul. She saw him look upon her as of old, with loving eyes, though they were now filled with pitying tears. “Pardon!” he cried—the most blessed words she could hear; for women will die that they may forgive men; “Pardon!”
But ere she could speak, her father crept up to her, and whispered that she had spoken falsely—that she was not so fallen—that she was yet pure. Then aloud he cried, “If the unyielding god who sees us holds back his angry thunder thou art guiltless!” Again he whispered, “Norma—my daughter—thou art guiltless.” ”

“ Aye, marry, twice did I.”
“She trembles; her lips betray her,” said the count. “Bind her—till the cords cut deep into her flesh. Ah! scream—scream; there is no help.”
“Help, Maurico!” cried the gipsey, in her agony. “Help, my son! help, my Maurico!”
“His mother—HIS mother!” said the count. And running to her, he raised his hand, as though he would strike her. But he had not yet fallen so low as that.
She looked at him fearlessly. “I defy thee! Thou—the base son of a base father. Frown—hope!—hate, thou monster. Vengeance shall be mine. ”

“ Death faced on the battle field or on the scaffold may be met calmly; but to die poisoned, treacherously destroyed by a lie, it would make a god tremble. Fool, that for a moment he had trusted the court of Ferrara; and this antidote, perchance ’twas death; perchance the wine had not been poisoned! He had insulted her more deeply than he had the duke. Distrustful and terror-stricken, he stands hesitatingly. ”

“ Said they, one after the other.—“I am bidden, and I, and I.”
“And I also, Signors,” said a fresh voice.
“What, Signor Bevarana!”
“Or Gubetta,” said Orsini.
“That man seems every where; indeed, I do begin to doubt him,” said Gennaro, softly to Orsini.
“Oh, fear not,” said the other, carelessly. “He is a man of pleasure, like ourselves, and fain not be alone if he can find him company. Thou art still sad, Gennaro.”
“Oh,” cried one laughingly. “Perchance the Borgia has enchanted him.”
“That woman’s name again. I swear, Signors, I hate the sound of it.” ”

“ You and my son have different roads in life; chance has thrown you together for a little while, but reason must separate you. In the life you have entered, you saw not the end, and to your three months’ happiness no more can be added. Keep the remembrance of this time, and let it strengthen you always. I speak harshly, but consider that I plead where I might command. It is a man of the world who speaks to you, a father who implores you. So, Marguerite, courage, and show you love my son truly, by leaving him to the care of those who have a family claim upon his obedience. ”

“ As she spoke he trembled, and with a cry of joy she cried out that he feared her at last.
“Spare them—spare them. Let me die alone.”
“Thee alone?—all the Romans who are in Gaul shall die, and even Adalgisa shall perish in the flames.”
“Pity!—pity!”
“What? Canst thou ask pity of Norma? Ah! she knows no more what pity is. See how I sate myself—how I glory in thy fear for her, and for yourself! Thou shalt suffer, as I have suffered.” ”

“ He turned, and before him stood the knight Bertram, his face more pallid than ever in the moonlight.
“Thou art Raimbault.”
“Verily; whom the knight Robert would have hanged.”
“He hath a strong will. Wherfore art thou here?”
“To meet Alice, my good wife, so please thee.”
“She is very poor.”
“She hath a rich heart, and is no poorer than I.”
“See, now, thou art richer than she is now.”
“Verily, he hath given me gold; real, real gold!”
And the minstrel did not read contempt in the pale face; contempt that gold should make men happy.
“Thou art noble, and I will obey thee.” ”

“ But forget not I am duke, and in Ferrara. Thou art in my power. Ah! well, I’m not unreasonable. I grant thee somewhat. Thou shalt choose the manner of his death. Or poison, or sword. Pray now choose!”
“I—I cannot.”
“Let him then be—stabbed.”
“No, no.”
“Stabbed—stabbed.”
“No, not blood, not blood.”
“The poison. Thou dost choose his death. Pray be seated.—Enter captain, enter. The duchess is all-powerful with me. Why, I cannot tell, but she pardons thy crime, and bids thee go in peace. Italy would grieve to lose so handsome a son.” ”

“ This man is Gennaro, brought in before the angry duke and duchess, and standing fearlessly.
“I—I do not know him.”
“Pray, may I ask the duke why I am here—why I have been torn from my house? May I dare to ask the meaning of such rigor?”
“Good captain—draw near. Some coward wretch has dared to touch the noble name of Borgia written on this palace door, nay, to destroy the name. The duchess, even as I speak, trembles with anger at the act. We seek the guilty one; perhaps thou knowest him?”
“It was not he—my lord—it was not he,” cried Lucrezia.
“Ah! duchess—duchess—how shouldst thou know?” ”

“ For this man, for my son, what ambition dare he breathe, what path is open to him? What consolation shall this son then be to me—to me, who have watched and tended him for twenty years? Your love for each other—it is a passion, the most earthly and wholly human, it is born of the caprice of one, and the imagination of the other. Your love is a result, not a cause. What shall remain of it when you are both grown old and weary? Who assures you that the first wrinkle on your forehead shall not sweep the veil from his eyes? Who assures you his love shall not pass away with your youth. ”

“ Tis dangerous to sell love-potions now-a-days. I don’t speak for myself, young rustic, for I’m the great Dulcamara, famed in Venice and Ferrara; but for your sake, young rustic—ah! ah! all the women in the place will be dying for you. To-morrow, mind. Good bye young rustic, good bye.”
And the worthy doctor vanished through the doorway of the village inn.
“Faith,” said the lover to himself, no longer in a disconsolate tone, “a good thing is a good thing to-day as well as to-morrow. And ’tis fair weather, for am I not sitting down here with my elixir of love? ”

“ Even in the one word, “Arthur,” she betrayed him.
“Arthur Talbot,” they cried aloud; and each man drew his breath hard, and grasped his sword.
“Let the unrighteous perish; let no hand be stretched forth to save him.”
Said the captain, “Thou art brave enough not to fear death, Arthur Talbot. Be prepared—thou art of the camp of the lost—thou shalt surely die.”
“He die? and have I caused his death? I who love him better than I love my life?” ”

“ The queen was about taking off the veil.
“Stay—stay, your majesty;—’tis a miracle! Who shall know you? And have I not a pass from the castle?”
“Nay—I fear for thy life, my lord.”
“Nay, queen; to refuse would be to cast from thee Heaven’s gift. Come—come.” And he led her respectfully towards the door. But there stood a wild-looking puritan—Captain Richard Forth to wit—his sword drawn, and his eyes flashing.
“Thou shalt draw steel for her,” and he stood immovable in the doorway. ”

“ The one is Pollione—the other Flavio.
“Why comest thou to this sacred forest—has not Norma told thee death lies within?”
“Why hast thou uttered that dread name?”
Hark! he doth admit he loveth her no more; the mother of his children. His new love is a priestess too, and he calleth her Adalgisa; he hath entreated her to fly to Rome with him. Still he speaketh, when booming on the night air is heard the sound of bells, and behold the air is suffused with soft moonlight.
Then the Romans fled—for again the sacred march rippled through the air; louder and louder, as they came to the high altar. ”

“ But if some day, there cometh a kindly honest girl who will love and marry thee, as it should be, as I hope it may be, and if she should find this portrait, tell her it is the likeness of a friend who, if she may reach the obscurest corner of heaven, will pray for her happiness. If though she is jealous of the past (as we women are sometimes) , if she demands from you this poor picture, place it in her hand, without fear or remorse—it will be but justice. And now I pardon thee the act, for a loving woman suffers so much when her love is not returned. Thou hast heard me. ”

“ He thought he was in love with Adina, but he certainly was not; whereof, in proof of which, witness the nosegay. No lover—really a lover—comes up as cool as a cucumber to offer his bouquet? No, he suggests the flowers, so to speak, with many doubts; and if it be accepted, he don’t twirl his moustaches (if he has any) , as though he had done a very admirable thing.
All of which conduct was Sergeant Belcore’s, when he stepped cavalierly up to the maiden. As for Nemorino, poor fellow, he looked more lone, dismal, and ridiculous than before. ”

“ The duke, whose whole life was a panorama of gallantry, despised his conquests; and, being handsome, believed no woman could withstand him. He was as heartless as he was handsome, and he had no affection for a living soul, unless, indeed, for Rigoletto, whom he loved for his power of satirizing the courtiers, who loved Rigoletto accordingly.
This fool, Rigoletto, was superstitious; moreover, he had a secret, which it was the hope of his life to keep from that terrible court; for a fool, a jester, a hunch-back, may have loves and secrets like other men. ”

“ Thou dost bemean me. Thou dost make fingers to point at me, and then, forsooth, thou dost say ‘I love thee.’ Pish! for pure modesty’s sake I cry ‘shame.’”
“But I love thee. He did deceive me. See, if thou lovest me not, thou dost kill me. Wherefore turnest thou from me? I love thee, I love thee.”
“Thou art encompassed with immodesty.”
“Beat me, beat me, thy Zerlina, here she stands, beat me; and I’ll kiss thy hands quite meekly. Beat me, beat me, but forgive me, for I love thee, dear Masetto.”
“Thou hast the power of the evil one to overthrow me. Truly, man is weak.” ”

“ Suddenly he perceived a great joy flush her fair cheeks. At the same instant he heard a footstep behind him, and turning round, he saw a man, a handsome, daring-looking man, whom he was sure, seeing the lady’s joy, was none other than Ernani, looking on him defiantly, with hate and anger! Ernani, who had entered the castle by a secret door—who was there to bear away the lady—who had come to save her from yet further misery.
“Thou art Ernani—I know it by the hate I feel sparkling in my eyes. Hate! Does the eagle hate the worm? No, he despises it. ”

“ Walk, I say, walk.”
“Dost thou not breathe more lightly, Zerlina?”
“Wherefore, Senor?”
“That the clown hath gone.”
“Nay—he hath my love!”
“A king should have thy love; those pretty lips, those eyes, those little fingers, were not made for clowns.”
“Nay—but I love him!”
“And I love thee. A poor home, and a poor husband—is this thy lot? See away there, ’tis my house, ’tis my palace. I love thee, I love thee. Wilt thou be my wife, Zerlina?” ”

“ Meanwhile, the high-flown marquise was asking herself whether the duke was altogether so admirable a party, and she was beginning to see it more clearly than she had seen for many years, the joys of that early martial life of hers, and the happy, loving husband her captain made.
And while she sat recalling that old time there was a great whirr from without. The next moment twenty common soldiers of the brave eleventh had burst into the room, headed by the Captain Tony. For love will make cowards of us, as he will, at his capricious pleasure, make us heroes of bravery. ”

“ And she, the young maiden, says, “This is he—this is he who loves me.”
“He—Pollione!” See Norma standing proudly, and yet as though turned to stone.
“The very one.”
“He!—do I hear—do I see?”
O, the world of anger on her face as she looks upon the man before her. Now she knows why he has deserted her. Now she learns the meaning of his cold words and frequent absences. Then vengeance whispers her—she has but to call, and they shall both die—he, the traitor, and this weak, cruel girl! Then jealousy swept over her, and she eagerly looked at her rival. ”

“ A little sawing of the swords, a click or two, and the white hair is touching the dust.
“Dead, by the rood!” exclaimed the cavalier, wiping his sword. “Here, Leporello, here!”
“Sinner that I am—behold me, master. Thou art not killed—then the old man is?”
“Surely, the old can better be spared than the young.”
“Rare, rare, my master, to break into the chamber of the daughter, and to kill the father, both in one night. Rare, oh! rare.” ”

“ Master, laugh not. So thou hast thy choice of death, Leporello—’tis more than many a sinner; either by fear or by steel thou fallest. Well, well, if I love blood, I know not my likings. Good, master, good. Most gentle of statues, my master, and I—prythee, mark well, ’tis my master, and not I, good statue. ”

“ Why does he start and tremble? Is it that he sees his dear mistress again flinging herself at the emperor’s feet? Again she pleads for mercy; again she asks for happiness and justice.
“Thou askest, lady, what is already granted; what the king could not forgive, the emperor will not look on as offence.... You are all pardoned!... And as for thee, my lord Ernani, let the memory of the father’s death be forgotten in the justice done his son. Thou art again lord of Arragon, Cordova, and Segovia; and thy lady—behold her!”
The new emperor placed the hand of Elvira in that of Ernani. ”

“ Rather I should bid thee kill me, for each day I die a thousand deaths. And thou, oh live, live, Gennaro. If thou canst save thyself, and if thou wilt not, thou dost destroy thyself. See, see, the phial is not broken. Thou canst yet be saved. Ah! thou takest it from my hand. Drink! drink!”
“I—I a Borgia?”
“Drink. No, do not hear that sound, ’tis nothing—’tis but the wind.”
“Oh Maffio, ’tis thy voice, the poison kills thy youth the first. Good bye, good bye.”
“They shall live, if thou wilt save thyself. For thy mother’s sake.” ”