NORMA (_Bellini_) 183 ROBERTO IL DIAVOLO (_Meyerbeer_) 195 IL TROVATORE (_Verdi_) 216 ERNANI (_Verdi_) 233 MARTHA (_Flotow_) 249 TALES FROM THE OPERAS. LUCREZIA BORGIA. (DONIZETTI.) CHAPTER I. When Satan fell, some of the essence of the god-head pityingly clung about him--hence those of men whose faces turn towards the darkness have ever something of the god within them, which raises them above the poor animals who eat and die.--_Montaigne._ The Venice of nearly four hundred years ago was a great, splendid, gay, and powerful city. Gold was every day showered into the coffers of its merchants from all parts of the earth, and every night there was feasting, laughing, and dancing in Venice, the richest and the gayest city in the world. On the night when our story opens was being held at the Palazzo Barberigo a masqued ball. All Venice, masqued, was there. The lamps hanging in the trees, laughed at the water as it threw back the gay colored rays of light which kissed it, in tremulous softness and beauty. And there below on the still canal, the Giudecca, glided the silent black gondolas, bearing gaily dressed cavaliers and dames to and from the fête. So silently the gondolas passed, that not a soul upon the shore knew a boat had gone by, a boat, perhaps, from which peered out a jealous eye. The gardens of the palace were large, and ever when the music ceased, there were seen in all parts of it gay masquers, courting, talking, singing, flirting, or watching. Among the guests was Gennaro, young and beautiful as the nights of Italy. With him was one of the great Orsini, even younger than himself, and far gayer. Nay, he was but a boy. These two were ever together, in peace or on the battle-field, at fêtes, or quietly at home. So now amidst the group wherever walked Orsini, Gennaro had a place. These two as they sauntered along with their friends, all either carrying their masks in their hands, or else tied to their belts, these two were deploring, and being pitied, for they were to leave Venice on the morrow. “Alas!” said one, “You will never like Ferrara, as you like the poorest street in Venice.” “But, still,” cried another, “‘tis something to form part of an ambassador’s suite.” “Faith,” cried a third, “I would sooner be as I am and in Venice.” “Let me tell you Signors,” said a fourth, who was called Gubetta, a Spaniard, and not in good repute, “let me tell you the court of Alfonzo is superb, and as for Lucrezia Borgia”-- “What!” cried one, “name _her_, here, at a fête?” “Pray ye be silent,” cried another. “The Borgia,” said a third, “I abhor her very name.” “In faith,” added another, “‘twould not be saying much for thee to say that thou lovdst her.”