The story belongs to the sixteenth century, in the city of Mantua and
its environs.

Composer: Giuseppe Verdi. Author: Francesco Maria Piave.

First sung in Venice, Gran Teatro la Fenice. March 11, 1851.

ACT I

Dukes and duchesses, pages and courtiers, dancing and laughter: these
things all happening to music and glowing lights, in the city of
Mantua four hundred years ago!--that is "Rigoletto."

There lived, long ago, in Mantua, the Duke and his suite, and the only
member of his household who dared do as he pleased was the Duke of
Mantua's jester, Rigoletto. The more deformed a jester happened to be,
the more he was valued in his profession, and Rigoletto was a very
ugly little man, and as vindictive and wicked as he was ill-favoured
in appearance. The only thing he truly loved was his daughter, Gilda.
As for the Duke of Mantua, he loved for the time being almost any
pretty woman who came his way.

On the night of a great ball at the Duke's palace he was thinking of
his latest love, Gilda, the jester's daughter. The Duke usually
confided his affairs to his servant Borsa, and the ball had no sooner
begun than he began to speak with Borsa of his newest escapade. He
declared that he had followed Gilda to the chapel where she went each
day, and that he had made up his mind to speak with her the next time
he saw her.

"Where does this pretty girl live, your Highness?"

"In an obscure and distant street where I have followed her each day.
At night a queer-looking fellow is admitted, thus I am sure she has a
lover. By the way, whom do you think that fellow to be?" the Duke
asked with a laugh.

"Pray tell me."

"None other than Rigoletto!" the Duke cried, laughing more
boisterously. "What do you think of that--the little hunchback!"

"And does he know that you have followed this sweetheart of his?"

"Not he. But look at all of these beautiful women," he exclaimed with
delight as the company began to assemble from another room. "Alas, a
man hardly knows whom to love among so many beauties," he sighed
heavily. "But after all, I think it must be the Countess Ceprano! do
you see her? Most beautiful!"

"Just the same I advise you not to let the Count Ceprano hear you!"
Borsa advised.

Ah, in my heart, all are equally cherished,
Every thought of exclusion within me I smother,
None is dearer to me than another,
In their turn, I for each one would die,

the Duke sang gaily, giving his fri