LEONORA. 'Tis my misfortune, signora, that my want of spirits prevents
me from enjoying the pleasure of your company.

JULIA. An ugly fault that, to be dull and spiritless. Be active,
sprightly, witty! Yours is not the way to attach your husband to you.

LEONORA. I know but one way, Countess. Let yours ever be the
sympathetic medium.

JULIA (pretending not to mind her). How you dress, madam! For shame!
Pay more attention to your personal appearance! Have recourse to art
where nature has been unkind. Put a little paint on those cheeks, which
look so pale with spleen. Poor creature! Your puny face will never find
a bidder.

LEONORA (in a lively manner to ARABELLA). Congratulate me, girl. It is
impossible I can have lost my Fiesco; or, if I have, the loss must be but
trifling. (The chocolate is brought, ARABELLA pours it out.)

JULIA. Do you talk of losing Fiesco? Good God! How could you ever
conceive the ambitious idea of possessing him? Why, my child, aspire to
such a height? A height where you cannot but be seen, and must come into
comparison with others. Indeed, my dear, he was a knave or a fool who
joined you with FIESCO. (Taking her hand with a look of compassion.)
Poor soul! The man who is received in the assemblies of fashionable life
could never be a suitable match for you. (She takes a dish of
chocolate.)

LEONORA (smiling at ARABELLA). If he were, he would not wish to mix with
such assemblies.

JULIA. The Count is handsome, fashionable, elegant. He is so fortunate
as to have formed connections with people of rank. He is lively and
high-spirited. Now, when he severs himself from these circles of
elegance and refinement, and returns home warm with their impressions,
what does he meet? His wife receives him with a commonplace tenderness;
damps his fire with an insipid, chilling kiss, and measures out her
attentions to him with a niggardly economy. Poor husband! Here, a
blooming beauty smiles upon him--there he is nauseated by a peevish
sensibility. Signora, signora, for God's sake consider, if he have not
lost his understanding, which will he choose?

LEONORA (offering her a cup of chocolate). You, madam--if he have
lost it.

JULIA. Good! This sting shall return into your own bosom. Tremble for
your mockery! But before you tremble--blush!

LEONORA. Do you then know what it is to blush, signora? But why not?
'Tis a toilet trick.

JULIA. Oh, see! This poor creature must be provoked if one would draw
from her a spark of wit. Well--let it pass this time. Madam, you were
bitter. Give me your hand in token of reconciliation.

LEONORA (offering her hand with a significant look). Countess, my anger
ne'er shall trouble you.

JULIA (offering her hand). Generous, indeed! Yet may I not be so, too?
(Maliciously.) Countess, do you not think I must love that person whose
image I bear constantly about me?

LEONORA (blushing and confused). What do you say? Let me hope the
conclusion is too hasty.

JULIA. I think so, too. The heart waits not the guidance of the senses
--real sentiment needs no breastwork of outward ornament.

LEONORA. Heavens! Where did you learn such a truth?

JULIA. 'Twas in mere compassion that I spoke it; for observe, madam, the
reverse is no less certain. Such is Fiesco's love for you. (Gives her
the picture, laughing maliciously.)

LEONORA (with extreme indignation). My picture! Given to you! (Throws
herself into a chair, much affected.) Cruel, Fiesco!

JULIA. Have I retaliated? Have I? Now, madam, have you any other sting
to wound me with? (Goes to side scene.) My carriage! My object is
gained. (To LEONORA, patting her cheek.) Be comforted, my dear; he gave
me the picture in a fit of madness.

                     [Exeunt JULIA and ARABELLA.



SCENE III.

   LEONORA, CALCAGNO entering.

CALCAGNO. Did not the Countess Imperiali depart in anger? You, too, so
excited, madam?

LEONORA (violently agitated.) No! This is unheard-of cruelty.

CALCAGNO. Heaven and earth! Do I behold you in tears?

LEONORA. Thou art a friend of my inhuman--Away, leave my sight!

CALCAGNO. Whom do you call inhuman? You affright me----

LEONORA. My husband. Is he not so?

CALCAGNO. What do I hear!

LEONORA. 'Tis but a piece of villany common enough among your sex!

CALCAGNO (grasping her hand with vehemence). Lady, I have a heart for
weeping virtue.

LEONORA. You are a man--your heart is not for me.

CALCAGNO. For you alone--yours only. Would that you knew how much, how
truly yours----

LEONORA. Man, thou art untrue. Thy words would be refuted by thy
actions----

CALCAGNO. I swear to you----

LEONORA. A false oath. Cease! The perjuries of men are so innumerable
'twould tire the pen of the recording angel to write them down. If their
violated oaths were turned into as many devils they might storm heaven
itself, and lead away the angels of light as captives.

CALCAGNO. Nay, madam, your anger makes you unjust. Is the whole sex to
answer for the crime of one?

LEONORA. I tell thee in that one was centred all my affection for the
sex. In him I will detest them all.

CALCAGNO. Countess,--you once bestowed your hand amiss. Would you again
make trial, I know one who would deserve it better.

LEONORA. The limits of creation cannot bound your falsehoods. I'll hear
no more.

CALCAGNO. Oh, that you would retract this cruel sentence in my arms!

LEONORA (with astonishment). Speak out. In thy arms!

CALCAGNO. In my arms, which open themselves to receive a forsaken woman,
and to console her for the love she has lost.

LEONORA (fixing her eyes on him). Love?

CALCAGNO (kneeling before her with ardor). Yes, I have said it. Love,
madam! Life and death hang on your tongue. If my passion be criminal
then let the extremes of virtue and vice unite, and heaven and hell be
joined together in one perdition.

LEONORA (steps back indignantly, with a look of noble disdain). Ha!
Hypocrite! Was that the object of thy false compassion? This attitude
at once proclaims thee a traitor to friendship and to love. Begone
forever from my eyes! Detested sex! Till now I thought the only victim
of your snares was woman; nor ever suspected that to each other you were
so false and faithless.

CALCAGNO (rising, confounded). Countess!

LEONORA. Was it not enough to break the sacred seal of confidence? but
even on the unsullied mirror of virtue does this hypocrite breathe
pestilence, and would seduce my innocence to perjury.

CALCAGNO (hastily). Perjury, madam, you cannot be guilty of.

LEONORA. I understand thee--thou thoughtest my wounded pride would plead
in thy behalf. (With dignity). Thou didst not know that she who loves
Fiesco feels even the pang that rends her heart ennobling. Begone!
Fiesco's perfidy will not make Calcagno rise in my esteem--but--will
lower humanity.                  [Exit hastily.

CALCAGNO (stands as if thunderstruck, looks after her, then striking his
forehead). Fool that I am.            [Exit.



SCENE IV.

   The MOOR and FIESCO.

FIESCO. Who was it that just now departed?

MOOR. The Marquis Calcagno.

FIESCO. This handkerchief was left upon the sofa. My wife has been
here.

MOOR. I met her this moment in great agitation.

FIESCO. This handkerchief is moist (puts it in his pocket). Calcagno
here? And Leonora agitated? This evening thou must learn what has
happened.

MOOR. Miss Bella likes to hear that she is fair. She will inform me.

FIESCO. Well--thirty hours are past. Hast thou executed my commission?

MOOR. To the letter, my lord.

FIESCO (seating himself). Then tell me how they talk of Doria, and of
the government.

MOOR. Oh, most vilely. The very name of Doria shakes them like an
ague-fit. Gianettino is as hateful to them as death itself--there's
naught but murmuring. They say the French have been the rats of Genoa,
the cat Doria has devoured them, and now is going to feast upon the mice.

FIESCO. That may perhaps be true. But do they not know of any dog
against that cat?

MOOR (with an affected carelessness). The town was murmuring much of a
certain--poh--why, I have actually forgotten the name.

FIESCO (rising). Blockhead! That name is as easy to be remembered as
'twas difficult to achieve. Has Genoa more such names than one?

MOOR. No--it cannot have two Counts of Lavagna.

FIESCO (seating himself). That is something. And what do they whisper
about my gayeties?

MOOR (fixing his eyes upon him). Hear me, Count of Lavagna! Genoa must
think highly of you. They can not imagine why a descendant of the first
family--with such talents and genius--full of spirit and popularity--
master of four millions--his veins enriched with princely blood--a
nobleman like Fiesco, whom, at the first call, all hearts would fly to
meet----

FIESCO (turns away contemptuously). To hear such things from such a
scoundrel!

MOOR. Many lamented that the chief of Genoa should slumber over the ruin
of his country. And many sneered. Most men condemned you. All bewailed
the state which thus had lost you. A Jesuit pretended to have smelt out
the fox that lay disguised in sheep's clothing.

FIESCO. One fox smells out another. What say they to my passion for the
Countess Imperiali?

MOOR. What I would rather be excused from repeating.

FIESCO. Out with it--the bolder the more welcome. What are their
murmurings?

MOOR. 'Tis not a murmur. At all the coffee-houses, billiard-tables,
hotels, and public walks--in the market-place, at the Exchange, they
proclaim aloud----

FIESCO. What? I command thee!

MOOR (retreating). That you are a fool!

FIESCO. Well, take this sequin for these tidings. Now have I put on a
fool's cap that these Genoese may have wherewith to rack their wits.
Next I will shave my head, that they may play Merry Andrew to my Clown.
How did the manufacturers receive my presents?

MOOR (humorously). Why, Mr. Fool, they looked like poor knaves----

FIESCO. Fool? Fellow, art thou mad?

MOOR. Pardon! I had a mind for a few more sequins.

FIESCO (laughing, gives him another sequin). Well. "Like poor knaves."

MOOR. Who receive pardon at the very block. They are yours both soul
and body.

FIESCO. I'm glad of it. They turn the scale among the populace of
Genoa.

MOOR. What a scene it was! Zounds! I almost acquired a relish for
benevolence. They caught me round the neck like madmen. The very girls
seemed in love with my black visage, that's as ill-omened as the moon in
an eclipse. Gold, thought I, is omnipotent: it makes even a Moor look
fair.

FIESCO. That thought was better than the soil which gave it birth.
These words are favorable; but do they bespeak actions of equal import?

MOOR. Yes--as the murmuring of the distant thunder foretells the
approaching storm. The people lay their heads together--they collect in
parties--break off their talk whenever a stranger passes by. Throughout
Genoa reigns a gloomy silence. This discontent hangs like a threatening
tempest over the republic. Come, wind, then hail and lightning will
burst forth.

FIESCO. Hush!--hark! What is that confused noise?

MOOR (going to the window). It is the tumult of the crowd returning from
the senate-house.

FIESCO. To-day is the election of a procurator. Order my carriage! It
is impossible that the sitting should be over. I'll go thither. It is
impossible it should be over if things went right. Bring me my sword and
cloak--where is my golden chain?

MOOR. Sir, I have stolen and pawned it.

FIESCO. That I am glad to hear.

MOOR. But, how! Are there no more sequins for me?

FIESCO. No. You forgot the cloak.

MOOR. Ah! I was wrong in pointing out the thief.

FIESCO. The tumult comes nearer. Hark! 'Tis not the sound of
approbation. Quick! Unlock the gates; I guess the matter. Doria has
been rash. The state balances upon a needle's point. There has
assuredly been some disturbance at the senate-house.

MOOR (at the window). What's here! They're coming down the street of
Balbi--a crowd of many thousands--the halberds glitter--ah, swords too!
Halloo! Senators! They come this way.

FIESCO. Sedition is on foot. Hasten amongst them; mention my name;
persuade them to come hither. (Exit Moon hastily.) What reason,
laboring like a careful ant, with difficulty scrapes together, the wind
of accident collects in one short moment.



SCENE V.

   FIESCO, ZENTURIONE, ZIBO, and ASSERATO, rushing in.

ZIBO. Count, impute it to our anger that we enter thus unannounced.

ZENTURIONE. I have been mortally affronted by the duke's nephew in the
face of the whole senate.

ASSERATO. Doria has trampled on the golden book of which each noble
Genoese is a leaf.

ZENTURIONE. Therefore come we hither. The whole nobility are insulted
in me; the whole nobility must share my vengeance. To avenge my own
honor I should not need assistance.

ZIBO. The whole nobility are outraged in his person; the whole nobility
must rise and vent their rage in fire and flames.

ASSERATO. The rights of the nation are trodden under foot; the liberty
of the republic has received a deadly blow.

FIESCO. You raise my expectation to the utmost.

ZIBO. He was the twenty-ninth among the electing senators, and had drawn
forth a golden ball to vote for the procurator. Of the eight-and-twenty
votes collected, fourteen were for me, and as many for Lomellino. His
and Doria's were still wanting----

ZENTURIONE. Wanting! I gave my vote for Zibo. Doria--think of the
wound inflicted on my honor--Doria----

ASSERATO (interrupting him). Such a thing was never heard of since the
sea washed the walls of Genoa.

ZENTURIONE (continues, with great heat). Doria drew a sword, which he
had concealed under a scarlet cloak--stuck it through my vote--called to
the assembly----

ZIBO. "Senators, 'tis good-for-nothing--'tis pierced through. Lomellino
is procurator."

ZENTURIONE. "Lomellino is procurator." And threw his sword upon the
table.

ASSERATO. And called out, "'Tis good-for-nothing!" and threw his sword
upon the table.

FIESCO (after a pause). On what are you resolved?

ZENTURIONE. The republic is wounded to its very heart. On what are we
resolved?

FIESCO. Zenturione, rushes may yield to a breath, but the oak requires a
storm. I ask, on what are you resolved?

ZIBO. Methinks the question shall be, on what does Genoa resolve?

FIESCO. Genoa! Genoa! name it not. 'Tis rotten, and crumbles wherever
you touch it. Do you reckon on the nobles? Perhaps because they put on
grave faces, look mysterious when state affairs are mentioned--talk not
of them! Their heroism is stifled among the bales of their Levantine
merchandise. Their souls hover anxiously over their India fleet.

ZENTURIONE. Learn to esteem our nobles more justly. Scarcely was
Doria's haughty action done when hundreds of them rushed into the street
tearing their garments. The senate was dispersed----

FIESCO (sarcastically). Like frighted pigeons when the vulture darts
upon the dovecot.

ZENTURIONE. No! (fiercely)--like powder-barrels when a match falls on
them.

ZIBO. The people are enraged. What may we not expect from the fury of
the wounded boar!

FIESCO (laughing). The blind, unwieldy monster, which at first rattles
its heavy bones, threatening, with gaping jaws, to devour the high and
low, the near and distant, at last stumbles at a thread--Genoese, 'tis in
vain! The epoch of the masters of the sea is past--Genoa is sunk beneath
the splendor of its name. Its state is such as once was Rome's, when,
like a tennis-ball, she leaped into the racket of young Octavius. Genoa
can be free no longer; Genoa must be fostered by a monarch; therefore do
homage to the mad-brained Gianettino.

ZENTURIONE (vehemently). Yes, when the contending elements are
reconciled, and when the north pole meets the south. Come, friends.

FIESCO. Stay! stay! Upon what project are you brooding, Zibo?

ZIBO. On nothing.

FIESCO (leading them to a statue). Look at this figure.

ZENTURIONE. It is the Florentine Venus. Why point to her?

FIESCO. At least she pleases you.

ZIBO. Undoubtedly, or we should be but poor Italians. But why this
question now?

FIESCO. Travel through all the countries of the globe, and among the
most beautiful of living female models, seek one which shall unite all
the charms of this ideal Venus.

ZIBO. And then take for our reward?

FIESCO. Then your search will have convicted fancy of deceit----

ZENTURIONE (impatiently). And what shall we have gained?

FIESCO. Gained? The decision of the long-protracted contest between art
and nature.

ZENTURIONE (eagerly). And what then?

FIESCO. Then, then? (Laughing.) Then your attention will have been
diverted from observing the fall of Genoa's liberty.

                       [Exeunt all but FIESCO.



SCENE VI.

   FIESCO alone. (The noise without increases.)

FIESCO. 'Tis well! 'tis well. The straw of the republic has caught
fire--the flames have seized already on palaces and towers. Let it go
on! May the blaze be general! Let the tempestuous wind spread wide the
conflagration!



SCENE VII.

   FIESCO, MOOR, entering in haste.

MOOR. Crowds upon crowds!

FIESCO. Throw open wide the gates. Let all that choose enter.

MOOR. Republicans! Republicans, indeed! They drag their liberty along,
panting, like beasts of burden, beneath the yoke of their magnificent
nobility.

FIESCO. Fools! who believe that Fiesco of Lavagna will carry on what
Fiesco of Lavagna did not begin. The tumult comes opportunely; but the
conspiracy must be my own. They are rushing hither----

MOOR (going out). Halloo! halloo! You are very obligingly battering the
house down. (The people rush in; the doors broken down.)



SCENE VIII.

   FIESCO, twelve ARTISANS.

ALL ARTISANS. Vengeance on Doria! Vengeance on Gianettino!

FIESCO. Gently! gently! my countrymen! Your waiting thus upon me
bespeaks the warmth of your affection; but I pray you have mercy on my
ears!

ALL (with impetuosity). Down with the Dorias! Down with them, uncle and
nephew!

FIESCO (counting them with a smile). Twelve is a mighty force!

SOME OF THEM. These Dorias must away! the state must be reformed!

1ST ARTISAN. To throw our magistrates down stairs! The magistrates!

2D ARTISAN. Think, Count Lavagna--down stairs! because they opposed them
in the election----

ALL. It must not be endured! it shall not be endured!

3D ARTISAN. To take a sword into the senate!

1ST ARTISAN. A sword?--the sign of war--into the chamber of peace!

2D ARTISAN. To come into the senate dressed in scarlet! Not like the
other senators, in black.

1ST ARTISAN. To drive through our capital with eight horses!

ALL. A tyrant! A traitor to the country and the government!

2D ARTISAN. To hire two hundred Germans from the Emperor for his
body-guard.

1ST ARTISAN. To bring foreigners in arms against the natives--Germans
against Italians--soldiers against laws!

ALL. 'Tis treason!--'tis a plot against the liberty of Genoa!

1ST ARTISAN. To have the arms of the republic painted on his coach!

2D ARTISAN. The statue of Andreas placed in the centre of the
senate-house!

ALL. Dash them to pieces--both the statue and the man----

FIESCO. Citizens of Genoa, why this to me?

1ST ARTISAN. You should not suffer it. You should keep him down.

2D ARTISAN. You are a wise man, and should not suffer it. You should
direct us by your counsel.

1ST ARTISAN. You are a better nobleman. You should chastise them and
curb their insolence.

FIESCO. Your confidence is flattering. Can I merit it by deeds?

ALL (clamorously). Strike! Down with the tyrant! Make us free!

FIESCO. But--will you hear me?

SOME. Speak, Count!


FIESCO (seating himself). Genoese,--the empire of the animals was once
thrown into confusion; parties struggled with parties, till at last a
bull-dog seized the throne. He, accustomed to drive the cattle to the
knife of the butcher, prowled in savage manner through the state. He
barked, he bit, and gnawed his subjects' bones. The nation murmured; the
boldest joined together, and killed the princely monster. Now a general
assembly was held to decide upon the important question, which form of
government was best. There were three different opinions. Genoese, what
would be your decision?

1ST ARTISAN. For the people--everything in common----

FIESCO. The people gained it. The government was democratical; each
citizen had a vote, and everything was submitted to a majority. But a
few weeks passed ere man declared war against the new republic. The
state assembled. Horse, lion, tiger, bear, elephant, and rhinoceros,
stepped forth, and roared aloud, "To arms!" The rest were called upon to
vote. The lamb, the hare, the stag, the ass, the tribe of insects, with
the birds and timid fishes, cried for peace. See, Genoese! The cowards
were more numerous than the brave; the foolish than the wise. Numbers
prevailed--the beasts laid down their arms, and man exacted contributions
from them. The democratic system was abandoned. Genoese, what would you
next have chosen?

1ST AND 2D ARTISANS. A select government!

FIESCO. That was adopted. The business of the state was all arranged
in separate departments. Wolves were the financiers, foxes their
secretaries, doves presided in the criminal courts, and tigers in
the courts of equity. The laws of chastity were regulated by goats;
hares were the soldiers; lions and elephants had charge of the baggage.
The ass was the ambassador of the empire, and the mole appointed
inspector-general of the whole administration. Genoese, what think you
of this wise distribution? Those whom the wolf did not devour the fox
pillaged; whoever escaped from him was knocked down by the ass. The
tiger murdered innocents, whilst robbers and assassins were pardoned by
the doves. And at the last, when each had laid down his office, the mole
declared that all were well discharged. The animals rebelled. "Let us,"
they cried unanimously, "choose a monarch endowed with strength and
skill, and who has only one stomach to appease." And to one chief they
all did homage. Genoese--to one---but (rising and advancing
majestically)--that one was--the lion!

ALL (shouting, and throwing up their hats). Bravo! Bravo! Well
managed, Count Lavagna!

1ST ARTISAN. And Genoa shall follow that example. Genoa, also, has its
lion!

FIESCO. Tell me not of that lion; but go home and think upon him. (The
ARTISANS depart tumultuously.) It is as I would have it. The people and
the senate are alike enraged against Doria; the people and the senate
alike approve FIESCO. Hassan! Hassan! I must take advantage of this
favorable gale. Hoa! Hassan! Hassan! I must augment their hatred--
improve my influence. Hassan! Come hither! Whoreson of hell, come
hither!



SCENE IX.

   FIESCO, MOOR entering hastily.

MOOR. My feet are quite on fire with running. What is the matter now?

FIESCO. Hear my commands!

MOOR (submissively). Whither shall I run first?

FIESCO. I will excuse thy running this time. Thou shalt be dragged.
Prepare thyself. I intend to publish thy attempted assassination, and
deliver thee up in chains to the criminal tribunal.

MOOR (taking several steps backward). Sir!--that's contrary to
agreement.

FIESCO. Be not alarmed. 'Tis but a farce. At this moment 'tis of the
utmost consequence that Gianettino's attempt against my life should be
made public. Thou shalt be tried before the criminal tribunal.

MOOR. Must I confess it, or deny?

FIESCO. Deny. They will put thee to the torture. Thou must hold out
against the first degree. This, by the by, will serve to expiate thy
real crime. At the second thou mayest confess.

MOOR (shaking his head with a look of apprehension). The devil is a sly
rogue. Their worships might perhaps desire my company a little longer
than I should wish; and, for sheer farce sake, I may be broken on the
wheel.

FIESCO. Thou shalt escape unhurt, I give thee my honor as a nobleman. I
shall request, as satisfaction, to have thy punishment left to me, and
then pardon thee before the whole republic.

MOOR. Well--I agree to it. They will draw out my joints a little; but
that will only make them the more flexible.

FIESCO. Then scratch this arm with thy dagger, till the blood flows. I
will pretend that I have just now seized thee in fact. 'Tis well.
(Hallooing violently). Murder! Murder! Guard the passages! Make fast
the gates! (He drags the MOOR out by the throat; servants run across the
stage hastily.)



SCENE X.

   LEONORA and ROSA enter hastily, alarmed.

LEONORA. Murder! they cried--murder!--The noise came this way.

ROSA. Surely 'twas but a common tumult, such as happens every day in
Genoa.

LEONORA. They cried murder! and I distinctly heard Fiesco's name. In
vain you would deceive me. My heart discovers what is concealed from my
eyes. Quick! Hasten after them. See! Tell me whither they carry him.

ROSA. Collect your spirits, madam. Arabella is gone.

LEONORA. Arabella will catch his dying look. The happy Arabella!
Wretch that I am? 'twas I that murdered him. If I could have engaged
his heart he would not have plunged into the world, nor rushed upon the
daggers of assassins. Ah! she comes. Away! Oh, Arabella, speak not
to me!



SCENE XI.

   The former, ARABELLA.

ARABELLA. The Count is living and unhurt. I saw him gallop through the
city. Never did he appear more handsome. The steed that bore him
pranced haughtily along, and with its proud hoof kept the thronging
multitude at a distance from its princely rider. He saw me as I passed,
and with a gracious smile, pointing thither, thrice kissed his hand to
me. (Archly.) What can I do with those kisses, madam?

LEONORA (highly pleased). Idle prattler! Restore them to him.

ROSA. See now, how soon your color has returned!

LEONORA. His heart he is ready to fling at every wench, whilst I sigh in
vain for a look! Oh woman! woman!

                      [Exeunt.



SCENE XII.--The Palace of ANDREAS.

   GIANETTINO and LOMELLINO enter hastily.

GIANETTINO. Let them roar for their liberty as a lioness for her young.
I am resolved.

LOMELLINO. But--most gracious prince!

GIANETTINO. Away to hell with thy buts, thou three-hours procurator! I
will not yield a hair's breadth? Let Genoa's towers shake their heads,
and the hoarse sea bellow No to it. I value not the rebellious
multitude!

LOMELLINO. The people are indeed the fuel; but the nobility fan the
flame. The whole republic is in a ferment, people and patricians.

GIANETTINO. Then will I stand upon the mount like Nero, and regale
myself with looking upon the paltry flames.

LOMELLINO. Till the whole mass of sedition falls into the hands of some
enterprising leader, who will take advantage of the general devastation.

GIANETTINO. Poh! Poh! I know but one who might be dangerous, and he is
taken care of.

LOMELLINO. His highness comes.

   Enter ANDREAS--(both bow respectfully).

ANDREAS. Signor Lomellino, my niece wishes to take the air.

LOMELLINO. I shall have the honor of attending her.

                        [Exit LOMELLINO.



SCENE XIII.

   ANDREAS and GIANETTINO.

ANDREAS. Nephew, I am much displeased with you.

GIANETTINO. Grant me a hearing, most gracious uncle!

ANDREAS. That would I grant to the meanest beggar in Genoa if he were
worthy of it. Never to a villain, though he were my nephew. It is
sufficient favor that I address thee as an uncle, not as a sovereign!

GIANETTINO. One word only, gracious sir!

ANDREAS. Hear first what thou hast done; then answer me. Thou hast
pulled down an edifice which I have labored for fifty years to raise--
that which should have been thy uncle's mausoleum, his only pyramid--the
affections of his countrymen. This rashness Andreas pardons thee----

GIANETTINO. My uncle and my sovereign----

ANDREAS. Interrupt me not. Thou hast injured that most glorious work of
mine, the constitution, which I brought down from heaven for Genoa, which
cost me so many sleepless nights, so many dangers, and so much blood.
Before all Genoa thou hast cast a stain upon my honor, in violating my
institutions. Who will hold them sacred if my own blood despise them?
This folly thy uncle pardons thee.

GIANETTINO (offended). Sir, you educated me to be the Duke of Genoa.

ANDREAS. Be silent. Thou art a traitor to the state, and hast attacked
its vital principle. Mark me, boy! That principle is--subordination.
Because the shepherd retired in the evening from his labor, thoughtest
thou the flock deserted? Because Andreas' head is white with age,
thoughtest thou, like a villain, to trample on the laws?

GIANETTINO (insolently). Peace, Duke! In my veins also boils the blood
of that Andreas before whom France has trembled.

ANDREAS. Be silent! I command thee. When I speak the sea itself is
wont to pay attention. Thou hast insulted the majesty of justice in its
very sanctuary. Rebel! dost thou know what punishment that crime
demands? Now answer! (GIANETTINO appears struck, and fixes his eyes on
the ground without speaking). Wretched Andreas! In thy own heart hast
thou fostered the canker of thy renown. I built up a fabric for Genoa
which should mock the lapse of ages, and am myself the first to cast a
firebrand into it. Thank my gray head, which would be laid in the grave
by a relation's hand--thank my unjust love that, on the scaffold, I pour
not out thy rebellious blood to satisfy the violated laws.

                          [Exit.



SCENE XIV.

   GIANETTINO looks after the DUKE, speechless with anger, LOMELLINO
   entering, breathless and terrified.

LOMELLINO. What have I seen! What have I heard! Fly, prince! Fly
quickly! All is lost.

GIANETTINO (with inward rage). What was there to lose?

LOMELLINO. Genoa, prince: I come from the market-place. The people were
crowding round a Moor who was dragged along bound with cords. The Count
of Lavagna, with above three hundred nobles, followed to the criminal
court. The Moor had been employed to assassinate Fiesco, and in the
attempt was seized.

GIANETTINO (stamping violently on the ground). What, are all the devils
of hell let loose at once?

LOMELLINO. They questioned him most strictly concerning his employer.
The Moor confessed nothing. They tried the first degree of torture.
Still he confessed nothing. They put him to the second. Then he spoke--
he spoke. My gracious lord, how could you trust your honor to such a
villain?

GIANETTINO (fiercely). Ask me no question?

LOMELLINO. Hear the rest! Scarcely was the word Doria uttered--I would
sooner have seen my name inscribed in the infernal register than have
heard yours thus mentioned--scarcely was it uttered when Fiesco showed
himself to the people. You know the man--how winningly he pleads--how he
is wont to play the usurer with the hearts of the multitude. The whole
assembly hung upon his looks, breathless with indignation. He spoke
little, but bared his bleeding arm. The crowd contended for the falling
drops as if for sacred relics. The Moor was given up to his disposal--
and Fiesco--a mortal blow for us! Fiesco pardoned him. Now the confined
anger of the people burst forth in one tumultuous clamor. Each breath
annihilated a Doria, and Fiesco was borne home amidst a thousand joyful
acclamations.

GIANETTINO (with a ferocious laugh). Let the flood of tumult swell up to
my very throat. The emperor! That sound alone shall strike them to the
earth, so that not a murmur shall be heard in Genoa.

LOMELLINO. Bohemia is far from hence. If the emperor come speedily he
may perhaps be present at your funeral feast.

GIANETTINO (drawing forth a letter with a great seal). 'Tis fortunate
that he is here already. Art thou surprised at this? And didst thou
think me mad enough to brave the fury of enraged republicans had I not
known they were betrayed and sold?

LOMELLINO (with astonishment). I know not what to think!

GIANETTINO. But I have thought of something which thou couldst not know.
My plan is formed. Ere two days are past twelve senators must fall.
Doria becomes sovereign, and the Emperor Charles protects him. Thou
seemest astonished----

LOMELLINO. Twelve senators! My heart is too narrow to comprehend a
twelvefold murder.

GIANETTINO. Fool that thou art! The throne will absolve the deed. I
consulted with the ministers of Charles on the strong party which France
still has in Genoa, and by which she might a second time seize on it
unless they should be rooted out. This worked upon the emperor--he
approved my projects--and thou shalt write what I will dictate to thee.

LOMELLINO. I know not yet your purpose.

GIANETTINO. Sit down and write----

LOMELLINO. But what am I to write? (Seats himself.)

GIANETTINO. The names of the twelve candidates for death--Francis
Zenturione.

LOMELLINO (writes). In gratitude for his vote he leads the funeral
procession.

GIANETTINO. Cornelio Calva.

LOMELLINO. Calva.

GIANETTINO. Michael Zibo.

LOMELLINO. To cool him after his disappointment in the procuratorship.

GIANETTINO. Thomas Asserato and his three brothers. (LOMELLINO stops.)

GIANETTINO (forcibly). And his three brothers----

LOMELLINO (writes). Go on.

GIANETTINO. Fiesco of Lavagna.

LOMELLINO. Have a care! Have a care! That black stone will yet prove
fatal to you.

GIANETTINO. Scipio Bourgognino.

LOMELLINO. He may celebrate elsewhere his wedding----

GIANETTINO. Ay, where I shall be director of the nuptials. Raphael
Sacco.

LOMELLINO. I should intercede for his life until he shall have paid my
five thousand crowns. (Writes.) Death strikes the balance.

GIANETTINO. Vincent Calcagno.

LOMELLINO. Calcagno. The twelfth I write at my own risk, unless our
mortal enemy be overlooked.

GIANETTINO. The end crowns all--Joseph Verrina.

LOMELLINO. He is the very head of the viper that threatens us. (Rises
and presents the paper to GIANETTINO.) Two days hence death shall make a
splendid feast, at which twelve of the chief of Genoa's nobles will be
present.

GIANETTINO (signs the paper). 'Tis done. Two days hence will be the
ducal election. When the senate shall be assembled for that purpose
these twelve shall, on the signal of a handkerchief, be suddenly laid
low. My two hundred Germans will have surrounded the senate-house. At
that moment I enter and claim homage as the Duke. (Rings the bell.)

LOMELLINO. And what of Andreas?

GIANETTINO (contemptuously). He is an old man. (Enter a servant.) If
the Duke should ask for me say I am gone to mass. (Exit servant.) I
must conceal the devil that's within beneath a saintly garb.

LOMELLINO. But, my lord, the paper?

GIANETTINO. Take it, and let it be circulated among our party. This
letter must be dispatched by express to Levanto. 'Tis to inform Spinola
of our intended plan, and bid him reach the capital early in the morning.
(Going.)

LOMELLINO. Stop, prince. There is an error in our calculation. Fiesco
does not attend the senate.

GIANETTINO (looking back). Genoa will easily supply one more assassin.
I'll see to that.

                       [Exeunt different ways.



SCENE XV.-An Ante-chamber in FIESCO'S Palace.

   FIESCO, with papers before him, and MOOR.

FIESCO. Four galleys have entered the harbor, dost say?

MOOR. Yes, they're at anchor in the port.

FIESCO. That's well. Whence are these expresses?

MOOR. From Rome, Placentia, and France.

FIESCO (opens the letters and runs over them). Welcome! welcome news!
(In high spirits.) Let the messengers be treated in a princely manner.

MOOR. Hem! (Going.).

FIESCO. Stop, stop! Here's work for thee in plenty.

MOOR. Command me. I am ready to act the setter or the bloodhound.

FIESCO. I only want at present the voice of the decoy-bird. To-morrow
early two thousand men will enter the city in disguise to engage in my
service. Distribute thy assistants at the gates, and let them keep a
watchful eye upon the strangers that arrive. Some will be dressed like
pilgrims on their journey to Loretto, others like mendicant friars, or
Savoyards, or actors; some as peddlers and musicians; but the most as
disbanded soldiers coming to seek a livelihood in Genoa. Let every one
be asked where he takes up his lodging. If he answer at the Golden
Snake, let him be treated as a friend and shown my habitation. But
remember, sirrah, I rely upon thy prudence.

MOOR. Sir, as securely as upon my knavery. If a single head escape me,
pluck out my eyes and shoot at sparrows with them. (Going.)

FIESCO. Stop! I've another piece of business for thee. The arrival of
the galleys will excite suspicion in the city. If any one inquire of
thee about them, say thou hast heard it rumored that thy master intends
to cruise against the Turks. Dost thou understand me?

MOOR. Yes, yes--the beards of the Mussulmen at the masthead, but the
devil for a steersman. (Going.)

FIESCO. Gently--one more precaution. Gianettino has new reasons to hate
me and lay snares against my life. Go--sound the fellows of thy trade;
see if thou canst not smell out some plot on foot against me. Visit the
brothels--Doria often frequents them. The secrets of the cabinet are
sometimes lodged within the folds of a petticoat. Promise these ladies
golden customers. Promise them thy master. Let nothing be too sacred to
be used in gaining the desired information.

MOOR. Ha! luckily I am acquainted with one Diana Buononi, whom I have
served above a year as procurer. The other day I saw the Signor
Lomellino coming out of her house.

FIESCO. That suits my purpose well. This very Lomellino is the key to
all Doria's follies. To-morrow thou shalt go thither. Perhaps he is
to-night the Endymion of this chaste Diana.

MOOR. One more question, my lord. Suppose the people ask me--and that
they will, I'll pawn my soul upon it--suppose they ask, "What does Fiesco
think of Genoa?" Would you still wear the mask?--or--how shall I answer
them?

FIESCO. Answer? Hum! The fruit is ripe. The pains of labor announce
the approaching birth. Answer that Genoa lies upon the block, and that
thy master's name is--John Louis Fiesco----

MOOR (with an air of satisfaction). That, by my rogue's honor, shall be
done to your heart's content. Now be wide awake, friend Hassan! First
to a tavern! My feet have work enough cut out for them. I must coax my
stomach to intercede with my legs. (Hastening away--returns.) Oh,
apropos! My chattering made me almost forget one circumstance. You
wished to know what passed between Calcagno and your wife. A refusal,
sir--that's all.

                      [Runs off.



SCENE XVI.

   FIESCO alone.

FIESCO. I pity thee, Calcagno. Didst thou think I should, upon so
delicate a point, have been thus careless had I not relied in perfect
security on my wife's virtue and my own deserts? Yet I welcome this
passion. Thou art a good soldier. It shall procure me thy arm for the
destruction of Doria. (Walking up and down.) Now, Doria, to the scene
of action! All the machines are ready for the grand attempt--the
instruments are tuned for the terrific concert. Naught is wanting but to
throw off the mask, and show Fiesco to the patriots of Genoa. (Some
persons are heard approaching.) Ha! Visitors! Who can be coming to
disturb me?



SCENE XVII.

   FIESCO, VERRINA, ROMANO, with a picture; SACCO, BOURGOGNINO,
   CALCAGNO.

FIESCO (receiving them with great affability). Welcome, my worthy
friends! What important business brings you all hither? Are you, too,
come, my dear brother, Verrina? I should almost have forgotten you, had
you not oftener been present to my thoughts than to my sight. I think I
have not seen you since my last entertainment.

VERRINA. Do not count the hours, Fiesco! Heavy burdens have in that
interval weighed down my aged head. But enough of this----

FIESCO. Not enough to satisfy the anxiety of friendship. You must
inform me farther when we are alone. (Addressing BOURGOGNINO.) Welcome,
brave youth! Our acquaintance is yet green; but my affection for thee is
already ripe. Has your esteem for me improved?

BOURGOGNINO. 'Tis on the increase.

FIESCO. Verrina, it is reported that this brave young man is to be your
son-in-law. Receive my warmest approbation of your choice. I have
conversed with him but once; and yet I should be proud to call him my
relation.

VERRINA. That judgment makes me of my daughter vain.

FIESCO (to the others). Sacco, Calcagno--all unfrequent visitors--I
should fear the absence of Genoa's noblest ornaments were a proof that I
had been deficient in hospitality. And here I greet a fifth guest,
unknown to me, indeed, but sufficiently recommended by this worthy
circle.

ROMANO. He, my lord, is simply a painter, by name Julio Romano, who
lives by theft and counterfeit of Nature's charms. His pencil is his
only escutcheon; and he now comes hither (bowing profoundly) to seek the
manly outlines of a Brutus.

FIESCO. Give me your hand, Romano! I love the mistress of your soul
with a holy fire. Art is the right hand of Nature. The latter only gave
us being, but 'twas the former made us men. What are the subjects of
your labor?

ROMANO. Scenes from the heroic ages of antiquity. At Florence is my
dying Hercules, at Venice my Cleopatra, the raging Ajax at Rome, where,
in the Vatican, the heroes of former times rise again to light.

FIESCO. And what just now employs you?

ROMANO. Alas! my lord, I've thrown away my pencil. The lamp of genius
burns quicker than the lamp of life. Beyond a certain moment the flame
flickers and dies. This is my last production.

FIESCO (in a lively manner). It could not come more opportune. I feel
to-day a more than usual cheerfulness. A sentiment of calm delight
pervades my being, and fits it to receive the impression of Nature's
beauties. Let us view your picture. I shall feast upon the sight.
Come, friends, we will devote ourselves entirely to the artist. Place
your picture.

VERRINA (apart to the others). Now, Genoese, observe!

ROMANO (placing the picture). The light must fall upon it thus. Draw up
that curtain--let fall the other,--right. (Standing on one side). It is
the story of Virginia and Appius Claudius. (A long pause; all
contemplate the picture.)

VERRINA (with enthusiasm). Strike, aged father! Dost thou tremble,
tyrant? How pale you stand there, Romans! Imitate him, senseless
Romans! The sword yet glitters! Imitate me, senseless Genoese! Down
with Doria! Down with him! (Striking at the picture.)

FIESCO (to the painter, smiling). Could you desire greater applause?
Your art has transformed this old man into a youthful enthusiast.

VERRINA (exhausted). Where am I! What has become of them! They
vanished like bubbles. You here, Fiesco! and the tyrant living!

FIESCO. My friend, amidst this admiration you have overlooked the parts
most truly beauteous. Does this Roman's head thus strike you? Look
there! Observe that damsel--what soft expression! What feminine
delicacy! How sweetly touched are those pale lips! How exquisite that
dying look! Inimitable! Divine, Romano! And that white, dazzling
breast, that heaves with the last pulse of life. Draw more such
beauties, Romano, and I will give up Nature to worship thy creative
fancy.

BOURGOGNINO. Is it thus, Verrina, your hopes are answered?

VERRINA. Take courage, son! The Almighty has rejected the arm of
FIESCO. Upon ours he must rely.

FIESCO (to ROMANO). Well--'tis your last work, Romano. Your powers are
exhausted. Lay down your pencil. Yet, whilst I am admiring the artist,
I forget to satiate on the work. I could stand gazing on it, regardless
of an earthquake. Take away your picture--the wealth of Genoa would
scarcely reach the value of this Virginia. Away with it.

ROMANO. Honor is the artist's noblest reward. I present it to you.
(Offers to go away.)

FIESCO. Stay, Romano! (He walks majestically up and down the room,
seeming to reflect on something of importance. Sometimes he casts a
quick and penetrating glance at the others; at last he takes ROMANO
by the hand, and leads him to the picture.) Come near, painter.
(With dignified pride.) Proudly stand'st thou there because, upon
the dead canvas, thou canst simulate life, and immortalize great deeds
with small endeavor. Thou canst dilate with the poet's fire on the
empty puppet-show of fancy, without heart and without the nerve of
life-inspiring deeds; depose tyrants on canvas, and be thyself a
miserable slave! Thou canst liberate Republics with a dash of the
pencil, yet not break thy own chains! (In a loud and commanding tone.)
Go! Thy work is a mere juggle. Let the semblance give place to reality!
(With haughtiness, overturning the picture.) I have done what thou hast
only painted. (All struck with astonishment; ROMANO carries away the
picture in confusion.)



SCENE XVIII.

   The former, except ROMANO.

FIESCO. Did you suppose the lion slept because he ceased to roar? Did
your vain thoughts persuade you that none but you could feel the chains
of Genoa? That none but you durst break them? Before you knew their
weight, Fiesco had already broken them. (He opens an escritoire, takes
out a parcel of letters, and throws them on the table.) These bring
soldiers from Parma;--these, French money;-these, four galleys from the
Pope. What now is wanting to rouse the tyrant in his lair? Tell me,
what think you wanting? (All stand silent with astonishment.)
Republicans! you waste your time in curses when you should overthrow the
tyrant. (All but VERRINA throw themselves at FIESCO'S feet.)

VERRINA. Fiesco, my spirit bends to thine, but my knee cannot. Thy soul
is great; but--rise, Genoese! (They rise.)

FIESCO. All Genoa was indignant at the effeminate Fiesco; all Genoa
cursed the profligate FIESCO. Genoese! my amours have blinded the
cunning despot. My wild excesses served to guard my plans from the
danger of an imprudent confidence. Concealed beneath the cloak of luxury
the infant plot grew up. Enough--I'm known sufficiently to Genoa in
being known to you. I have attained my utmost wish.

BOURGOGNINO (throwing himself indignantly into a chair). Am I, then,
nothing?

FIESCO. But let us turn from thought to action. All the engines are
prepared--I can storm the city by sea and land. Rome, France, and Parma
cover me; the nobles are disaffected; the hearts of the populace are
mine; I have lulled to sleep the tyrants; the state is ripe for
revolution. We are no longer in the hands of Fortune. Nothing is
wanting. Verrina is lost in thought.

BOURGOGNINO. Patience! I have a word to say, which will more quickly
rouse him than the trumpet of the last day. (To VERRINA--calls out to
him emphatically.) Father! Awake! Thy Bertha will despair.

VERRINA. Who spoke those words? Genoese, to arms!

FIESCO. Think on the means of forwarding our plan. Night has advanced
upon our discourse; Genoa is wrapped in sleep; the tyrant sinks exhausted
beneath the sins of the day. Let us watch o'er both.

BOURGOGNINO. Let us, before we part, consecrate our heroic union by an
embrace! (They form a circle, with joined arms.) Here unite five of the
bravest hearts in Genoa to decide their country's fate. (All embrace
eagerly.) When the universe shall fall asunder, and the eternal sentence
shall cut in twain the bonds of consanguinity and love, then may this
fivefold band of heroes still remain entire! (They separate.)

VERRINA. When shall we next assemble?

FIESCO. At noon to-morrow I'll hear your sentiments.

VERRINA. 'Tis well--at noon to-morrow. Goodnight, Fiesco! Come,
Bourgognino, you will hear something marvellous.

                    [Exeunt VERRINA and BOURGOGNINO.

FIESCO (to the others). Depart by the back gates, that Doria's spies may
not suspect us.

                    [Exeunt SACCO and CALCAGNO.



SCENE XIX. FIESCO, alone.

FIESCO (walking up and down in meditation). What a tumult is in my
breast! What a concourse of dark, uncertain images! Like guilty
wretches stealing out in secret to do some horrid deed, with trembling
steps and blushing faces bent toward the ground, these flattering
phantoms glide athwart my soul. Stay! stay!--let me examine you more
closely. A virtuous thought strengthens the heart of man, and boldly
meets the day. Ha! I know you--robed in the livery of Satan--avaunt!
(A pause; he continues with energy.) Fiesco, the patriot! the Duke
Fiesco! Peace! On this steep precipice the boundaries of virtue
terminate: here heaven and hell are separated. Here have heroes
stumbled, here have they fallen, and left behind a name loaded with
curses--here, too, have heroes paused, here checked their course, and
risen to immortality. (More vehemently.) To know the hearts of Genoa
mine! To govern with a master's hand this formidable state! Oh,
artifice of sin, that masks each devil with an angel's face! Fatal
ambition! Everlasting tempter! Won by thy charms, angels abandoned
heaven, and death sprung from thy embraces. (Shuddering.) Thy syren
voice drew angels from their celestial mansions--man thou ensnarest with
beauty, riches, power. (After a pause, in a firm tone.) To gain a
diadem is great--to reject it is divine! (Resolutely.) Perish the
tyrant! Let Genoa be free--and I (much affected) will be its happiest
citizen.




ACT III.

SCENE I.--Midnight. A dreary wilderness.

   VERRINA and BOURGOGNINO entering.

BOURGOGNINO (stands still). Whither are you leading me, father. The
heavy grief that hung upon your brow when first you bade me follow you
still seems to labor in your panting breast. Break this dreadful
silence! Speak. I will go no further.

VERRINA. This is the place.

BOURGOGNINO. You could not choose a spot more awful. Father, if the
deed you purpose be like the place--father--my hair will stand on end
with horror.

VERRINA. And yet 'tis cheerfulness itself to the gloom that enwraps my
soul. Follow me to yon churchyard, where corruption preys on the
mouldering remnants of mortality, and death holds his fearful banquet--
where shrieks of damned souls delight the listening fiends, and sorrow
weeps her fruitless tears into the never-filling urn. Follow me, my son,
to where the condition of this world is changed; and God throws off his
attributes of mercy--there will I speak to thee in agony, and thou shalt
hear with despair.

BOURGOGNINO. Hear! what? I conjure you, father.

VERRINA. Youth! I fear. Youth, thy blood is warm and crimson--thy
heart is soft and tender--such natures are alive to human kindness--this
warmth of feeling melts my obdurate wisdom. If the frost of age or
sorrow's leaden pressure had chilled the springtide vigor of thy spirits
--if black congealed blood had closed the avenues of thy heart against
the approaches of humanity--then would thy mind be attuned to the
language of my grief, and thou wouldst look with admiration on my
project.