Produced by Tapio Riikonen and David Widger
FIESCO, OR THE GENOESE CONSPIRACY.
A TRAGEDY.
By Frederich Schiller
AUTHOR'S PREFACE.
The chief sources from which I have drawn the history of this conspiracy
are Cardinal de Retz's Conjuration du Comte Jean Louis de Fiesque, the
Histoire des Genes, and the third volume of Robertson's History of
Charles the Fifth.
The liberties which I have taken with the historical facts will be
excused, if I have succeeded in my attempt; and, if not, it is better
that my failure should appear in the effusions of fancy, than in the
delineation of truth. Some deviation from the real catastrophe of the
conspiracy (according to which the count actually perished [A] when his
schemes were nearly ripe for execution) was rendered necessary by the
nature of the drama, which does not allow the interposition either of
chance or of a particular Providence. It would be matter of surprise
to me that this subject has never been adopted by any tragic writer,
did not the circumstances of its conclusion, so unfit for dramatic
representation, afford a sufficient reason for such neglect. Beings of
a superior nature may discriminate the finest links of that chain which
connects an individual action with the system of the universe, and may,
perhaps, behold them extended to the utmost limits of time, past and
future; but man seldom sees more than the simple facts, divested of their
various relations of cause and effect. The writer, therefore, must adapt
his performance to the short-sightedness of human nature, which he would
enlighten; and not to the penetration of Omniscience, from which all
intelligence is derived.
In my Tragedy of the Robbers it was my object to delineate the victim of
an extravagant sensibility; here I endeavor to paint the reverse; a
victim of art and intrigue. But, however strongly marked in the page of
history the unfortunate project of Fiesco may appear, on the stage it may
prove less interesting. If it be true that sensibility alone awakens
sensibility, we may conclude that the political hero is the less
calculated for dramatic representation, in proportion as it becomes
necessary to lay aside the feelings of a man in order to become a
political hero.
It was, therefore, impossible for me to breathe into my fable that
glowing life which animates the pure productions of poetical inspiration;
but, in order to render the cold and sterile actions of the politician
capable of affecting the human heart, I was obliged to seek a clue to
those actions in the human heart itself. I was obliged to blend together
the man and the politician, and to draw from the refined intrigues of
state situations interesting to humanity. The relations which I bear to
society are such as unfold to me more of the heart than of the cabinet;
and, perhaps, this very political defect may have become a poetical
excellence.
[A] Fiesco, after having succeeded in the chief objects of his
undertaking, happened to fall into the sea whilst hastening to quell some
disturbances on board of a vessel in the harbor; the weight of his armor
rendered his struggles ineffectual, and he perished. The deviation from
history in the tragedy might have been carried farther, and would perhaps
have rendered it more suitable to dramatic representation.--Translation.
FIESCO; OR, THE GENOESE CONSPIRACY.
A TRAGEDY.
DRAMATIS PERSONAE.
ANDREAS DORIA, Duke of Genoa, a venerable old man, eighty years of age,
retaining the traces of a high spirit: the chief features in this
character are dignity and a rigid brevity in command.
GIANETTINO DORIA, nephew of the former, and pretender to the ducal power,
twenty-six years of age, rough and forbidding in his address, deportment,
and manners, with a vulgar pride and disgusting features.
FIESCO, Count of Lavagna, chief of the conspiracy, a tall, handsome young
man, twenty-three years of age; his character is that of dignified pride
and majestic affability, with courtly complaisance and deceitfulness.
VERRINA, a determined republican, sixty years of age; grave, austere, and
inflexible: a marked character.
BOURGOGNINO, a conspirator, a youth of twenty; frank and high-spirited,
proud, hasty, and undisguised.
CALCAGNO, a conspirator, a worn-out debauchee of thirty; insinuating and
enterprising.
SACCO, a conspirator, forty-five years of age, with no distinguishing
trait of character.
LOMELLINO, in the confidence of the pretender, a haggard courtier.
ZENTURIONE, |
ZIBO, | Malcontents.
ASSERATO, |
ROMANO, a painter, frank and simple, with the pride of genius.
MULEY HASSAN, a Moor of Tunis, an abandoned character, with a physiognomy
displaying an original mixture of rascality and humor.
A GERMAN of the ducal body-guard, of an honest simplicity, and steady
bravery.
THREE SEDITIOUS CITIZENS.
LEONORA, the wife of Fiesco, eighteen years of age, of great sensibility;
her appearance pale and slender, engaging, but not dazzling; her
countenance marked with melancholy; her dress black.
JULIA, Countess dowager Imperiali, sister of the younger Doria, aged
twenty-five; a proud coquette, in person tall and full, her beauty
spoiled by affectation, with a sarcastic maliciousness in her
countenance; her dress black.
BERTHA, daughter of Verrina, an innocent girl.
ROSA, | Maids of Leonora.
ARABELLA, |
Several Nobles, Citizens, Germans, Soldiers, Thieves.
(SCENE--Genoa. TIME--the year 1547.)
ACT I.
SCENE I.--A Saloon in FIESCO'S House. The distant sound of dancing and
music is heard.
LEONORA, masked, and attended by ROSA and ARABELLA, enters hastily.
LEONORA (tears off her mask). No more! Not another word! 'Tis as clear
as day! (Throwing herself in a chair.) This quite overcomes me----
ARABELLA. My lady!
LEONORA (rising.) What, before my eyes! with a notorious coquette! In
presence of the whole nobility of Genoa! (strongly affected.)--Rosa!
Arabella! and before my weeping eyes!
ROSA. Look upon it only as what it really was--a piece of gallantry. It
was nothing more.
LEONORA. Gallantry! What! Their busy interchange of glances--the
anxious watching of her every motion--the long and eager kiss upon her
naked arm, impressed with a fervor that left in crimson glow the very
traces of his lips! Ha! and the transport that enwrapped his soul, when,
with fixed eyes, he sat like painted ecstacy, as if the world around him
had dissolved, and naught remained in the eternal void but he and Julia.
Gallantry? Poor thing! Thou hast never loved. Think not that thou
canst teach me to distinguish gallantry from love!
ROSA. No matter, Signora! A husband lost is as good as ten lovers
gained.
LEONORA. Lost? Is then one little intermission of the heart's
pulsations a proof that I have lost Fiesco? Go, malicious slanderer!
Come no more into my presence! 'Twas an innocent frolic--perhaps a mere
piece of gallantry. Say, my gentle Arabella, was it not so?
ARABELLA. Most certainly! There can be no doubt of it!
LEONORA (in a reverie). But does she then feel herself sole mistress of
his heart? Does her name lurk in his every thought?--meet him in every
phase of nature? Can it be? Whither will these thoughts lead me? Is
this beautiful and majestic world to him but as one precious diamond, on
which her image--her image alone--is engraved? That he should love her?
--love Julia! Oh! Your arm--support me, Arabella! (A pause; music is
again heard.)
LEONORA (starting). Hark! Was not that Fiesco's voice, which from the
tumult penetrated even hither? Can he laugh while his Leonora weeps in
solitude? Oh, no, my child, it was the coarse, loud voice of Gianettino.
ARABELLA. It was, Signora--but let us retire to another apartment.
LEONORA. You change color, Arabella--you are false. In your looks, in
the looks of all the inhabitants of Genoa, I read a something--a
something which--(hiding her face)--oh, certainly these Genoese know more
than should reach a wife's ear.
ROSA. Oh, jealousy! thou magnifier of trifles!
LEONORA (with melancholy enthusiasm). When he was still Fiesco; when in
the orange-grove, where we damsels walked, I saw him--a blooming Apollo,
blending the manly beauty of Antinous! Such was his noble and majestic
deportment, as if the illustrious state of Genoa rested alone upon his
youthful shoulders. Our eyes stole trembling glances at him, and shrunk
back, as if with conscious guilt, whene'er they encountered the lightning
of his looks. Ah, Arabella, how we devoured those looks! with what
anxious envy did every one count those directed to her companions! They
fell among us like the golden apple of discord--tender eyes burned
fiercely--soft bosoms beat tumultuously--jealousy burst asunder all our
bonds of friendship----
ARABELLA. I remember it well. All Genoa's female hearts were in
rebellious ferment for so enviable a prize!
LEONORA (in rapture). And now to call him mine! Giddy, wondrous
fortune!--to call the pride of Genoa mine!--he who from the chisel
of the exhaustless artist, Nature, sprang forth all-perfect, combining
every greatness of his sex in the most perfect union. Hear me, damsels!
I can no longer conceal it--hear me! I confide to you something
(mysteriously)--a thought!--when I stood at the altar with Fiesco,--when
his hand lay in mine,--a thought, too daring for woman, rushed across me.
"This Fiesco, whose hand now lies in thine--thy Fiesco"--but hush! let no
man hear us boast how far he excels all others of his sex. "This, thy
Fiesco"--ah, could you but share my feelings!--"will free Genoa from its
tyrants!"
ARABELLA (astonished). And could this dream haunt a woman's mind even at
the nuptial shrine?
LEONORA. Yes, my Arabella,--well mayest thou be astonished--to the bride
it came, even in the joy of the bridal hour (more animated). I am a
woman, but I feel the nobleness of my blood. I cannot bear to see these
proud Dorias thus overtop our family. The good old Andreas--it is a
pleasure to esteem him. He may indeed, unenvied, bear the ducal dignity;
but Gianettino is his nephew--his heir--and Gianettino has a proud and
wicked heart. Genoa trembles before him, and Fiesco (much affected)--
Fiesco--weep with me, damsels!--loves his sister.
ARABELLA.
Alas, my wretched mistress!
LEONORA. Go now, and see this demi-god of the Genoese--amid the
shameless circles of debauchery and lust! hear the vile jests and wanton
ribaldry with which he entertains his base companions! That is Fiesco!
Ah, damsels, not only has Genoa lost its hero, but I have lost my
husband!
ROSA. Speak lower! some one is coming through the gallery.
LEONORA (alarmed). Ha! 'Tis Fiesco--let us hasten away--the sight of me
might for a moment interrupt his happiness. (She hastens into a side
apartment; the maids follow.)
SCENE II
GIANETTINO DORIA, masked, in a green cloak, and the MOOR,
enter in conversation.
GIANETTINO. Thou hast understood me!
MOOR. Well----
GIANETTINO. The white mask----
MOOR. Well----
GIANETTINO. I say, the white mask----
MOOR. Well--well--well----
GIANETTINO. Dost thou mark me? Thou canst only fail here! (pointing to
his heart).
MOOR. Give yourself no concern.
GIANETTINO. And be sure to strike home----
MOOR. He shall have enough.
GIANETTINO (maliciously). That the poor count may not have long to
suffer.
MOOR. With your leave, sir, a word--at what weight do you estimate his
head?
GIANETTINO. What weight? A hundred sequins----
MOOR (blowing through his fingers). Poh! Light as a feather!
GIANETTINO. What art thou muttering?
MOOR. I was saying--it is light work.
GIANETTINO. That is thy concern. He is the very loadstone of sedition.
Mark me, sirrah! let thy blow be sure.
MOOR. But, sir,--I must fly to Venice immediately after the deed.
GIANETTINO. Then take my thanks beforehand. (He throws him a
bank-note.) In three days at farthest he must be cold.
[Exit.
MOOR (picking up the note). Well, this really is what I call credit to
trust--the simple word of such a rogue as I am!
[Exit.
SCENE III.
CALCAGNO, behind him SACCO, both in black cloaks.
CALCAGNO. I perceive thou watchest all my steps.
SACCO. And I observe thou wouldst conceal them from me. Attend,
Calcagno! For some weeks past I have remarked the workings of thy
countenance. They bespeak more than concerns the interests of our
country. Brother, I should think that we might mutually exchange our
confidence without loss on either side. What sayest thou? Wilt thou be
sincere?
CALCAGNO. So truly, that thou shalt not need to dive into the recesses
of my soul; my heart shall fly half-way to meet thee on my tongue--I love
the Countess of Fiesco.
SACCO (starts back with astonishment). That, at least, I should not have
discovered had I made all possibilities pass in review before me. My
wits are racked to comprehend thy choice, but I must have lost them
altogether if thou succeed.
CALCAGNO. They say she is a pattern of the strictest virtue.
SACCO. They lie. She is the whole volume on that insipid text.
Calcagno, thou must choose one or the other--either to give up thy heart
or thy profession.
CALCAGNO. The Count is faithless to her; and of all the arts that may
seduce a woman the subtlest is jealousy. A plot against the Dorias will
at the same time occupy the Count, and give me easy access to his house.
Thus, while the shepherd guards against the wolf, the fox shall make
havoc of the poultry.
SACCO. Incomparable brother, receive my thanks! A blush is now
superfluous, and I can tell thee openly what just now I was ashamed even
to think. I am a beggar if the government be not soon overturned.
CALCAGNO. What, are thy debts so great?
SACCO. So immense that even one-tenth of them would more than swallow
ten times my income. A convulsion of the state will give me breath; and
if it do not cancel all my debts, at least 'twill stop the mouths of
bawling creditors.
CALCAGNO. I understand thee; and if then, perchance, Genoa should be
freed, Sacco will be hailed his country's savior. Let no one trick out
to me the threadbare tale of honesty, if the fate of empires hang on the
bankruptcy of a prodigal and the lust of a debauchee. By heaven, Sacco,
I admire the wise design of Providence, that in us would heal the
corruptions in the heart of the state by the vile ulcers on its limbs.
Is thy design unfolded to Verrina?
SACCO. As far as it can be unfolded to a patriot. Thou knowest his
iron integrity, which ever tends to that one point, his country. His
hawk-like eye is now fixed on Fiesco, and he has half-conceived a hope of
thee to join the bold conspiracy.
CALCAGNO. Oh, he has an excellent nose! Come, let us seek him, and fan
the flame of liberty in his breast by our accordant spirit.
[Exeunt.
SCENE IV.
JULIA, agitated with anger, and FIESCO, in a white mask,
following her.
JULIA. Servants! footmen!
FIESCO. Countess, whither are you going? What do you intend?
JULIA. Nothing--nothing at all. (To the servants, who enter and
immediately retire.) Let my carriage draw up----
FIESCO. Pardon me, it must not. You are offended.
JULIA. Oh, by no means. Away--you tear my dress to pieces. Offended.
Who is here that can offend me? Go, pray go.
FIESCO (upon one knee). Not till you tell me what impertinent----
JULIA (stands still in a haughty attitude). Fine! Fine! Admirable!
Oh, that the Countess of Lavagna might be called to view this charming
scene! How, Count, is this like a husband? This posture would better
suit the chamber of your wife when she turns over the journal of your
caresses and finds a void in the account. Rise, sir, and seek those to
whom your overtures will prove more acceptable. Rise--unless you think
your gallantries will atone for your wife's impertinence.
FIESCO (jumping up). Impertinence! To you?
JULIA. To break up! To push away her chair! To turn her back upon the
table--that table, Count, where I was sitting----
FIESCO. 'Tis inexcusable.
JULIA. And is that all? Out upon the jade! Am I, then, to blame
because the Count makes use of his eyes? (Smilingly admiring herself.)
FIESCO. 'Tis the fault of your beauty, madam, that keeps them in such
sweet slavery.
JULIA. Away with compliment where honor is concerned. Count, I insist
on satisfaction. Where shall I find it, in you, or in my uncle's
vengeance?
FIESCO. Find it in the arms of love--of love that would repair the
offence of jealousy.
JULIA. Jealousy! Jealousy! Poor thing! What would she wish for?
(Admiring herself in the glass.) Could she desire a higher compliment
than were I to declare her taste my own? (Haughtily.) Doria and Fiesco!
Would not the Countess of Lavagna have reason to feel honored if Doria's
niece deigned to envy her choice? (In a friendly tone, offering the
Count her hand to kiss.) I merely assume the possibility of such a case,
Count.
FIESCO (with animation). Cruel Countess! Thus to torment me. I know,
divine Julia, that respect is all I ought to feel for you. My reason
bids me bend a subject's knee before the race of Doria; but my heart
adores the beauteous Julia. My love is criminal, but 'tis also heroic,
and dares o'erleap the boundaries of rank, and soar towards the dazzling
sun of majesty.
JULIA. A great and courtly falsehood, paraded upon stilts! While his
tongue deifies me, his heart beats beneath the picture of another.
FIESCO. Rather say it beats indignantly against it, and would shake off
the odious burden. (Taking the picture of LEONORA, which is suspended by
a sky-blue ribbon from his breast, and delivering it to JULIA.) Place
your own image on that altar and you will instantly annihilate this idol.
JULIA (pleased, puts by the picture hastily). A great sacrifice, by mine
honor, and which deserves my thanks. (Hangs her own picture about his
neck.) So, my slave, henceforth bear your badge of service.
[Exit.
FIESCO (with transport). Julia loves me! Julia! I envy not even the
gods. (Exulting.) Let this night be a jubilee. Joy shall attain its
summit. Ho! within there! (Servants come running in.) Let the floors
swim with Cyprian nectar, soft strains of music rouse midnight from her
leaden slumber, and a thousand burning lamps eclipse the morning sun.
Pleasure shall reign supreme, and the Bacchanal dance so wildly beat the
ground that the dark kingdom of the shades below shall tremble at the
uproar!
[Exit hastily. A noisy allegro, during which the back scene opens,
and discovers a grand illuminated saloon, many masks--dancing. At
the side, drinking and playing tables, surrounded with company.
SCENE V.
GIANETTINO, almost intoxicated, LOMELLINO, ZIBO, ZENTURIONE,
VERRINA, CALCAGNO, all masked. Several other nobles and ladies.
GIANETTINO (boisterously). Bravo! Bravo! These wines glide down
charmingly. The dancers perform a merveille. Go, one of you, and
publish it throughout Genoa that I am in good humor, and that every
one may enjoy himself. By my ruling star this shall be marked as a
red-letter day in the calendar, and underneath be written,--"This day was
Prince Doria merry." (The guests lift their glasses to their mouths. A
general toast of "The Republic." Sound of trumpets.) The Republic?
(Throwing his glass violently on the ground.) There lie its fragments.
(Three black masks suddenly rise and collect about GIANETTINO.)
LOMELLINO (supporting GIANETTINO on his arm). My lord, you lately spoke
of a young girl whom you saw in the church of St. Lorenzo.
GIANETTINO. I did, my lad! and I must make her acquaintance.
LOMELLINO. That I can manage for your grace.
GIANETTINO (with vehemence). Can you? Can you? Lomellino, you were a
candidate for the procuratorship. You shall have it.
LOMELLINO. Gracious prince, it is the second dignity in the state; more
than threescore noblemen seek it, and all of them more wealthy and
honorable than your grace's humble servant.
GIANETTINO (indignantly). By the name of Doria! You shall be
procurator. (The three masks come forward). What talk you of nobility
in Genoa? Let them all throw their ancestry and honors into the scale,
one hair from the white beard of my old uncle will make it kick the beam.
It is my will that you be procurator, and that is tantamount to the votes
of the whole senate.
LOMELLINO (in a low voice). The damsel is the only daughter of one
Verrina.
GIANETTINO. The girl is pretty, and, in spite of all the devils in hell,
I must possess her.
LOMELLINO. What, my lord! the only child of the most obstinate of our
republicans?
GIANETTINO. To hell with your republicans! Shall my passion be thwarted
by the anger of a vassal? 'Tis as vain as to expect the tower should
fall when the boys pelt it with mussel-shells. (The three black masks
step nearer, with great emotion.) What! Has the Duke Andreas gained his
scars in battle for their wives and children, only that his nephew should
court the favor of these vagabond republicans! By the name of Doria they
shall swallow this fancy of mine, or I will plant a gallows over the
bones of my uncle, on which their Genoese liberty shall kick itself to
death. (The three masks step back in disgust.)
LOMELLINO. The damsel is at this moment alone. Her father is here, and
one of those three masks.
GIANETTINO. Excellent! Bring me instantly to her.
LOMELLINO. But you will seek in her a mistress, and find a prude.
GIANETTINO. Force is the best rhetoric. Lead me to her. Would I could
see that republican dog that durst stand in the way of the bear Doria.
(Going, meets FIESCO at the door.) Where is the Countess?
SCENE VI.
FIESCO and the former.
FIESCO. I have handed her to her carriage. (Takes GIANETTINO'S hand,
and presses it to his breast.) Prince, I am now doubly your slave. To
you I bow, as sovereign of Genoa--to your lovely sister, as mistress of
my heart.
LOMELLINO. Fiesco has become a mere votary of pleasure. The great world
has lost much in you.
FIESCO. But Fiesco has lost nothing in giving up the world. To live is
to dream, and to dream pleasantly is to be wise. Can this be done more
certainly amid the thunders of a throne, where the wheels of government
creak incessantly upon the tortured ear, than on the heaving bosom of an
enamored woman? Let Gianettino rule over Genoa; Fiesco shall devote
himself to love.
GIANETTINO. Away, Lomellino! It is near midnight. The time draws near
--Lavagna, we thank thee for thy entertainment--I have been satisfied.
FIESCO. That, prince, is all that I can wish.
GIANETTINO. Then good-night! To-morrow we have a party at the palace,
and Fiesco is invited. Come, procurator!
FIESCO. Ho! Lights there! Music!
GIANETTINO (haughtily, rushing through the three masks). Make way there
for Doria!
ONE OF THE THREE MASKS (murmuring indignantly). Make way? In hell!
Never in Genoa!
THE GUESTS (in motion). The prince is going. Good night, Lavagna!
(They depart.)
SCENE VII.
The THREE BLACK MASKS and FIESCO. (A pause.)
FIESCO. I perceive some guests here who do not share the pleasure of the
feast.
MASKS (murmuring to each other with indignation). No! Not one of us.
FIESCO (courteously). Is it possible that my attention should have been
wanting to any one of my guests? Quick, servants! Let the music be
renewed, and fill the goblets to the brim. I would not that my friends
should find the time hang heavy. Will you permit me to amuse you with
fireworks. Would you choose to see the frolics of my harlequin? Perhaps
you would be pleased to join the ladies. Or shall we sit down to faro,
and pass the time in play?
A MASK. We are accustomed to spend it in action.
FIESCO. A manly answer--such as bespeaks Verrina.
VERRINA (unmasking). Fiesco is quicker to discover his friends beneath
their masks than they to discover him beneath his.
FIESCO. I understand you not. But what means that crape of mourning
around your arm? Can death have robbed Verrina of a friend, and Fiesco
not know the loss?
VERRINA. Mournful tales ill suit Fiesco's joyful feasts.
FIESCO. But if a friend--(pressing his hand warmly.) Friend of my soul!
For whom must we both mourn?
VRRRINA. Both! both! Oh, 'tis but too true we both should mourn--yet
not all sons lament their mother.
FIESCO. 'Tis long since your mother was mingled with the dust.
VERRINA (with an earnest look). I do remember me that Fiesco once called
me brother, because we both were sons of the same country!
FIESCO (jocosely). Oh, is it only that? You meant then but to jest?
The mourning dress is worn for Genoa! True, she lies indeed in her last
agonies. The thought is new and singular. Our cousin begins to be a
wit.
VERRINA. Fiesco! I spoke most seriously.
FIESCO. Certainly--certainly. A jest loses its point when he who makes
it is the first to laugh. But you! You looked like a mute at a funeral.
Who could have thought that the austere Verrina should in his old age
become such a wag!
SACCO. Come, Verrina. He never will be ours.
FIESCO. Be merry, brother. Let us act the part of the cunning heir, who
walks in the funeral procession with loud lamentations, laughing to
himself the while, under the cover of his handkerchief. 'Tis true we may
be troubled with a harsh step-mother. Be it so--we will let her scold,
and follow our own pleasures.
VERRINA (with great emotion). Heaven and earth! Shall we then do
nothing? What is to become of you, Fiesco? Where am I to seek that
determined enemy of tyrants? There was a time when but to see a crown
would have been torture to you. Oh, fallen son of the republic! By
heaven, if time could so debase my soul I would spurn immortality.
FIESCO. O rigid censor! Let Doria put Genoa in his pocket, or barter it
with the robbers of Tunis. Why should it trouble us? We will drown
ourselves in floods of Cyprian wine, and revel it in the sweet caresses
of our fair ones.
VERRINA (looking at him with earnestness). Are these indeed your serious
thoughts?
FIESCO. Why should they not be, my friend? Think you 'tis a pleasure to
be the foot of that many-legged monster, a republic? No--thanks be to
him who gives it wings, and deprives the feet of their functions! Let
Gianettino be the duke, affairs of state shall ne'er lie heavy on our
heads.
VERRINA. Fiesco! Is that truly and seriously your meaning?
FIESCO. Andreas adopts his nephew as a son, and makes him heir to his
estates; what madman will dispute with him the inheritance of his power?
VERRINA (with the utmost indignation). Away, then, Genoese! (Leaves
FIESCO hastily, the rest follow.)
FIESCO. Verrina! Verrina! Oh, this republican is as hard as steel!
SCENE VIII.
FIESCO. A MASK entering.
MASK. Have you a minute or two to spare, Lavagna?
FIESCO (in an obliging manner). An hour if you request it.
MASK. Then condescend to walk into the fields with me.
FIESCO. It wants but ten minutes of midnight.
MASK. Walk with me, Count, I pray.
FIESCO. I will order my carriage.
MASK. That is useless--I shall send one horse: we want no more, for only
one of us, I hope, will return.
FIESCO (with surprise). What say you?
MASK. A bloody answer will be demanded of you, touching a certain tear.
FIESCO. What tear?
MASK. A tear shed by the Countess of Lavagna. I am acquainted with that
lady, and demand to know how she has merited to be sacrificed to a
worthless woman?
FIESCO. I understand you now; but let me ask who 'tis that offers so
strange a challenge?
MASK. It is the same that once adored the lady Zibo, and yielded her to
Fiesco.
FIESCO. Scipio Bourgognino!
BOURGOGNINO (unmasking). And who now stands here to vindicate his honor,
that yielded to a rival base enough to tyrannize over innocence.
FIESCO (embraces him with ardor). Noble youth! thanks to the sufferings
of my consort, which have drawn forth the manly feelings of your soul; I
admire your generous indignation--but I refuse your challenge.
BOURGOGNINO (stepping back). Does Fiesco tremble to encounter the first
efforts of my sword?
FIESCO. No, Bourgognino! against a nation's power combined I would
boldly venture, but not against you. The fire of your valor is endeared
to me by a most lovely object--the will deserves a laurel, but the deed
would be childish.
BOURGOGNINO (with emotion). Childish, Count! women can only weep at
injuries. 'Tis for men to revenge them.
FIESCO. Uncommonly well said--but fight I will not.
BOURGOGNINO (turning upon him contemptuously). Count, I shall despise
you.
FIESCO (with animation). By heaven, youth, that thou shalt never do--not
even if virtue fall in value, shall I become a bankrupt. (Taking him by
the hand, with a look of earnestness.) Did you ever feel for me--what
shall I say--respect?
BOURGOGNINO. Had I not thought you were the first of men I should not
have yielded to you.
FIESCO. Then, my friend, be not so forward to despise a man who once
could merit your respect. It is not for the eye of the youthful artist
to comprehend at once the master's vast design. Retire, Bourgognino, and
take time to weigh the motives of Fiesco's conduct!
[Exit BOURGOGNINO, in silence.
Go! noble youth! if spirits such as thine break out in flames in thy
country's cause, let the Dorias see that they stand fast!
SCENE IX.
FIESCO.--The MOOR entering with an appearance of timidity,
and looking round cautiously.
FIESCO (fixing his eye on him sharply). What wouldst thou here? Who art
thou?
MOOR (as above). A slave of the republic.
FIESCO (keeping his eye sharply upon him). Slavery is a wretched craft.
What dost thou seek?
MOOR. Sir, I am an honest man.
FIESCO. Wear then that label on thy visage, it will not be superfluous--
but what wouldst thou have?
MOOR (approaching him, FIESCO draws back). Sir, I am no villain.
FIESCO. 'Tis well thou hast told me that--and yet--'tis not well either
(impatiently). What dost thou seek?
MOOR (still approaching). Are you the Count Lavagna?
FIESCO (haughtily). The blind in Genoa know my steps--what wouldst thou
with the Count?
MOOR (close to him). Be on your guard, Lavagna!
FIESCO (passing hastily to the other side). That, indeed, I am.
MOOR (again approaching). Evil designs are formed against you, Count.
FIESCO (retreating). That I perceive.
MOOR. Beware of Doria!
FIESCO (approaching him with an air of confidence). Perhaps my
suspicions have wronged thee, my friend--Doria is indeed the name I
dread.
MOOR. Avoid the man, then. Can you read?
FIESCO. A curious question! Thou hast known, it seems, many of our
cavaliers. What writing hast thou?
MOOR. Your name is amongst other condemned sinners. (Presents a paper,
and draws close to FIESCO, who is standing before a looking-glass and
glancing over the paper--the MOOR steals round him, draws a dagger, and
is going to stab.)
FIESCO (turning round dexterously, and seizing the MOOR'S arm.) Stop,
scoundrel! (Wrests the dagger from him.)
MOOR (stamps in a frantic manner). Damnation! Your pardon--sire!
FIESCO (seizing him, calls with a loud voice). Stephano! Drullo!
Antonio! (holding the MOOR by the throat.) Stay, my friend!--what
hellish villany! (Servants enter.) Stay, and answer--thou hast
performed thy task like a bungler. Who pays thy wages?
MOOR (after several fruitless attempts to escape). You cannot hang me
higher than the gallows are----
FIESCO. No--be comforted--not on the horns of the moon, but higher than
ever yet were gallows--yet hold! Thy scheme was too politic to be of thy
own contrivance speak, fellow! who hired thee?
MOOR. Think me a rascal, sir, but not a fool.
FIESCO. What, is the scoundrel proud? Speak, sirrah! Who hired thee?
MOOR (aside). Shall I alone be called a fool? Who hired me? 'Twas but
a hundred miserable sequins. Who hired me, did you ask? Prince
Gianettino.
FIESCO (walking about in a passion). A hundred sequins? And is that all
the value set upon Fiesco's head? Shame on thee, Prince of Genoa! Here,
fellow (taking money from an escritoire), are a thousand for thee. Tell
thy master he is a niggardly assassin. (MOOR looks at him with
astonishment.) What dost thou gaze at? (MOOR takes up the money--lays
it down--takes it up again, and looks at FIESCO with increased
astonishment). What dost thou mean?
MOOR (throwing the money resolutely upon the table). Sir, that money I
have not earned--I deserve it not.
FIESCO. Blockhead, thou hast deserved the gallows; but the offended
elephant tramples on men not on worms. Were thy life worth but two words
I would have thee hanged.
MOOR (bowing with an air of pleasure at his escape). Sir, you are too
good----
FIESCO. Not towards thee! God forbid! No. I am amused to think my
humor can make or unmake such a villain as thou, therefore dost thou go
scot-free--understand me aright--I take thy failure as an omen of my
future greatness--'tis this thought that renders me indulgent, and
preserves thy life.
MOOR (in a tone of confidence). Count, your hand! honor for honor. If
any man in this country has a throat too much--command me, and I'll cut
it--gratis.
FIESCO. Obliging scoundrel! He would show his gratitude by cutting
throats wholesale!
MOOR. Men like me, sir, receive no favor without acknowledgment. We
know what honor is.
FIESCO. The honor of cut-throats?
MOOR. Which is, perhaps, more to be relied on than that of your men of
character. They break their oaths made in the name of God. We keep ours
pledged to the devil.
FIESCO. Thou art an amusing villain.
MOOR. I rejoice to meet your approbation. Try me; you will find in me a
man who is a thorough master of his profession. Examine me; I can show
my testimonials of villany from every guild of rogues--from the lowest to
the highest.
FIESCO. Indeed! (seating himself.) There are laws and systems then even
among thieves. What canst thou tell me of the lowest class?
MOOR. Oh, sir, they are petty villains, mere pick-pockets. They are a
miserable set. Their trade never produces a man of genius; 'tis confined
to the whip and workhouse--and at most can lead but to the gallows.
FIESCO. A charming prospect! I should like to hear something of a
superior class.
MOOR. The next are spies and informers--tools of importance to the
great, who from their secret information derive their own supposed
omniscience. These villains insinuate themselves into the souls of men
like leeches; they draw poison from the heart, and spit it forth against
the very source from whence it came.
FIESCO. I understand thee--go on----
MOOR. Then come the conspirators, villains that deal in poison, and
bravoes that rush upon their victims from some secret covert. Cowards
they often are, but yet fellows that sell their souls to the devil as the
fees of their apprenticeship. The hand of justice binds their limbs to
the rack or plants their cunning heads on spikes--this is the third
class.
FIESCO. But tell me! When comes thy own?
MOOR. Patience, my lord--that is the very point I'm coming to--I have
already passed through all the stages that I mentioned: my genius soon
soared above their limits. 'Twas but last night I performed my
masterpiece in the third; this evening I attempted the fourth, and proved
myself a bungler.
FIESCO. And how do you describe that class?
MOOR (with energy). They are men who seek their prey within four walls,
cutting their way through every danger. They strike at once, and, by
their first salute, save him whom they approach the trouble of returning
thanks for a second. Between ourselves they are called the express
couriers of hell: and when Beelzebub is hungry they want but a wink, and
he gets his mutton warm.
FIESCO. Thou art an hardened villain--such a tool I want. Give me thy
hand--thou shalt serve me.
MOOR. Jest or earnest?
FIESCO. In full earnest--and I'll pay thee yearly a 'thousand sequins.
MOOR. Done, Lavagna! I am yours. Away with common business--employ me
in whate'er you will. I'll be your setter or your bloodhound--your fox,
your viper--your pimp, or executioner. I'm prepared for all commissions
--except honest ones; in those I am as stupid as a block.
FIESCO. Fear not! I would not set the wolf to guard the lamb. Go thou
through Genoa to-morrow and sound the temper of the people. Narrowly
inquire what they think of the government, and of the house of Doria--
what of me, my debaucheries, and romantic passion. Flood their brains
with wine, until the sentiments of the heart flow over. Here's money--
lavish it among the manufacturers----
MOOR. Sir!
FIESCO. Be not afraid--no honesty is in the case. Go, collect what help
thou canst. To-morrow I will hear thy report.
[Exit.
MOOR (following). Rely on me. It is now four o'clock in the morning, by
eight to-morrow you shall hear as much news as twice seventy spies can
furnish.
[Exit.
SCENE X.--An apartment in the house of VERRINA.
BERTHA on a couch, supporting her head on her hand--
VERRINA enters with a look of dejection.
BERTHA (starts up frightened). Heavens! He is here!
VERRINA (stops, looking at her with surprise). My daughter affrighted at
her father!
BERTHA. Fly! fly! or let me fly! Father, your sight is dreadful to me!
VERRINA. Dreadful to my child!--my only child!
BERTHA (looking at him mournfully). Oh! you must seek another. I am no
more your daughter.
VERRINA. What, does my tenderness distress you?
BERTHA. It weighs me down to the earth.
VERRINA. How, my daughter! do you receive me thus? Formerly, when I
came home, my heart o'erburdened with sorrows, my Bertha came running
towards me, and chased them away with her smiles. Come, embrace me, my
daughter! Reclined upon thy glowing bosom, my heart, when chilled by the
sufferings of my country, shall grow warm again. Oh, my child! this day
I have closed my account with the joys of this world, and thou alone
(sighing heavily) remainest to me.
BERTHA (casting a long and earnest look at him). Wretched father!
VERRINA (eagerly embracing her). Bertha! my only child! Bertha! my last
remaining hope! The liberty of Genoa is lost--Fiesco is lost--and thou
(pressing her more strongly, with a look of despair) mayest be
dishonored!
BERTHA (tearing herself from him). Great God! You know, then----
VERRINA (trembling). What?
BERTHA. My virgin honor----
VERRINA (raging). What?
BERTHA. Last night----
VERRINA (furiously.) Speak! What!
BERTHA. Force. (Sinks down upon the side of the sofa.)
VERRINA (after a long pause, with a hollow voice). One word more, my
daughter--thy last! Who was it?
BERTHA. Alas, what an angry deathlike paleness! Great God, support me!
How his words falter! His whole frame trembles!
VERRINA. I cannot comprehend it. Tell me, my daughter--who?
BERTHA. Compose yourself, my best, my dearest father!
VERRINA (ready to faint). For God's sake--who?
BERTHA. A mask----
VERRINA (steps back, thoughtfully). No! That cannot be!--the thought is
idle--(smiling to himself ). What a fool am I to think that all the
poison of my life can flow but from one source! (Firmly addressing
himself to BERTHA.) What was his stature, less than mine or taller?
BERTHA. Taller.
VERRINA (eagerly). His hair? Black, and curled?
BERTHA. As black as jet and curled?
VERRINA (retiring from her in great emotion). O God! my brain! my brain!
His voice?
BERTHA. Was deep and harsh.
VERRINA (impetuously). What color was--No! I'll hear no more! 'His
cloak! What color?
BERTHA. I think his cloak was green.
VERRINA (covering his face with his hands, falls on the couch). No more.
This can be nothing but a dream!
BERTHA (wringing her hands). Merciful heaven! Is this my father?
VERRINA (after a pause, with a forced smile). Right! It serves thee
right--coward Verrina! The villain broke into the sanctuary of the laws.
This did not rouse thee. Then he violated the sanctuary of thy honor
(starting up). Quick! Nicolo! Bring balls and powder--but stay--my
sword were better. (To BERTHA.) Say thy prayers! Ah! what am I going
to do?
BERTHA. Father, you make me tremble----
VERRINA. Come, sit by me, Bertha! (in a solemn manner.) Tell me,
Bertha, what did that hoary-headed Roman, when his daughter--like you--
how can I speak it! fell a prey to ignominy? Tell me, Bertha, what said
Virginius to his dishonored daughter?
BERTHA (shuddering). I know not.
VERRINA. Foolish girl! He said nothing--but (rising hastily and
snatching up a sword) he seized an instrument of death----
BERTHA (terrified, rushes into his arms). Great God! What would you do,
my father?
VERRINA (throwing away the sword). No! There is still justice left in
Genoa.
SCENE XI.
SACCO, CALCAGNO, the former.
CALCAGNO. Verrina, quick! prepare! to-day begins the election week of
the republic. Let us early to the Senate House to choose the new
senators. The streets are full of people, you will undoubtedly accompany
us (ironically) to behold the triumph of our liberty.
SACCO (to CALCAGNO). But what do I see? A naked sword! Verrina staring
wildly! Bertha in tears!
CALCAGNO. By heavens, it is so. Sacco! some strange event has happened
here.
VERRINA (placing two chairs). Be seated.
SACCO. Your looks, Verrina, fill us with apprehension.
CALCAGNO. I never saw you thus before--Bertha is in tears, or your grief
would have seemed to presage our country's ruin.
VERRINA. Ruin! Pray sit down. (They both seat themselves.)
CALCAGNO. My friend, I conjure you----
VERRINA. Listen to me.
CALCAGNO (to SACCO). I have sad misgivings.
VERRINA. Genoese! you both know the antiquity of my family. Your
ancestors were vassals to my own. My forefathers fought the battles of
the state, their wives were patterns of virtue. Honor was our sole
inheritance, descending unspotted from the father to the son. Can any
one deny it?
SACCO. No.
CALCAGNO. No one, by the God of heaven!
VERRINA. I am the last of my family. My wife has long been dead. This
daughter is all she left me. You are witnesses, my friends, how I have
brought her up. Can anyone accuse me of neglect?
CALCAGNO. No. Your daughter is a bright example to her sex.
VERRINA. I am old, my friends. On this one daughter all my hopes were
placed. Should I lose her, my race becomes extinct. (After a pause,
with a solemn voice). I have lost her. My family is dishonored.
SACCO and CALCAGNO. Forbid it, heaven! (BERTHA on the couch, appears
much affected.)
VERRINA. No. Despair not, daughter! These men are just and brave. If
they feel thy wrongs they will expiate them with blood. Be not
astonished, friends! He who tramples upon Genoa may easily overcome a
helpless female.
SACCO and CALCAGNO (starting up with emotion). Gianettino Doria!
BERTHA (with a shriek, seeing BOURGOGNINO enter). Cover me, walls,
beneath your ruins! My Scipio!
SCENE XII.
BOURGOGNINO--the former.
BOURGOGNINO (with ardor). Rejoice, my love! I bring good tidings.
Noble Verrina, my heaven now depends upon a word from you. I have long
loved your daughter, but never dared to ask her hand, because my whole
fortune was intrusted to the treacherous sea. My ships have just now
reached the harbor laden with valuable cargoes. Now I am rich. Bestow
your Bertha on me--I will make her happy. (BERTHA hides her face--a
profound pause.)
VERRINA. What, youth! Wouldst thou mix thy heart's pure tide with a
polluted stream?
BOURGOGNINO (clasps his hand to his sword, but suddenly draws it back).
'Twas her father said it.
VERRINA. No--every rascal in Italy will say it. Are you contented with
the leavings of other men's repasts?
BOURGOGNINO. Old man, do not make me desperate.
CALCAGNO. Bourgognino! he speaks the truth.
BOURGOGNINO (enraged, rushing towards BERTHA). The truth? Has the girl
then mocked me?
CALCAGNO. No! no! Bourgognino. The girl is spotless as an angel.
BOURGOGNINO (astonished). By my soul's happiness, I comprehend it not!
Spotless, yet dishonored! They look in silence on each other. Some
horrid crime hangs on their trembling tongues. I conjure you, friends,
mock not thus my reason. Is she pure? Is she truly so? Who answers for
her?
VERRINA. My child is guiltless.
BOURGOGNINO. What! Violence! (Snatches the sword from the ground.) Be
all the sins of earth upon my bead if I avenge her not! Where is the
spoiler?
VERRINA. Seek him in the plunderer of Genoa! (BOURGOGNINO struck with
astonishment--VERRINA walks up and down the room in deep thought, then
stops.) If rightly I can trace thy counsels, O eternal Providence! it is
thy will to make my daughter the instrument of Genoa's deliverance.
(Approaching her slowly, takes the mourning crape from his arm, and
proceeds in a solemn manner.) Before the heart's blood of Doria shall
wash away this foul stain from thy honor no beam of daylight shall shine
upon these cheeks. Till then (throwing the crape over her) be blind! (A
pause--the rest look upon him with silent astonishment; he continues
solemnly, his hand upon BERTHA'S head.) Cursed be the air that shall
breathe on thee! Cursed the sleep that shall refresh thee! Cursed every
human step that shall come to sooth thy misery! Down, into the lowest
vault beneath my house! There whine, and cry aloud! (pausing with inward
horror.) Be thy life painful as the tortures of the writhing worm--
agonizing as the stubborn conflict between existence and annihilation.
This curse lie on thee till Gianettino shall have heaved forth his dying
breath. If he escape his punishment, then mayest thou drag thy load of
misery throughout the endless circle of eternity!
[A deep silence--horror is marked on the countenances of all
present. VERRINA casts a scrutinizing look at each of them.
BOURGOGNINO. Inhuman father! What is it thou hast done? Why pour forth
this horrible and monstrous curse against thy guiltless daughter?
VERRINA. Youth, thou say'st true!--it is most horrible. Now who among
you will stand forth and prate still of patience and delay? My
daughter's fate is linked with that of Genoa. I sacrifice the affections
of a father to the duties of a citizen. Who among us is so much a coward
as to hesitate in the salvation of his country, when this poor guiltless
being must pay for his timidity with endless sufferings? By heavens,
'twas not a madman's speech! I have sworn an oath, and till Doria lie in
the agonies of death I will show no mercy to my child. No--not though,
like an executioner, I should invent unheard-of torments for her, or with
my own hands rend her innocent frame piecemeal on the barbarous rack.
You shudder--you stare at me with ghastly faces. Once more, Scipio--I
keep her as a hostage for the tyrant's death. Upon this precious thread
do I suspend thy duty, my own, and yours (to SACCO and CALCAGNO). The
tyrant of Genoa falls, or Bertha must despair--I retract not.
BOURGOGNINO (throwing himself at BERTHA'S feet). He shall fall--shall
fall a victim to Genoa. I will as surely sheathe this sword in Doria's
heart as upon thy lips I will imprint the bridal kiss. (Rises.)
VERRINA. Ye couple, the first that ever owed their union to the Furies,
join hands! Thou wilt sheathe thy sword in Doria's heart? Take her! she
is thine!
CALCAGNO (kneeling). Here kneels another citizen of Genoa and lays his
faithful sword before the feet of innocence. As surely may Calcagno find
the way to heaven as this steel shall find its way to Gianettino's heart!
(Rises.)
SACCO (kneeling). Last, but not less determined, Raffaelle Sacco kneels.
If this bright steel unlock not the prison doors of Bertha, mayest thou,
my Saviour, shut thine ear against my dying prayers! (Rises.)
VERRINA (with a calm look). Through me Genoa thanks you. Now go, my
daughter; rejoice to be the mighty sacrifice for thy country!
BOURGOGNINO (embracing her as she is departing). Go! confide in God--and
Bourgognino. The same day shall give freedom to Bertha and to Genoa.
[BERTHA retires.
SCENE XIII.
The former--without BERTHA.
CALCAGNO. Genoese, before we take another step, one word----
VERRINA. I guess what you would say.
CALCAGNO. Will four patriots alone be sufficient to destroy this mighty
hydra? Shall we not stir up the people to rebellion, or draw the nobles
in to join our party?
VERRINA. I understand you. Now hear my advice; I have long engaged a
painter who has been exerting all his skill to paint the fall of Appius
Claudius. Fiesco is an adorer of the arts, and soon warmed by ennobling
scenes. We will send this picture to his house, and will be present when
he contemplates it. Perhaps the sight may rouse his dormant spirit.
Perhaps----
BOURGOGNINO. No more of him. Increase the danger, not the sharers in
it. So valor bids. Long have I felt a something within my breast that
nothing would appease. What 'twas now bursts upon me (springing up with
enthusiasm); 'twas a tyrant!
[The scene closes.
ACT II.
SCENE I.--An Ante-chamber in the Palace of FIESCO.
LEONORA and ARABELLA.
ARABELLA. No, no, you were mistaken: your eyes were blinded by jealousy.
LEONORA. It was Julia to the life. Seek not to persuade me otherwise.
My picture was suspended by a sky-blue ribbon: this was flame-colored.
My doom is fixed irrevocably.