FIESCO; OR, THE GENOESE CONSPIRACY: AUTHOR'S PREFACE. A TRAGEDY. THE chief sources from which I have drawn the history of this conspiracy are, Cardinal de Retz's Conjuration du Comte Jean Louis Fiesque, the Histoire des Gènes, 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 accidentally perished* 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, 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 further, and would perhaps have rendered it more suitable to dramatic representation.-Trans. 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 endeavour 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 perhaps prove less interesting. true that sensibility alone awakens sensibility, we may conclude that the political hero is 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. If it be 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, situawhich I bear to society are such as unfold to me tions interesting to humanity. The relations more of the heart than of the cabinet; and. perhaps, this very political defect may have become a poetical excellence. DRAMATIS PERSONÆ. 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, twentythree 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. 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 ACT I. younger Doria, aged twenty-five: a proud coquette, in person tall and full, her beauty spoiled by affectation, with a sarcastic mali ciousness 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. 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 sate like painted ecstasy, as if the world around him had dissolved, and nought 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 aloneis 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. 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 allperfect, 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! SACCO (starts back with astonishment.) That, LEONORA. Go, now, and see this demi-god of at least, I should not have discovered had I made the Genoese amidst the shameless circles of de-all possibilities pass in review before me. My bauchery and lust! hear the vile jests and wanton wits are racked to comprehend thy choice, but I ribaldry with which he entertains his base com- must have lost them altogether if thou succeed. panions! That is Fiesco!-Ah, damsels, not CALCAGNO. They say she is a pattern of the only has Genoa lost its hero, but I have lost my strictest virtue. 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. 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 subtilest 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 shep GIANETTINO DORIA, masked, in a green cloak, and herd guards against the wolf, the fox shall make the Moor, enter in conversation. 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? GIANET. Dost thou mark me? Thou canst them would more than swallow up ten times my only fail here! (pointing to his heart.) MOOR. Give yourself no concern. GIANET. (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? GIANET. What weight? A hundred sequins MOOR (blowing through his fingers). Light as a feather! Poh! GIANET. What art thou muttering? MOOR. I was saying-it is light work. GIANET. 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. GIANET. Then take my thanks beforehand. (He throws him a bank note.) In three days, at furthest, 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 ? CALCAGN 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. 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! 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 imperti nence. 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 compliments where honor is concerned. Count, I insist on satisfation. Where shall I find it, in you, or in my uncle's vengeance? FIESCO. Find it in the arms of love-of love, of love that would repair the offense 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). 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. GIANET. (boisterously). Bravo! Bravo! These wines glide down charmingly. The dancers perform à 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 lies its fragments. (Three black masks suddenly rise and collect about GIANETTINO.) LOMEL. (supporting GIANETTINO on his arm). My lord, you lately spoke of a young girl, whom you saw in the church of St. Lorenzo. GIANET. I did, my lad! and I must make her acquaintance. LOMEL. That I can manage for your grace. GIANET. (with vehemence). Can you? Can you?-Lomellino, you were a candidate for the procuratorship-You shall have it. LOMEL. Gracious prince, it is the second digCruel Countess!nity in the state, more than threescore noblemen thus to torment me. I know, divine Julia, that seek it, and all of them more wealthy and honorrespect is all I ought to feel for you. My reasonable than your grace's humble servant. bids me bend a subject's knee before the race of GIANET. (indignantly). By the name of Doria ! Doria; but my heart adores the beauteous Julia. you shall be procurator. (The three masks come -My love is criminal, but 'tis also heroic; and forward.) What talk you of nobility in Genoa ? dares o'erleap the boundaries of rank, and soar Let them all throw their ancestry and honors towards the dazzling sun of majesty. 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 he procurator, and that is tantamount to the votes of the whole senate. 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 band 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 honour, and which deserves my thanks. (Hangs her own picture about his neck.) So, my slave, henceforth bear your badge of service. [Exit. LOMEL. (in a low voice). The damsel is the only daughter of one Verrina. GIANET. The girl is pretty, and, in spite of all the devils in hell, I must possess her. LOMEL. What, my lord! the only child of the most obstinate of our republicans? GIANET. 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 boys pelt it with muscle-shells. (The three black masks step nearer, with great emotion.) FIESCO (with transport). Julia loves me! What! Has the Duke Andreas gained his scars Julia -I envy not even the gods. (Exulting.) in battle for their wives and children, only that Let this night be a jubilee.-Joy shall attain its his nephew should court the favour of these vagasummit. Ho! within there! (Servants come run-bond republicans? By the name of Doria, they ning 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 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.) LOMEL. The damsel is at this moment alone. Her father is here, and one of those three masks. GIANET. Excellent! Bring me instantly to her. LOMEL. But you will seek in her a mistress, and find a prude. GIANET. 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. LOMEL. Fiesco is become a mere votary of pleasure. The great world has lost much in thee. 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. GIANET. 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. GIANET. Then good night! To-morrow we have a party at the palace, and Fiesco is invited -Come, procurator! FIESCO. Ho! Lights there!-Music!-GIANET. (haughtily, rushing through the three masks). Make way there for Doria ! ONE OF THE THREE MASKS (murmuring indig. nantly). Make way ?—In hell !-Never in Genoa ! THE GUESTS (in motion). The Prince is goingGood 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 would 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? VERRINA. 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 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. O 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 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, |