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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 a
nd 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 pi
eces-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!