Fiesco; or, the Genoese Conspiracy: A Tragedy

FIESCO, the CONSPIRATORS, MOOR (looking at them unconcerned.)

THE CONSPIRATORS (shuddering at the sight of the MOOR). Ha! what means this?

Fiesco. (after reading the note with suppressed anger) Genoese, the danger is past--but the conspiracy is likewise at an end----

Verrina. (astonished) What! Are the Dorias dead?

Fiesco. (violently agitated) By heavens! I was prepared to encounter the whole force of the republic, but not this blow. This old nerveless man, with his pen, annihilates three thousand soldiers (his hands sink down). Doria overcomes Fiesco!

Bourgognino. Speak, count, we are amazed!

Fiesco. (reading) "Lavagna, your fate resembles mine; benevolence is rewarded with ingratitude. The Moor informs me of a plot: I send him back to you in chains, and shall sleep to-night without a guard." (He drops the paper--the rest look at each other.)

Verrina. Well, Fiesco?

Fiesco. (with dignity) Shall Doria surpass me in magnanimity? Shall the race of Fiesco want this one virtue? No, by my honor--disperse--I'll go and own the whole----

Verrina. (stopping him) Art thou mad? Was, then, our enterprise some thievish act of villany? Was it not our country's cause? Was Andreas the object of thy hatred, and not the tyrant? Stay! I arrest thee as a traitor to thy country.

CONSPIRATORS. Bind him! throw him down!

Fiesco. (snatching up his sword, and making way through them) Gently! Who will be the first to throw the cord around the tiger? See, Genoese, --I stand here at liberty, and might force my way with ease, had I the will--but I will stay--I have other thoughts----

Bourgognino. Are they thoughts of duty?

Fiesco. (haughtily) Ha! boy! learn first to know thy own--and towards me restrain that tongue! Be appeased, Genoese,--our plans remain unaltered. (To the MOOR, whose cords he cuts with a sword). Thou hast the merit of causing a noble act--fly!

Calcagno. (enraged) What? Shall that scoundrel live,--he who has betrayed us all?

Fiesco. Live--though he has frightened you all. Rascal, begone! See that thou turn thy back quickly on Genoa; lest some one immolate thee to the manes of his courage.

Moor. So, then, the devil does not forsake his friends. Your servant, gentlemen! I see that Italy does not produce my halter; I must seek it elsewhere.

[Exit, laughing.