Fiesco; or, the Genoese Conspiracy: A Tragedy

FIESCO, CALCAGNO, ZENTURIONE, ZIBO: SOLDIERS, with drums and colors.

Fiesco. (advancing towards them in triumph) Genoese--the die is cast. Here lies the viper of my soul, the abhorred food of my resentment. Lift high your swords! Gianettino is no more!

Calcagno. And I come to inform you that two-thirds of Genoa have declared for our party, and swear obedience to Fiesco's standard.

Zibo. By me Verrina sends his greeting to you from the admiral's galley, with the dominion of the sea.

Zenturione. By me the governor of the city sends his keys and staff of office.

Sacco. And in me (kneeling) the less and greater senate of the republic kneel down before their master, and supplicate for favor and protection.

Calcagno. Let me be the first to welcome the illustrious conquerer within the walls. Bow your colors! Hail, Duke of Genoa!

All. (taking off their hats) Hail! Hail, Duke of Genoa! (March of triumph--FIESCO stands the whole time with his head sunk upon his breast, in a meditating posture.)

Calcagno. The people and the senate wait to see their gracious sovereign invested in the robes of dignity. Great duke, permit us to follow you in triumph to the senate-house.

Fiesco. First allow me to listen to the dictates of my heart. I was obliged to leave a most dear person in anxious apprehension--a person who will share with me the glory of this night. (To the company.) Will you, my friends, attend me to your amiable duchess! (Going.)

Calcagno. Shall this murderous villain lie here, and hide his infamy in obscurity?

Zenturione. Plant his head upon a halberd.

Zibo. Let his mangled carcass sweep the streets! (They hold lights toward the body.)

Calcagno. (terrified and in a low voice) Look, Genoese! By heavens, this is not the face of Gianettino! (All look at the body.)

FIESCO (fixes his eyes upon it with an eager look, which he withdraws slowly--then, with convulsive wildness, exclaims). No! ye devils! That is not the face of Gianettino--Oh, malicious fiend! Genoa is mine, say you? Mine? (Rushing forward with a dreadful shriek.) Oh, trickery of hell! It is my wife! (He sinks to the ground in agony--The CONSPIRATORS stand around in groups, shuddering--a dead silence.)

Fiesco. (raising himself exhausted--in a faint voice) But tell me truly, Genoese, have I indeed slain my wife? I conjure you look not so ghastly upon this illusion! Heaven be praised! there are fates which man has not to fear, because he is but man. This must be one of them. He who is denied the joys of heaven can scarce be doomed to bear the pains of hell. This dread infliction would be even more. God be praised! It must be so. And this is naught but the chimera of a disordered brain.