Fiesco; or, the Genoese Conspiracy: A Tragedy

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!