Fiesco; or, the Genoese Conspiracy: A Tragedy

ANDREAS, LOMELLINO.

Andreas. Yonder they go, with shouts of exultation.

Lomellino. They are intoxicated with success. The gates are deserted and all are hastening toward the senate-house.

Andreas. It was my nephew only whom Genoa could not brook. My nephew is no more. Hear, Lomellino!

Lomellino. What, duke--still--do you still hope?

Andreas. (sternly) And dost thou tremble for my life, and mock me with the name of duke the while thou wouldst forbid me hope.

Lomellino. My gracious lord, a raging nation lies in Fiesco's scale; what counterpoise in yours?

Andreas. (with dignity and animation) Heaven!

Lomellino. (shrugging up his shoulders) The times are past, my lord, when armies fought under the guidance of celestial leaders. Since gunpowder was invented angels have ceased to fight.

Andreas. Wretch that thou art! Wouldst thou bereave an aged head of its support, its God. (In an earnest and commanding tone.) Go! Make it known throughout Genoa that Andreas Doria is still alive. Say that Andreas entreats the citizens, his children, not to drive him, in his old age, to dwell with foreigners, who ne'er would pardon the exalted state to which he raised his country. Say this--and further say, Andreas begs but so much ground within his fatherland as may contain his bones.

Lomellino. I obey; but I despair of success. (Going.)

Andreas. Stay; take with thee this snowy lock, and say it was the last upon my head. Say that I plucked it on that night when ungrateful Genoa tore itself from my heart. For fourscore years it hung upon my temples, and now has left my bald head, chilled with the winter of age. The lock is weak, but 'twill suffice to fasten the purple on that young usurper.

[Exit--LOMELLINO hastens into another street--Shouts are heard, with trumpets and drums.