must rely.
FIESCO (to ROMANO). Well-'tis your last work, Romano. Your powers are exhausted. Lay down your pencil. Yet, whilst I am admiring the artist, I forget to satiate on the work. I could stand gazing on it, regardless of an earthquake. Take away your picture-the wealth of Genoa would scarcely reach the value of this Virginia. Away with it.
ROMANO. Honor is the artist's noblest reward. I present it to you. (Offers to go away.)
FIESCO. Stay, Romano! (He walks majestically up and down the room, seeming to reflect on something of importance. Sometimes he casts a quick and penetrating glance at the others; at last he takes ROMANO by the hand, and leads him to the picture.) Come near, painter. (With dignified pride.) Proudly stand'st thou there because, upon the dead canvas, thou canst simulate life, and immortalize great deeds with small endeavor. Thou canst dilate with the poet's fire on the empty puppet-show of fancy, without heart and without the nerve of life-inspiring deeds; depose tyrants on canvas, and be thyself a miserable slave! Thou canst liberate Republics with a dash of the pencil, yet not break thy own chains! (In a loud and commanding tone.) Go! Thy work is a mere juggle. Let the semblance give place to reality! (With haughtiness, overturning the picture.) I have done what thou hast only painted. (All struck with astonishment; ROMANO carries away the picture in confusion.)
SCENE XVIII.
The former, except ROMANO.
FIESCO. Did you suppose the lion slept because he ceased to roar? Did your vain thoughts persuade you that none but you could feel the chains of Genoa? That none but you durst break them? Before you knew their weight, Fiesco had already broken them. (He opens an escritoire, takes out a parcel of letters, and throws them on the table.) These bring soldiers from Parma;-these, French money;-these, four galleys from the Pope. What now is wanting to rouse the tyrant in his lair? Tell me, what think you wanting? (All stand silent with astonishment.) Republicans! you waste your time in curses when you should overthrow the tyrant. (All but VERRINA throw themselves at FIESCO'S feet.)
VERRINA. Fiesco, my spirit bends to thine, but my knee cannot. Thy soul is great; but-rise, Genoese! (They rise.)
FIESCO. All Genoa was indignant at the effeminate Fiesco; all Genoa cursed the profligate FIESCO. Genoese! my amours have blinded the cunning despot. My wild excesses served to guard my plans from the danger of an imprudent confidence. Concealed beneath the cloak of luxury the infant plot grew up. Enough-I'm known sufficiently to Genoa in being known to you. I have attained my utmost wish.
BOURGOGNINO (throwing himself indignantly into a chair). Am I, then, nothing?
FIESCO. But let us turn from thought to action. All the engines are prepared-I can storm the city by sea and land. Rome, France, and Parma cover me; the nobles are disaffected; the hearts of the populace are mine; I have lulled to sleep the tyrants; the state is ripe for revolution. We are no longer in the hands of Fortune. Nothing is wanting. Verrina is lost in thought.
BOURGOGNINO. Patience! I have a word to say, which will more quickly rouse him than the trumpet of the last day. (To VERRINA-calls out to him emphatically.) Father! Awake! Thy Bertha will despair.
VERRINA. Who spoke those words? Genoese, to arms!
FIESCO. Think on the means of forwarding our plan. Night has advanced upon our discourse; Genoa is wrapped in sleep; the tyrant sinks exhausted beneath the sins of the day. Let us watch o'er both.
BOURGOGNINO. Let us, before we part, consecrate our heroic union by an embrace! (They form a circle, with joined arms.) Here unite five of the bravest hearts in Genoa to decide their country's fate. (All embrace eagerly.) When the universe shall fall asunder, and the eternal sentence shall cut in twain the bonds of consanguinity and love, then may this fivefold band of heroes still remain entire! (They separate.)
VERRINA. When shall we next assemble?
FIESCO. At noon to-morrow I'll hear your sentiments.
VERRINA. 'Tis well-at noon to-morrow. Goodnight, Fiesco! Come, Bourgognino, you will hear something marvellous.
[Exeunt VERRINA and BOURGOGNINO.
FIESCO (to the others). Depart by the back gates, that Doria's spies may not suspect us.
[Exeunt SACCO and CALCAGNO.
SCENE XIX. FIESCO, alone.
FIESCO (walking up and down in meditation). What a tumult is in my breast! What a concourse of dark, uncertain images! Like guilty wretches stealing out in secret to do some horrid deed, with trembling steps and blushing faces bent toward the ground, these flattering phantoms glide athwart my soul. Stay! stay!-let me examine you more closely. A virtuous thought strengthens the heart of man, and boldly meets the day. Ha! I know you-robed in the livery of Satan-avaunt! (A pause; he continues with energy.) Fiesco, the patriot! the Duke Fiesco! Peace! On this steep precipice the boundaries of virtue terminate: here heaven and hell are separated. Here have heroes stumbled, here have they fallen, and left behind a name loaded with curses-here, too, have heroes paused, here checked their course, and risen to immortality. (More vehemently.) To know the hearts of Genoa mine! To govern with a master's hand this formidable state! Oh, artifice of sin, that masks each devil with an angel's face! Fatal ambition! Everlasting tempter! Won by thy charms, angels abandoned heaven, and death sprung from thy embraces. (Shuddering.) Thy syren voice drew angels from their celestial mansions-man thou ensnarest with beauty, riches, power. (After a pause, in a firm tone.) To gain a diadem is great-to reject it is divine! (Resolutely.) Perish the tyrant! Let Genoa be free-and I (much affected) will be its happiest citizen.
ACT III.
SCENE I.-Midnight. A dreary wilderness.
VERRINA and BOURGOGNINO entering.
BOURGOGNINO (stands still). Whither are you leading me, father. The heavy grief that hung upon your brow when first you bade me follow you still seems to labor in your panting breast. Break this dreadful silence! Speak. I will go no further.
VERRINA. This is the place.
BOURGOGNINO. You could not choose a spot more awful. Father, if the deed you purpose be like the place-father-my hair will stand on end with horror.
VERRINA. And yet 'tis cheerfulness itself to the gloom that enwraps my soul. Follow me to yon churchyard, where corruption preys on the mouldering remnants of mortality, and death holds his fearful banquet- where shrieks of damned souls delight the listening fiends, and sorrow weeps her fruitless tears into the never-filling urn. Follow me, my son, to where the condition of this world is changed; and God throws off his attributes of mercy-there will I speak to thee in agony, and thou shalt hear with despair.
BOURGOGNINO. Hear! what? I conjure you, father.
VERRINA. Youth! I fear. Youth, thy blood is warm and crimson-thy heart is soft and tender-such natures are alive to human kindness-this warmth of feeling melts my obdurate wisdom. If the frost of age or sorrow's leaden pressure had chilled the springtide vigor of thy spirits -if black congealed blood had closed the avenues of thy heart against the approaches of humanity-then would thy mind be attuned to the language of my grief, and thou wouldst look with admiration on my project.
BOURGOGNINO. I will hear it, and embrace it as my own.
VERRINA. Not so, my son-Verrina will not wound thy heart with it. O Scipio, heavy burdens lie on me. A thought more dark and horrible than night, too vast to be contained within the breast of man! Mark me-my hand alone shall execute the deed; but my mind cannot alone support the weight of it. If I were proud, Scipio, I might say greatness unshared is torture. It was a burden to the Deity himself, and he created angels to
