Fiesco
Friedrich Schiller
Frederich Schiller. Fiesco
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FIESCO; OR, THE GENOESE CONSPIRACY.
A TRAGEDY.
By Frederich Schiller
AUTHOR'S PREFACE.
The chief sources from which I have drawn the history of this conspiracy are Cardinal de Retz's Conjuration du Comte Jean Louis de Fiesque, the Histoire des Genes, and the third volume of Robertson's History of Charles the Fifth.
The liberties which I have taken with the historical facts will be excused, if I have succeeded in my attempt; and, if not, it is better that my failure should appear in the effusions of fancy, than in the delineation of truth. Some deviation from the real catastrophe of the conspiracy (according to which the count actually perished [A] when his schemes were nearly ripe for execution) was rendered necessary by the nature of the drama, which does not allow the interposition either of chance or of a particular Providence. It would be matter of surprise to me that this subject has never been adopted by any tragic writer, did not the circumstances of its conclusion, so unfit for dramatic representation, afford a sufficient reason for such neglect. Beings of a superior nature may discriminate the finest links of that chain which connects an individual action with the system of the universe, and may, perhaps, behold them extended to the utmost limits of time, past and future; but man seldom sees more than the simple facts, divested of their various relations of cause and effect. The writer, therefore, must adapt his performance to the short-sightedness of human nature, which he would enlighten; and not to the penetration of Omniscience, from which all intelligence is derived.
In my Tragedy of the Robbers it was my object to delineate the victim of an extravagant sensibility; here I endeavor to paint the reverse; a victim of art and intrigue. But, however strongly marked in the page of history the unfortunate project of Fiesco may appear, on the stage it may prove less interesting. If it be true that sensibility alone awakens sensibility, we may conclude that the political hero is the less calculated for dramatic representation, in proportion as it becomes necessary to lay aside the feelings of a man in order to become a political hero.
It was, therefore, impossible for me to breathe into my fable that glowing life which animates the pure productions of poetical inspiration; but, in order to render the cold and sterile actions of the politician capable of affecting the human heart, I was obliged to seek a clue to those actions in the human heart itself. I was obliged to blend together the man and the politician, and to draw from the refined intrigues of state situations interesting to humanity. The relations which I bear to society are such as unfold to me more of the heart than of the cabinet; and, perhaps, this very political defect may have become a poetical excellence.
[A] Fiesco, after having succeeded in the chief objects of his undertaking, happened to fall into the sea whilst hastening to quell some disturbances on board of a vessel in the harbor; the weight of his armor rendered his struggles ineffectual, and he perished. The deviation from history in the tragedy might have been carried farther, and would perhaps have rendered it more suitable to dramatic representation.-Translation.
FIESCO; OR, THE GENOESE CONSPIRACY.
A TRAGEDY.
DRAMATIS PERSONAE.
ANDREAS DORIA, Duke of Genoa, a venerable old man, eighty years of age, retaining the traces of a high spirit: the chief features in this character are dignity and a rigid brevity in command.
GIANETTINO DORIA, nephew of the former, and pretender to the ducal power, twenty-six years of age, rough and forbidding in his address, deportment, and manners, with a vulgar pride and disgusting features.
FIESCO, Count of Lavagna, chief of the conspiracy, a tall, handsome young man, twenty-three years of age; his character is that of dignified pride and majestic affability, with courtly complaisance and deceitfulness.
VERRINA, a determined republican, sixty years of age; grave, austere, and inflexible: a marked character.
BOURGOGNINO, a conspirator, a youth of twenty; frank and high-spirited, proud, hasty, and undisguised.
CALCAGNO, a conspirator, a worn-out debauchee of thirty; insinuating and enterprising.
SACCO, a conspirator, forty-five years of age, with no distinguishing trait of character.
LOMELLINO, in the confidence of the pretender, a haggard courtier.
ZENTURIONE, |
ZIBO, | Malcontents.
ASSERATO, |
ROMANO, a painter, frank and simple, with the pride of genius.
MULEY HASSAN, a Moor of Tunis, an abandoned character, with a physiognomy displaying an original mixture of rascality and humor.
A GERMAN of the ducal body-guard, of an honest simplicity, and steady bravery.
THREE SEDITIOUS CITIZENS.
LEONORA, the wife of Fiesco, eighteen years of age, of great sensibility; her appearance pale and slender, engaging, but not dazzling; her countenance marked with melancholy; her dress black.
JULIA, Countess dowager Imperiali, sister of the younger Doria, aged twenty-five; a proud coquette, in person tall and full, her beauty spoiled by affectation, with a sarcastic maliciousness in her countenance; her dress black.
BERTHA, daughter of Verrina, an innocent girl.
ROSA, | Maids of Leonora.
ARABELLA, |
Several Nobles, Citizens, Germans, Soldiers, Thieves.
(SCENE-Genoa. TIME-the year 1547.)
ACT I.
SCENE I.-A Saloon in FIESCO'S House. The distant sound of dancing and music is heard.
LEONORA, masked, and attended by ROSA and ARABELLA, enters hastily.
LEONORA (tears off her mask). No more! Not another word! 'Tis as clear as day! (Throwing herself in a chair.) This quite overcomes me--
ARABELLA. My lady!
LEONORA (rising.) What, before my eyes! with a notorious coquette! In presence of the whole nobility of Genoa! (strongly affected.)-Rosa! Arabella! and before my weeping eyes!
ROSA. Look upon it only as what it really was-a piece of gallantry. It was nothing more.
LEONORA. Gallantry! What! Their busy interchange of glances-the anxious watching of her every motion-the long and eager kiss upon her naked arm, impressed with a fervor that left in crimson glow the very traces of his lips! Ha! and the transport that enwrapped his soul, when, with fixed eyes, he sate like painted ecstacy, as if the world around him had dissolved, and naught remained in the eternal void but he and Julia. Gallantry? Poor thing! Thou hast never loved. Think not that thou canst teach me to distinguish gallantry from love!
ROSA. No matter, Signora! A husband lost is as good as ten lovers gained.
LEONORA. Lost? Is then one little intermission of the heart's pulsations a proof that I have lost Fiesco? Go, malicious slanderer! Come no more into my presence! 'Twas an innocent frolic-perhaps a mere piece of gallantry. Say, my gentle Arabella, was it not so?
ARABELLA. Most certainly! There can be no doubt of it!
LEONORA (in a reverie). But does she then feel herself sole mistress of his heart? Does her name lurk in his every thought?-meet him in every phase of nature? Can it be? Whither will these thoughts lead me? Is this beautiful and majestic world to him but as one precious diamond, on which her image-her image alone-is engraved? That he should love her? -love Julia! Oh! Your arm-support me, Arabella! (A pause; music is again heard.)
LEONORA (starting). Hark! Was not that Fiesco's voice, which from the tumult penetrated even hither? Can he laugh while his Leonora weeps in solitude? Oh, no, my child, it was the coarse, loud voice of Gianettino.
ARABELLA. It was, Signora-but let us retire to another apartment.
LEONORA. You change color, Arabella-you are false. In your looks, i
n the looks of all the inhabitants of Genoa, I read a something-a something which-(hiding her face)-oh, certainly these Genoese know more than should reach a wife's ear.
ROSA. Oh, jealousy! thou magnifier of trifles!
LEONORA (with melancholy enthusiasm). When he was still Fiesco; when in the orange-grove, where we damsels walked, I saw him-a blooming Apollo, blending the manly beauty of Antinous! Such was his noble and majestic deportment, as if the illustrious state of Genoa rested alone upon his youthful shoulders. Our eyes stole trembling glances at him, and shrunk back, as if with conscious guilt, whene'er they encountered the lightning of his looks. Ah, Arabella, how we devoured those looks! with what anxious envy did every one count those directed to her companions! They fell among us like the golden apple of discord-tender eyes burned fiercely-soft bosoms beat tumultuously-jealousy burst asunder all our bonds of friendship--
ARABELLA. I remember it well. All Genoa's female hearts were in rebellious ferment for so enviable a prize!
LEONORA (in rapture). And now to call him mine! Giddy, wondrous fortune!-to call the pride of Genoa mine!-he who from the chisel of the exhaustless artist, Nature, sprang forth all-perfect, combining every greatness of his sex in the most perfect union. Hear me, damsels! I can no longer conceal it-hear me! I confide to you something (mysteriously)-a thought!-when I stood at the altar with Fiesco,-when his hand lay in mine,-a thought, too daring for woman, rushed across me. "This Fiesco, whose hand now lies in thine-thy Fiesco"-but hush! let no man hear us boast how far he excels all others of his sex. "This, thy Fiesco"-ah, could you but share my feelings!-"will free Genoa from its tyrants!"
ARABELLA (astonished). And could this dream haunt a woman's mind even at the nuptial shrine?
LEONORA. Yes, my Arabella,-well mayest thou be astonished-to the bride it came, even in the joy of the bridal hour (more animated). I am a woman, but I feel the nobleness of my blood. I cannot bear to see these proud Dorias thus overtop our family. The good old Andreas-it is a pleasure to esteem him. He may indeed, unenvied, bear the ducal dignity; but Gianettino is his nephew-his heir-and Gianettino has a proud and wicked heart. Genoa trembles before him, and Fiesco (much affected)- Fiesco-weep with me, damsels!-loves his sister.
ARABELLA. Alas, my wretched mistress!
LEONORA. Go now, and see this demi-god of the Genoese-amid the shameless circles of debauchery and lust! hear the vile jests and wanton ribaldry with which he entertains his base companions! That is Fiesco! Ah, damsels, not only has Genoa lost its hero, but I have lost my husband!
ROSA. Speak lower! some one is coming through the gallery.
LEONORA (alarmed). Ha! 'Tis Fiesco-let us hasten away-the sight of me might for a moment interrupt his happiness. (She hastens into a side apartment; the maids follow.)
SCENE IL
GIANETTINO DORIA, masked, in a green cloak, and the MOOR,
enter in conversation.
GIANETTINO. Thou hast understood me!
MOOR. Well--
GIANETTINO. The white mask--
MOOR. Well--
GIANETTINO. I say, the white mask--
MOOR. Well-well-well--
GIANETTINO. Dost thou mark me? Thou canst only fail here! (pointing to his heart).
MOOR. Give yourself no concern.
GIANETTINO. And be sure to strike home--
MOOR. He shall have enough.
GIANETTINO (maliciously). That the poor count may not have long to suffer.
MOOR. With your leave, sir, a word-at what weight do you estimate his head?
GIANETTINO. What weight? A hundred sequins--
MOOR (blowing through his fingers). Poh! Light as a feather!
GIANETTINO. What art thou muttering?
MOOR. I was saying-it is light work.
GIANETTINO. That is thy concern. He is the very loadstone of sedition. Mark me, sirrah! let thy blow be sure.
MOOR. But, sir,-I must fly to Venice immediately after the deed.
GIANETTINO. Then take my thanks beforehand. (He throws him a bank-note.) In three days at farthest he must be cold.
[Exit.
MOOR (picking up the note). Well, this really is what I call credit to trust-the simple word of such a rogue as I am!
[Exit.
SCENE III.
CALCAGNO, behind him SACCO, both in black cloaks.
CALCAGNO. I perceive thou watchest all my steps.
SACCO. And I observe thou wouldst conceal them from me. Attend, Calcagno! For some weeks past I have remarked the workings of thy countenance. They bespeak more than concerns the interests of our country. Brother, I should think that we might mutually exchange our confidence without loss on either side. What sayest thou? Wilt thou be sincere?
CALCAGNO. So truly, that thou shalt not need to dive into the recesses of my soul; my heart shall fly half-way to meet thee on my tongue-I love the Countess of Fiesco.
SACCO (starts back with astonishment). That, at least, I should not have discovered had I made all possibilities pass in review before me. My wits are racked to comprehend thy choice, but I must have lost them altogether if thou succeed.
CALCAGNO. They say she is a pattern of the strictest virtue.
SACCO. They lie. She is the whole volume on that insipid text. Calcagno, thou must choose one or the other-either to give up thy heart or thy profession.
CALCAGNO. The Count is faithless to her; and of all the arts that may seduce a woman the subtlest is jealousy. A plot against the Dorias will at the same time occupy the Count, and give me easy access to his house. Thus, while the shepherd guards against the wolf, the fox shall make havoc of the poultry.
SACCO. Incomparable brother, receive my thanks! A blush is now superfluous, and I can tell thee openly what just now I was ashamed even to think. I am a beggar if the government be not soon overturned.
CALCAGNO. What, are thy debts so great?
SACCO. So immense that even one-tenth of them would more than swallow ten times my income. A convulsion of the state will give me breath; and if it do not cancel all my debts, at least 'twill stop the mouths of bawling creditors.
CALCAGNO. I understand thee; and if then, perchance, Genoa should be freed, Sacco will be hailed his country's savior. Let no one trick out to me the threadbare tale of honesty, if the fate of empires hang on the bankruptcy of a prodigal and the lust of a debauchee. By heaven, Sacco, I admire the wise design of Providence, that in us would heal the corruptions in the heart of the state by the vile ulcers on its limbs. Is thy design unfolded to Verrina?
SACCO. As far as it can be unfolded to a patriot. Thou knowest his iron integrity, which ever tends to that one point, his country. His hawk-like eye is now fixed on Fiesco, and he has half-conceived a hope of thee to join the bold conspiracy.
CALCAGNO. Oh, he has an excellent nose! Come, let us seek him, and fan the flame of liberty in his breast by our accordant spirit.
[Exeunt.
SCENE IV.
JULIA, agitated with anger, and FIESCO, in a white mask,
following her.
JULIA. Servants! footmen!
FIESCO. Countess, whither are you going? What do you intend?
JULIA. Nothing-nothing at all. (To the servants, who enter and immediately retire.) Let my carriage draw up--
FIESCO. Pardon me, it must not. You are offended.
JULIA. Oh, by no means. Away-you tear my dress to pieces. Offended. Who is here that can offend me? Go, pray go.
FIESCO (upon one knee). Not till you tell me what impertinent--
JULIA (stands still in a haughty attitude). Fine! Fine! Admirable! Oh, that the Countess of Lavagna might be called to view this charming scene! How, Count, is this like a husband? This posture would better suit the chamber of your wife when she turns over the journal of your caresses and finds a void in the account. Rise, sir, and seek those to whom your overtures will prove more acceptable. Rise-unless you think your gallantries will atone for your wife's impertinence.
FIESCO (jumping up). Impertinence
! To you?
JULIA. To break up! To push away her chair! To turn her back upon the table-that table, Count, where I was sitting--
FIESCO. 'Tis inexcusable.
JULIA. And is that all? Out upon the jade! Am I, then, to blame because the Count makes use of his eyes? (Smilingly admiring herself.)
FIESCO. 'Tis the fault of your beauty, madam, that keeps them in such sweet slavery.
JULIA. Away with compliment where honor is concerned. Count, I insist on satisfaction. Where shall I find it, in you, or in my uncle's vengeance?
FIESCO. Find it in the arms of love-of love that would repair the offence of jealousy.
JULIA. Jealousy! Jealousy! Poor thing! What would she wish for? (Admiring herself in the glass.) Could she desire a higher compliment than were I to declare her taste my own? (Haughtily.) Doria and Fiesco! Would not the Countess of Lavagna have reason to feel honored if Doria's niece deigned to envy her choice? (In a friendly tone, offering the Count her hand to kiss.) I merely assume the possibility of such a case, Count.
FIESCO (with animation). Cruel Countess! Thus to torment me. I know, divine Julia, that respect is all I ought to feel for you. My reason bids me bend a subject's knee before the race of Doria; but my heart adores the beauteous Julia. My love is criminal, but 'tis also heroic, and dares o'erleap the boundaries of rank, and soar towards the dazzling sun of majesty.
JULIA. A great and courtly falsehood, paraded upon stilts! While his tongue deifies me, his heart beats beneath the picture of another.
FIESCO. Rather say it beats indignantly against it, and would shake off the odious burden. (Taking the picture of LEONORA, which is suspended by a sky-blue ribbon from his breast, and delivering it to JULIA.) Place your own image on that altar and you will instantly annihilate this idol.
JULIA (pleased, puts by the picture hastily). A great sacrifice, by mine honor, and which deserves my thanks. (Hangs her own picture about his neck.) So, my slave, henceforth bear your badge of service.
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