Fiesco

by Friedrich Schiller

  CALCAGNO.

  FIESCO (receiving them with great affability). Welcome, my worthy friends! What important business brings you all hither? Are you, too, come, my dear brother, Verrina? I should almost have forgotten you, had you not oftener been present to my thoughts than to my sight. I think I have not seen you since my last entertainment.

  VERRINA. Do not count the hours, Fiesco! Heavy burdens have in that interval weighed down my aged head. But enough of this--

  FIESCO. Not enough to satisfy the anxiety of friendship. You must inform me farther when we are alone. (Addressing BOURGOGNINO.) Welcome, brave youth! Our acquaintance is yet green; but my affection for thee is already ripe. Has your esteem for me improved?

  BOURGOGNINO. 'Tis on the increase.

  FIESCO. Verrina, it is reported that this brave young man is to be your son-in-law. Receive my warmest approbation of your choice. I have conversed with him but once; and yet I should be proud to call him my relation.

  VERRINA. That judgment makes me of my daughter vain.

  FIESCO (to the others). Sacco, Calcagno-all unfrequent visitors-I should fear the absence of Genoa's noblest ornaments were a proof that I had been deficient in hospitality. And here I greet a fifth guest, unknown to me, indeed, but sufficiently recommended by this worthy circle.

  ROMANO. He, my lord, is simply a painter, by name Julio Romano, who lives by theft and counterfeit of Nature's charms. His pencil is his only escutcheon; and he now comes hither (bowing profoundly) to seek the manly outlines of a Brutus.

  FIESCO. Give me your hand, Romano! I love the mistress of your soul with a holy fire. Art is the right hand of Nature. The latter only gave us being, but 'twas the former made us men. What are the subjects of your labor?

  ROMANO. Scenes from the heroic ages of antiquity. At Florence is my dying Hercules, at Venice my Cleopatra, the raging Ajax at Rome, where, in the Vatican, the heroes of former times rise again to light.

  FIESCO. And what just now employs you?

  ROMANO. Alas! my lord, I've thrown away my pencil. The lamp of genius burns quicker than the lamp of life. Beyond a certain moment the flame flickers and dies. This is my last production.

  FIESCO (in a lively manner). It could not come more opportune. I feel to-day a more than usual cheerfulness. A sentiment of calm delight pervades my being, and fits it to receive the impression of Nature's beauties. Let us view your picture. I shall feast upon the sight. Come, friends, we will devote ourselves entirely to the artist. Place your picture.

  VERRINA (apart to the others). Now, Genoese, observe!

  ROMANO (placing the picture). The light must fall upon it thus. Draw up that curtain-let fall the other,-right. (Standing on one side). It is the story of Virginia and Appius Claudius. (A long pause; all contemplate the picture.)

  VERRINA (with enthusiasm). Strike, aged father! Dost thou tremble, tyrant? How pale you stand there, Romans! Imitate him, senseless Romans! The sword yet glitters! Imitate me, senseless Genoese ! Down with Doria! Down with him! (Striking at the picture.)

  FIESCO (to the painter, smiling). Could you desire greater applause? Your art has transformed this old man into a youthful enthusiast.

  VERRINA (exhausted). Where am I! What has become of them! They vanished like bubbles. You here, Fiesco! and the tyrant living!

  FIESCO. My friend, amidst this admiration you have overlooked the parts most truly beauteous. Does this Roman's head thus strike you? Look there! Observe that damsel-what soft expression! What feminine delicacy! How sweetly touched are those pale lips! How exquisite that dying look! Inimitable! Divine, Romano! And that white, dazzling breast, that heaves with the last pulse of life. Draw more such beauties, Romano, and I will give up Nature to worship thy creative fancy.

  BOURGOGNINO. Is it thus, Verrina, your hopes are answered?

  VERRINA. Take courage, son! The Almighty has rejected the arm of FIESCO. Upon ours he 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, tha
t 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 partake his counsels. Hear, Scipio!

  BOURGOGNINO. My soul devours thy words.

  VERRINA. Hear! But answer nothing-nothing, young man! Observe me-not a word-Fiesco must die.

  BOURGOGNINO (struck with astonishment). Die! Fiesco!

  VERRINA. Die-I thank thee, God, 'tis out at last-Fiesco must die. My son-die by my hand. Now, go. There are deeds too high for human judgment. They appeal alone to heaven's tribunal. Such a one is this. Go! I neither ask thy blame nor approbation. I know my inward struggles, and that's enough. But hear! These thoughts might weary out thy mind even to madness. Hear! Didst thou observe yesterday with what pride he viewed his greatness reflected from our wondering countenances? The man whose smiles deceived all Italy, will he endure equals in Genoa? Go! 'Tis certain that Fiesco will overthrow the tyrant. 'Tis as certain he will become a tyrant still more dangerous.

  [Exit hastily. BOURGOGNINO looks after him with speechless

  surprise, then follows slowly.

  SCENE II.-An apartment in FIESCO'S house. In the middle of the back scene a glass door, through which is seen a view of the sea and Genoa. Daybreak.

  FIESCO at the window.

  FIESCO. What do I see! The moon hath hid its face. The morn is rising fiery from the sea. Wild fancies have beset my sleep, and kept my soul convulsed by one idea. Let me inhale the pure, refreshing breeze. (He opens a window; the city and ocean appear red with the tint of morning. FIESCO walking up and down the room with energy.) I the greatest man in Genoa! And should not lesser souls bow down before the greater? But is not this to trample upon virtue? (Musing.) Virtue? The elevated mind is exposed to other than ordinary temptations-shall it then be governed by the ordinary rules of virtue? Is the armor which encases the pigmy's feeble frame suited to the giant? (The sun rises over Genoa.) This majestic city mine! (Spreading out his arms as if to embrace it.) To flame above it like the god of day! To rule over it with a monarch mind! To hold in subjection all the raging passions, all the insatiable desires in this fathomless ocean! 'Tis certain, though the cunning of the thief ennoble not the theft, yet doth the prize ennoble the thief. It is base to filch a purse-daring to embezzle a million,-but it is immeasurably great to steal a diadem. As guilt extends its sphere, the infamy decreaseth. (A pause, then with energy.) To obey! or to command! A fearful dizzying gulf-that absorbs whate'er is precious in the eyes of men. The trophies of the conqueror-the immortal works of science and of art-the voluptuous pleasures of the epicure-the whole wealth encompassed by the seas. To obey! or to command! To be, or not to be! The space between is as wide as from the lowest depths of hell to the throne of the Almighty. (In an elevated tone.) From that awful height to look down securely upon the impetuous whirlpool of mankind, where blind fortune holds capricious sway! To quaff at the fountainhead unlimited draughts from the rich cup of pleasure! To hold that armed giant law beneath my feet in leading-strings, and see it struggle with fruitless efforts against the sacred power of majesty! To tame the stubborn passions of the people, and curb them with a playful rein, as a skilful horseman guides the fiery steed! With a breath-one single breath-to quell the rising pride of vassals, whilst the prince, with the motion of his sceptre, can embody even his wildest dreams of fancy! Ah! What thoughts are these which transport the astounded mind beyond its boundaries! Prince! To be for one moment prince comprises the essence of a whole existence. 'Tis not the mere stage of life-but the part we play on it that gives the value. The murmurs which compose the thunder's roar might singly lull an infant to repose-but united their crash can shake the eternal vault of heaven. I am resolved. (Walking up and down majestically.)

  SCENE III.

  FIESCO; LEONORA, entering with a look of anxiety.

  LEONORA. Pardon me, count. I fear I interrupt your morning rest.

  FIESCO (steps back with astonishment). Indeed, madam, you do surprise me not a little.

  LEONORA. That never happens to those who love.

  FIESCO. Charming countess, you expose your beauty to the rude breath of morning.

  LEONORA. I know not why I should preserve its small remains for grief to feed on.

  FIESCO. Grief, my love? I thought that to be free from cares of state was happiness.

  LEONORA. It may be so. Yet do I feel that my weak heart is breaking amidst this happiness. I come, sir, to trouble you with a trifling request, if you can spare a moment's time to hear me. These seven months past I have indulged the pleasing dream of being Countess of Lavagna. It now has passed away and left a painful weight upon my mind. Amid the pleasures of my innocent childhood I must seek relief to my disordered spirits. Permit me, th
erefore, to return to the arms of my beloved mother--

  FIESCO (with astonishment). Countess!

  LEONORA. My heart is a poor trembling thing which you should pity. Even the least remembrance of my visionary joy might wound my sickly fancy. I therefore restore the last memorials of your kindness to their rightful owner. (She lays some trinkets on the table.) This, too, that like a dagger struck my heart (presenting a letter). This, too (going to rush out of the door in tears), and I will retain nothing but the wound.

  FIESCO (agitated, hastens after and detains her). Leonora! For God's sake, stay!

  LEONORA (falls into his arms exhausted). To be your wife was more than I deserved. But she who was your wife deserved at least respect. How bitter is the tongue of calumny. How the wives and maidens of Genoa now look down upon me! "See," they say, "how droops the haughty one whose vanity aspired to Fiesco!" Cruel punishment of my pride! I triumphed over my whole sex when Fiesco led me to the altar--

  FIESCO. Really, Madonna! All this is most surprising--

  LEONORA (aside). Ah! he changes color-now I revive.

  FIESCO. Wait only two days, countess-then judge my conduct--

  LEONORA. To be sacrificed! Let me not speak it in thy chaste presence, oh, thou virgin day! To be sacrificed to a shameless wanton! Look on me, my husband! Ah, surely those eyes that make all Genoa tremble, must hide themselves before a weeping woman--

  FIESCO (extremely confused). No more, signora! No more--

  LEONORA (with a melancholy look of reproach). To rend the heart of a poor helpless woman! Oh, it is so worthy of the manly sex. Into his arms I threw myself, and on his strength confidingly reposed my feminine weakness. To him I trusted the heaven of my hopes. The generous man bestowed it on a--

  FIESCO (interrupting her, with vehemence). No, my Leonora! No !