Fiesco | Page 2

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, in 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