gn.) The question who is settled.
How must be next determined. Speak first, Calcagno.

CALCAGNO. We must execute it either as soldiers or assassins. The first
is dangerous, because we must have many confidants. 'Tis also doubtful,
because the peoples' hearts are not all with us. To act the second our
five good daggers are sufficient. Two days hence high mass will be
performed in the Lorenzo Church--both the Dorias will be present. In the
house of God even a tyrant's cares are lulled to sleep. I have done.

FIESCO (turning away). Calcagno, your plan is politic, but 'tis
detestable. Raphael Sacco, yours?

SACCO. Calcagno's reasons please me, but the means he chooses my mind
revolts at. Better were it that Fiesco should invite both the uncle and
nephew to a feast, where, pressed on all sides by the vengeance of the
republic, they must swallow death at the dagger's point, or in a bumper
of good Cyprian. This method is at least convenient.

FIESCO (with horror). Ah, Sacco! What if the wine their dying tongues
shall taste become for us torments of burning pitch in hell! Away with
this advice! Speak thou, Verrina.

VERRINA. An open heart shows a bold front. Assassination degrades us to
banditti. The hero advances sword in hand. I propose to give aloud the
signal of revolt, and boldly rouse the patriots of Genoa to vengeance.
(He starts from his seat, the others do the same.)

BOURGOGNINO (embracing him). And with armed hand wrest Fortune's favors
from her. This is the voice of honor, and is mine.

FIESCO. And mine. Shame on you, Genoese! (to SACCO and CALCAGNO).
Fortune has already done too much for us, let something be our own.
Therefore open revolt! And that, Genoese, this very night----(VERRINA
and BOURGOGNINO astonished--the others terrified.)

CALCAGNO. What! To-night! The tyrants are yet too powerful, our force
too small.

SACCO. To-night! And naught prepared? The day is fast declining.

FIESCO. Your doubts are reasonable, but read these papers. (He gives
them GIANETTINO'S papers, and walks up and down with a look of
satisfaction, whilst they read them eagerly.) Now, farewell, thou proud
and haughty star of Genoa, that didst seem to fill the whole horizon with
thy brightness. Knowest thou not that the majestic sun himself must quit
the heavens, and yield his sceptre to the radiant moon? Farewell, Doria,
beauteous star!

Patroclus to the shades is gone,
And he was more than thou.

BOURGOGNINO (after r