asks than they to discover him beneath his.

FIESCO. I understand you not. But what means that crape of mourning
around your arm? Can death have robbed Verrina of a friend, and Fiesco
not know the loss?

VERRINA. Mournful tales ill suit Fiesco's joyful feasts.

FIESCO. But if a friend--(pressing his hand warmly.) Friend of my soul!
For whom must we both mourn?

VRRRINA. Both! both! Oh, 'tis but too true we both should mourn--yet
not all sons lament their mother.

FIESCO. 'Tis long since your mother was mingled with the dust.

VERRINA (with an earnest look). I do remember me that Fiesco once called
me brother, because we both were sons of the same country!

FIESCO (jocosely). Oh, is it only that? You meant then but to jest?
The mourning dress is worn for Genoa! True, she lies indeed in her last
agonies. The thought is new and singular. Our cousin begins to be a
wit.

VERRINA. Fiesco! I spoke most seriously.

FIESCO. Certainly--certainly. A jest loses its point when he who makes
it is the first to laugh. But you! You looked like a mute at a funeral.
Who could have thought that the austere Verrina should in his old age
become such a wag!

SACCO. Come, Verrina. He never will be ours.

FIESCO. Be merry, brother. Let us act the part of the cunning heir, who
walks in the funeral procession with loud lamentations, laughing to
himself the while, under the cover of his handkerchief. 'Tis true we may
be troubled with a harsh step-mother. Be it so--we will let her scold,
and follow our own pleasures.

VERRINA (with great emotion). Heaven and earth! Shall we then do
nothing? What is to become of you, Fiesco? Where am I to seek that
determined enemy of tyrants? There was a time when but to see a crown
would have been torture to you. Oh, fallen son of the republic! By
heaven, if time could so debase my soul I would spurn immortality.

FIESCO. O rigid censor! Let Doria put Genoa in his pocket, or barter it
with the robbers of Tunis. Why should it trouble us? We will drown
ourselves in floods of Cyprian wine, and revel it in the sweet caresses
of our fair ones.

VERRINA (looking at him with earnestness). Are these indeed your serious
thoughts?

FIESCO. Why should they not be, my friend? Think you 'tis a pleasure to
be the foot of that many-legged monster, a republic? No--thanks be to
him who gives it wings, and deprives the feet of their functions! Let
Gianettino be the duke, affairs of state shall ne'er lie heavy on