The timing could not have been better: in the midst of the constitutionally provided power vacuum Giovanni Luigi de Fiescis dared the uprising. The first days of the year were Genoa without a ruler, because the Doge, elected for a year, always resigned on 1 January. The successor was determined only three days later. So no one had the say in the northern Italian city. De jure. Because, in fact, there was a strong man beyond the constitution: Andrea Doria. The scion of an old Genoese noble family had changed sides several times in those years when the northern Italian city-states were torn into the whirlpool between France and the German Emperor. Inside Genoa, these struggles were expressed in the conflict between the nobility and the aspiring bourgeoisie. Andrea Doria was credited with having provided peace and quiet in October 1528 with a new constitution, both internally and externally. With a small blemish, because Doria's political system brought back the nobility, which was abandoned decades ago. Fiesco rallied the dissatisfied citizens and short-lived little nobles to overthrow the regime of Doria. He received support from the Pope and the French king, who promised the Umsturzler the ducal dignity. The coup succeeded, Doria fled, but an unfortunate coincidence let the company still fail: Fiesco crashed from a ship's plank and drowned. An end, as theatergoers know, but with a different punch. In Schiller's "republican tragedy, " which makes Fiesco the title hero, it is no misfortune, but the hand of a fervent defender of the Republic, who plunges Fiesco into the flood. For Schiller lets his hero succumb to temptation: instead of restoring the republic after the tyrant's fall, he lets himself be crowned prince. In the pre-revolutionary eighteenth century a significant nuance.