Gerolamo Fieschi now began to fortify his position. Gianettino, the expected tyrant of Genoa, being dead, it was no longer desirable to assail the Doria palace. The decrepit Andrea was not obnoxious to their rage. He was in error or spoke falsely who wrote that Fieschi desired the death of Prince Doria that he might plunder the splendid carvings, sculptures and furniture of the Doria palace. The government itself by the mouth of the lawyers of Padua, affirmed that Fieschi did not wish to assault that house or to vent his wrath against the prince, towards whom he felt no personal grudge. This is the most splendid testimony that Gianluigi did not aspire to power but to liberate the Republic. And if those who undertook to transmit to posterity the memory of these events had studied the official documents, they could not have distorted history by such grave errors. It is noteworthy, too, that the name of France was not uttered on that fatal night. Count Gerolamo left his brother Ottobuono to guard the gates and marched through the principal streets to arouse the people for the national cause. The word liberty, rung in the ears of people but yesterday despoiled of rights which they had enjoyed for centuries, produced a marvellous effect in the deep midnight silence. New crowds crying, “_Gatto and liberty_” gathered around the Fieschi standard. The very women who, when the first uproar called their husbands and brothers into the streets, clung to them with tears, when they heard the name of Fieschi hushed their sobs and uttered cries of joy. Such was the power of that name. The night was now dark; the confusion and the terror became indescribable. The shouts of the populace and the blare of the trumpets filled the old nobles with mortal dismay, and closing their massive doors they did not venture to set foot in the streets.