CALCAGNO (terrified and in a low voice). Look, Genoese! By heavens, this is not the face of Gianettino! (All look at the body.)
FIESCO (fixes his eyes upon it with an eager look, which he withdraws slowly-then, with convulsive wildness, exclaims). No! ye devils! That is not the face of Gianettino-Oh, malicious fiend! Genoa is mine, say you? Mine? (Rushing forward with a dreadful shriek.) Oh, trickery of hell! It is my wife! (He sinks to the ground in agony-The CONSPIRATORS stand around in groups, shuddering-a dead silence.)
FIESCO (raising himself exhausted-in a faint voice). But tell me truly, Genoese, have I indeed slain my wife? I conjure you look not so ghastly upon this illusion! Heaven be praised! there are fates which man has not to fear, because he is but man. This must be one of them. He who is denied the joys of heaven can scarce be doomed to bear the pains of hell. This dread infliction would be even more. God be praised! It must be so. And this is naught but the chimera of a disordered brain.
SCENE XIII.
The former-ARABELLA enters weeping.
ARABELLA. Let them kill me! What have I now to dread? Have pity on me, Genoese. 'Twas here I left my dearest mistress, and nowhere can I find her.
FIESCO (approaching her-with a low and trembling voice.) Was Leonora thy mistress?
ARABELLA (with pleasure). Are you there, my most gracious and dear good lord? Be not displeased with us. We could no longer restrain her.
FIESCO (in alarm). Restrain her! Wretch! From what?
ARABELLA. From following--
FIESCO (violently). Ha! From following what?
ARABELLA. The tumult--
FIESCO. What was her dress?
ARABELLA. A Scarlet mantle.
FIESCO (in a transport of rage). Get thee to the abyss of hell! The mantle?
ARABELLA. Lay here upon the ground.
SOME OF THE CONSPIRATORS (talking apart). 'Twas here that Gianettino was killed.
FIESCO (ready to faint, to ARABELLA). Thy mistress is found-(ARABELLA advances anxiously-FIESCO casts his eyes round the whole circle-then, with a faltering voice)-'Tis true-'Tis true-And I am the instrument of this horrid deed. (Madly.) Back! back! ye human forms! Oh! (gnashing his teeth wildly, and looking up toward heaven) had I but this created orb between my teeth-I feel as though I could tear the universe to fragments, till nature's face was hideous as the pain that gnaws my soul! (To the others, that stand around, trembling.) See, how they stand aghast there, miserable creatures! blessing themselves and rejoicing that they are not as I am. I alone feel the blow. (Wildly.) I!-why I? Why not these as well? Why is my sorrow denied the balm of being shared with others?
CALCAGNO (timidly). Most gracious duke!
FIESCO (rushes on hint with a look of fiendlike joy). Ha! Welcome! Here, Heaven be thanked, is one whom the same thunderbolt has struck! (Pressing CALCAGNO furiously in his arms.) Brother of my sorrows! Welcome to your share of destruction! She's dead. Didst thou not also love her? (Forcing him toward the dead body.) Behold her and despair! She's dead. (Fixing his eyes earnestly on one part of the stage.) Oh, that I could stand upon the brink of the infernal gulf, and view below all hell's variety of torments!-could hear the horrid shrieks of damned souls! (Approaching the body, trembling.) Here lies my murdered wife. Nay-that says too little- the wife that I myself have murdered. Oh! 'Tis the cunningest of hell's devices-first I was allured to the topmost pinnacle of joy-to the very threshold of heaven-then-in an instant hurled headlong down-and then-oh that my breath could send a pestilence to hell! And then was made the murderer of my wife-fool that I was to trust two erring eyes? Oh, fiends, this is your masterpiece of torture! (All the CONSPIRATORS lean upon their swords much afflicted-a pause.)
FIESCO (exhausted, and looking mournfully round the circle). Yes, by heavens! They who feared not to draw their swords against their prince are shedding tears! (With dejection.) Speak! Do you weep over this havoc caused by treacherous death, or do you bewail the fall of your leader's spirit? (Turning toward the dead body in an affecting posture.) Where iron-hearted warriors were melted into tears, Fiesco uttered only imprecations of despair. (Kneels down, weeping, by her side.) Pardon me, Leonora-the decrees of heaven are immutable; they yield not to mortal anger. (With a melancholy tenderness.) O Leonora, years ago my fancy painted that triumphant hour when I should present thee to Genoa as her duchess-methought I saw the lovely blush that tinged thy modest cheek-the timid heaving of thy beauteous bosom beneath the snowy gauze- I heard the gentle murmurs of thy voice, which died away in rapture! (More lively.) Ah, how intoxicating to my soul were the proud acclamations of the people! How did my love rejoice to see its triumph marked in the sinking envy of its rivals! Leonora! The hour which should confirm these hopes is come. Thy Fiesco is Duke of Genoa-and yet the meanest beggar would not exchange his poverty for my greatness and my sufferings. (More affected.) He has a wife to share his troubles-with whom can I share my splendor? (He weeps bitterly, and throws himself on the dead body. Compassion marked upon the countenances of all.)
CALCAGNO. She was, indeed, a most excellent lady.
ZIBO. This event must be concealed from the people. 'Twould damp the ardor of our party and elevate the enemy with hope.
FIESCO (rises, collected and firm). Here me, Genoese! Providence, if rightly I interpret its designs, has struck me with this wound only to try my heart for my approaching greatness. The blow was terrible. Since I have felt it, I fear neither torture nor pleasure. Come! Genoa, you say, awaits me-I will give to Genoa a prince more truly great than Europe ever saw. Away!-for this unhappy princess I will prepare a funeral so splendid that life shall lose its charms, and cold corruption glitter like a bride. Follow your duke!
[Exeunt, with music and colors.
SCENE XIV.
ANDREAS, LOMELLINO.
ANDREAS. Yonder they go, with shouts of exultation.
LOMELLINO. They are intoxicated with success. The gates are deserted and all are hastening toward the senate-house.
ANDREAS. It was my nephew only whom Genoa could not brook. My nephew is no more. Hear, Lomellino!
LOMELLINO. What, duke-still-do you still hope?
ANDREAS (sternly). And dost thou tremble for my life, and mock me with the name of duke the while thou wouldst forbid me hope.
LOMELLINO. My gracious lord, a raging nation lies in Fiesco's scale; what counterpoise in yours?
ANDREAS (with dignity and animation). Heaven!
LOMELLINO (shrugging up his shoulders). The times are past, my lord, when armies fought under the guidance of celestial leaders. Since gunpowder was invented angels have ceased to fight.
ANDREAS. Wretch that thou art! Wouldst thou bereave an aged head of its support, its God. (In an earnest and commanding tone.) Go! Make it known throughout Genoa that Andreas Doria is still alive. Say that Andreas entreats the citizens, his children, not to drive him, in his old age, to dwell with foreigners, who ne'er would pardon the exalted state to which he raised his country. Say this-and further say, Andreas begs but so much ground within his fatherland as may contain his bones.
LOMELLINO. I obey; but I despair of success. (Going.)
ANDREAS. Stay; take with thee this snowy lock, and say it was the last upon my head. Say that I plucked it on that night when ungrateful Genoa tore itself from my heart. For fourscore years it hung upon my temples, and now has left my bald head, chilled with the winter of age. The lock is weak, but 'twill suffice to fasten the purple on that young usurper.
