Oh! Your arm – support me, Arabella! (A pause; music is again heard.)
LEONORA (starting). Hark! Was not that Fiesco's voice, which from the tumult penetrated even hither? Can he laugh while his Leonora weeps in solitude? Oh, no, my child, it was the coarse, loud voice of Gianettino.
ARABELLA. It was, Signora – but let us retire to another apartment.
LEONORA. You change color, Arabella – you are false. In your looks, in the looks of all the inhabitants of Genoa, I read a something – a something which – (hiding her face) – oh, certainly these Genoese know more than should reach a wife's ear.
ROSA. Oh, jealousy! thou magnifier of trifles!
LEONORA (with melancholy enthusiasm). When he was still Fiesco; when in the orange-grove, where we damsels walked, I saw him – a blooming Apollo, blending the manly beauty of Antinous! Such was his noble and majestic deportment, as if the illustrious state of Genoa rested alone upon his youthful shoulders. Our eyes stole trembling glances at him, and shrunk back, as if with conscious guilt, whene'er they encountered the lightning of his looks. Ah, Arabella, how we devoured those looks! with what anxious envy did every one count those directed to her companions! They fell among us like the golden apple of discord – tender eyes burned fiercely – soft bosoms beat tumultuously – jealousy burst asunder all our bonds of friendship —
ARABELLA. I remember it well. All Genoa's female hearts were in rebellious ferment for so enviable a prize!
LEONORA (in rapture). And now to call him mine! Giddy, wondrous fortune! – to call the pride of Genoa mine! – he who from the chisel of the exhaustless artist, Nature, sprang forth all-perfect, combining every greatness of his sex in the most perfect union. Hear me, damsels! I can no longer conceal it – hear me! I confide to you something (mysteriously) – a thought! – when I stood at the altar with Fiesco, – when his hand lay in mine, – a thought, too daring for woman, rushed across me. "This Fiesco, whose hand now lies in thine – thy Fiesco" – but hush! let no man hear us boast how far he excels all others of his sex. "This, thy Fiesco" – ah, could you but share my feelings! – "will free Genoa from its tyrants!"
ARABELLA (astonished). And could this dream haunt a woman's mind even at the nuptial shrine?
LEONORA. Yes, my Arabella, – well mayest thou be astonished – to the bride it came, even in the joy of the bridal hour (more animated). I am a woman, but I feel the nobleness of my blood. I cannot bear to see these proud Dorias thus overtop our family. The good old Andreas – it is a pleasure to esteem him. He may indeed, unenvied, bear the ducal dignity; but Gianettino is his nephew – his heir – and Gianettino has a proud and wicked heart. Genoa trembles before him, and Fiesco (much affected) – Fiesco – weep with me, damsels! – loves his sister.
ARABELLA. Alas, my wretched mistress!
LEONORA. Go now, and see this demi-god of the Genoese – amid the shameless circles of debauchery and lust! hear the vile jests and wanton ribaldry with which he entertains his base companions! That is Fiesco! Ah, damsels, not only has Genoa lost its hero, but I have lost my husband!
ROSA. Speak lower! some one is coming through the gallery.
LEONORA (alarmed). Ha! 'Tis Fiesco – let us hasten away – the sight of me might for a moment interrupt his happiness. (She hastens into a side apartment; the maids follow.)
GIANETTINO DORIA, masked, in a green cloak, and the MOOR,
enter in conversation.
GIANETTINO. Thou hast understood me!
MOOR. Well —
GIANETTINO. The white mask —
MOOR. Well —
GIANETTINO. I say, the white mask —
MOOR. Well – well – well —
GIANETTINO. Dost thou mark me? Thou canst only fail here! (pointing to his heart).
MOOR. Give yourself no concern.
GIANETTINO. And be sure to strike home —
MOOR. He shall have enough.
GIANETTINO (maliciously). That the poor count may not have long to suffer.
MOOR. With your leave, sir, a word – at what weight do you estimate his head?
GIANETTINO. What weight? A hundred sequins —
MOOR (blowing through his fingers). Poh! Light as a feather!
GIANETTINO. What art thou muttering?
MOOR. I was saying – it is light work.
GIANETTINO. That is thy concern. He is the very loadstone of sedition. Mark me, sirrah! let thy blow be sure.
MOOR. But, sir, – I must fly to Venice immediately after the deed.
GIANETTINO. Then take my thanks beforehand. (He throws him a bank-note.) In three days at farthest he must be cold.
[Exit.
MOOR (picking up the note). Well, this really is what I call credit to trust – the simple word of such a rogue as I am!
[Exit.
CALCAGNO, behind him SACCO, both in black cloaks.
CALCAGNO. I perceive thou watchest all my steps.
SACCO. And I observe thou wouldst conceal them from me. Attend, Calcagno! For some weeks past I have remarked the workings of thy countenance. They bespeak more than concerns the interests of our country. Brother, I should think that we might mutually exchange our confidence without loss on either side. What sayest thou? Wilt thou be sincere?
CALCAGNO. So truly, that thou shalt not need to dive into the recesses of my soul; my heart shall fly half-way to meet thee on my tongue – I love the Countess of Fiesco.
SACCO (starts back with astonishment). That, at least, I should not have discovered had I made all possibilities pass in review before me. My wits are racked to comprehend thy choice, but I must have lost them altogether if thou succeed.
CALCAGNO. They say she is a pattern of the strictest virtue.
SACCO. They lie. She is the whole volume on that insipid text. Calcagno, thou must choose one or the other – either to give up thy heart or thy profession.
CALCAGNO. The Count is faithless to her; and of all the arts that may seduce a woman the subtlest is jealousy. A plot against the Dorias will at the same time occupy the Count, and give me easy access to his house. Thus, while the shepherd guards against the wolf, the fox shall make havoc of the poultry.
SACCO. Incomparable brother, receive my thanks! A blush is now superfluous, and I can tell thee openly what just now I was ashamed even to think. I am a beggar if the government be not soon overturned.
CALCAGNO. What, are thy debts so great?
SACCO. So immense that even one-tenth of them would more than swallow ten times my income. A convulsion of the state will give me breath; and if it do not cancel all my debts, at least 'twill stop the mouths of bawling creditors.
CALCAGNO.
