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 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 nought but the chimera of a disordered brain.
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.