JULIA. Do you talk of losing Fiesco? Good God! How could you ever conceive the ambitious idea of possessing him? Why, my child, aspire to such a height? A height where you cannot but be seen, and must come into comparison with others. Indeed, my dear, he was a knave or a fool who joined you with FIESCO. (Taking her hand with a look of compassion.) Poor soul! The man who is received in the assemblies of fashionable life could never be a suitable match for you. (She takes a dish of chocolate.)
LEONORA (smiling at ARABELLA). If he were, he would not wish to mix with such assemblies.
JULIA. The Count is handsome, fashionable, elegant. He is so fortunate as to have formed connections with people of rank. He is lively and high-spirited. Now, when he severs himself from these circles of elegance and refinement, and returns home warm with their impressions, what does he meet? His wife receives him with a commonplace tenderness; damps his fire with an insipid, chilling kiss, and measures out her attentions to him with a niggardly economy. Poor husband! Here, a blooming beauty smiles upon him-there he is nauseated by a peevish sensibility. Signora, signora, for God's sake consider, if he have not lost his understanding, which will he choose?
LEONORA (offering her a cup of chocolate). You, madam-if he have lost it.
JULIA. Good! This sting shall return into your own bosom. Tremble for your mockery! But before you tremble-blush!
LEONORA. Do you then know what it is to blush, signora? But why not? 'Tis a toilet trick.
JULIA. Oh, see! This poor creature must be provoked if one would draw from her a spark of wit. Well-let it pass this time. Madam, you were bitter. Give me your hand in token of reconciliation.
LEONORA (offering her hand with a significant look). Countess, my anger ne'er shall trouble you.
JULIA (offering her hand). Generous, indeed! Yet may I not be so, too? (Maliciously.) Countess, do you not think I must love that person whose image I bear constantly about me?
LEONORA (blushing and confused). What do you say? Let me hope the conclusion is too hasty.
JULIA. I think so, too. The heart waits not the guidance of the senses -real sentiment needs no breastwork of outward ornament.
LEONORA. Heavens! Where did you learn such a truth?
JULIA. 'Twas in mere compassion that I spoke it; for observe, madam, the reverse is no less certain. Such is Fiesco's love for you. (Gives her the picture, laughing maliciously.)
LEONORA (with extreme indignation). My picture! Given to you! (Throws herself into a chair, much affected.) Cruel, Fiesco!
JULIA. Have I retaliated? Have I? Now, madam, have you any other sting to wound me with? (Goes to side scene.) My carriage! My object is gained. (To LEONORA, patting her cheek.) Be comforted, my dear; he gave me the picture in a fit of madness.
[Exeunt JULIA and ARABELLA.
SCENE III.
LEONORA, CALCAGNO entering.
CALCAGNO. Did not the Countess Imperiali depart in anger? You, too, so excited, madam?
LEONORA (violently agitated.) No! This is unheard-of cruelty.
CALCAGNO. Heaven and earth! Do I behold you in tears?
LEONORA. Thou art a friend of my inhuman-Away, leave my sight!
CALCAGNO. Whom do you call inhuman? You affright me--
LEONORA. My husband. Is he not so?
CALCAGNO. What do I hear!
LEONORA. 'Tis but a piece of villany common enough among your sex!
CALCAGNO (grasping her hand with vehemence). Lady, I have a heart for weeping virtue.
LEONORA. You are a man-your heart is not for me.
CALCAGNO. For you alone-yours only. Would that you knew how much, how truly yours--
LEONORA. Man, thou art untrue. Thy words would be refuted by thy actions--
CALCAGNO. I swear to you--
LEONORA. A false oath. Cease! The perjuries of men are so innumerable 'twould tire the pen of the recording angel to write them down. If their violated oaths were turned into as many devils they might storm heaven itself, and lead away the angels of light as captives.
CALCAGNO. Nay, madam, your anger makes you unjust. Is the whole sex to answer for the crime of one?
LEONORA. I tell thee in that one was centred all my affection for the sex. In him I will detest them all.
CALCAGNO. Countess,-you once bestowed your hand amiss. Would you again make trial, I know one who would deserve it better.
LEONORA. The limits of creation cannot bound your falsehoods. I'll hear no more.
CALCAGNO. Oh, that you would retract this cruel sentence in my arms!
LEONORA (with astonishment). Speak out. In thy arms!
CALCAGNO. In my arms, which open themselves to receive a forsaken woman, and to console her for the love she has lost.
LEONORA (fixing her eyes on him). Love?
CALCAGNO (kneeling before her with ardor). Yes, I have said it. Love, madam! Life and death hang on your tongue. If my passion be criminal then let the extremes of virtue and vice unite, and heaven and hell be joined together in one perdition.
LEONORA (steps back indignantly, with a look of noble disdain). Ha! Hypocrite! Was that the object of thy false compassion? This attitude at once proclaims thee a traitor to friendship and to love. Begone forever from my eyes! Detested sex! Till now I thought the only victim of your snares was woman; nor ever suspected that to each other you were so false and faithless.
CALCAGNO (rising, confounded). Countess!
LEONORA. Was it not enough to break the sacred seal of confidence? but even on the unsullied mirror of virtue does this hypocrite breathe pestilence, and would seduce my innocence to perjury.
CALCAGNO (hastily). Perjury, madam, you cannot be guilty of.
LEONORA. I understand thee-thou thoughtest my wounded pride would plead in thy behalf. (With dignity). Thou didst not know that she who loves Fiesco feels even the pang that rends her heart ennobling. Begone! Fiesco's perfidy will not make Calcagno rise in my esteem-but-will lower humanity. [Exit hastily.
CALCAGNO (stands as if thunderstruck, looks after her, then striking his forehead). Fool that I am. [Exit.
SCENE IV.
The MOOR and FIESCO.
FIESCO. Who was it that just now departed?
MOOR. The Marquis Calcagno.
FIESCO. This handkerchief was left upon the sofa. My wife has been here.
MOOR. I met her this moment in great agitation.
FIESCO. This handkerchief is moist (puts it in his pocket). Calcagno here? And Leonora agitated? This evening thou must learn what has happened.
MOOR. Miss Bella likes to hear that she is fair. She will inform me.
FIESCO. Well-thirty hours are past. Hast thou executed my commission?
MOOR. To the letter, my lord.
FIESCO (seating himself). Then tell me how they talk of Doria, and of the government.
MOOR. Oh, most vilely. The very name of Doria shakes them like an ague-fit. Gianettino is as hateful to them as death itself-there's naught but murmuring. They say the French have been the rats of Genoa, the cat Doria has devoured them, and now is going to feast upon the mice.