ALCAGNO, ZENTURIONE, ZIBO:
SOLDIERS, with drums and colors.

FIESCO (advancing towards them in triumph). Genoese--the die is cast.
Here lies the viper of my soul, the abhorred food of my resentment. Lift
high your swords! Gianettino is no more!

CALCAGNO. And I come to inform you that two-thirds of Genoa have
declared for our party, and swear obedience to Fiesco's standard.

ZIBO. By me Verrina sends his greeting to you from the admiral's galley,
with the dominion of the sea.

ZENTURIONE. By me the governor of the city sends his keys and staff of
office.

SACCO. And in me (kneeling) the less and greater senate of the republic
kneel down before their master, and supplicate for favor and protection.

CALCAGNO. Let me be the first to welcome the illustrious conquerer
within the walls. Bow your colors! Hail, Duke of Genoa!

ALL (taking off their hats). Hail! Hail, Duke of Genoa! (March of
triumph--FIESCO stands the whole time with his head sunk upon his breast,
in a meditating posture.)

CALCAGNO. The people and the senate wait to see their gracious sovereign
invested in the robes of dignity. Great duke, permit us to follow you in
triumph to the senate-house.

FIESCO. First allow me to listen to the dictates of my heart. I was
obliged to leave a most dear person in anxious apprehension--a person who
will share with me the glory of this night. (To the company.) Will you,
my friends, attend me to your amiable duchess! (Going.)

CALCAGNO. Shall this murderous villain lie here, and hide his infamy in
obscurity?

ZENTURIONE. Plant his head upon a halberd.

ZIBO. Let his mangled carcass sweep the streets! (They hold lights
toward the body.)

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