University of Virginia Library

SCENE I.

Carravagio and Teresa.
CARRAVAGIO.
The priest has left her: I saw him depart;
He look'd behind just as he left the gate,
And, crossing, heavenward turn'd his eyes and sighed.

TERESA.
May I go in, and ask her how she does?

CARRAVAGIO.
No: patient wait, and leave her till she call.
'Tis impious to pass with curious eye,
Into the sanctu'ry of hopeless sorrow.

TERESA.
Have you sent messengers to bring the count?

CARRAVAGIO.
Not yet, Teresa.

TERESA.
Heavens! why not yet,
When such an hideous outrage has been done?

CARRAVAGIO.
Peace, peace. What has been done, can he undo?

TERESA.
But when do you intend to call him home?

CARRAVAGIO.
Not till the guilty has confession made,
To the content of all th'assembled household,
That she was innocent, and knew him not;
Or till she has decided on her doom.

TERESA.
What mean you, sir? Has she not told us both
That she, to-night, would in the convent lie?

CARRAVAGIO.
But whether as a nun, or with the dead?

TERESA.
You chill my blood. She will not slay herself?

CARRAVAGIO.
She had in thought, before the friar came,
An awful enterprize.

TERESA.
How knew you that?

CARRAVAGIO.
I saw the index written on her brow.

TERESA.
We should not, sir, then leave her long alone.

CARRAVAGIO.
Woman; restrain this eagerness to pry;
Nor with thy pert and seamstress pity, vex
Her solemn magnanimity. Know'st thou
That there are minds of such pure element,
That the alloy'd and current of the world,
Have little common with them but the name;
And hers is of that kind.

TERESA.
But Ferdinando.
How do you mean, sir, to proceed with him?
It is not right to leave him ranging free.—

CARRAVAGIO.
While doubtful of his fate, his mind may change:
He is perplext. To his material soul,
The tragic issue of his flagrant daring,
Is as a new creation. Men like him,
Cannot, in their sublimest fancies, guess
The moods and motives of superior minds.

TERESA.
Why lay such stress, sir, upon his confession?
Do you believe the countess was to blame?

CARRAVAGIO.
No, woman, no: I never thought the thought;
But fame and reputation stand with her
Next in degree to virtue: for the least,
The sacrifice of life were cheap to her.
Did he confess, and place her honour clear,
Her virtue yet might lift her from the soil,
And make her shine the opal of the land.

TERESA.
But where's the need, when we are so convinced,
To place such consequence to his confession?
We may console her if we tell her so.

CARRAVAGIO.
We never can.—Pray thee think less of us.—
Those that but know the palpable of men,
And such compose the throng and crowd of life,
Judge by the fact, and place all in one class,
On whom the law bestows a common name.
She has confess'd adult'ry! Who will pause
To learn the circumstance, nor class her down
With those free wantons, whose lewd highway riots,
Have chang'd the brazen of the lawyer's front,
To blushing copper in th'examination.
But good Teresa, let us quit the theme;
My heart is full, and swelling to distress.
Alas! how little in this world of things,
Are held, the feelings that pervade the heart.
All that high honour and bright recompence
Which should inspire us, and make sweet our toil,
Come by the Alchymy of have and want,
In the post obit value of our works!