 | Antonia |  |
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ACT I.
SCENE I.
ANTONIA.My heart is full of heaviness and fear!
I blush and tremble like a guilty wretch;
And yet of guilt and shame what have I done?
Last night my lord was late abroad with friends,
And save the servants with him, all the house
Was gone to rest ere I had sought my room.
As wont my chamber door was left unbarr'd;
But I was sunk to sleep before he came.
He spoke not to me, and before the dawn
Departed hastily while yet I drouz'd.
Did he not come? Have I but strangely dreamt?
O righteous Heav'n, drive from my madding brain
Th'opprobious fantasy that seeks admission.
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SCENE II.
Antonia and Teresa.TERESA.
Come my dear lady, do not weep so sadly;
The count has promis'd to be here at noon.
It was, 'tis true, a wayward prank of him,
So on the sudden to set out for Florence.—
But these deep-drinking English—
ANTONIA.
Oh my heart—
TERESA.
Though he were lost you could not sorrow more.
ANTONIA.
Oh! he is lost to me—and I am lost—
Undone, undone; for ever, evermore!
TERESA.
Why yield to such a passion of despair?
ANTONIA.
Not to inform me!—
TERESA.
—All a riot flight.
'Twas Ferdinando begg'd to come and tell,
Else had we still been in a deeper trouble.
ANTONIA.
Ha! Ferdinando begg'd!—Horrible slave!
To traffic so between my lord and me!
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When the foul profanation was perform'd!
SCENE III.
TERESA.Alas, poor soul! she takes it sore to heart;
And yet, methinks, it was no deadly sin,
For count Urbano, in a frolic fit,
To see his foreign friends safe to the town.
Had he but sent a loving note to her—
But wine that with an uproar steals the sense,
Has no respect for duteous courtesies.—
Why should she rage at Ferdinando so?
He did right well, and seems to deeply mourn
The rash excess that so betray'd his master.
SCENE IV.
Ferdinando and Teresa.FERDINANDO.
How does my lady?
TERESA.
Sadly, weeping sad.
'Tis very strange that she should so bewail.
FERDINANDO.
Does she suspect?
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How! what should she suspect?
FERDINANDO.
Why I did not inform her when I came.
TERESA.
And did you not?
FERDINANDO.
No; for she was asleep.
TERESA.
How knew you that? Went you into her chamber?
FERDINANDO.
She made no answer when I rapp'd the door.
TERESA.
So then you open'd it, and dar'd to enter!
FERDINANDO.
What could I else?
TERESA.
You found her then asleep?
FERDINANDO.
Why look you at me so inquisitive?
TERESA.
That you should dare to be so bold as enter.
What said you to her to affright her so?
FERDINANDO.
Nothing.
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Nothing! how? When you told her—
FERDINANDO.
—Ay.
TERESA.
Perhaps she did not hear?
FERDINANDO.
I think she did.
TERESA.
And you came out, not knowing if she knew?
FERDINANDO.
I did. What said she when you spoke to her;
When you inform'd her that our lord was gone?
TERESA.
Are you then sure she heard you not last night?
FERDINANDO.
I cannot tell. But what says she to-day?
TERESA.
Why ask you me so often? She is sad;
Sad as a new-made widow for her lord.
FERDINANDO.
I think I will to Florence to my master.
TERESA.
You will to Florence! wait upon our lady,
And tell her better than you did last night.
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What can I more? You have already told her.
TERESA.
I pray you go.
FERDINANDO.
And is she much distress'd?
Think you she will be angry when she sees me?
TERESA.
Why should she? Sure it was no fault of yours?
FERDINANDO.
The door was open, and I thought she heard.
TERESA.
You thought she heard!
FERDINANDO.
In truth I did, Teresa.
TERESA.
'Tis very strange!—Go, get you hence, audacious.
SCENE V.
TERESA.There is some hideous mystery in this.—
She is almost distracted in her thoughts.
Yet is this wretch that was the messenger
Not certain if she heard him when he told.
For then he says she slept; and yet he thinks
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Why should he fear her anger? Or why she
So kindle to distraction at his name?
Heav'ns, could the varlet be so bold!—
Could she in sleep, unconscious, be betray'd?
O wretched lady! O ill-fated fair!
So chaste, so excellent to thy lov'd lord.—
But let me not to such conceptions yield;
If she has been a partial hypocrite,
And heard the curs'd intruder in the room.—
The painter here! why has he left his work?
It is not usual with this studious man.
SCENE VI.
Teresa and Carravagio.TERESA.
What seek you signor Carravagio here?
CARRAVAGIO.
The countess wants you; she is very ill.
TERESA.
She parted from me but few minutes since,
And then complain'd not: only griev'd to think
The count so hastily had gone to Florence.
CARRAVAGIO.
Has nothing else befallen?
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As I hope.
Think you that she has other cause to grieve?
CARRAVAGIO.
Something most fatal has occurr'd last night.
The countess seem'd as one would like to paint:
Lucretia when she had escap'd from Tarquin.
TERESA.
She mourns this luckless frolic of her lord.
CARRAVAGIO.
No, no; her grief is of a deeper wound.
TERESA.
Why signor Carravagio think you so?
CARRAVAGIO.
The painter's art instructs him to discern
The movements of the spirit in the face.
Before this anguish, keen and terrible,
She still has worn a countenance serene;
Modest, though buxom, and though blooming, mild,
Like cheerful Dian waiting for the day.—
But go, she needs you. Sooth her if you can.
Send Ferdinando, if you see him, to me.
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SCENE VII.
CARRAVAGIO.The fellow has a dark lascivious leer,
So blended with a sober villainous air,
That he assists my fancy as I draw
The story of Susannah and the elders.
SCENE VIII.
Carravagio and Ferdinando.CARRAVAGIO.
How now, friend Ferdinando. Know you not
That you have kept me idle all the morning?
FERDINANDO.
I was not hired to act a jewish priest.
Sir, I have other duty in my place.
CARRAVAGIO.
The count has said whene'er I wanted you,
All other service should be then postponed.
FERDINANDO.
But I have business, sir, in town to-day.
CARRAVAGIO.
Does not the count return?
FERDINANDO.
I cannot tell.
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Were you not with him at the Villa Fresca?
I heard you were, and came home late last night.
FERDINANDO.
Who told you that?
CARRAVAGIO.
The countess did herself.
Alas, poor lady! she is much distress'd.
FERDINANDO.
Is she?
CARRAVAGIO.
She is knave!—Hast thou done aught wrong?
FERDINANDO.
What! I sir?
CARRAVAGIO.
Yes.
FERDINANDO.
Did she say aught of me?
CARRAVAGIO.
Thou hast a masterly command of feature.
But there is fear and trouble in thine eye.
'Tis not contrition. No: and a wild hope
Gleams now and then upon thy troubled fear;
Like glimpsing sunshine on the wint'ry waves.
What mischief hast thou done?
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Mischief! What I?
CARRAVAGIO.
What hast thou done that yet may be conceal'd?
FERDINANDO.
You much amaze me, sir, by what you say.
CARRAVAGIO.
I am but in this house, professional;
Nor does it suit my nature thus to pry.
But thou hast done, or I mistake my trade,
Some guilty deed, that flatters thee with hope.
SCENE IX.
FERDINANDO.How should this cunning artist thus detect?
He and Teresa have conferr'd together.
The countess too has something said of me.
Are they in league? Can she have made disclosure?
And yet, me-thinks she would not well do that.
I told Teresa, I was in the room.
If I, why not another? I am safe!
I will Teresa's thoughts so turn aslant,
That the suspicion shall remove from me.
Had but the countess been a little shrewd.
'Tis true she took me for the count.—What then?
She may again accept me, for myself;
At least, 'tis best, I think, still to remain.
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SCENE X.
Teresa and Ferdinando.TERESA.
What, Ferdinando! wherefore are you here?
Not gone to Florence, nor with Carravagio?
FERDINANDO.
I do not like that painter in this house.
TERESA.
No, Ferdinando!
FERDINANDO.
No. How does my lady?
TERESA.
Dejected; thoughtful; speaking not a word.
FERDINANDO.
If we were in some safe and secret place,
I would, Teresa, something say to you.—
But is my lady very sad indeed?
TERESA.
Have I not told you, almost wildly sad?
FERDINANDO.
She spoke with Carravagio, as I know.
TERESA.
She did. What of it; passing to her room?
FERDINANDO.
Were you not present when she spoke with him?
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'Twas but a word or two, and quickly said.
FERDINANDO.
But what she said, you cannot truly tell?
TERESA.
Indeed, not I.
FERDINANDO.
Teresa.—
TERESA.
Well?
FERDINANDO.
Teresa;
You are a woman, knowing and observant.
I wish we were in some secluded room;
Where no intrusion might break in upon us.—
How did the painter look when you saw him?
TERESA.
He pitied much the countess.
FERDINANDO.
Pitied!
These artists sure, are men of subtile craft.
He pitied?
TERESA.
Ay!
FERDINANDO.
What did he know to pity?
I went last night into our lady's room.—
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You told me so;—a daring shame it was.
FERDINANDO.
Well; have you learnt though, if she heard me speak?
TERESA.
I did.
FERDINANDO.
What said she?
Lookt like one that kens
Dread things, invisible to mortal sight.—
Just like Paulina in the picture there,
When told her love was not the God Anubis,
Pale agonized, almost foregone in mind.
FERDINANDO.
Think you the painter knows that I was there?
It may be good for him to turn on me.
This is a matter that cannot long hide:
Let you and I, Teresa, council keep;—
Have all our eyes and all our ears set open.
These men of art do other things at night,
Than watch the moon-light as it, brightening, falls
On busts and statues in a gallery.
SCENE XI.
TERESA.'Tis plain, 'tis sure she grieves not for her lord.
My thoughts and fears fell first on Ferdinando:
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And I have seen him gaze profanely at her.
But Carravagio! True he eyes her oft;
And in his study, here and there are seen,
Both nymphs and goddesses, where one may trace
Her comely lineaments; yet in his gaze,
He looks not as a man on woman looks,
But as a student pond'ring o'er a text.
I should as soon expect to find him bedded
With Venus or Diana, as with her.
Lo, where she comes, dejected and perplext.
SCENE XII.
ANTONIA.My lord, you said, was to be here at noon.
TERESA.
So Ferdinando told me. Heard you not
What he reported when he came last night?
ANTONIA.
Eternal horror blot the fatal night.
I heard him not; I was wrapt up in sleep.
Oh! my lov'd lord, that could so rashly leave
Thy faithful wife defenceless while a slave.—
Where is the fiend?—
TERESA.
Whom, my dear lady, whom?
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The sacrilegious and infernal snake
That crawled, unheard, to—
TERESA.
Ferdinando?
ANTONIA.
—Yes.
TERESA.
You heard him then when he was in the room?
ANTONIA.
Darest thou, presumptuous wench, say that I knew?
TERESA.
Pardon me, madam, if I say amiss.
It was, indeed, an impious intrusion.
ANTONIA.
Ha! how intrusion? What know'st thou of it?
TERESA.
Was he not seen by signor Carravagio?
He often walks the gallery at night.
ANTONIA.
Go send the painter, instantly, to me.
TERESA.
Here is a riddle, ravell'd and perplext!
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SCENE XIII.
ANTONIA.If I could 'raze conviction from my mind,
And think of all as an unhappy dream.—
But if all know it, surely there is proof;
And the poor victim of perfidious sleep,
Shall be blasphem'd by all the lib'lous world:
Nor will the cloister'd burial avail.
SCENE XIV.
Carravagio and Antonia.CARRAVAGIO.
I wait obedient, lady, to your will.
ANTONIA.
It is not, Carravagio, wise of you,
To walk and pry about the house at night.
CARRAVAGIO.
Some one has slandered me, to say I pry.
Save in the gall'ry, when the moon is up,
Or in the porticos, to study shadows,
I never quit my chamber after dark.
ANTONIA.
Why were you in the gallery last night?
The moon was down before I went to sleep,
And it was pitchy dark;—a dismal night!
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My honour'd lady, credit not this tale.
I had retired before eleven rung.
If there were pryers in the gallery,
I was not one. I never will betray.
ANTONIA.
Betray! What sir would you betray of mine?
CARRAVAGIO.
Pardon the word.
ANTONIA.
Sir, you may now retire.
SCENE XV.
ANTONIA.He never will betray! Does he then know?
He went to bed before eleven rung.—
How could he know, to say he'll not betray?
He went to bed, but he might rise again;
And he is wont to walk about at night.
Triple confusion was the villain him?
Ha! Ferdinando! I will sift him next.
SCENE XVI.
Antonia and Ferdinando.ANTONIA.
How dar'd you, wretch! break, at the dead of night,
Into my chamber as I sleeping lay?
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Was there no other there?
ANTONIA.
Great God! what other?
FERDINANDO.
Madam, 'tis true I found your door unbarr'd;
Enter'd unheard, as—
ANTONIA.
Wretch! you shall be torn
To rags by tygers, when my lord returns.
I could, myself, rive thy accursed flesh.—
Oh! Heav'n!—Oh! Heav'n!—to leave me so forlorn.
FERDINANDO.
(I'll brave her out.)—Have confidence in me.
But when you next in this intrigue indulge,
Dismiss him ere you sleep.
ANTONIA.
Whom! whom! accurst?
FERDINANDO.
He that usurp'd the linen of my lord;
For had it been the count himself that came.—
But trust to me. If you are calm and wise,
I'll be as secret as your paramour.
ANTONIA.
Hence! hence! insulting traitor; hence! I say
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SCENE XVI.
ANTONIA.Was it not him? 'Twas Carravagio then:
Yet he has ever seem'd to me respectful;
And by the enthusiasm of his art,
Wholly enchanted. This detested fox
Wears an audacious smile, which more than once,
Has, with a terrible presage, alarm'd me.
Yet Carravagio too said I was safe,
For he would not betray.—Both know it then.
But which?—Who is the guilty thief of me?
Whom shall I charge to my belov'd Urbano?
And will he credit me? Alas! alas!
I must no longer claim him for my lord.
Yet, have I never felt one swerving thought
From the pure tenour of my marriage vow,
But ever been in my allegiance faithful.
Faithful!—O God! am I a faithless wife?
I, who so hop'd in lofty pride of mind,
To show our sensual italian dames,
That Portia, nor the mother of the Grachii,
Were fictions feign'd. Oh! what have I become?
Sunk to a level with the pronest vile,
And most abhorrent to my wretched self.
| Antonia | |