Act 3 — SCENE II.—an anti-chamber in the viceroy’s palace.

Enter Benedetto, Carlo, Pietro, &c.

Ben. Here, Pietro! Carlo! where are you all? they call for more iced water! the supper-room is not half lighted—and Carlo, Carlo, bless my heart! I had almost forgotten! Carlo, take three of your fellows, and help to bring out the fat countess of Calpi, who has just fainted away in the ball room. Exeunt servants.

What heat! what a crowd! nay, for that matter the fat countess of Calpi is a crowd of herself, and though it were the depth of winter, her presence would raise the thermometer to “boiling water.” Well! I must say, it’s mighty inconsiderate in corpulent people to come abroad in sultry weather; and if I were a senator, I’d make it high treason for persons above a certain weight to squeeze themselves into public places after the first of May.

Enter Teresa.

So, Teresa! gay doings! lord bless their elbows, how the fiddlers are shaking them away in the ball room.

Te. Gay in truth. But good-lack! it only serves to make me melancholy by reminding me, how the dear lady Josepha would have ornamented such an entertainment! I see the marchioness is here: well! how she can find spirits to enter scenes of gayety—

Ben. Nay, nay, Teresa, the viceroy insisted on her coming; but though the scene around her is gay, that her heart is sad is but too evident.

Te. Ah! and well it may be sad—after shutting her daughter up in the convent where she caught that fatal malady—

Ben. Could she foresee that? and why lay all the blame upon the marchioness? surely the marquis is almost as culpable for consenting that—

Te. By no means, Benedetto, by no means; the marquis only did what every sensible man ought to do; he obeyed his wife—but as for the marchioness—oh! I have no patience with her!

Ben. So it appears, Teresa; and shall I tell you why? because the marchioness is a woman, and you are a woman too: now I’ve always observed that when a female has done wrong, she ever meets with least indulgence from persons of her own sex; and whenever I want to hear the foibles of one woman properly cut up, I never fail to ask another woman what she thinks of them.

Ser. (without) Benedetto, Benedetto!

Ben. Coming, coming! .Exit.

Te. Well, there is one thing that seems to me very strange; Benedetto has certainly an excellent understanding—and yet he isn’t always of my opinion—now that appears to me quite unaccountable. (going)

Father Michael rushes in out of breath.

Mi. Heaven be praised! then I am arrived at last.

Te. A friar! your business, father?

Mi. Tis with the viceroy; good daughter, lead me to him this instant.

Te. This instant? oh, mercy on me, you can’t see him tonight, if you’d give your eyes.

Mi. I must, I tell you! I must! my business is of such importance, that—

Enter Benedetto.

Ben. Why, Teresa! dawdling here, while the maids— Exit Teresa.

Mi. Tis the same! how fortunate!—worthy old man—

Ben. Is it you, father? why, you were out, when his excellence went this evening to—

Mi. I was at home—but the prior’s suspicions—I was a prisoner; and—but this is no time for explanation—lead me to your lord! away.

Ben. Impossible, father! all the grandees of Messina—a banquet, a ball—dont you hear the music? but doubtless tomorrow—

Mi. Tomorrow will be too late! alas! perhaps it is too late already! perhaps at this very moment Venoni is no more!

Ben. No more. Venoni? follow me, father, follow me this instant—stay, stay! as I live, here comes his excellence himself.

Enter the Viceroy and Hortensia.

Vice. Nay, dear Hortensia—how now? what would you, father?

Mi. Pardon my intrusion, noble sir, but my business will not brook delay—I am that friar whose letter this morning—

Vice. Father Michael? speak! come you from Venoni?

Mi. He is in danger—perhaps is already no more! oh, speed for his aid! rescue him, if possible; if too late, avenge him! if he still lives, I suspect the place of his confinement, and can guide you thither: if this bloody deed is already accomplished, at least let us punish the crimes of his assassin, the monster Cœlestino!

Vice. His assassin!

Hor. Cœlestino? stay, brother, stay! will you on the word of an unknown believe that a man whose whole course of life has been so pure, so pious—

Mi. Nay, lady, for heaven’s love delay us not; these moments are precious, are dreadful! these moments decide the life or death of a human being—come, come, my lord! let the prior be seized; terror will doubtless compel him to confess my charge! secure, too, the abbess of the Ursulines; she can confirm my story; she well knows that the prior’s licentious love for your niece, for the murdered Josepha—

Hor. Murdered? my child?

Vice. Horror crowds on horror! within there! my servants! my guards! away to the monastery; if there denied admittance, we’ll force the gates!—Venoni, thou shalt be preserved, or avenged most dreadfully. On, on, good friar! away! Exeunt.

Hor. (alone) Can it be? Cœlestino—the abbess—he, whom I ever thought so holy—she, in whom I reposed such fatal confidence?—distracting doubts, I must be satisfied;—yes! I’ll hasten to the Ursulines; I’ll interrogate the abbess myself! I’ll question—I’ll threaten; and if I find her guilty—oh! then if her heart possesses but one feeling fibre, it will surely writhe with agony, when she hears the groans, when she sees the anguish of a despairing, of a childless mother! Exit.