Chapter VII: Act III

SCENE I-- _A dungeon with a concealed door on one side, a tomb on the
other, and a gallery above-- a grated door in the back._

_Lod._ (_with an iron bar in one hand and lamp in the other, comes feebly from the concealed door_) My efforts are unavailing! wretched, wretched Lodovico, the hopes of escape, which thou hast so long indulged, must at length be abandoned forever! in vain has the labour of twenty years forced me a passage from my own cell into this adjoining dungeon: in vain has my persevering vigilance at length succeeded in discovering yonder private door, whose artful concealment during whole years eluded my inquiries-- the upper portal-- its massive bars-- its inflexible locks: increasing age-- increasing weakness. Farewell, hope! I will make the attempt no more, (_he throws down the iron bar_) Oh, faint-- faint! my efforts have quite exhausted me-- now, even were the means of flight mine, weakness would forbid-- I will regain my own cell, sink on my couch of straw, pardon my enemies, and expire! let me see! yes! twas about this spot that I made the opening, and these stones removed--

_Pri._ (_above_) For a few moments wait above: you, Jeronymo, precede me with the torch.

_Lod._ Heavens! tis the prior! twenty years have elapsed since I heard it; but too well do I remember that dreadful voice, which pronounced on me the sentence of separation from the world forever. What business-- perhaps, my death-- alas, alas! I fear it! wretched as my existence is, frail as is the fibre by which I am attached to life, still the moment is awful, which must sever it for ever; whither shall I turn-- how avoid-- I dare not regain my prison-- this cell too will doubtless be searched-- (_a light flashes across the gallery_) he comes! tis to this very dungeon that his steps are addrest-- where then, oh, where shall I drag my fainting limbs-- ha! perhaps, that secret passage may be unknown even to the prior-- perhaps it may awhile conceal-- it must be tried-- see, see! he is here! away, away!

[Exit, and closes the door after him.

Enter the _prior_ and _Jeronymo_, with torches.

_Pri._ I tell you this dungeon is impenetrable: in vain will our enemies seek its entrance.

_Jer._ But still the viceroy’s suspicions aided by his authority. Besides, is not father Michael fled?

_Pri._ Father Michael! absurd! and how then, is it in his power to betray us? we reposed in him no confidence; he has never been initiated into our mysteries, and can have no possible reason for suspecting even the existence of this dungeon.

_Jer._ Yet still I cannot but fear--

_Pri._ Your fears are groundless-- I am aware that Venoni will be inquired after; but how plausible will be the answer? “he has escaped from us in the night, and whither delirium may have led the wanderer, we are ignorant.” Say that the viceroy insists that Venoni is still within these walls! we have no objection to his searching through the whole monastery, perfectly secure that his search must be of no avail. Tis already midnight. Place the lamp upon yonder tomb; place too that dagger near it, the only mercy which my hatred can allow him;-- then when despair shall reach its height, when he feels that hope is lost to him, and that existence is a curse, then if he has courage let him grasp that weapon, and thank the clemency of Cœlestino. Come! all is prepared!

Enter _Anastasio_ and _Nicolo_, with _Venoni_, whom they throw
upon the floor.

_Pri._ Object of everlasting hate! object of never to be sated vengeance, lie thou there! live to feel the pangs of dying with every moment of the day, that day whose light thou never shalt behold again. Follow me!

[Exeunt prior, &c.

_Lodovico_ appears at the private door.

_Lod._ They are gone; their victim remains-- oh, let but his escape be effected through my aid, and then how soon this old weak frame ceases to feel, I care not! (_he descends_)

_Venoni._ Where am I? have they left me? the mist which obscures my sight allows me to distinguish nothing; the objects which surround me seem all confused; a thousand wild distorted images distract my brain-- I must give way.

_Lod._ Alas, poor youth! on the ground? I’ll hasten to pour upon his wounded heart the balm of consolation-- yet hold! may they not return! yet a few moments--

_Venoni._ (_rising_) The clouds disperse. I am alone-- they are gone-- doubtless are gone for ever! what? and shall then the barbarian triumph? shall then Josepha die unavenged? she must, she must! then farewell, liberty; farewell hope! despair, despair! ha, what glitters-- a dagger? a tomb? doubtless designed for me-- tis there that all sorrows terminate! tis there, that I shall dread no more the treachery and crimes of man, his perfidious friendship, his dissembled spite, his infernal thirst for vengeance! ha, and if all this indeed be so-- why not this instant seize a blessing within my grasp? why not at once defeat the malice of my jailors? it shall be so, and thus-- (_going to stab himself, when Lodovico arrests his arm_)

_Lod._ Hold, hold! ungrateful!

_Venoni._ Ha! a stranger?

_Lod._ Short-sighted mortal! blush to have attempted that impious act! you despaired of succour; you doubted the goodness of Providence; and at that very moment heaven had commissioned me to comfort and preserve you.

_Venoni._ What are you? what mean you? speak, oh, speak!

_Lod._ Like yourself, I am the object of Cœlestino’s hatred; like yourself was I condemned to descend alive into the tomb. Mark me, young man. I knew well, that between these vaults and those belonging to the adjoining convent there existed various private communications-- the faint hope of discovering one of them formed the only amusement of my solitary hours: I sought it-- I persevered-- youth, I have found it--

_Venoni._ Have found it? go on, for heaven’s sake.

_Lod._ Have found it here; found it, where its existence is probably unknown even to the prior, since he selected this dungeon for your confinement-- observe this private door-- (_opening it_) this passage leads to a closed portal; its fastnings are massy-- I endeavoured but in vain to force them; that bar, which I wrenched from my dungeon door--

_Venoni._ That bar? tis mine! I have it! come father, come! to the portal!

_Lod._ Alas, my son! the ponderous fastenings-- the bolts-- the bars will resist!

_Venoni._ Oh, talk not to me of resistance! what force can oppose the efforts of a lover, a frantic desperate lover! father, there was a maiden-- how fair she was, nothing but thought can imagine-- how I adored her, nothing but this heart can feel! father, this maiden-- they tore her from me, they murdered her-- murdered her barbarously-- tis for her sake that I wish for liberty! tis to avenge her murder that I go to labour; and can you doubt my success? no, no! that thought will turn my blood into consuming fire, will harden every nerve into iron, will endow every limb, every joint, every muscle with vigour and strength and powers herculean-- come, father, come.

_Lod._ Oh! that I could! but age-- but infirmity-- go, go, my son, I will remain, and pray for you.

_Venoni._ What? go, and leave you still in the power of your foe! never, never!

_Lod._ Dear generous youth, you must! I should but impede your flight; I should but mar your exertions. Away then! effect your own escape-- then return, and rescue me, if possible-- but should you find me dead, oh! believe, that it will have sweetened the bitter hour to think, that my existence lasted long enough to preserve yours.

_Venoni._ Thou good old man--

_Lod._ Yet one word! should you force the portal, and reach the interior of the Ursuline convent in safety, shape your course towards the garden: the wall is low-- to scale it is easy and--

_Venoni._ Enough! and now-- (_going_)

_Lod._ And when you are free-- when smiling, friends surround you-- when all for you is liberty, and peace and happiness, do not-- oh! do not quite forget, that a poor captive, languishing in his solitary cell--

_Venoni._ Forget you? never! by that life which you now give me, never; I swear it! once at liberty, my first care shall be to effect your rescue, my second to secure your happiness. Oh! surely if aught in life is sweet it is when the heart overflows with gratitude, and the hand has the power to perform what that grateful heart dictates and desires: oh! surely if there is aught which gives mortals a foretaste of the bliss of angels, it is when affection brings a smile upon the furrowed cheeks of those to whom we are indebted for our existence. Tis to you that I owe that gift; and while I have life, never will I forget that it is to you I owe it. Now then away! one embrace: one blessing: then pray for me, father, pray for me, and farewell!

[Exit with the lamp.

_Lod._ (_alone_) Spirits who favour virtue oh! strengthen his arms! aid him! support him! hark he is at the door! I hear him! again, and again! repeat the blow! hark, hark, it breaks, it shivers! and see--

_Venoni_, appearing above with the lamp.

_Venoni._ Freedom, freedom, freedom, friend, farewell! I speed to rescue you.

[Exit.

_Lod._ Fly, fly! you bear with you my blessing! (_kneeling_) Heaven, I adore and thank you! I have preserved a fellow creature’s life.

[The scene closes.

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.

SCENE III-- _An apartment in the Ursuline convent decorated for a
festival-- the back part is filled up by a dark-coloured curtain--
night._

The _prior_ enters preceded by a friar with a torch, and followed
by _Veronica_.

_Ve._ Yet hear me, Cœlestino!

_Pri._ Idle remonstrances! what! shall I have plunged into guilt, and reap no fruits from it but the danger? abbess, Josepha must be mine: remember my power, and obey me!

_Ve._ You have been obeyed; your victim is even now conducting hither; the banquet-- the lights-- the choral harmony-- every thing is prepared, that can seduce her senses; but all these temptations she has already resisted-- she will resist them still: then spare me the odious-- the unavailing office--

_Pri._ Perform it well, and it will not be unavailing. For twelve long months cut off from all society-- deprived of every joy, of every comfort, even deprived of light-- then, when suddenly the radience of a thousand torches blazes upon her wondering eye, when music swells upon her ear and, still more melting still more melodious, when the voice of affection speaks touchingly to her heart; nay, if she then prefers her gloomy cell to liberty and pleasure, Josepha’s virtue must be more than human.

_Ve._ But should it prove so-- oh! then at least forbear to persecute the unfortunate! let her swear never to divulge our secrets-- let some well imagined tale account for her reported death, and--

_Pri._ How? and dare you, the creature of my will, whose life depends but upon my breath--

_Ve._ While you speak, forget not also that my fate involves your own; I too can divulge--

_Pri._ Speak but such another threatening word, and the whole measure of your offences shall be made public throughout Messina-- my mind is resolved; my resolutions are taken: I can dare every thing; but you-- weak, trembling, doubting woman-- dare you die!

_Ve._ O! no, no, no! you know but too well, I dare not.

_Pri._ No more, then, but obey me. Tonight be it your care to fascinate Josepha’s senses and inflame her heart. Tomorrow I will once more present myself before her and prove, whether virtue and Venoni can counterbalance at once the allurements of present pleasure, and the apprehension of future pain. You have heard my will; obey it! should Josepha escape, I swear, that my vengeance shall drag you to the scaffold, even though I ascend it with you myself, (_to the friar_) Lead to the monastery.

[Exeunt.

_Ve._ I struggle in vain to escape; the snares of guilt are wound too closely round me. Hark! she comes! tis Josepha! I heard the plaintive murmur of that voice, so sweet, so tender, so touching! I dare not meet her yet-- oh! Josepha, gladly would I share thy gloomy dungeon, could I but share with it thy uncorrupted heart.

[Exeunt.

A nun enters with a lamp followed by sister _Lucia_, who conducts
_Josepha_ blind-folded.

_Jo._ Oh! why is this mysterious silence? for what purpose have you taken me from my prison? who are you, and whither have you brought me? have mercy on my agony! see, how this silence terrifies me: see how I kneel at your feet; see how I kiss them and bathe them with my tears. Answer me-- in pity answer. Still no reply? still no kind consoling sound? (_Lucia motions to leave her_) oh! no, no, no! do not leave me! even though you speak not, stay, oh, stay! let me at least be conscious, that there is a human being near me-- that I am not the only thing within these mournful walls, which possesses life and feeling! stay, stay, in charity! (_the nun breaks from her and exit_) they leave me-- they are gone! hark! a door closes! I hear their retiring footsteps! alas! alas! even in the noise of that closing door, even in the echo of those departing steps, there was some little comfort: they at least betokened the existence of a human being. I am alone-- let me remove the bandage, and examine. Dark! dark! all dark! still all silence, still all gloom! where am I? I dare not advance lest some abyss-- oh! light, light! glorious light! shall I then never see thee more? any thing but this dead and hollow silence! any thing but this sepulchral, this dreadful, this heart-oppressing gloom.

_Chorus_ within, very full and sweet.

--“O! love! sweet love!”--

_Jo._ Hark! voices! I heard them! I am sure I heard them! it was music! melody! enchantment-- hark! hark! again.

CHORUS.

“Love rules the court, the camp, the grove.
For love is heaven, and heaven is love.”

_During this chorus, the curtain rolls up, and discovers a banquet
splendidly illuminated; large folding doors are in the centre;
chandeliers descend, and the stage becomes as light as possible--
Veronica and nuns are in the front._

_Jos._ See! see! all bright! all brilliant; a dream-- a fairy vision-- the blaze overpowers me, my eyes are dazzled; my brain grows dizzy: I cannot support the rapture-- (_sinks against a pillar_)

_Ve._ Josepha!

_Jos._ (_starting_) Surely that voice-- the abbess, what can mean--

_Ve._ How? not speak to me, my child? not look upon your mother?

_Jos._ Mother? child? oh! it is long since I heard those dear, dear names-- my heart-- my feelings-- (_throwing herself into her arms_) oh! if I am your child, then mother, mother! be to me a mother indeed!

_Ve._ And do I not prove myself one, my Josepha, when now, in spite of all your past perverseness I again clasp you to my bosom, I again put it in your own choice to live in liberty, in society, in delight? look round you, my daughter! see how every countenance smiles to welcome you; see, how every heart springs towards you; see, how--

_Jos._ (_starting away from her, exclaims with energy_) Ha! now I understand it all! the mystery is cleared! the web is unravelled! yes, yes, the meaning bursts at once upon me, all in the broad blaze of its daring villany, in all the hypocrisy of its deep-laid odious art!

_Ve._ What art? what villany? when kindly I woo you to--

_Jos._ Speak not! proceed not! let not the unholy words pass through your lips, as you value your own soul! I guess your meaning; oh! then pronounce it not; great as are your crimes let me save you from committing one so monstrous as this! the lessons of vice from any lips appear disgusting; but when a woman gives them breath-- tis horrible! tis dreadful! tis unnatural!

_Ve._ (_aside_) Oh! if I dared-- no, no! it cannot be.

_Jos._ Ah! you melt? oh! then behold me kneeling before you; see my anguish, my fears, my hopes. I have none but in you! remember your sex, your habit, your former affection for me. You loved me once! even now you called me your child, often have you prest me to your heart with all a mother’s tenderness-- oh! then by that tender name I charge you, I implore you, tempt me not to vice; rather aid me to persevere in virtue. Let me depart; restore me to my parents; I will never divulge your dreadful secret. It’s true I once threatned you; I would fain have terrified you into penitence, but you know my heart, all merciful; you know, that I would not willingly hurt even a worm!-- she weeps! she pities me! blessings on you, eternal blessings! oh, let me hasten-- (_going, Veronica starts in terror: the nuns opposes her progress_)

_Ve._ Hold! detain her! Josepha, that I suffer-- that I feel for you-- it were fruitless to deny; but alas! unfortunate, your fate is decided; your fate and mine! the prior-- the unrelenting prior-- oh, so guilty as I am, I dare not look on death. Yield, then, Josepha, yield! all hope is lost to you--

_Jose._ Nay, not so, lady! strong as are my fetters, heaven may one day break them; but robbed of innocence, then, indeed, not heaven itself could save me. When rains beat heavy, the rose for awhile may droop its head oppressed; but the clouds will disperse, and the sun will burst forth, and the reviving flower will raise its blushing cup again; but all the flames of the sun and all the zephyrs of the south can never restore its fragrance and its health to the once-gather’d lily.

_Ve._ Alas, alas! to protect you is beyond my power! you will be plunged once more alive into the grave-- will be deprived of every comfort--

_Jose._ No, lady, no! even in the depth of your subterraneous dungeon, one comfort still is mine, and never will forsake me: tis the consciousness that my sufferings are transitory, but that my reward will be eternal; tis the consciousness of an hereafter! tis this which supports me during all my daily sorrows; tis this which irradiates all my nightly dreams. Then this poor wretched globe with all its crimes and all its follies rolls away from before me: then all seems fair, and pure, and glorious: cherubs shed the roseate lustre of their smiles upon my stony couch, and guardian saints encourage me to suffer with patience, to hope, and to adore!-- such are my dreams: now, lady, paint if you dare, the visions which you behold in your own.

_Ve._ She tortures my heart; her reproaches fire my brain-- I can endure them no longer-- remove her! away!

_Jose._ (_kneeling_) Oh! drive me not from you! pity me! protect me! save me!--

_Ve._ I cannot! I dare not! take her from my sight, and-- and for ever!

_Jose._ (_rising_) For ever? no, cruel woman; do not hope it! listen to these sighs; look upon these tears! in your gayest happiest moments, such sighs shall scare away delight; when you lift to your lips the cup of pleasure, you shall find the draught embittered by such tears; and when that hour arrives which you dread so justly, a form like mine shall stand beside your pillow and a voice like mine shall shriek in your ear-- “Welcome, murderess! welcome, to that grave, to which you sent me!”

_Ve._ Insupportable! away with her! she kills me!

_Jose._ Oh! let me stay yet a few moments more! let me gaze but a little longer on the lovely, friendly, blessed light! let me still hear a human voice, even though it threaten me; let me still look upon a human face, even though it be the face of an enemy; (_the nuns endeavour to force her away_) mercy! mercy! help me-- aid me!

_Venoni_ rushes in by a side door.

_Venoni._ Who shrieks for help-- for mercy! I-- I will give them!

(_Veronica and nuns utter a cry of surprise_)

_Ve._ Ah! a stranger?

_Jose._ (_bursting from the nuns with a violent effort_) Tis he! tis he himself! save me, Venoni! oh! save me, save me! (_she rushes to throw herself into his arms, and sinks fainting at his feet._)

_Ve._ Venoni, betrayed, undone! Lucia! (_she whispers Lucia._)

_Venoni._ She knows me! look up, look up, unfortunate! I will protect you! I will preserve you, and-- Josepha! tis Josepha! speak to me, Josepha! oh! speak to your Venoni!

_Ve._ But one moment is still ours-- (_to Lucia_) fly! hasten! (_Lucia goes off by the door through which Venoni enters._)

_Venoni._ The monsters! the barbarians! oh! my beloved, how have the wretches made you suffer.

_Jose._ Suffer! oh say but that you love me still, all, all will be forgotten.

_Venoni._ Do I love thee? oh, heaven! thou, my soul! my life! best half of my existence! but come, let us quit this hated place-- let us away, and-- (_to Veronica_) nay, lady, shrink not at my approach: how you may answer to the viceroy, be that your care; but dread no reproaches from me! I shall respect that sacred habit, though you have felt for it so little reverence; I shall still remember your sex, though you seem yourself to have forgotten it. Give me the means to quit the convent-- furnish me with the portal key--

_Ve._ (_confused_) My lord-- the keys-- they shall be produced-- I have sent for them-- even now you saw a sister leave the chamber-- she returns-- I hear her-- speak!

_Lucia_ returns.

_Ve._ Have you found them?

_Lu._ I have.

_Venoni._ And where are they?

The _prior_ rushes in followed by monks.

_Pri._ Here! art thou found again, my fugitive? --seize him.

_Jose._ Venoni! oh, Venoni!

_Pri._ Tear them asunder.

_Jose._ No, no! I will never leave him! while I have life, thus thus will I cling to him; if I must die, it shall be at his feet. (_they are forced asunder_) oh! cruel, cruel men! (_she sinks into the arms of the nuns-- Veronica is in the greatest agitation_)

_Pri._ Away with him! (_he precedes; the monks, bearing Venoni, follow him_) Venoni, your death-hour has struck!

Father _Michael_ rushes in followed by the _Viceroy_, &c. and
grasps the prior’s arm.

_Mi._ Tyrant, no; twas for thyself it sounded.

The monks release Venoni, and the nuns Josepha; the lovers fall
into each other’s arms-- at the same time the folding-doors are
burst open, and the marquis, _Hortensia_, &c. enter.

_Hor._ (_speaking without_) Where is she? where is the abbess?

_Jose._ My mother’s voice? here, here! my mother, behold your Josepha at your feet.

_Hor._ Powers of mercy! she lives, she lives! my Josepha! my joy my treasure! oh, can you forget--

_Jose._ Every thing, every thing-- except that I am still dear to you.

_Vice._ Officers, you know your prisoners! remove them, their sight is painful, (_the prior is conducted away by the guards; Veronica is leading off when Josepha addresses her_)

_Jose._ Lady-- you felt for me-- you pitied me; I too can pity and feel for you-- if I have influence, you shall find mercy.

_Ve._ Josepha!-- angel, your prayers-- oh! pray for me: pray for me!

[Exit with guards.

_Venoni._ My joy-- my amazement-- but oh! let me fly to rescue-- follow me, my friends-- there is a poor old man-- a captive.----

_Vice._ Be calm, dear youth; Lodovico is in safety: in guiding us to your dungeon, this worthy friar discovered and released him.

_Venoni._ My friend, my preserver! how can I reward----

_Vice._ If my power-- if my whole fortune can recompense----

_Mi._ I have preserved innocence, I have detected vice, I have served the cause of humanity: I find a sufficient reward in the feelings of my own heart. But, my good lords, let us quit this scene of horror: suffer me, my son, to unite your hand with Josepha’s at the altar; then retiring to some more virtuous fraternity----

_Vice._ What, father? after such experience of a convent’s interior will you again----

_Mi._ Ah! forbear, my lord, nor brand a whole profession with disgrace, because some few of its professors have been faulty-- tis not the habit but the heart; tis not the name he bears but the principles he has imbibed, which makes man the blessing or reproach of human nature. Virtue and vice reside equally in courts and convents; and a heart may beat as purely and as nobly beneath the monk’s scapulary, as beneath the ermine of the judge, or the breast-plate of the warrior.

_Venoni._ The good friar says right, my friend; then let us scorn to bow beneath the force of vulgar prejudice, and fold to our hearts as brethren in one large embrace men of all ranks, all faiths, and all professions. The monk and the soldier, the protestant and the papist, the mendicant and the prince; let us believe them all alike to be virtuous till we know them to be criminal; and engrave on our hearts, as the first and noblest rule of mortal duty and of human justice, those blessed words.

“BE TOLERANT!”

* * * * *
* * * *

Errors and Inconsistencies: The Novice

Spellings were changed only when there was an unambiguous error,
or the word occurred elsewhere with the expected spelling. The
spelling “anti-room” is used consistently. Names in stage directions
were inconsistently italicized; they have been silently regularized.
Missing or invisible periods at line-end and in abbreviations have
been silently supplied. In the play, words such as “tis” and “twas”
were always written without apostrophe.

_Unchanged:_

when suddenly the radience of a thousand torches
the nuns opposes her progress

_Corrections:_

A marine procession arrives [processsion]
to the arbitrary commands [arbritary]
for heaven’s love, the viceroy would deign [victory]
his countenance and manner [countenace]
at my appointment [appoiniment]
the donor shall be soon disposed of [diposed]
object of never to be sated vengeance, [vengance]
heaven had commissioned me [commisioned]
_Venoni._ Oh, talk not to me of resistance! [_Vevoni._]
Why, Teresa! dawdling here [dwadling]
all your past perverseness, [preverseness]

_Punctuation and typography:_

Hortensia, marchioness Caprara. [, for .]
[Exeunt _Teresa_ and servants.
[_italicized as “Exeunt _Teresa and_ servants.”_]
_Mich._ My superior knows not [my]
Alas! that will be impossible! [? for second !]
Come, come, look to the nets, lads, (_they go to their boats_)
[punctuation unchanged]
Hark how the neighbouring convent bell! [punctuation unchanged]
_Venoni._ You weep? you repent? [, for .]
of repentance and despair? [? misprinted upside down]
_Venoni._ I have seen the man [, for .]
It may not be. [, for .]
(_... like one petrified._) [missing close parenthesis]
(_... towards the tomb._) [missing close parenthesis]
In what have I offended? what is my crime? [, for second ?]
oh? surely if there is aught [question mark for exclamation mark?]
Fly, fly! you bear with you my blessing! (_kneeling_)
[missing open parenthesis]
_Ben._ Coming, coming! [_Exit._ [missing bracket]
not look upon your mother? [parenthesis for question mark]