SCENE III.
Contarini’s palace.
Enter Teresa, meeting Matilda.
Teresa.
Is he returned?
Matilda.
This instant.
Teresa.
He will come,
If that he bears ill tidings. What have I
To do with dread? Hush! ’tis his step.—Away!
[Exit Matilda as Contarini enters.
Contarini.
She looks beseechingly—but dares not speak!
I’ll feast upon her pale despair! Fair madam,
Your lover is condemned.
Teresa.
Condemned—already?
Contarini.
Are the inquisitors slow to doom the guilty?
Yet hear one truth which haply may console you.
Even in strict trial he would not reveal
The motive that impelled him to the act
For which he dies.
Teresa.
He would not!
Contarini.
Though the tale
Of your disgrace had saved him, he persisted
In silence!
Teresa.
And you—Contarini—you—
Oh God! do coldly stab him with the weapon
His generous virtue gives you!
Contarini.
Even so!
Teresa.
Is there no righteous ministry in heaven,
No power, no will, to save the innocent?
Is this your justice? Oh! it cannot be—
I wrong even you, to impute such guilt as this!
Your hearts are hard—you’re cruel—but this pitch
Of fiendish cruelty surpasses you!
You could not do this! no—you smile—you could not!
There’s not in human breasts a void so drear,
So horrible—whence all that sweetens life
Has been driven forth, to welcome hell’s worst spirits!
Oh! you who have framed these horrid words, to sear
And strike me dead—and I have borne the blow
Whose force is spent on me—on me alone!
Is’t not thus? say—say—
Contarini.
That they have import
You will soon know.
Teresa.
And is your bosom steeled
To pity, as to truth? Hear me—but hear me!
I’ll buy his life.—I’ll pay your price of blood!
Heap vengeance on my head. I’ll bear it all!
But save him! Do an act which shall bring down
The blessings of a broken heart upon you!
Which shall unlock the treasures of Heaven’s mercy,
And bid you draw from its deep fount at will!
Contarini.
These prayers are idle. Could they aught avail,
’Twould be to make his fate more sure.
Teresa.
’Tis madness
‘To speak to thee of mercy! Yet—bethink thee,
‘Is there no sure and solemn retribution
‘Striding even now, fast on thy guilty footsteps?
‘Shalt thou remain unpunished? Will the voice
‘That from the innocent blood reeks to the sky,
‘Cease to upbraid thee? Will these mortal men
‘Above whom this, thy hellish deed, will raise thee
‘In eminence of evil—fail to shun,
‘To curse the murderer?
‘Contarini.
‘Thou’rt his murderer.’
Teresa.
Take heed! take heed! you know me not! nor know
The strength of desperation. Deeply hid
Doth lurk ofttimes the fire, which fanned to rage,
Shall wrap whole cities in devouring flame!
Abide its fury now! I will denounce you
Myself—before your infamous tribunal!
They’ll hear me! if no justice dares to dwell there,
I’ll drag it from the skies—and bid it thunder
Its vengeance in your ears!
Contarini.
Stay—stay—rash woman!
Dost think I prize my name and fame so lightly,
To leave it longer in thy keeping? Look—
The doors are barred.
Teresa.
Your name and fame! I’ll blast it!
I’ll blast it! not a tongue in this wide Venice
But shall dwell on, and scoff at your disgrace!
I’ll publish it abroad! I will proclaim
To all—aye all—and none will dream of doubt,
Myself a thing of guilt, that the black stain
May reach through me to you, and all you boast!
It shall cling to you ever—with its deep
And damning blight—and none shall cancel it!
Then I will triumph!
Contarini.
Nay! she is distraught!
Teresa—listen!
Teresa.
No—no—you shall plead
As I have; but ’tis now my turn to scorn! [Exit.
(Contarini retires slowly.)