14 
MORTADELLO 
 
MONICA. 
 
Death’s warrant for my sake ? 
I never injured him. 
ORLANDO. 
A woman’s hate inspires 
innocent Seraphim with infamous desires ! 
MONICA.  God pardon Magdalene ! 
ORLANDO. 
 
No hour for grace, alas ! 
[Aside.]  For all the grace I mean shall be the coup de grace ! 
[He goes off over the bridge.  The nuns kneel at 
MONICA’S feet, and clasp her knees. 
MONICA.  Sisters, you heard me.  Rise.  Home is no more a 
home. 
The goal of saintship lies through gates of martyrdom. 
There are virtues hard as stone ;  with such the pit is paved. 
There are vices that atone—if Venice may be saved ! 
Go, pray for me.  God yet may humanize his heart. 
If not, do you forget your Monica.  Depart ! 
[The nuns rise and go, weeping.  MONICA advances ; 
an ecstatic smile steals over her face, lit by the 
moonrise. 
Mother of Christ !  I fare too well.  By God, I feared 
To have enticed his soul to hell—what devil sneered ?— 
It was too much.  I am bewitched.  I loved him so. 
Ah God !  I touched.  How my soul itched let God not 
know ! 
That strong black breast !  Those cruel lips !  Those eyes of 
fire ! 
O bitter best, to whirl the whips of black desire ! 
Bruise me with lust, and tear my flesh, and drink my 
blood, 
One poniard thrust, one flail to thresh, one storm to flood 
My life with death, my soul to char—O speak the spell !—