(He recommences.)
"Oh! oh! oh! each lash tears my skin, rends my limbs! It burns me horribly!"
"Nay!—it is not so very terrible after all!—one becomes accustomed to it. It even seems to me...."
(Anthony pauses.)
"Continue, coward! continue! Good! good!—upon the arms, on the back, on the breast, on the belly—everywhere! Hiss, ye thongs! bite me! tear me! I would that my blood could spurt to the stars!—let my bones crack!—let my tendons be laid bare! O for pincers, racks, and melted lead! The martyrs have endured far worse; have they not, Ammonaria?"
(The shadow of the Devil's horns reappears.)
"I might have been bound to the column opposite to thine,—face to face—under thy eyes—answering thy shrieks by my sighs; and our pangs might have been interblended, our souls intermingled."
(He lashes himself with fury.)
"What! what! again. Take that!—But how strange a titillation thrills me! What punishment! what pleasure! I feel as though receiving invisible kisses; the very marrow of my bones seems to melt. I die...."
And he sees before him three cavaliers, mounted upon onagers, clad in robes of green—each holding a lily in his hand, and all resembling each other in feature.