CHAPTER XXI
THE ATTACK ON SAN MARCO
They found him in a large and dimly lighted apartment, sitting absorbedin pensive contemplation before a picture of the Crucifixion by FraAngelico, which, whatever might be its _naive_ faults of drawing andperspective, had an intense earnestness of feeling, and, though fadedand dimmed by the lapse of centuries, still stirs in some faint wiseeven the practiced _dilettanti_ of our day.
The face upon the cross, with its majestic patience, seemed to shed ablessing down on the company of saints of all ages who were grouped bytheir representative men at the foot. Saint Dominic, Saint Ambrose,Saint Augustin, Saint Jerome, Saint Francis, and Saint Benedict weredepicted as standing before the Great Sacrifice in company withthe Twelve Apostles, the two Maries, and the fainting mother ofJesus,--thus expressing the unity of the Church Universal in thatgreat victory of sorrow and glory. The painting was enclosed above bya semicircular bordering composed of medallion heads of the Prophets,and below was a similar medallion border of the principal saints andworthies of the Dominican order. In our day such pictures are visitedby tourists with red guide-books in their hands, who survey them in theintervals of careless conversation; but they were painted by the simpleartist on his knees, weeping and praying as he worked, and the sightof them was accepted by like simple-hearted Christians as a perpetualsacrament of the eye, by which they received Christ into their souls.
So absorbed was the father in the contemplation of this picture, thathe did not hear the approaching footsteps of the knight and monk. Whenat last they came so near as almost to touch him, he suddenly lookedup, and it became apparent that his eyes were full of tears.
He rose, and, pointing with a mute gesture toward the painting, said,--
"There is more in that than in all Michel Angelo Buonarotti hath doneyet, though he be a God-fearing youth,--more than in all the heathenmarbles in Lorenzo's gardens. But sit down with me here. I have to comehere often, where I can refresh my courage."
The monk and knight seated themselves, the latter with his attentionriveted on the remarkable man before him. The head and face ofSavonarola are familiar to us by many paintings and medallions, which,however, fail to impart what must have been that effect of his personalpresence which so drew all hearts to him in his day. The knight sawa man of middle age, of elastic, well-knit figure, and a flexibilityand grace of motion which seemed to make every nerve, even to hisfinger-ends, vital with the expression of his soul. The close-shavencrown and the plain white Dominican robe gave a severe and statuesquesimplicity to the lines of his figure. His head and face, like thoseof most of the men of genius whom modern Italy has produced, were sostrongly cast in the antique mould as to leave no doubt of the identityof modern Italian blood with that of the great men of ancient Italy.His low, broad forehead, prominent Roman nose, well-cut, yet fullyoutlined lips, and strong, finely moulded jaw and chin, all spoke theold Roman vigor and energy, while the flexible delicacy of all themuscles of his face and figure gave an inexpressible fascination tohis appearance. Every emotion and changing thought seemed to flutterand tremble over his countenance as the shadow of leaves over sunnywater. His eye had a wonderful dilating power, and when he was excitedseemed to shower sparks; and his voice possessed a surprising scale ofdelicate and melodious inflections, which could take him in a momentthrough the whole range of human feeling, whether playful and tender ordenunciatory and terrible. Yet, when in repose among his friends, therewas an almost childlike simplicity and artlessness of manner which drewthe heart by an irresistible attraction. At this moment it was easy tosee by his pale cheek and the furrowed lines of his face that he hadbeen passing through severe struggles; but his mind seemed stayed onsome invisible centre, in a solemn and mournful calm.
"Come, tell me something of the good works of the Lord in our Italy,brother," he said, with a smile which was almost playful in itsbrightness. "You have been through all the lowly places of the land,carrying our Lord's bread to the poor, and repairing and beautifyingshrines and altars by the noble gift that is in you."
"Yes, father," said the monk; "and I have found that there are manysheep of the Lord that feed quietly among the mountains of Italy, andlove nothing so much as to hear of the dear Shepherd who laid down Hislife for them."
"Even so, even so," said the Superior, with animation; "and it is thethought of these sweet hearts that comforts me when my soul is amonglions. The foundation standeth sure,--the Lord knoweth them that arehis."
"And it is good and encouraging," said Father Antonio, "to see thezeal of the poor, who will give their last penny for the altar of theLord, and who flock so to hear the word and take the sacraments. I havehad precious seasons of preaching and confessing, and have worked inblessedness many days restoring and beautifying the holy pictures andstatues whereby these little ones have been comforted. What with thewranglings of princes and the factions and disturbances in our poorItaly, there be many who suffer in want and loss of all things, so thatno refuge remains to them but the altars of our Jesus, and none caresfor them but He."
"Brother," said the Superior, "there be thousands of flowers fairerthan man ever saw that grow up in waste places and in deep dellsand shades of mountains; but God bears each one in his heart, anddelighteth Himself in silence with them: and so doth He with thesepoor, simple, unknown souls. The True Church is not a flaunting queenwho goes boldly forth among men displaying her beauties, but a veiledbride, a dove that is in the cleft of the rocks, whose voice is knownonly to the Beloved. Ah! when shall the great marriage-feast come, whenall shall behold her glorified? I had hoped to see the day here inItaly: but now"--
The father stopped, and seemed to lapse into unconscious musing,--hislarge eye growing fixed and mysterious in its expression.
"The brothers have been telling me somewhat of the tribulations youhave been through," said Father Antonio, who thought he saw a goodopening to introduce the subject nearest his heart.
"No more of that!--no more!" said the Superior, turning away his headwith an expression of pain and weariness, "rather let us look up. Whatthink you, brother, are all _these_ doing now?" he said, pointingto the saints in the picture. "They are all alive and well, and seeclearly through our darkness." Then, rising up, he added, solemnly,"Whatever man may say or do, it is enough for me to feel that mydearest Lord and his blessed Mother and all the holy archangels, themartyrs and prophets and apostles, are with me. The end is coming."
"But, dearest father," said Antonio, "think you the Lord will sufferthe wicked to prevail?"
"It may be for a time," said Savonarola. "As for me, I am in His handsonly as an instrument. He is master of the forge and handles thehammer, and when He has done using it He casts it from Him. Thus Hedid with Jeremiah, whom He permitted to be stoned to death when hispreaching mission was accomplished; and thus He may do with _this_hammer when He has done using it."
At this moment a monk rushed into the room with a face expressive ofthe utmost terror, and called out,--
"Father, what shall we do? The mob are surrounding the convent! Hark!hear them at the doors!"
In truth, a wild, confused roar of mingled shrieks, cries, and blowscame in through the open door of the apartment; and the pattering soundof approaching footsteps was heard like showering rain-drops along thecloisters.
"Here come Messer Nicolo de' Lapi, and Francesco Valori!" called out avoice.
The room was soon filled with a confused crowd, consisting ofdistinguished Florentine citizens, who had gained admittance through asecret passage, and the excited novices and monks.
"The streets outside the convent are packed close with men," cried oneof the citizens; "they have stationed guards everywhere to cut off ourfriends who might come to help us."
"I saw them seize a young man who was quietly walking, singing psalms,and slay him on the steps of the Church of the Innocents," saidanother; "they cried and hooted, 'No more psalm-singing!'"
"And there's Arnolfo Battista," said a third;--"he went out to
tryto speak to them, and they have killed him,--cut him down with theirsabres."
"Hurry! hurry! barricade the door! arm yourselves!" was the cry fromother voices.
"Shall we fight, father? Shall we defend ourselves?" cried others, asthe monks pressed around their Superior.
When the crowd first burst into the room, the face of the Superiorflushed, and there was a slight movement of surprise; then he seemed torecollect himself, and murmuring, "I expected this, but not so soon,"appeared lost in mental prayer. To the agitated inquiries of his flock,he answered, "No, brothers; the weapons of monks must be spiritual, notcarnal." Then lifting on high a crucifix, he said, "Come with me, andlet us walk in solemn procession to the altar, singing the praises ofour God."
The monks, with the instinctive habit of obedience, fell intoprocession behind their leader, whose voice, clear and strong, washeard raising the Psalm, "_Quare fremunt gentes_:"--
"Why do the heathen rage, and the people imagine a vain thing?
"The kings of the earth set themselves, and the rulers take counseltogether, against the Lord, and against his Anointed, saying,--
"Let us break their bands asunder, and cast away their cords from us.
"He that sitteth in the heavens shall laugh: the Lord shall have themin derision."
As one voice after another took up the chant, the solemn enthusiasmrose and deepened, and all present, whether ecclesiastics orlaymen, fell into the procession and joined in the anthem. Amid thewild uproar, the din and clatter of axes, the thunders of heavybattering-implements on the stone walls and portals, came thislong-drawn solemn wave of sound, rising and falling,--now drowned inthe savage clamors of the mob, and now bursting out clear and full likethe voices of God's chosen amid the confusion and struggles of all thegenerations of this mortal life.
White-robed and grand the procession moved on, while the picturedsaints and angels on the walls seemed to smile calmly down upon themfrom a golden twilight. They passed thus into the sacristy, where withall solemnity and composure they arrayed their Father and Superiorfor the last time in his sacramental robes, and then, still chanting,followed him to the high altar, where all bowed in prayer. And still,whenever there was a pause in the stormy uproar and fiendish clamor,might be heard the clear, plaintive uprising of that strange singing,"O Lord, save thy people, and bless thine heritage!"
It needs not to tell in detail what history has told of that tragicnight: how the doors at last were forced, and the mob rushed in; howcitizens and friends, and many of the monks themselves, their instinctof combativeness overcoming their spiritual beliefs, fought valiantly,and used torches and crucifixes for purposes little contemplated whenthey were made.
Fiercest among the combatants was Agostino, who three times droveback the crowd as they were approaching the choir, where Savonarolaand his immediate friends were still praying. Father Antonio, too,seized a sword from the hand of a fallen man and laid about him withan impetuosity which would be inexplicable to any who do not know whatforce there is in gentle natures when the objects of their affectionsare assailed. The artist monk fought for his master with the blinddesperation with which a woman fights over the cradle of her child.
All in vain! Past midnight, and the news comes that artillery isplanted to blow down the walls of the convent, and the magistracy, whoup to this time have lifted not a finger to repress the tumult, sendword to Savonarola to surrender himself to them, together with the twomost active of his companions, Fra Domenico da Pescia and Fra SilvestroMaruffi, as the only means of averting the destruction of the wholeorder. They offer him assurances of protection and safe return, whichhe does not in the least believe: nevertheless, he feels that his houris come, and gives himself up.
His preparations were all made with a solemn method which showed thathe felt he was approaching the last act in the drama of life. He calledtogether his flock, scattered and forlorn, and gave them his lastwords of fatherly advice, encouragement, and comfort,--ending with theremarkable declaration, "A Christian's life consists in doing good andsuffering evil." "I go with joy to this marriage-supper," he said, ashe left the church for the last sad preparations. He and his doomedfriends then confessed and received the sacrament, and after thathe surrendered himself into the hands of the men who he felt in hisprophetic soul had come to take him to torture and to death.
As he gave himself into their hands, he said, "I commend to your carethis flock of mine, and these good citizens of Florence who have beenwith us;" and then once more turning to his brethren, said, "Doubt not,my brethren. God will not fail to perfect His work. Whether I live ordie, He will aid and console you."
At this moment there was a struggle with the attendants in the outercircle of the crowd, and the voice of Father Antonio was heard cryingout earnestly, "Do not hold me! I will go with him! I must go with him!"
"Son," said Savonarola, "I charge you on your obedience not to come. Itis I and Fra Domenico who are to die for the love of Christ." And thus,at the ninth hour of the night, he passed the threshold of San Marco.
As he was leaving, a plaintive voice of distress was heard from a youngnovice who had been peculiarly dear to him, who stretched his handsafter him, crying, "Father! father! why do you leave us desolate?"Whereupon he turned back a moment, and said, "God will be your help.If we do not see each other again in this world, we surely shall inheaven."
When the party had gone forth, the monks and citizens stood lookinginto each other's faces, listening with dismay to the howl of wildferocity that was rising around the departing prisoner.
"What shall we do?" was the outcry from many voices.
"I know what I shall do," said Agostino. "If any man here will find mea fleet horse, I will start for Milan this very hour; for my uncle isnow there on a visit, and he is a counselor of weight with the King ofFrance: we must get the King to interfere."
"Good! good! good!" rose from a hundred voices.
"I will go with you," said Father Antonio. "I shall have no rest till Ido something."
"And I," quoth Jacopo Niccolini, "will saddle for you, without delay,two horses of part Arabian blood, swift of foot, and easy, and whichwill travel day and night without sinking."