CHAPTER XXII
THE CATHEDRAL
The rays of the setting sun were imparting even more than their wontedcheerfulness to the airy and bustling streets of Milan. There was theusual rush and roar of busy life which mark the great city, and thedisplay of gay costumes and brilliant trappings proper to a ducalcapital which at that time gave the law to Europe in all matters oftaste and elegance, even as Paris does now. It was, in fact, from thereputation of this city in matters of external show that our Englishterm Milliner was probably derived; and one might well have believedthis, who saw the sweep of the ducal cortege at this moment returningin pomp from the afternoon airing. Such glittering of gold-embroideredmantles, such bewildering confusion of colors, such flashing of jewelryfrom cap and dagger-hilt and finger-ring, and even from bridle andstirrup, testified that the male sex at this period in Italy were nowhit behind the daughters of Eve in that passion for personal adornmentwhich our age is wont to consider exclusively feminine. Indeed,all that was visible to the vulgar eye of this pageant was whollymasculine; though no one doubted that behind the gold-embroideredcurtains of the litters which contained the female notabilities of thecourt still more dazzling wonders might be concealed. Occasionallya white jeweled hand would draw aside one of these screens, and apair of eyes brighter than any gems would peer forth; and then therewould be tokens of a visible commotion among the plumed and gemmedcavaliers around, and one young head would nod to another with jestsand quips, and there would be bowing and curveting and all the anticsand caracolings supposable among gay young people on whom the sun shonebrightly, and who felt the world going well around them, and deemedthemselves the observed of all observers.
Meanwhile, the mute, subservient common people looked on all this asa part of their daily amusement. Meek dwellers in those dank, noisomecaverns, without any opening but a street-door, which are calleddwelling-places in Italy, they lived in uninquiring good-nature,contentedly bringing up children on coarse bread, dirty cabbage-stumps,and other garbage, while all that they could earn was sucked upward bycapillary attraction to nourish the extravagance of those upper classeson which they stared with such blind and ignorant admiration.
This was the lot they believed themselves born for, and which everyexhortation of their priests taught them to regard as the appointedordinance of God. The women, to be sure, as women always will be,were true to the instinct of their sex, and crawled out of the dampand vile-smelling recesses of their homes with solid gold ear-ringsshaking in their ears, and their blue-black lustrous hair ornamentedwith a glittering circle of steel pins or other quaint coiffure.There was sense in all this: for had not even Dukes of Milan beenfound so condescending and affable as to admire the charms of thefair in the lower orders, whence had come sons and daughters who tookrank among princes and princesses? What father, or what husband,would be insensible to prospects of such honor? What priest wouldnot readily absolve such sin? Therefore one might have observed morethan one comely dark-eyed woman, brilliant as some tropical bird inthe colors of her peasant dress, who cast coquettish glances towardhigh places, not unacknowledged by patronizing nods in return, whilemothers and fathers looked on in triumph. These were the days forthe upper classes; the Church bore them all in her bosom as a tendernursing-mother, and provided for all their little peccadilloes witheven grandmotherly indulgence, and in return the world was immenselydeferential towards the Church; and it was only now and then somerugged John Baptist, in raiment of camel's hair, like Savonarola,who dared to speak an indecorous word of God's truth in the ear ofpower, and Herod and Herodias had ever at hand the good old recipe forquieting such disturbances. John Baptist was beheaded in prison, andthen all the world and all the Scribes and Pharisees applauded; andonly a few poor disciples were found to take up the body and go andtell Jesus.
The whole piazza around the great Cathedral is at this moment full ofthe dashing cavalcade of the ducal court, looking as brilliant in theevening light as a field of poppy, corn-flower, and scarlet cloverat Sorrento; and there, amid the flutter and rush, the amours andintrigues, the court scandal, the laughing, the gibing, the glitter,and dazzle, stands that wonderful Cathedral, that silent witness, thatstrange, pure, immaculate mountain of airy, unearthly loveliness,--themost striking emblem of God's mingled vastness and sweetness thatever it was given to human heart to devise or hands to execute. Ifthere be among the many mansions of our Father above, among the housesnot made with hands, aught purer and fairer, it must be the work ofthose grand spirits who inspired and presided over the erection ofthis celestial miracle of beauty. In the great, vain, wicked city,all alive with the lust of the flesh, the lust of the eye, and thepride of life, it seemed to stand as much apart and alone as if itwere in the solemn desolation of the Campagna, or in one of the widedeserts of Africa,--so little part or lot did it appear to have inanything earthly, so little to belong to the struggling, bustlingcrowd who beneath its white dazzling pinnacles seemed dwarfed intocrawling insects. They who could look up from the dizzy, frivolouslife below saw far, far above them, in the blue Italian air, thousandsof glorified saints standing on a thousand airy points of brilliantwhiteness, ever solemnly adoring. The marble which below was somewhattouched and soiled with the dust of the street seemed gradually torefine and brighten as it rose into the pure regions of the air,till at last in those thousand distant pinnacles it had the etherealtranslucence of wintry frost-work, and now began to glow with theviolet and rose hues of evening, in solemn splendor.
The ducal cortege sweeps by; but we have mounted the dizzy, darkstaircase that leads to the roof, where, amid the bustling life of thecity there is a promenade of still and wondrous solitude. One seemsto have ascended in those few moments far beyond the tumult and dustof earthly things, to the silence, the clearness, the tranquillity ofethereal regions. The noise of the rushing tides of life below risesonly in a soft and distant murmur; while around, in the wide, cleardistance, is spread a prospect which has not on earth its like or itsequal. The beautiful plains of Lombardy lie beneath like a map, and thenorthern horizon-line is glittering with the entire sweep of the Alps,like a solemn senate of archangels with diamond mail and glitteringcrowns. Mont Blanc, Monte Rosa with its countenance of light, theJungfrau and all the weird brothers of the Oberland, rise one afteranother to the delighted gaze, and the range of the Tyrol melts far offinto the blue of the sky. On another side, the Apennines, with theirpicturesque outlines and cloud-spotted sides, complete the enclosure.All around, wherever the eye turns, is the unbroken phalanx ofmountains; and this temple, with its thousand saintly statues standingin attitudes of ecstasy and prayer, seems like a worthy altar andshrine for the beautiful plain which the mountains enclose: it seems togive all Northern Italy to God.
The effect of the statues in this high, pure air, in this solemn,glorious scenery, is peculiar. They seem a meet companionship forthese exalted regions. They seem to stand exultant on their spires,poised lightly as ethereal creatures, the fit inhabitants of the pureblue sky. One feels that they have done with earth; one can fancythem a band of white-robed kings and priests forever ministering inthat great temple of which the Alps and the Apennines are the wallsand the Cathedral the heart and centre. Never were Art and Nature somajestically married by Religion in so worthy a temple.
One form could be discerned standing in rapt attention, gazing from aplatform on the roof upon the far-distant scene. He was enveloped inthe white coarse woolen gown of the Dominican monks, and seemed whollyabsorbed in meditating on the scene before him, which appeared to movehim deeply; for, raising his hands, he repeated aloud from the LatinVulgate the words of an Apostle:--
"Accessistis ad Sion montem et civitatem Dei viventis, Jerusalemcaelestem, et multorum millium angelorum frequentiam, ecclesiamprimitivorum, qui inscripti sunt in caelis."[11]
[11] "Ye are come unto Mount Sion, and unto the city of the living God, the heavenly Jerusalem, and to an innumerable company of angels, to the general assembly and church of the first-
born, which are written in heaven."
At this moment the evening worship commenced within the Cathedral, andthe whole building seemed to vibrate with the rising swell of the greatorgan, while the grave, long-drawn tones of the Ambrosian Liturgy rosesurging in waves and dying away in distant murmurs, like the rollingof the tide on some ocean-shore. The monk turned and drew near to thecentral part of the roof to listen, and as he turned he disclosed thewell-known features of Father Antonio.
Haggard, weary, and travel-worn, his first impulse, on entering thecity, was to fly to this holy solitude, as the wandering sparrow ofsacred song sought her nest amid the altars of God's temple. Artist noless than monk, he found in this wondrous shrine of beauty a reposeboth for his artistic and his religious nature; and while waiting forAgostino Sarelli to find his uncle's residence, he had determined topass the interval in this holy solitude. Many hours had he paced aloneup and down the long promenades of white marble which run everywherebetween forests of dazzling pinnacles and flying buttresses of airylightness. Now he rested in fixed attention against the wall above thechoir, which he could feel pulsating with throbs of sacred sound, as ifa great warm heart were beating within the fair marble miracle, warmingit into mysterious life and sympathy.
"I would now that boy were here to worship with me," he said. "Nowonder the child's faith fainteth: it takes such monuments as these ofthe Church's former days to strengthen one's hopes. Ah, woe unto thoseby whom such offense cometh!"
At this moment the form of Agostino was seen ascending the marblestaircase.
The eye of the monk brightened as he came towards him. He put outone hand eagerly to take his, and raised the other with a gesture ofsilence.
"Look," he said, "and listen! Is it not the sound of many waters andmighty thunderings?"
Agostino stood subdued for the moment by the magnificent sightsand sounds; for, as the sun went down, the distant mountains grewevery moment more unearthly in their brilliancy; and as they lay ina long line, jeweled brightness mingling with the cloud-wreaths ofthe far horizon, one might have imagined that he in truth beheld thefoundations of that celestial city of jasper, pearl, and translucentgold which the Apostle saw, and that the risings and fallings ofchoral sound which seemed to thrill and pulsate through the marblebattlements were indeed that song like many waters sung by the ChurchTriumphant above.
For a few moments the monk and the young man stood in silence, till atlength the monk spoke.
"You have told me, my son, that your heart often troubles you in beingmore Roman than Christian; that you sometimes doubt whether the Churchon earth be other than a fiction or a fable. But look around us. Whoare these, this great multitude who praise and pray continually in thistemple of the upper air? These are they who have come out of greattribulation, having washed their robes and made them white in the bloodof the Lamb. These are not the men that have sacked cities, and madedeserts, and written their triumphs in blood and carnage. These be menthat have sheltered the poor, and built houses for orphans, and soldthemselves into slavery to redeem their brothers in Christ. These bepure women who have lodged saints, brought up children, lived holy andprayerful lives. These be martyrs who have laid down their lives forthe testimony of Jesus. There were no such churches in old Rome,--nosuch saints."
"Well," said Agostino, "one thing is certain. If such be the TrueChurch, the Pope and the Cardinals of our day have no part in it; forthey are the men who sack cities and make desolations, who devourwidows' houses and for a pretense make long prayers. Let us see one of_them_ selling himself into slavery for the love of anybody, while theyseek to keep all the world in slavery to themselves!"
"That is the grievous declension our master weeps over," said themonk. "Ah, if the Bishops of the Church now were like brave old SaintAmbrose, strong alone by faith and prayer, showing no more favor to anunrepentant Emperor than to the meanest slave, then would the Churchbe a reality and a glory! Such is my master. Never is he afraidof the face of king or lord, when he has God's truth to speak. Youshould have heard how plainly he dealt with our Lorenzo de' Medici onhis death-bed,--how he refused him absolution, unless he would makerestitution to the poor and restore the liberties of Florence."
"I should have thought," said the young man, sarcastically, "thatLorenzo the Magnificent might have got absolution cheaper than that.Where were all the bishops in his dominion, that he must needs send forJerome Savonarola?"
"Son, it is ever so," replied the monk. "If there be a man that caresneither for Duke nor Emperor, but for God alone, then Dukes andEmperors would give more for his good word than for a whole dozen ofcommon priests."
"I suppose it is something like a rare manuscript or a singular gem:these _virtuosi_ have no rest till they have clutched it. The thingthey cannot get is always the thing they want."
"Lorenzo was always seeking our master," said the monk. "Often wouldhe come walking in our gardens, expecting surely he would hasten downto meet him; and the brothers would run all out of breath to his cellto say, 'Father, Lorenzo is in the garden.' 'He is welcome,' would heanswer, with his pleasant smile. 'But, father, will you not descendto meet him?' 'Hath he asked for me?' 'No.' 'Well, then, let us notinterrupt his meditations,' he would answer, and remain still at hisreading, so jealous was he lest he should seek the favor of princes andforget God, as does all the world in our day."
"And because he does not seek the favor of the men of this world hewill be trampled down and slain. Will the God in whom he trusts defendhim?"
The monk pointed expressively upward to the statues that stoodglorified above them, still wearing a rosy radiance, though theshadows of twilight had fallen on all the city below.
"My son," he said, "the victories of the True Church are not in time,but in eternity. How many around us were conquered on earth thatthey might triumph in heaven! What saith the Apostle? 'They weretortured, not accepting deliverance, that they might obtain a betterresurrection.'"
"But, alas!" said Agostino, "are we never to see the right triumphhere? I fear that this noble name is written in blood, like so many ofwhom the world is not worthy. Can one do nothing to help it?"
"How is that? What have you heard?" said the monk, eagerly. "Have youseen your uncle?"
"Not yet; he is gone into the country for a day,--so say his servants.I saw, when the Duke's court passed, my cousin, who is in his train,and got a moment's speech with him; and he promised, that, if I wouldwait for him here, he would come to me as soon as he could be let offfrom his attendance. When he comes, it were best that we confer alone."
"I will retire to the southern side," said the monk, "and await the endof your conference;" and with that he crossed the platform on whichthey were standing, and, going down a flight of white marble steps, wassoon lost to view amid the wilderness of frost-like carved work.
He had scarcely vanished, before footsteps were heard ascending themarble staircase on the other side, and the sound of a voice humming apopular air of the court.
The stranger was a young man of about five-and-twenty, habited with allthat richness and brilliancy of coloring which the fashion of the daypermitted to a young exquisite. His mantle of purple velvet fallingjauntily off from one shoulder disclosed a doublet of amber satinrichly embroidered with gold and seed-pearl. The long white plumewhich drooped from his cap was held in its place by a large diamondwhich sparkled like a star in the evening twilight. His finely mouldedhands were loaded with rings, and ruffles of the richest Venetianlace encircled his wrists. He had worn over all a dark cloak with apeaked hood, the usual evening disguise in Italy; but as he gainedthe top-stair of the platform, he threw it carelessly down and gaylyoffered his hand.
"Good even to you, cousin mine! So you see I am as true to myappointment as if your name were Leonora or Camilla instead ofAgostino. How goes it with you? I wanted to talk with you below, but Isaw we must have a place without listeners. Our friends the saints aretoo high in heavenly things to make mischief by eavesdropping."
"Thank you, Cousin C
arlos, for your promptness. And now to the point.Did your father, my uncle, get the letter I wrote him about a monthsince?"
"He did; and he bade me treat with you about it. It's an abominablesnarl, this, they have got you into. My father says, your best wayis to come straight to him in France, and abide till things take abetter turn: he is high in favor with the King and can find you a verypretty place at court, and he takes it upon him in time to reconcilethe Pope. Between you and me, the old Pope has no special spite inthe world against _you_: he merely wants your lands for his son, andas long as you prowl round and lay claim to them, why, you must stayexcommunicated; but just clear the coast and leave them peaceably andhe will put you back into the True Church, and my father will chargehimself with your success. Popes don't last forever, or there may comeanother falling out with the King of France, and either way there willbe a chance of your being one day put back into your rights; meanwhile,a young fellow might do worse than have a good place in our court."
During this long monologue, which the young speaker uttered with allthe flippant self-sufficiency of worldly people with whom the world isgoing well, the face of the young nobleman who listened presented apicture of many strong contending emotions.
"You speak," he said, "as if man had nothing to do in this world butseek his own ease and pleasure. What lies nearest my heart is not thatI am plundered of my estates, and my house uprooted, but it is that mybeautiful Rome, the city of my fathers, is a prisoner under the heelof the tyrant. It is that the glorious religion of Christ, the holyfaith in which my mother died, the faith made venerable by all thesesaints around us, is made the tool and instrument of such vileness andcruelty that one is tempted to doubt whether it were not better to havebeen born of heathen in the good old times of the Roman Republic,--Godforgive me for saying so! Does the most Christian King of France knowthat the man who pretends to rule in the name of Christ is not abeliever in the Christian religion,--that he does not believe even in aGod,--that he obtained the holy seat by simony,--that he uses all itspower to enrich a brood of children whose lives are so indecent that itis a shame to modest lips even to _say_ what they do?"
"Why, of course," said the other, "the King of France is pretty wellinformed about all these things. You know old King Charles, when hemarched through Italy, had more than half a mind, they say, to pull theold Pope out of his place; and he might have done it easily. My fatherwas in his train at that time, and he says the Pope was frightenedenough. Somehow they made it all up among them, and settled about theirterritories, which is the main thing, after all; and now our new King,I fancy, does not like to meddle with him: between you and me, hehas his eye in another direction here. This gay city would suit himadmirably, and he fancies he can govern it as well as it is governednow. My father does not visit here with his eyes shut, I can tell you.But as to the Pope--Well, you see such things are delicate to handle.After all, my dear Agostino, we are not priests,--our business is withthis world; and, no matter how they came by them, these fellows havethe keys of the kingdom of heaven, and one cannot afford to quarrelwith them,--we must have the ordinances, you know, or what becomes ofour souls? Do you suppose, now, that I should live as gay and easy alife as I do, if I thought there were any doubt of my salvation? It's amercy to us sinners that the ordinances are not vitiated by the sins ofthe priests; it would go hard with us, if they were: as it is, if theywill live scandalous lives, it is their affair, not ours."
"And is it nothing," replied the other, "to a true man who has takenthe holy vows of knighthood on him, whether his Lord's religion bedefamed and dishonored and made a scandal and a scoffing? Did not allEurope go out to save Christ's holy sepulchre from being dishonoredby the feet of the Infidel? and shall we let infidels have the veryhouse of the Lord, and reign supreme in his holy dwelling-place? Therehas risen a holy prophet in Italy, the greatest since the time ofSaint Francis, and his preaching hath stirred all hearts to live moreconformably with our holy faith; and now for his pure life and goodworks he is under excommunication of the Pope, and they have seized andimprisoned him, and threaten his life."
"Oh, you mean Savonarola," said the other. "Yes, we have heard ofhim,--a most imprudent, impracticable fellow, who will not take advicenor be guided. My father, I believe, thought well of him once, anddeemed that in the distracted state of Italy he might prove serviceablein forwarding some of his plans: but he is wholly wrapt up in his ownnotions; he heeds no will but his own."
"Have you heard anything," said Agostino, "of a letter which he wroteto the King of France lately, stirring him up to call a General Councilof the Christian Church to consider what is to be done about thescandals at Rome?"
"Then he has written one, has he?" replied the young man; "then thestory that I have heard whispered about here must be true. A man whocertainly is in a condition to know told me day before yesterday thatthe Duke had arrested a courier with some such letter, and sent it onto the Pope: it is likely, for the Duke hates Savonarola. If that betrue, it will go hard with him yet; for the Pope has a long arm for anenemy."
"And so," said Agostino, with an expression of deep concern, "thatletter, from which the good man hoped so much, and which was sopowerful, will only go to increase his danger!"
"The more fool he!--he might have known that it was of no use. Who wasgoing to take his part against the Pope?"
"The city of Florence has stood by him until lately," said Agostino,"and would again, with a little help."
"Oh, no! never think it, my dear Agostino! Depend upon it, it will endas such things always do, and the man is only a madman that undertakesit. Hark ye, cousin, what have _you_ to do with this man? Why do youattach yourself to the side that is _sure_ to lose? I cannot conceivewhat you would be at. This is no way to mend your fortunes. Cometo-night to my father's palace: the Duke has appointed us princelylodgings, and treats us with great hospitality, and my father has plansfor your advantage. Between us, there is a fair young ward of his, oflarge estates and noble blood, whom he designs for you. So you see, ifyou turn your attention in this channel, there may come a reinforcementof the family property, which will enable you to hold out until thePope dies, or some prince or other gets into a quarrel with him,which is always happening, and then a move may be made for you. Myfather, I'll promise you, is shrewd enough, and always keeps his eyeopen to see where there is a joint in the harness, and have a trustydagger-blade all whetted to stick under. Of course, he means to see yourighted; he has the family interest at heart, and feels as indignant asyou could at the rascality which has been perpetrated; but I am quitesure he will tell you that the way is not to come out openly againstthe Pope and join this fanatical party."
Agostino stood silent, with the melancholy air of a man who has muchto say, and is deeply moved by considerations which he perceives itwould be utterly idle and useless to attempt to explain. If the easytheology of his friend were indeed true,--if the treasures of theheavenly kingdom, glory, honor, and immortality, could indeed be placedin unholy hands, to be bought and sold and traded in,--if holiness ofheart and life, and all those nobler modes of living and being whichwere witnessed in the histories of the thousand saints around him,were indeed but a secondary thing in the strife for worldly place andterritory,--what, then, remained for the man of ideas, of aspirations?In such a state of society, his track must be like that of the dove insacred history, who found no rest for the sole of her foot.
Agostino folded his arms and sighed deeply, and then made answermechanically, as one whose thoughts are afar off.
"Present my duty," he said, "to my uncle, your father, and say to himthat I will wait on him to-night."
"Even so," said the young man, picking up his cloak and folding itabout him. "And now, you know, I must go. Don't be discouraged; keepup a good heart; you shall see what it is to have powerful friends tostand by you; all will be right yet. Come, will you go with me now?"
"Thank you," said Agostino, "I think I would be alone a little while.My head is confused, and I would fain think
over matters a littlequietly."
"Well, _au revoir_, then. I must leave you to the company of thesaints. But be sure and come early."
So saying, he threw his cloak over his shoulder and saunteredcarelessly down the marble steps, humming again the gay air with whichhe had ascended.
Left alone, Agostino once more cast a glance on the strangely solemnand impressive scene around him. He was standing on a platform of thecentral tower which overlooked the whole building. The round, fullmoon had now risen in the horizon, displacing by her solemn brightnessthe glow of twilight; and her beams were reflected by the delicatefrost-work of the myriad pinnacles which rose in a bewildering mazeat his feet. It might seem to be some strange enchanted garden offairy-land, where a luxuriant and freakish growth of Nature had beensuddenly arrested and frozen into eternal stillness. Around in theshadows at the foot of the Cathedral, the lights of the great gaycity twinkled and danced and veered and fluttered like fireflies inthe damp, dewy shadows of some moist meadow in summer. The sound ofclattering hoofs and rumbling wheels, of tinkling guitars and gayroundelays, rose out of that obscure distance, seeming far off andplaintive like the dream of a life that is past. The great churchseemed a vast world; the long aisles of statued pinnacles with theirpure floorings of white marble appeared as if they might be thecorridors of heaven; and it seemed as if the crowned and sceptredsaints in their white marriage-garments might come down and walk there,without ever a spot of earth on their unsullied whiteness.
In a few moments Father Antonio had glided back to the side of theyoung man, whom he found so lost in reverie that not till he laid hishand upon his arm did he awaken from his meditations.
"Ah!" he said, with a start, "my father, is it you?"
"Yes, my son. What of your conference? Have you learned anything?"
"Father, I have learned far more than I wished to know."
"What is it, my son? Speak it at once."
"Well, then, I fear that the letter of our holy father to the King ofFrance has been intercepted here in Milan, and sent to the Pope."
"What makes you think so?" said the monk, with an eagerness that showedhow much he felt the intelligence.
"My cousin tells me that a person of consideration in the Duke'shousehold, who is supposed to be in a position to know, told him thatit was so."
Agostino felt the light grasp which the monk had laid upon his armgradually closing with a convulsive pressure, and that he was tremblingwith intense feeling.
"Even so, Father, for so it seemed good in thy sight!" he said, after afew moments of silence.
"It is discouraging," said Agostino, "to see how little these princescare for the true interests of religion and the service of God,--howlittle real fealty there is to our Lord Jesus."
"Yes," said the monk, "all seek their own, and not the things that areChrist's. It is well written, 'Put not your trust in princes.'"
"And what prospect, what hope do you see for him?" said Agostino. "WillFlorence stand firm?"
"I could have thought so once," said the monk, "in those days when Ihave seen counselors and nobles and women of the highest degree allhumbly craving to hear the word of God from his lips, and seeming toseek nothing so much as to purify their houses, their hands, and theirhearts, that they might be worthy citizens of that commonwealth whichhas chosen the Lord Jesus for its gonfalonier. I have seen the verychildren thronging to kiss the hem of his robe, as he walked throughthe streets; but, oh, my friend, did not Jerusalem bring palms andspread its garments in the way of Christ only four days before he wascrucified?"
The monk's voice here faltered. He turned away, and seemed to wrestlewith a tempest of suppressed sobbing. A moment more, he lookedheavenward and pointed up with a smile.
"Son," he said, "you ask what hope there is. I answer, There is hopeof such crowns as these wear who came out of great tribulation and nowreign with Christ in glory."