CHAPTER XXX
"LET US ALSO GO, THAT WE MAY DIE WITH HIM"
Father Antonio sat alone in his cell in the San Marco in an attitudeof deep dejection. The open window looked into the garden of theconvent, from which steamed up the fragrance of violet, jasmine, androse, and the sunshine lay fair on all that was without. On a tablebeside him were many loose and scattered sketches; and an unfinishedpage of the Breviary he was executing, rich in quaint tracery ofgold and arabesques, seemed to have recently occupied his attention,for his palette was wet and many loose brushes lay strewed around.Upon the table stood a Venetian glass with a narrow neck and a bulbclear and thin as a soap-bubble, containing vines and blossoms of thepassion-flower, which he had evidently been using as models in his work.
The page he was illuminating was the prophetic Psalm which describesthe ignominy and sufferings of the Redeemer. It was surrounded by awreathed border of thorn-branches interwoven with the blossoms andtendrils of the passion-flower, and the initial letters of the firsttwo words were formed by a curious combination of the hammer, thenails, the spear, the crown of thorns, the cross, and other instrumentsof the Passion; and clear, in red letter, gleamed out those wonderful,mysterious words, consecrated by the remembrance of a more than mortalanguish, "My God, my God, why hast thou forsaken me?"
The artist monk had perhaps fled to his palette to assuage thethrobbings of his heart, as a mourning mother flies to the cradle ofher child; but even there his grief appeared to have overtaken him,for the work lay as if pushed from him in an access of anguish such ascomes from the sudden recurrence of some overwhelming recollection.He was leaning forward with his face buried in his hands, sobbingconvulsively.
The door opened, and a man advancing stealthily behind laid a handkindly on his shoulder, saying softly, "So, so, brother!"
Father Antonio looked up, and, dashing his hand hastily across hiseyes, grasped that of the new-comer convulsively, and saying only, "Oh,Baccio! Baccio!" hid his face again.
The eyes of the other filled with tears, as he answered gently,--
"Nay, but, my brother, you are killing yourself. They tell me that youhave eaten nothing for three days, and slept not for weeks; you willdie of this grief."
"Would that I might! Why could not I die with him as well as FraDomenico? Oh, my master! my dear master!"
"It is indeed a most heavy day to us all," said Baccio della Porta,the amiable and pure-minded artist better known to our times by hisconventual name of Fra Bartolommeo. "Never have we had among us such aman, and if there be any light of grace in my soul, his preaching firstawakened it, brother. I only wait to see him enter Paradise, and thenI take farewell of the world for ever. I am going to Prato to take theDominican habit and follow him as near as I may."
"It is well, Baccio, it is well," said Father Antonio; "but you mustnot put out the light of your genius in those shadows,--you must stillpaint for the glory of God."
"I have no heart for painting now," said Baccio, dejectedly. "He was myinspiration, he taught me the holier way, and he is gone."
At this moment the conference of the two was interrupted by a knockingat the door, and Agostino Sarelli entered, pale and disordered.
"How is this?" he said, hastily. "What devils' carnival is this whichhath broken loose in Florence? Every good thing is gone into densand holes, and every vile thing that can hiss and spit and sting iscrawling abroad. What do the princes of Europe mean to let such thingsbe?"
"Only the old story," said Father Antonio,--"_Principes convenerunt inunum adversus Dominum, adversus Christum ejus._"
So much were all three absorbed in the subject of their thoughts, thatno kind of greeting or mark of recognition passed among them, such asis common when people meet after temporary separation. Each spoke outfrom the fullness of his soul, as from an overflowing bitter fountain.
"Was there no one to speak for him,--no one to stand up for the prideof Italy,--the man of his age?" said Agostino.
"There was one voice raised for him in the council," said FatherAntonio. "There was Agnolo Niccolini: a grave man is this Agnolo,and of great experience in public affairs, and he spoke out his mindboldly. He told them flatly, that, if they looked through the presenttime or the past ages they would not meet a man of such a high andnoble order as this, and that to lay at our door the blood of a manthe like of whom might not be born for centuries was too impiousand execrable a thing to be thought of. I'll warrant me, he made arustling among them when he said that, and the Pope's commissary--oldRomalino--then whispered and frowned; but Agnolo is a stiff old fellowwhen he once begins a thing,--he never minded it, and went through withhis say. It seems to me he said that it was not for us to quench alight like this, capable of giving lustre to the faith even when it hadgrown dim in other parts of the world,--and not to the faith alone,but to all the arts and sciences connected with it. If it were neededto put restraint on him, he said, why not put him into some fortress,and give him commodious apartments, with abundance of books, and pen,ink, and paper, where he would write books to the honor of God and theexaltation of the holy faith? He told them that this might be a goodto the world, whereas consigning him to death without use of any kindwould bring on our republic perpetual dishonor."
"Well said for him!" said Baccio, with warmth; "but I'll warrant me, hemight as well have preached to the north wind in March, his enemies arein such a fury."
"Yes, yes," said Antonio, "it is just as it was of old: the chiefpriests and Scribes and Pharisees were instant with loud voices,requiring he should be put to death; and the easy Pilates, for fear ofthe tumult, washed their hands of it."
"And now," said Agostino, "they are putting up a great gibbet in theshape of a cross in the public square, where they will hang the threeholiest and best men of Florence!"
"I came through there this morning," said Baccio, "and there were youngmen and boys shouting, and howling, and singing indecent songs, andputting up indecent pictures, such as those he used to preach against.It is just as you say. All things vile have crept out of their lair,and triumph that the man who made them afraid is put down; and everyhouse is full of the most horrible lies about him,--things that theysaid he confessed."
"Confessed!" said Father Antonio,--"was it not enough that they toreand tortured him seven times, but they must garble and twist the verywords that he said in his agony? The process they have published isfoully falsified,--stuffed full of improbable lies; for I myself haveread the first draught of all he _did_ say, just as Signor Cecconetook it down as they were torturing him. I had it from Jacopo Manelli,canon of our Duomo here, and he got it from Ceccone's wife herself.They not only can torture and slay him, but they torture and slay hismemory with lies."
"Would I were in God's place for one day!" said Agostino, speakingthrough his clenched teeth. "May I be forgiven for saying so!"
"_We_ are hot and hasty," said Father Antonio, "ever ready to call downfire from heaven; but after all, 'the Lord reigneth, let the earthrejoice.' 'Unto the upright there ariseth light in the darkness.' Ourdear father is sustained in spirit and full of love. Even when theylet him go from the torture, he fell on his knees, praying for histormentors."
"Good God! this passes me!" said Agostino, striking his hands together."Oh, wherefore hath a strong man arms and hands, and a sword, if hemust stand still and see such things done? If I had only my hundredmountaineers here, I would make one charge for him to-morrow. If Icould only _do_ something," he added, striding impetuously up and downthe cell and clenching his fists. "What! hath nobody petitioned to staythis thing?"
"Nobody for him," said Father Antonio. "There was talk in the cityyesterday that Fra Domenico was to be pardoned; in fact, Romalinowas quite inclined to do it, but Battista Alberti talked violentlyagainst it, and so Romalino said, 'Well, a monk more or less isn'tmuch matter,' and then he put his name down for death with the rest.The order was signed by both commissaries of the Pope, and one was FraTuriano, the general of our order, a mild man, full of charity, but
unable to stand against the Pope."
"Mild men are nuisances in such places," said Agostino, hastily; "ourtimes want something of another sort."
"There be many who have fallen away from him even in our house here,"said Father Antonio, "as it was with our blessed Lord, whose disciplesforsook Him and fled. It seems to be the only thought with some howthey shall make their peace with the Pope."
"And so the thing will be hurried through to-morrow," said Agostino,"and when it's done and over, I'll warrant me there will be found kingsand emperors to say they meant to have saved him. It's a vile, evilworld, this of ours; an honorable man longs to see the end of it. But,"he added, coming up and speaking to Father Antonio, "I have a privatemessage for you."
"I am gone this moment," said Baccio, rising with ready courtesy; "butkeep up heart, brother."
So saying, the good-hearted artist left the cell, and Agostino said,--
"I bring tidings to you of your kindred. Your niece and sister are herein Florence, and would see you. You will find them at the house of oneGherardo Rosselli, a rich citizen of noble blood."
"Why are they there?" said the monk, lost in amazement.
"You must know, then, that a most singular discovery hath been madeby your niece at Rome. The sister of her father, being a lady of theprincely blood of Colonna, hath been assured of her birth by theconfession of the priest that married him; and being driven from Romeby fear of the Borgias, they came hither under my escort, and wait tosee you. So, if you will come with me now, I will guide you to them."
"Even so," said Father Antonio.
CHAPTER XXXI
MARTYRDOM
In a shadowy chamber of a room overlooking the grand square of Florencemight be seen, on the next morning, some of the principal personagesof our story. Father Antonio, Baccio della Porta, Agostino Sarelli,the Princess Paulina, Agnes, with her grandmother, and a mixed crowdof citizens and ecclesiastics, who all spoke in hushed and tremulousvoices, as men do in the chamber of mourners at a funeral. Thegreat, mysterious bell of the Campanile was swinging with dismal,heart-shaking toll, like a mighty voice from the spirit-world; andit was answered by the tolling of all the bells in the city, makingsuch wavering clangors and vibrating circles in the air over Florencethat it might seem as if it were full of warring spirits wrestling formastery.
Toll! toll! toll! O great bell of the fair Campanile! for this day thenoblest of the wonderful men of Florence is to be offered up. Toll!for an era is going out,--the era of her artists, her statesmen, herpoets, and her scholars. Toll! for an era is coming in,--the era of herdisgrace and subjugation and misfortune!
The stepping of the vast crowd in the square was like the patter ofa great storm, and the hum of voices rose up like the murmur of theocean; but in the chamber all was so still that one could have heardthe dropping of a pin.
Under the balcony of this room were seated in pomp and state the Papalcommissioners, radiant in gold and scarlet respectability; and Pilateand Herod, on terms of the most excellent friendship, were ready to actover again the part they had acted fourteen hundred years before. Nowhas arrived the moment when the three followers of the Man of Calvaryare to be degraded from the fellowship of His visible Church.
Father Antonio, Agostino, and Baccio stood forth in the balcony, and,drawing in their breath, looked down, as the three men of the hour,pale and haggard with imprisonment and torture, were brought up amidthe hoots and obscene jests of the populace. Savonarola first wasled before the tribunal, and there, with circumstantial minuteness,endued with all his priestly vestments, which again, with separateceremonies of reprobation and ignominy, were taken from him. He stoodthrough it all serene as stood his Master when stripped of His garmentson Calvary. There is a momentary hush of voices and drawing in ofbreaths in the great crowd. The Papal legate takes him by the hand andpronounces the words, "Jerome Savonarola, I separate thee from theChurch Militant and the Church Triumphant."
He is going to speak.
"What says he?" said Agostino, leaning over the balcony.
Solemnly and clear that impressive voice which so often had thrilledthe crowds in that very square made answer,--
"From the Church Militant you _may_ divide me; but from the ChurchTriumphant, _no_,--_that_ is above your power!"--and a light flashedout in his face as if a smile from Christ had shone down upon him.
"Amen!" said Father Antonio; "he hath witnessed a goodconfession,"--and turning, he went in, and, burying his face in hishands, remained in prayer.
When like ceremonies had been passed through with the others, the threemartyrs were delivered to the secular executioner, and, amid thescoffs and jeers of the brutal crowd, turned their faces to the gibbet.
"Brothers, let us sing the Te Deum," said Savonarola.
"Do not so infuriate the mob," said the executioner, "for harm might bedone."
"At least let us repeat it together," said he, "lest we forget it."
And so they went forward, speaking to each other of the gloriouscompany of the apostles, the goodly fellowship of the prophets, thenoble army of martyrs, and giving thanks aloud in that great triumphalhymn of the Church of all Ages.
When the lurid fires were lighted which blazed red and fearful throughthat crowded square, all in that silent chamber fell on their knees,and Father Antonio repeated prayers for departing souls.
To the last, that benignant right hand which had so often pointed theway of life to that faithless city was stretched out over the crowdin the attitude of blessing; and so loving, not hating, praying withexaltation, and rendering blessing for cursing, the souls of themartyrs ascended to the great cloud of witnesses above.
CHAPTER XXXII
CONCLUSION
A few days after the death of Savonarola, Father Antonio was found onemorning engaged in deep converse with Agnes.
The Princess Paulina, acting for her family, desired to give her handto the Prince Agostino Sarelli, and the interview related to thereligious scruples which still conflicted with the natural desires ofthe child.
"Tell me, my little one," said Father Antonio, "frankly and truly, dostthou not love this man with all thy heart?"
"Yes, my father, I do," said Agnes; "but ought I not to resign thislove for the love of my Saviour?"
"I see not why," said the monk. "Marriage is a sacrament as well asholy orders, and it is a most holy and venerable one, representingthe divine mystery by which the souls of the blessed are united tothe Lord. I do not hold with Saint Bernard, who, in his zeal for aconventual life, seemed to see no other way of serving God but forall men and women to become monks and nuns. The holy order is indeedblessed to those souls whose call to it is clear and evident, likemine; but if there be a strong and virtuous love for a worthy object,it is a vocation unto marriage, which should not be denied."
"So, Agnes," said the knight, who had stolen into the room unperceived,and who now boldly possessed himself of one of her hands "FatherAntonio hath decided this matter," he added, turning to the Princessand Elsie, who entered, "and everything having been made ready formy journey into France, the wedding ceremony shall take place on themorrow, and, for that we are in deep affliction, it shall be as privateas may be."
And so on the next morning the wedding ceremony took place, and thebride and groom went on their way to France, where preparationsbefitting their rank awaited them.
Old Elsie was heard to observe to Monica, that there was some sense inmaking pilgrimages, since this to Rome, which she had undertaken sounwillingly, had turned out so satisfactory.
In the reign of Julius II., the banished families who had beenplundered by the Borgias were restored to their rights and honorsat Rome; and there was a princess of the house of Sarelli then atRome, whose sanctity of life and manners was held to go back to thetraditions of primitive Christianity, so that she was renowned not lessfor goodness than for rank and beauty.
In those days, too, Raphael, the friend of Fra Bartolommeo, placedin one of the grandest halls of the Vatican, among
the Apostles andSaints, the image of the traduced and despised martyr whose ashes hadbeen cast to the winds and waters in Florence. His memory lingered longin Italy, so that it was even claimed that miracles were wrought in hisname and by his intercession. Certain it is, that the living words hespoke were seeds of immortal flowers which blossomed in secret dellsand obscure shadows of his beautiful Italy.
Transcriber's Notes:
Punctuation and spelling were made consistent when a predominantpreference was found in this book; otherwise they were not changed.
Simple typographical errors were corrected, sometimes by referencing adifferent edition of this book.
Ambiguous hyphens at the ends of lines were retained.
Page 375: Missing punctuation in: one of her hands "Father Antonio....appears in a different edition as: one of her hands--"Father Antonio....
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