CHAPTER FIFTY NINE.
PLEADING.
The morning was in its early brightness when Romola was again on her wayto San Marco, having obtained through Fra Salvestro, the evening before,the promise of an interview with Fra Girolamo in the chapter-house ofthe convent. The rigidity with which Savonarola guarded his life fromall the pretexts of calumny made such interviews very rare, and wheneverthey were granted, they were kept free from any appearance of mystery.For this reason the hour chosen was one at which there were likely to beother visitors in the outer cloisters of San Marco.
She chose to pass through the heart of the city that she might noticethe signs of public feeling. Every loggia, every convenient corner ofthe piazza, every shop that made a rendezvous for gossips, was astirwith the excitement of gratuitous debate; a languishing trade tending tomake political discussion all the more vigorous. It was clear that theparties for and against the death of the conspirators were bent onmaking the fullest use of the three days' interval in order to determinethe popular mood. Already handbills were in circulation; somepresenting, in large print, the alternative of justice on theconspirators or ruin to the Republic; others in equally large printurging the observance of the law and the granting of the Appeal. Roundthese jutting islets of black capitals there were lakes of smallercharacters setting forth arguments less necessary to be read: for it wasan opinion entertained at that time (in the first flush of triumph atthe discovery of printing), that there was no argument more widelyconvincing than question-begging phrases in large type.
Romola, however, cared especially to become acquainted with thearguments in smaller type, and, though obliged to hasten forward, shelooked round anxiously as she went that she might miss no opportunity ofsecuring copies. For a long way she saw none but such as were in thehands of eager readers, or else fixed on the walls, from which in someplaces the sbirri were tearing them down. But at last, passing behindSan Giovanni with a quickened pace that she might avoid the manyacquaintances who frequented the piazza, she saw Bratti with a stock ofhandbills which he appeared to be exchanging for small coin with thepassers-by. She was too familiar with the humble life of Florence forBratti to be any stranger to her, and turning towards him she said,"Have you two sorts of handbills, Bratti? Let me have them quickly."
"Two sorts," said Bratti, separating the wet sheets with a slowness thattried Romola's patience. "There's `Law,' and there's `Justice.'"
"Which sort do you sell most of?"
"`Justice'--`Justice' goes the quickest,--so I raised the price, andmade it two danari. But then I bethought me the `Law' was good waretoo, and had as good a right to be charged for as `Justice;' for peopleset no store by cheap things, and if I sold the `Law' at one danaro, Ishould be doing it a wrong. And I'm a fair trader. `Law,' or`Justice,' it's all one to me; they're good wares. I got 'em both fornothing, and I sell 'em at a fair profit. But you'll want more than oneof a sort?"
"No, no: here's a white quattrino for the two," said Romola, folding upthe bills and hurrying away.
She was soon in the outer cloisters of San Marco, where Fra Salvestrowas awaiting her under the cloister, but did not notice the approach ofher light step. He was chatting, according to his habit, with layvisitors; for under the auspices of a government friendly to the Frate,the timidity about frequenting San Marco, which had followed on thefirst shock of the Excommunication, had been gradually giving way. Inone of these lay visitors she recognised a well-known satellite ofFrancesco Valori, named Andrea Cambini, who was narrating or expoundingwith emphatic gesticulation, while Fra Salvestro was listening with thatair of trivial curiosity which tells that the listener cares very muchabout news and very little about its quality. This characteristic ofher confessor, which was always repulsive to Romola, was madeexasperating to her at this moment by the certainty she gathered, fromthe disjointed words which reached her ear, that Cambini was narratingsomething relative to the fate of the conspirators. She chose not toapproach the group, but as soon as she saw that she had arrested FraSalvestro's attention, she turned towards the door of the chapter-house,while he, making a sign of approval, disappeared within the innercloister. A lay Brother stood ready to open the door of thechapter-house for her, and closed it behind her as she entered.
Once more looked at by those sad frescoed figures which had seemed to bemourning with her at the death of her brother Dino, it was inevitablethat something of that scene should come back to her; but the intenseoccupation of her mind with the present made the remembrance less aretrospect than an indistinct recurrence of impressions which blendedthemselves with her agitating fears, as if her actual anxiety were arevival of the strong yearning she had once before brought to thisspot--to be repelled by marble rigidity. She gave no space for theremembrance to become more definite, for she at once opened thehandbills, thinking she should perhaps be able to read them in theinterval before Fra Girolamo appeared. But by the time she had read tothe end of the one that recommended the observance of the law, the doorwas opening, and doubling up the papers she stood expectant.
When the Frate had entered she knelt, according to the usual practice ofthose who saw him in private; but as soon as he had uttered abenedictory greeting she rose and stood opposite to him at a few yards'distance. Owing to his seclusion since he had been excommunicated, ithad been an unusually long while since she had seen him, and the latemonths had visibly deepened in his face the marks of over-taxed mentalactivity and bodily severities; and yet Romola was not so conscious ofthis change as of another, which was less definable. Was it that theexpression of serene elevation and pure human fellowship which had oncemoved her was no longer present in the same force, or was it that thesense of his being divided from her in her feeling about her godfatherroused the slumbering sources of alienation, and marred her own vision?Perhaps both causes were at work. Our relations with our fellow-men aremost often determined by coincident currents of that sort; theinexcusable word or deed seldom comes until after affection or reverencehas been already enfeebled by the strain of repeated excuses.
It was true that Savonarola's glance at Romola had some of that hardnesswhich is caused by an egotistic prepossession. He divined that theinterview she had sought was to turn on the fate of the conspirators, asubject on which he had already had to quell inner voices that mightbecome loud again when encouraged from without. Seated in his cell,correcting the sheets of his `Triumph of the Cross,' it was easier torepose on a resolution of neutrality.
"It is a question of moment, doubtless, on which you wished to see me,my daughter," he began, in a tone which was gentle rather fromself-control than from immediate inclination. "I know you are not wontto lay stress on small matters."
"Father, you know what it is before I tell you," said Romola, forgettingeverything else as soon as she began to pour forth her plea. "You knowwhat I am caring for--it is for the life of the old man I love best inthe world. The thought of him has gone together with the thought of myfather as long as I remember the daylight. That is my warrant forcoming to you, even if my coming should have been needless. Perhaps itis: perhaps you have already determined that your power over the heartsof men shall be used to prevent them from denying to Florentines a rightwhich you yourself helped to earn for them."
"I meddle not with the functions of the State, my daughter," said FraGirolamo, strongly disinclined to reopen externally a debate which hehad already gone through inwardly. "I have preached and laboured thatFlorence should have a good government, for a good government is needfulto the perfecting of the Christian life; but I keep away my hands fromparticular affairs which it is the office of experienced citizens toadminister."
"Surely, father--" Romola broke off. She had uttered this first wordalmost impetuously, but she was checked by the counter-agitation offeeling herself in an attitude of remonstrance towards the man who hadbeen the source of guidance and strength to her. In the act ofrebelling she was bruising her own reverence.
Savonarola was too keen not
to divine something of the conflict that wasarresting her--too noble, deliberately to assume in calm speech thatself-justifying evasiveness into which he was often hurried in public bythe crowding impulses of the orator.
"Say what is in your heart; speak on, my daughter," he said, standingwith his arms laid one upon the other, and looking at her with quietexpectation.
"I was going to say, father, that this matter is surely of higher momentthan many about which I have heard you preach and exhort fervidly. Ifit belonged to you to urge that men condemned for offences against theState should have the right to appeal to the Great Council--if--" Romolawas getting eager again--"if you count it a glory to have won that rightfor them, can it less belong to you to declare yourself against theright being denied to almost the first men who need it? Surely thattouches the Christian life more closely than whether you knew beforehandthat the Dauphin would die, or whether Pisa will be conquered."
There was a subtle movement, like a subdued sign of pain, inSavonarola's strong lips, before he began to speak.
"My daughter, I speak as it is given me to speak--I am not master of thetimes when I may become the vehicle of knowledge beyond the commonlights of men. In this case I have no illumination beyond what wisdommay give to those who are charged with the safety of the State. As tothe law of Appeal against the Six Votes, I laboured to have it passed inorder that no Florentine should be subject to loss of life and goodsthrough the private hatred of a few who might happen to be in power; butthese five men, who have desired to overthrow a free government andrestore a corrupt tyrant, have been condemned with the assent of a largeassembly of their fellow-citizens. They refused at first to have theircause brought before the Great Council. They have lost the right to theappeal."
"How can they have lost it?" said Romola. "It is the right to appealagainst condemnation, and they have never been condemned till now; and,forgive me, father, it _is_ private hatred that would deny them theappeal; it _is_ the violence of the few that frightens others; else whywas the assembly divided again directly after it had seemed to agree?And if anything weighs against the observance of the law, let this weighfor it--this, that you used to preach more earnestly than all else, thatthere should be no place given to hatred and bloodshed because of theseparty strifes, so that private ill-will should not find itsopportunities in public acts. Father, you know that there is privatehatred concerned here: will it not dishonour you not to have interposedon the side of mercy, when there are many who hold that it is also theside of law and justice?"
"My daughter," said Fra Girolamo, with more visible emotion than before,"there is a mercy which is weakness, and even treason against the commongood. The safety of Florence, which means even more than the welfare ofFlorentines, now demands severity, as it once demanded mercy. It is notonly for a past plot that these men are condemned, but also for a plotwhich has not yet been executed; and the devices that were leading toits execution are not put an end to: the tyrant is still gathering hisforces in Romagna, and the enemies of Florence, who sit in the highestplaces of Italy, are ready to hurl any stone that will crush her."
"What plot?" said Romola, reddening, and trembling with alarmedsurprise.
"You carry papers in your hand, I see," said Fra Girolamo, pointing tothe handbills. "One of them will, perhaps, tell you that the governmenthas had new information."
Romola hastily opened the handbill she had not yet read, and saw thatthe government had now positive evidence of a second plot, which was tohave been carried out in this August time. To her mind it was likereading a confirmation that Tito had won his safety by foul means; hispretence of wishing that the Frate should exert himself on behalf of thecondemned only helped the wretched conviction. She crushed up the paperin her hand, and, turning to Savonarola, she said, with new passion,"Father, what safety can there be for Florence when the worst man canalways escape? And," she went on, a sudden flash of remembrance comingfrom the thought about her husband, "have not you yourself encouragedthis deception which corrupts the life of Florence, by wanting morefavour to be shown to Lorenzo Tornabuoni, who has worn two faces, andflattered you with a show of affection, when my godfather has alwaysbeen honest? Ask all Florence who of those five men has the truestheart, and there will not be many who will name any other name thanBernardo del Nero. You did interpose with Francesco Valori for the sakeof one prisoner: you have _not_ then been neutral; and you know thatyour word will be powerful."
"I do not desire the death of Bernardo," said Savonarola, colouringdeeply. "It would be enough if he were sent out of the city."
"Then why do you not speak to save an old man of seventy-five from dyinga death of ignominy--to give him at least the fair chances of the law?"burst out Romola, the impetuosity of her nature so roused that sheforgot everything but her indignation. "It is not that you feel boundto be neutral; else why did you speak for Lorenzo Tornabuoni? You spokefor him because he is more friendly to San Marco; my godfather feigns nofriendship. It is not, then, as a Medicean that my godfather is to die;it is as a man you have no love for!"
When Romola paused, with cheeks glowing, and with quivering lips, therewas dead silence. As she saw Fra Girolamo standing motionless beforeher, she seemed to herself to be hearing her own words over again; wordsthat in this echo of consciousness were in strange, painful dissonancewith the memories that made part of his presence to her. The moments ofsilence were expanded by gathering compunction and self-doubt. She hadcommitted sacrilege in her passion. And even the sense that she couldretract nothing of her plea, that her mind could not submit itself toSavonarola's negative, made it the more needful to her to satisfy thosereverential memories. With a sudden movement towards him she said--
"Forgive me, father; it is pain to me to have spoken those words--yet Icannot help speaking. I am little and feeble compared with you; youbrought me light and strength. But I submitted because I felt theproffered strength--because I saw the light. _Now_ I cannot see it.Father, you yourself declare that there comes a moment when the soulmust have no guide but the voice within it, to tell whether theconsecrated thing has sacred virtue. And therefore I must speak."
Savonarola had that readily-roused resentment towards opposition, hardlyseparable from a power-loving and powerful nature, accustomed to seekgreat ends that cast a reflected grandeur on the means by which they aresought. His sermons have much of that red flame in them. And if he hadbeen a meaner man his susceptibility might have shown itself inirritation at Romola's accusatory freedom, which was in strong contrastwith the deference he habitually received from his disciples. But atthis moment such feelings were nullified by that hard struggle whichmade half the tragedy of his life--the struggle of a mind possessed by anever-silent hunger after purity and simplicity, yet caught in a tangleof egoistic demands, false ideas, and difficult outward conditions, thatmade simplicity impossible. Keenly alive to all the suggestions ofRomola's remonstrating words, he was rapidly surveying, as he had donebefore, the courses of action that were open to him, and their probableresults. But it was a question on which arguments could seem decisiveonly in proportion as they were charged with feeling, and he hadreceived no impulse that could alter his bias. He looked at Romola, andsaid--
"You have full pardon for your frankness, my daughter. You speak, Iknow, out of the fulness of your family affections. But theseaffections must give way to the needs of the Republic. If those men whohave a close acquaintance with the affairs of the State believe, as Iunderstand they do, that the public safety requires the extremepunishment of the law to fall on the five conspirators, I cannot controltheir opinion, seeing that I stand aloof from such affairs."
"Then you desire that they should die? You desire that the Appealshould be denied them?" said Romola, feeling anew repelled by avindication which seemed to her to have the nature of a subterfuge.
"I have said that I do not desire their death."
"Then," said Romola, her indignation rising again, "you can beindifferent that Florenti
nes should inflict death which you do notdesire, when you might have protested against it--when you might havehelped to hinder it, by urging the observance of a law which you held itgood to get passed. Father, you used not to stand aloof: you used notto shrink from protesting. Do not say you cannot protest where thelives of men are concerned; say rather, you desire their death. Sayrather, you hold it good for Florence that there shall be more blood andmore hatred. Will the death of five Mediceans put an end to parties inFlorence? Will the death of a noble old man like Bernardo del Nero savea city that holds such men as Dolfo Spini?"
"My daughter, it is enough. The cause of freedom, which is the cause ofGod's kingdom upon earth, is often most injured by the enemies who carrywithin them the power of certain human virtues. The wickedest man isoften not the most insurmountable obstacle to the triumph of good."
"Then why do you say again, that you do not desire my godfather'sdeath?" said Romola, in mingled anger and despair. "Rather, you hold itthe more needful he should die because he is the better man. I cannotunravel your thoughts, father; I cannot hear the real voice of yourjudgment and conscience."
There was a moment's pause. Then Savonarola said, with keener emotionthan he had yet shown--
"Be thankful, my daughter, if your own soul has been spared perplexity;and judge not those to whom a harder lot has been given. _You_ see oneground of action in this matter. I see many. I have to choose thatwhich will farther the work intrusted to me. The end I seek is one towhich minor respects must be sacrificed. The death of five men--werethey less guilty than these--is a light matter weighed against thewithstanding of the vicious tyrannies which stifle the life of Italy,and foster the corruption of the Church; a light matter weighed againstthe furthering of God's kingdom upon earth, the end for which I live andam willing myself to die."
Under any other circumstances, Romola would have been sensitive to theappeal at the beginning of Savonarola's speech; but at this moment shewas so utterly in antagonism with him, that what he called perplexityseemed to her sophistry and doubleness; and as he went on, his wordsonly fed that flame of indignation, which now again, more fully thanever before, lit up the memory of all his mistakes, and made her trustin him seem to have been a purblind delusion. She spoke almost withbitterness.
"Do you, then, know so well what will further the coming of God'skingdom, father, that you will dare to despise the plea of mercy--ofjustice--of faithfulness to your own teaching? Has the French king,then, brought renovation to Italy? Take care, father, lest your enemieshave some reason when they say, that in your visions of what willfurther God's kingdom you see only what will strengthen your own party."
"And that is true!" said Savonarola, with flashing eyes. Romola's voicehad seemed to him in that moment the voice of his enemies. "The causeof my party _is_ the cause of God's kingdom."
"I do not believe it!" said Romola, her whole frame shaken withpassionate repugnance. "God's kingdom is something wider--else, let mestand outside it with the beings that I love."
The two faces were lit up, each with an opposite emotion, each with anopposite certitude. Further words were impossible. Romola hastilycovered her head and went out in silence.