CHAPTER SIXTY THREE.
RIPENING SCHEMES.
A month after that Carnival, one morning near the end of March, Titodescended the marble steps of the Old Palace, bound on a pregnant errandto San Marco. For some reason, he did not choose to take the directroad, which was but a slightly-bent line from the Old Palace; he choserather to make a circuit by the Piazza di Santa Croce, where the peoplewould be pouring out of the church after the early sermon.
It was in the grand church of Santa Croce that the daily Lenten sermonhad of late had the largest audience. For Savonarola's voice had ceasedto be heard even in his own church of San Marco, a hostile Signoriahaving imposed silence on him in obedience to a new letter from thePope, threatening the city with an immediate interdict if this "wretchedworm" and "monstrous idol" were not forbidden to preach, and sent todemand pardon at Rome. And next to hearing Fra Girolamo himself, themost exciting Lenten occupation was to hear him argued against andvilified. This excitement was to be had in Santa Croce, where theFranciscan appointed to preach the Quaresimal sermons had offered toclench his arguments by walking through the fire with Fra Girolamo. Hadnot that schismatical Dominican said, that his prophetic doctrine wouldbe proved by a miracle at the fitting time? Here, then, was the fittingtime. Let Savonarola walk through the fire, and if he came out unhurt,the Divine origin of his doctrine would be demonstrated; but if the fireconsumed him, his falsity would be manifest; and that he might have noexcuse for evading the test, the Franciscan declared himself willing tobe a victim to this high logic, and to be burned for the sake ofsecuring the necessary minor premiss.
Savonarola, according to his habit, had taken no notice of these pulpitattacks. But it happened that the zealous preacher of Santa Croce wasno other than the Fra Francesco di Puglia, who at Prato the year beforehad been engaged in a like challenge with Savonarola's fervent followerFra Domenico, but had been called home by his superiors while the heatwas simply oratorical. Honest Fra Domenico, then, who was preachingLenten sermons to the women in the Via del Cocomero, no sooner heard ofthis new challenge, than he took up the gauntlet for his master, anddeclared himself ready to walk through the fire with Fra Francesco.Already the people were beginning to take a strong interest in whatseemed to them a short and easy method of argument (for those who wereto be convinced), when Savonarola, keenly alive to the dangers that layin the mere discussion of the case, commanded Fra Domenico to withdrawhis acceptance of the challenge and secede from the affair. TheFranciscan declared himself content: he had not directed his challengeto any subaltern, but to Fra Girolamo himself.
After that, the popular interest in the Lenten sermons had flagged alittle. But this morning, when Tito entered the Piazza di Santa Croce,he found, as he expected, that the people were pouring from the churchin large numbers. Instead of dispersing, many of them concentratedthemselves towards a particular spot near the entrance of the Franciscanmonastery, and Tito took the same direction, threading the crowd with acareless and leisurely air, but keeping careful watch on that monasticentrance, as if he expected some object of interest to issue from it.
It was no such expectation that occupied the crowd. The object theywere caring about was already visible to them in the shape of a largeplacard, affixed by order of the Signoria, and covered with very legibleofficial handwriting. But curiosity was somewhat balked by the factthat the manuscript was chiefly in Latin, and though nearly every manknew beforehand approximately what the placard contained, he had anappetite for more exact knowledge, which gave him an irritating sense ofhis neighbour's ignorance in not being able to interpret the learnedtongue. For that aural acquaintance with Latin phrases which theunlearned might pick up from pulpit quotations constantly interpreted bythe preacher could help them little when they saw written Latin; thespelling even of the modern language being in an unorganised andscrambling condition for the mass of people who could read and write,[Note] while the majority of those assembled nearest to the placard werenot in the dangerous predicament of possessing that little knowledge.
"It's the Frate's doctrines that he's to prove by being burned," saidthat large public character Goro, who happened to be among the foremostgazers. "The Signoria has taken it in hand, and the writing is to letus know. It's what the Padre has been telling us about in his sermon."
"Nay, Goro," said a sleek shopkeeper, compassionately, "thou hast gotthy legs into twisted hose there. The Frate has to prove his doctrinesby _not_ being burned: he is to walk through the fire, and come out onthe other side sound and whole."
"Yes, yes," said a young sculptor, who wore his white-streaked cap andtunic with a jaunty air. "But Fra Girolamo objects to walking throughthe fire. Being sound and whole already, he sees no reason why heshould walk through the fire to come out in just the same condition. Heleaves such odds and ends of work to Fra Domenico."
"Then I say he flinches like a coward," said Goro, in a wheezy treble."Suffocation! that was what he did at the Carnival. He had us all inthe Piazza to see the lightning strike him, and nothing came of it."
"Stop that bleating," said a tall shoemaker, who had stepped in to hearpart of the sermon, with bunches of slippers hanging over his shoulders."It seems to me, friend, that you are about as wise as a calf withwater on its brain. The Frate will flinch from nothing: he'll saynothing beforehand, perhaps, but when the moment comes he'll walkthrough the fire without asking any grey-frock to keep him company. ButI would give a shoestring to know what this Latin all is."
"There's so much of it," said the shopkeeper, "else I'm pretty good atguessing. Is there no scholar to be seen?" he added, with a slightexpression of disgust.
There was a general turning of heads, which caused the talkers to descryTito approaching in their rear.
"Here is one," said the young sculptor, smiling and raising his cap.
"It is the secretary of the Ten: he is going to the convent, doubtless;make way for him," said the shopkeeper, also doffing, though that markof respect was rarely shown by Florentines except to the highestofficials. The exceptional reverence was really exacted by thesplendour and grace of Tito's appearance, which made his black mantle,with its gold fibula, look like a regal robe, and his ordinary blackvelvet cap like an entirely exceptional head-dress. The hardening ofhis cheeks and mouth, which was the chief change in his face since hecame to Florence, seemed to a superficial glance only to give his beautya more masculine character. He raised his own cap immediately andsaid--
"Thanks, my friend, I merely wished, as you did, to see what is at thefoot of this placard--ah, it is as I expected. I had been informed thatthe government permits any one who will, to subscribe his name as acandidate to enter the fire--which is an act of liberality worthy of themagnificent Signoria--reserving of course the right to make a selection.And doubtless many believers will be eager to subscribe their names.For what is it to enter the fire, to one whose faith is firm? A man isafraid of the fire, because he believes it will burn him; but if hebelieves the contrary?"--here Tito lifted his shoulders and made anoratorical pause--"for which reason I have never been one to disbelievethe Frate, when he has said that he would enter the fire to prove hisdoctrine. For in his place, if you believed the fire would not burnyou, which of you, my friends, would not enter it as readily as youwould walk along the dry bed of the Mugnone?"
As Tito looked round him during this appeal, there was a change in someof his audience very much like the change in an eager dog when he isinvited to smell something pungent. Since the question of burning wasbecoming practical, it was not every one who would rashly commit himselfto any general view of the relation between faith and fire. The scenemight have been too much for a gravity less under command than Tito's.
"Then, Messer Segretario," said the young sculptor, "it seems to me FraFrancesco is the greater hero, for he offers to enter the fire for thetruth, though he is sure the fire will burn him."
"I do not deny it," said Tito, blandly. "But if it turns out that FraFrancesco is mistaken,
he will have been burned for the wrong side, andthe Church has never reckoned such victims to be martyrs. We mustsuspend our judgment until the trial has really taken place."
"It is true, Messer Segretario," said the shopkeeper, with subduedimpatience. "But will you favour us by interpreting the Latin?"
"Assuredly," said Tito. "It does but express the conclusions ordoctrines which the Frate specially teaches, and which the trial by fireis to prove true or false. They are doubtless familiar to you. First,that Florence--"
"Let us have the Latin bit by bit, and then tell us what it means," saidthe shoemaker, who had been a frequent hearer of Fra Girolamo.
"Willingly," said Tito, smiling. "You will then judge if I give you theright meaning."
"Yes, yes; that's fair," said Goro.
"_Ecclesia Dei indiget renovatione_; that is, the Church of God needspurifying or regenerating."
"It is true," said several voices at once.
"That means, the priests ought to lead better lives; there needs nomiracle to prove that. That's what the Frate has always been saying,"said the shoemaker.
"_Flagellabitur_," Tito went on. "That is, it will be scourged._Renovabitur_: it will be purified. _Florentia quoque post flagellamrenovabitur et prosperabitur_: Florence also, after the scourging, shallbe purified and shall prosper."
"That means we are to get Pisa again," said the shopkeeper.
"And get the wool from England as we used to do, I should hope," said anelderly man, in an old-fashioned berretta, who had been silent till now."There's been scourging enough with the sinking of the trade."
At this moment, a tall personage, surmounted by a red feather, issuedfrom the door of the convent, and exchanged an indifferent glance withTito; who, tossing his becchetto carelessly over his left shoulder,turned to his reading again, while the bystanders, with more timiditythan respect, shrank to make a passage for Messer Dolfo Spini.
"_Infideles convertentur ad Christum_," Tito went on. "That is, theinfidels shall be converted to Christ."
"Those are the Turks and the Moors. Well, I've nothing to say againstthat," said the shopkeeper, dispassionately.
"_Haec autem omnia erunt temporibus nostris_: and all these things shallhappen in our times."
"Why, what use would they be else?" said Goro.
"_Excommunicato nuper lata contra Reverendum Patrem nostrum FratremHieronymum nulla est_: the excommunication lately pronounced against ourreverend father, Fra Girolamo, is null. _Non observantes eam nonpeccant_: those who disregard it are not committing a sin."
"I shall know better what to say to that when we have had the Trial byFire," said the shopkeeper.
"Which doubtless will clear up everything," said Tito. "That is all theLatin--all the conclusions that are to be proved true or false by thetrial. The rest you can perceive is simply a proclamation of theSignoria in good Tuscan, calling on such as are eager to walk throughthe fire, to come to the Palazzo and subscribe their names. Can I serveyou further? If not--"
Tito, as he turned away, raised his cap and bent slightly, with so easyan air that the movement seemed a natural prompting of deference.
He quickened his pace as he left the Piazza, and after two or threeturnings he paused in a quiet street before a door at which he gave alight and peculiar knock. It was opened by a young woman whom hechucked under the chin as he asked her if the Padrone was within, and hethen passed, without further ceremony, through another door which stoodajar on his right-hand. It admitted him into a handsome but untidyroom, where Dolfo Spini sat playing with a fine stag-hound whichalternately snuffed at a basket of pups and licked his hands with that,affectionate disregard of her master's morals sometimes held to be oneof the most agreeable attributes of her sex. He just looked up as Titoentered, but continued his play, simply from that disposition topersistence in some irrelevant action, by which slow-witted sensualpeople seem to be continually counteracting their own purposes. Titowas patient.
"A handsome _bracca_ that," he said, quietly, standing with his thumbsin his belt. Presently he added, in that cool liquid tone which seemedmild, but compelled attention, "When you have finished such caresses ascannot possibly be deferred, my Dolfo, we will talk of business, if youplease. My time, which I could wish to be eternity at your service, isnot entirely my own this morning."
"Down, Mischief, down!" said Spini, with sudden roughness."Malediction!" he added, still more gruffly, pushing the dog aside;then, starting from his seat, he stood close to Tito, and put a hand onhis shoulder as he spoke.
"I hope your sharp wits see all the ins and outs of this business, myfine necromancer, for it seems to me no clearer than the bottom of asack."
"What is your difficulty, my cavalier?"
"These accursed Frati Minori at Santa Croce. They are drawing back now.Fra Francesco himself seems afraid of sticking to his challenge; talksof the Prophet being likely to use magic to get up a false miracle--thinks he himself might be dragged into the fire and burned, and theProphet might come out whole by magic, and the Church be none thebetter. And then, after all our talking, there's not so much as ablessed lay brother who will offer himself to pair with that pious sheepFra Domenico."
"It is the peculiar stupidity of the tonsured skull that prevents themfrom seeing of how little consequence it is whether they are burned ornot," said Tito. "Have you sworn well to them that they shall be in nodanger of entering the fire?"
"No," said Spini, looking puzzled; "because one of them will be obligedto go in with Fra Domenico, who thinks it a thousand years till thefagots are ready."
"Not at all. Fra Domenico himself is not likely to go in. I have toldyou before, my Dolfo, only your powerful mind is not to be impressedwithout more repetition than suffices for the vulgar--I have told youthat now you have got the Signoria to take up this affair and prevent itfrom being hushed up by Fra Girolamo, nothing is necessary but that on agiven day the fuel should be prepared in the Piazza, and the people gottogether with the expectation of seeing something prodigious. If, afterthat, the Prophet quits the Piazza without any appearance of a miracleon his side, he is ruined with the people: they will be ready to pelthim out of the city, the Signoria will find it easy to banish him fromthe territory, and his Holiness may do as he likes with him. Therefore,my Alcibiades, swear to the Franciscans that their grey-frocks shall notcome within singeing distance of the fire."
Spini rubbed the back of his head with one hand, and tapped his swordagainst his leg with the other, to stimulate his power of seeing theseintangible combinations.
"But," he said presently, looking up again, "unless we fall on him inthe Piazza, when the people are in a rage, and make an end of him andhis lies then and there, Valori and the Salviati and the Albizzi willtake up arms and raise a fight for him. I know that was talked of whenthere was the hubbub on Ascension Sunday. And the people may turn roundagain: there may be a story raised of the French king coming again, orsome other cursed chance in the hypocrite's favour. The city will neverbe safe till he's out of it."
"He _will_ be out of it before long, without your giving yourself anyfurther trouble than this little comedy of the Trial by Fire. The wineand the sun will make vinegar without any shouting to help them, as yourFlorentine sages would say. You will have the satisfaction ofdelivering your city from an incubus by an able stratagem, instead ofrisking blunders with sword-thrusts."
"But suppose he _did_ get magic and the devil to help him, and walkthrough the fire after all?" said Spini, with a grimace intended to hidea certain shyness in trenching on this speculative ground. "How do youknow there's nothing in those things? Plenty of scholars believe inthem, and this Frate is bad enough for anything."
"Oh, of course there are such things," said Tito, with a shrug: "but Ihave particular reasons for knowing that the Frate is not on such termswith the devil as can give him any confidence in this affair. The onlymagic he relies on is his own ability."
"Ability!" said Spini. "Do you call it abi
lity to be setting Florenceat loggerheads with the Pope and all the powers of Italy--all to keepbeckoning at the French king who never comes? You may call him able,but I call him a hypocrite, who wants to be master of everybody, and gethimself made Pope."
"You judge with your usual penetration, my captain, but our opinions donot clash. The Frate, wanting to be master, and to carry out hisprojects against the Pope, requires the lever of a foreign power, andrequires Florence as a fulcrum. I used to think him a narrow-mindedbigot, but now, I think him a shrewd ambitious man who knows what he isaiming at, and directs his aim as skilfully as you direct a ball whenyou are playing at _maglio_."
"Yes, yes," said Spini, cordially, "I can aim a ball."
"It is true," said Tito, with bland gravity; "and I should not havetroubled you with my trivial remark on the Frate's ability, but that youmay see how this will heighten the credit of your success against him atRome and at Milan, which is sure to serve you in good stead when thecity comes to change its policy."
"Well, thou art a good little demon, and shalt have good pay," saidSpini, patronisingly; whereupon he thought it only natural that theuseful Greek adventurer should smile with gratification as he said--
"Of course, any advantage to me depends entirely on your--"
"We shall have our supper at my palace to-night," interrupted Spini,with a significant nod and an affectionate pat on Tito's shoulder, "andI shall expound the new scheme to them all."
"Pardon, my magnificent patron," said Tito; "the scheme has been thesame from the first--it has never varied except in your memory. Are yousure you have fast hold of it now?"
Spini rehearsed.
"One thing more," he said, as Tito was hastening away. "There is thatsharp-nosed notary, Ser Ceccone; he has been handy of late. Tell me,you who can see a man wink when you're behind him, do you think I may goon making use of him?"
Tito dared not say "No." He knew his companion too well to trust himwith advice when all Spini's vanity and self-interest were not engagedin concealing the adviser.
"Doubtless," he answered, promptly. "I have nothing to say againstCeccone."
That suggestion of the notary's intimate access to Spini caused Tito apassing twinge, interrupting his amused satisfaction in the success withwhich he made a tool of the man who fancied himself a patron. For hehad been rather afraid of Ser Ceccone. Tito's nature made himpeculiarly alive to circumstances that might be turned to hisdisadvantage; his memory was much haunted by such possibilities,stimulating him to contrivances by which he might ward them off. And itwas not likely that he should forget that October morning more than ayear ago, when Romola had appeared suddenly before him at the door ofNello's shop, and had compelled him to declare his certainty that FraGirolamo was not going outside the gates. The fact that Ser Ceccone hadbeen a witness of that scene, together with Tito's perception that forsome reason or other he was an object of dislike to the notary, hadreceived a new importance from the recent turn of events. For afterhaving been implicated in the Medicean plots, and having found itadvisable in consequence to retire into the country for some time, SerCeccone had of late, since his reappearance in the city, attachedhimself to the Arrabbiati, and cultivated the patronage of Dolfo Spini.Now that captain of the Compagnacci was much given, when in the companyof intimates, to confidential narrative about his own doings, and if SerCeccone's powers of combination were sharpened by enmity, he mightgather some knowledge which he could use against Tito with veryunpleasant results.
It would be pitiable to be balked in well-conducted schemes by aninsignificant notary; to be lamed by the sting of an insect whom he hadoffended unawares. "But," Tito said to himself, "the man's dislike tome can be nothing deeper than the ill-humour of a dinnerless dog; Ishall conquer it if I can make him prosperous." And he had been veryglad of an opportunity which had presented itself of providing thenotary with a temporary post as an extra _cancelliere_ or registeringsecretary under the Ten, believing that with this sop and theexpectation of more, the waspish cur must be quite cured of thedisposition to bite him.
But perfect scheming demands omniscience, and the notary's envy had beenstimulated into hatred by causes of which Tito knew nothing. Thatevening when Tito, returning from his critical audience with the SpecialCouncil, had brushed by Ser Ceccone on the stairs, the notary, who hadonly just returned from Pistoja, and learned the arrest of theconspirators, was bound on an errand which bore a humble resemblance toTito's. He also, without giving up a show of popular zeal, had beenputting in the Medicean lottery. He also had been privy to theunexecuted plot, and was willing to tell what he knew, but knew muchless to tell. He also would have been willing to go on treacherouserrands, but a more eligible agent had forestalled him. Hispropositions were received coldly; the council, he was told, was alreadyin possession of the needed information, and since he had been thus busyin sedition, it would be well for him to retire out of the way ofmischief, otherwise the government might be obliged to take note of him.Ser Ceccone wanted no evidence to make him attribute his failure toTito, and his spite was the more bitter because the nature of the casecompelled him to hold his peace about it. Nor was this the whole of hisgrudge against the flourishing Melema. On issuing from hishiding-place, and attaching himself to the Arrabbiati, he had earnedsome pay as one of the spies who reported information on Florentineaffairs to the Milanese court; but his pay had been small,notwithstanding his pains to write full letters, and he had lately beenapprised that his news was seldom more than a late and imperfect editionof what was known already. Now Ser Ceccone had no positive knowledgethat Tito had an underhand connection with the Arrabbiati and the Courtof Milan, but he had a suspicion of which he chewed the cud with asstrong a sense of flavour as if it had been a certainty.
This fine-grown vigorous hatred could swallow the feeble opiate ofTito's favours, and be as lively as ever after it. Why should SerCeccone like Melema any the better for doing him favours? Doubtless thesuave secretary had his own ends to serve; and what right had he to thesuperior position which made it possible for him to show favour? Butsince he had tuned his voice to flattery, Ser Ceccone would pitch his inthe same key, and it remained to be seen who would win at the game ofoutwitting.
To have a mind well oiled with that sort of argument which prevents anyclaim from grasping it, seems eminently, convenient sometimes; only theoil becomes objectionable when we find it anointing other minds on whichwe want to establish a hold.
Tito, however, not being quite omniscient, felt now no more than apassing twinge of uneasiness at the suggestion of Ser Ceccone's power tohurt him. It was only for a little while that he cared greatly aboutkeeping clear of suspicions and hostility. He was now playing his finalgame in Florence, and the skill he was conscious of applying gave him apleasure in it even apart from the expected winnings. The errand onwhich he was sent to San Marco was a stroke in which he felt so muchconfidence that he had already given notice to the Ten of his desire toresign his office at an indefinite period within the next month or two,and had obtained permission to make that resignation suddenly, if hisaffairs needed it, with the understanding that Niccolo Macchiavelli wasto be his provisional substitute, if not his successor. He was actingon hypothetic grounds, but this was the sort of action that had thekeenest interest for his diplomatic mind. From a combination of generalknowledge concerning Savonarola's purposes with diligently observeddetails he had framed a conjecture which he was about to verify by thisvisit to San Marco. If he proved to be right, his game would be won,and he might soon turn his back on Florence. He looked eagerly towardsthat consummation, for many circumstances besides his own weariness ofthe place told him that it was time for him to be gone.
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Note. The old diarists throw in their consonants with a regard ratherto quantity than position, well typified by the _Ragnolo Braghiello_(Agnolo Gabriello) of Boccaccio's Ferondo.