CHAPTER SIXTY FOUR.
THE PROPHET IN HIS CELL.
Tito's visit to San Marco had been announced beforehand, and he was atonce conducted by Fra Niccolo, Savonarola's secretary, up the spiralstaircase into the long corridors lined with cells--corridors where FraAngelico's frescoes, delicate as the rainbow on the melting cloud,startled the unaccustomed eye here and there, as if they had been suddenreflections cast from an ethereal world, where the Madonna sat crownedin her radiant glory, and the Divine infant looked forth with perpetualpromise.
It was an hour of relaxation in the monastery, and most of the cellswere empty. The light through the narrow windows looked in on nothingbut bare walls, and the hard pallet and the crucifix. And even behindthat door at the end of a long corridor, in the inner cell opening froman antechamber where the Prior usually sat at his desk or receivedprivate visitors, the high jet of light fell on only one more objectthat looked quite as common a monastic sight as the bare walls and hardpallet. It was but the back of a figure in the long white Dominicantunic and scapulary, kneeling with bowed head before a crucifix. Itmight have been any ordinary Fra Girolamo, who had nothing worse toconfess than thinking of wrong things when he was singing _in coro_, orfeeling a spiteful joy when Fra Benedetto dropped the ink over his ownminiatures in the breviary he was illuminating--who had no higherthought than that of climbing safely into Paradise up the narrow ladderof prayer, fasting, and obedience. But under this particular whitetunic there was a heart beating with a consciousness inconceivable tothe average monk, and perhaps hard to be conceived by any man who hasnot arrived at self-knowledge through a tumultuous inner life: aconsciousness in which irrevocable errors and lapses from veracity wereso entwined with noble purposes and sincere beliefs, in whichself-justifying expediency was so inwoven with the tissue of a greatwork which the whole being seemed as unable to abandon as the body wasunable to abandon glowing and trembling before the objects of hope andfear, that it was perhaps impossible, whatever course might be adopted,for the conscience to find perfect repose.
Savonarola was not only in the attitude of prayer, there were Latinwords of prayer on his lips; and yet he was not praying. He had enteredhis cell, had fallen on his knees, and burst into words of supplication,seeking in this way for an influx of calmness which would be a warrantto him that the resolutions urged on him by crowding thoughts andpassions were not wresting him away from the Divine support; but theprevisions and impulses which had been at work within him for the lasthour were too imperious; and while he pressed his hands against hisface, and while his lips were uttering audibly. "_Cor mundum crea inme_" his mind was still filled with the images of the snare his enemieshad prepared for him, was still busy with the arguments by which hecould justify himself against their taunts and accusations.
And it was not only against his opponents that Savonarola had to defendhimself. This morning he had had new proof that his friends andfollowers were as much inclined to urge on the Trial by Fire as hisenemies: desiring and tacitly expecting that he himself would at lastaccept the challenge and evoke the long-expected miracle which was todissipate doubt and triumph over malignity. Had he not said that Godwould declare himself at the fitting time? And to the understanding ofplain Florentines, eager to get party questions settled, it seemed thatno time could be more fitting than this. Certainly, if Fra Domenicowalked through the fire unhurt, _that_ would be a miracle, and the faithand ardour of that good brother were felt to be a cheering augury; butSavonarola was acutely conscious that the secret longing of hisfollowers to see him accept the challenge had not been dissipated by anyreasons he had given for his refusal.
Yet it was impossible to him to satisfy them; and with bitter distresshe saw now that it was impossible for him any longer to resist theprosecution of the trial in Fra Domenico's case. Not that Savonarolahad uttered and written a falsity when he declared his belief in afuture supernatural attestation of his work; but his mind was soconstituted that while it was easy for him to believe in a miraclewhich, being distant and undefined, was screened behind the strongreasons he saw for its occurrence, and yet easier for him to have abelief in inward miracles such as his own prophetic inspiration anddivinely-wrought intuitions; it was at the same time insurmountablydifficult to him to believe in the probability of a miracle which, likethis of being carried unhurt through the fire, pressed in all itsdetails on his imagination and involved a demand not only for belief butfor exceptional action.
Savonarola's nature was one of those in which opposing tendenciesco-exist in almost equal strength: the passionate sensibility which,impatient of definite thought, floods every idea with emotion and tendstowards contemplative ecstasy, alternated in him with a keen perceptionof outward facts and a vigorous practical judgment of men and things.And in this case of the Trial by Fire, the latter characteristics werestimulated into unusual activity by an acute physical sensitivenesswhich gives overpowering force to the conception of pain and destructionas a necessary sequence of facts which have already been causes of painin our experience. The promptitude with which men will consent to touchred-hot iron with a wet finger is not to be measured by their theoreticacceptance of the impossibility that the iron will burn them: practicalbelief depends on what is most strongly represented in the mind at agiven moment. And with the Frate's constitution, when the Trial by Firewas urged on his imagination as an immediate demand, it was impossiblefor him to believe that he or any other man could walk through theflames unhurt--impossible for him to believe that even if he resolved tooffer himself, he would not shrink at the last moment.
But the Florentines were not likely to make these fine distinctions. Tothe common run of mankind it has always seemed a proof of mental vigourto find moral questions easy, and judge conduct according to concisealternatives. And nothing was likely to seem plainer than that a manwho at one time declared that God would not leave him without theguarantee of a miracle, and yet drew back when it was proposed to testhis declaration, had said what he did not believe. Were not FraDomenico and Fra Mariano, and scores of Piagnoni besides, ready to enterthe fire? What was the cause of their superior courage, if it was nottheir superior faith? Savonarola could not have explained his conductsatisfactorily to his friends, even if he had been able to explain itthoroughly to himself. And he was not. Our naked feelings make hasteto clothe themselves in propositions which lie at hand among our storeof opinions, and to give a true account of what passes within ussomething else is necessary besides sincerity, even when sincerity isunmixed. In these very moments, when Savonarola was kneeling in audibleprayer, he had ceased to hear the words on his lips. They were drownedby argumentative voices within him that shaped their reasons more andmore for an outward audience.
"To appeal to heaven for a miracle by a rash acceptance of a challenge,which is a mere snare prepared for me by ignoble foes, would be atempting of God, and the appeal would not be responded to. Let thePope's legate come, let the ambassadors of all the great Powers come andpromise that the calling of a General Council and the reform of theChurch shall hang on the miracle, and I will enter the flames, trustingthat God will not withhold His seal from that great work. Until then Ireserve myself for higher duties which are directly laid upon me: it isnot permitted to me to leap from the chariot for the sake of wrestlingwith every loud vaunter. But Fra Domenico's invincible, zeal to enterinto the trial may be the sign of a Divine vocation, may be a pledgethat the miracle--"
But no! when Savonarola brought his mind close to the threatened scenein the Piazza, and imagined a human body entering the fire, his beliefrecoiled again. It was not an event that his imagination could simplysee: he felt it with shuddering vibrations to the extremities of hissensitive fingers. The miracle could not be. Nay, the trial itself wasnot to happen: he was warranted in doing all in his power to hinder it.The fuel might be got ready in the Piazza, the people might beassembled, the preparatory formalities might be gone through: all thiswas perhaps inevitable now, and he could no longer resist
it withoutbringing dishonour on himself? Yes, and therefore on the cause of God.But it was not really intended that the Franciscan should enter thefire, and while _he_ hung back there would be the means of preventingFra Domenico's entrance. At the very worst, if Fra Domenico werecompelled to enter, he should carry the consecrated Host with him, andwith that Mystery in his hand, there might be a warrant for expectingthat the ordinary effects of fire would be stayed; or, more probably,this demand would be resisted, and might thus be a final obstacle to thetrial.
But these intentions could not be avowed: he must appear frankly toawait the trial, and to trust in its issue. That dissidence betweeninward reality and outward seeming was not the Christian simplicityafter which he had striven through years of his youth and prime, andwhich he had preached as a chief fruit of the Divine life. In thestress and heat of the day, with cheeks burning, with shouts ringing inthe ears, who is so blest as to remember the yearnings he had in thecool and silent morning and know that he has not belied them?
"O God, it is for the sake of the people--because they are blind--because their faith depends on me. If I put on sackcloth and castmyself among the ashes, who will take up the standard and head thebattle? Have I not been led by a way which I knew not to the work thatlies before me?"
The conflict was one that could not end, and in the effort at prayerfulpleading the uneasy mind laved its smart continually in thoughts of thegreatness of that task which there was no man else to fulfil if heforsook it. It was not a thing of everyday that a man should beinspired with the vision and the daring that made a sacred rebel.
Even the words of prayer had died away. He continued, to kneel, but hismind was filled with the images of results to be felt through allEurope; and the sense of immediate difficulties was being lost in theglow of that vision, when the knocking at the door announced theexpected visit.
Savonarola drew on his mantle before he left his cell, as was his customwhen he received visitors; and with that immediate response to anyappeal from without which belongs to a power-loving nature accustomed tomake its power felt by speech, he met Tito with a glance asself-possessed and strong as if he had risen from resolution instead ofconflict.
Tito did not kneel, but simply made a greeting of profound deference,which Savonarola received quietly without any sacerdotal words, and thendesiring him to be seated, said at once--
"Your business is something of weight, my son, that could not beconveyed through others?"
"Assuredly, father, else I should not have presumed to ask it. I willnot trespass on your time by any proem. I gathered from a remark ofMesser Domenico Mazzinghi that you might be glad to make use of the nextspecial courier who is sent to France with despatches from the Ten. Imust entreat you to pardon me if I have been too officious; but inasmuchas Messer Domenico is at this moment away at his villa, I wished toapprise you that a courier carrying important letters is about to departfor Lyons at daybreak to-morrow."
The muscles of Fra Girolamo's face were eminently under command, as mustbe the case with all men whose personality is powerful, and indeliberate speech he was habitually cautious, confiding his intentionsto none without necessity. But under any strong mental stimulus, hiseyes were liable to a dilatation and added brilliancy that no strengthof will could control. He looked steadily at Tito, and did not answerimmediately, as if he had to consider whether the information he hadjust heard met any purpose of his.
Tito, whose glance never seemed observant, but rarely let anythingescape it, had expected precisely that dilatation and flash ofSavonarola's eyes which he had noted on other occasions. He saw it, andthen immediately busied himself in adjusting his gold fibula, which hadgot wrong; seeming to imply that he awaited an answer patiently.
The fact was that Savonarola had expected to receive this intimationfrom Domenico Mazzinghi, one of the Ten, an ardent disciple of his whomhe had already employed to write a private letter to the Florentineambassador in France, to prepare the way for a letter to the French kinghimself in Savonarola's handwriting, which now lay ready in the desk athis side. It was a letter calling on the king to assist in summoning aGeneral Council, that might reform the abuses of the Church, and beginby deposing Pope Alexander, who was not rightfully Pope, being a viciousunbeliever, elected by corruption and governing by simony.
This fact was not what Tito knew, but what his constructive talent,guided by subtle indications, had led him to guess and hope.
"It is true, my son," said Savonarola, quietly,--"it is true I haveletters which I would gladly send by safe conveyance under cover to ourambassador. Our community of San Marco, as you know, has affairs inFrance, being, amongst other things, responsible for a debt to thatsingularly wise and experienced Frenchman, Signor Philippe de Comines,on the library of the Medici, which we purchased; but I apprehend thatDomenico Mazzinghi himself may return to the city before evening, and Ishould gain more time for preparation of the letters if I waited todeposit them in his hands."
"Assuredly, reverend father, that might be better on all grounds, exceptone, namely, that if anything occurred to hinder Messer Domenico'sreturn, the despatch of the letters would require either that I shouldcome to San Marco again at a late hour, or that you should send them tome by your secretary; and I am aware that you wish to guard against thefalse inferences which might be drawn from a too frequent communicationbetween yourself and any officer of the government." In throwing outthis difficulty Tito felt that the more unwillingness the Frate showedto trust him, the more certain he would be of his conjecture.
Savonarola was silent; but while he kept his mouth firm, a slight glowrose in his face with the suppressed excitement that was growing withinhim. It would be a critical moment--that in which he delivered theletter out of his own hands.
"It is most probable that Messer Domenico will return in time," saidTito, affecting to consider the Frate's determination settled, andrising from his chair as he spoke. "With your permission, I will takemy leave, father, not to trespass on your time when my errand is done;but as I may not be favoured with another interview, I venture toconfide to you--what is not yet known to others, except to themagnificent Ten--that I contemplate resigning my secretaryship, andleaving Florence shortly. Am I presuming too much on your interest instating what relates chiefly to myself?"
"Speak on, my son," said the Frate; "I desire to know your prospects."
"I find, then, that I have mistaken my real vocation in forsaking thecareer of pure letters, for which I was brought up. The politics ofFlorence, father, are worthy to occupy the greatest mind--to occupyyours--when a man is in a position to execute his own ideas; but when,like me, he can only hope to be the mere instrument of changing schemes,he requires to be animated by the minor attachments of a bornFlorentine: also, my wife's unhappy alienation from a Florentineresidence since the painful events of August naturally influences me. Iwish to join her."
Savonarola inclined his head approvingly.
"I intend, then, soon to leave Florence, to visit the chief courts ofEurope, and to widen my acquaintance with the men of letters in thevarious universities. I shall go first to the court of Hungary, wherescholars are eminently welcome; and I shall probably start in a week orten days. I have not concealed from you, father, that I am no religiousenthusiast; I have not my wife's ardour; but religious enthusiasm, as Iconceive, is not necessary in order to appreciate the grandeur andjustice of your views concerning the government of nations and theChurch. And if you condescend to intrust me with any commission thatwill further the relations you wish to establish, I shall feel honoured.May I now take my leave?"
"Stay, my son. When you depart from Florence I will send a letter toyour wife, of whose spiritual welfare I would fain be assured, for sheleft me in anger. As for the letters to France, such as I have ready--"
Savonarola rose and turned to his desk as he spoke. He took from it aletter on which Tito could see, but not read, an address in the Frate'sown minute and exquisite handwriting, still to be se
en covering themargins of his Bibles. He took a large sheet of paper, enclosed theletter, and sealed it.
"Pardon me, father," said Tito, before Savonarola had time to speak,"unless it were your decided wish, I would rather not incur theresponsibility of carrying away the letter. Messer Domenico Mazzinghiwill doubtless return, or, if not, Fra Niccolo can convey it to me atthe second hour of the evening, when I shall place the other despatchesin the courier's hands."
"At present, my son," said the Frate, waiving that point, "I wish you toaddress this packet to our ambassador in your own handwriting, which ispreferable to my secretary's."
Tito sat down to write the address while the Frate stood by him withfolded arms, the glow mounting in his cheek, and his lip at lastquivering. Tito rose and was about to move away, when Savonarola saidabruptly--"Take it, my son. There is no use in waiting. It does notplease me that Fra Niccolo should have needless errands to the Palazzo."
As Tito took the letter, Savonarola stood in suppressed excitement thatforbade further speech. There seems to be a subtle emanation frompassionate natures like his, making their mental states tell immediatelyon others; when they are absent-minded and inwardly excited there issilence in the air.
Tito made a deep reverence and went out with the letter under hismantle.
The letter was duly delivered to the courier and carried out ofFlorence. But before that happened another messenger, privatelyemployed by Tito, had conveyed information in cipher, which was carriedby a series of relays to armed agents of Ludovico Sforza, Duke of Milan,on the watch for the very purpose of intercepting despatches on theborders of the Milanese territory.