University of Virginia Library

SCENE I.

[A Rectangular Cloister in the Convent of San Marco, its three sides enclosing a Garden, in the centre of which is a Sundial. Five Monks: two of them digging, two pruning roses, one leaning against a pillar, saying his rosary.]
FIRST MONK.
How lean and destitute of life he looks!
He were no worse, if preaching.

SECOND MONK.
Better, sooth!
It burns him to be silent, and his thoughts,
All egress barred, consume him inwardly.

THIRD MONK.
Besides, he parleys with the world unseen,
And communing with spirits makes the flesh
Tenuous as they themselves are.

FOURTH MONK.
Think you so?

FIRST MONK.
Look at him well! He lives in ecstasy,
His body mere commodity of which
The soul makes use, ruthlessly wasting it.
What can a light, when it hath burned too low
But melt the socket? So is it with him.
But hush! he comes.

[Enter Savonarola, followed by Frà Domenico and Frà Silvestro. As he does so, the Monk saying his rosary genuflects and kisses his hand.]
SAVONAROLA.
Well occupied, my son!
In peace and purity possess your soul.
Pray to Saint Dominick.

[Exit the Monk. The two that were digging suspend their work, and all four draw near to Savonarola.]
SAVONAROLA.
How happy you,
My children, thus to cultivate your flowers!
My garden is a desert, and the voice
Of him that wears Rome's mitre on his head
Forbids that I should work among the weeds.

FRÀ DOMENICO.
Heed him not, Father. He is ill-informed,
All Florence waits to hear you.

SAVONAROLA.
Then never cease
Importuning the brethren that they pray
To have this Interdict removed. They should,
Daily, when Matins have been said, recite
The Alma Redemptoris, and at close
Of Vespers and of Compline, sing aloud
Ave Regina. This, with fervent heart,
And Heaven will answer. Go, and tell them this.

[The four Monks make an obeisance, and depart.]
SAVONAROLA.
Show me again your vision of last night.
It seems alive with apt significance.

FRÀ SILVESTRO.
Over the city of Rome there hung a Cross,
Blacker than night itself, whereon was writ
Crux iræ Dei; a cross that reached to Heaven.
The sky was tattered, and while thunders pealed,
Swords flashed, and flames; and many people died.
Then suddenly the sky grew calm, and I
Was not at Rome, but in Jerusalem,
High above which there rose a Cross of Gold,
That scattered light throughout the Universe,
And on its outstretched arms the inscription bore,
Crux misericordiæ Dei, and all mankind
Thronged to adore it.

SAVONAROLA.
Heaven and Hell alike
Send their nocturnal embassies, and dreams
From demons as from angels may proceed;
But this seems heavenly. Prayer alone discerns
Betwixt the upper and the nether world.
Therefore, my son, persist in prayer. And you,
Dear brother Dominick, still hold in charge
The little ones of Florence, for my sake.
Maintain them innocent. The buds that burst
Their hull too soon, are rifled by the wind,
Whose rough familiarity had not
Hurt their maturity.

FRÀ DOMENICO.
Ever what you bid,
I strive to do. On their green hearts I graft
Slips of your teaching.

SAVONAROLA.
Ah! if I could teach!
[He soliloquises, rather than addresses them; and they look on in awe and silence.]
Why do they silence me? Yet better peace,
If peace were to be found! Peace sought too late!
Leaving his home, a youth set out from port,
But when he could no more discern the shore
Whence he had sailed, but only, all around,
The empty cradles of the barren sea,
Bitterly he wept. O Florence! that same youth
Who thus bewailed himself, is none but I,
Who in the haven of the cloister found
Freedom and quietude, two things I loved
Above all others, but from these was lured
To toss upon the city's sinful waves,
Spurred by the hope that preaching I might catch
Some souls for God. Out in the open sea,
O Lord! Thou hast placed me, and I see no port.
Tempest and tribulation hem me round,
And ever onward urgeth me the wind.
Whither, O God! hast Thou conducted me?
Why hast Thou made my name a name of strife,
And cut off my retreat to liberty,
To liberty and peace? Once I was free,
But now enslaved to all. But you, my friends,
Elect of God, for whom both day and night
I struggle in affliction, you, at least,
Have pity upon me! Give me, give me flowers,
Because with love I languish: flowers of good works,
For these are all I long for, that you be
Pleasing to God, and sanctify your souls.
Now, in this whirlwind, pray that I may have
Repose an instant.

[He seems overcome, and leans against one of the pillars of the Cloister. Frà Domenico and Frà Silvestro draw nearer to him. Enter a Lay-brother.]
LAY-BROTHER.
Father, the lady Candida would crave
A conference with you.

SAVONAROLA.
Soul as white as hers
Were not kept waiting at the Gate of Heaven.
Pray her to enter. Go you now, my sons.

[Exeunt Lay-brother, Frà Domenico, and Frà Silvestro. Enter Candida.]