University of Virginia Library

SCENE V.

VALORI.
I greet you, gentlemen!

[Exit.]
CORSINI.
His glance is bright.
But often so are suns before they set.
I ween his day is over.

BONSI.
It may be
The austere Candida has smiled on him.
Reasons of State could lend him no such glow.

VESPUCCI.
I saw a troop of gallants yesterday,
Who wagered his destruction: cousins all
Of Tornabuoni he denounced to death.

CORSINI.
Ha! have they then returned? Significant!
When storks fly back to roofs that have been fired,
It shows the flames are out that ravaged them!

BONSI
Perhaps not out, but turned the other way,
Gainst those that flashed the flint.

VESPUCCI.
It is the hour
Denoted for the Ordeal of Fire.
We ought to have been there.

CORSINI.
Too childish work!
Fit for the fools that gape at tombola!
Yet licensed by the Signory!

BONSI.
'Chance more wise
In that indulgence than in many a stroke
Reputed statecraft. Here is one that comes,
Likely can tell us how 'tis prospering.
[Enter Soderini (right).]
Say, come you from the Ordeal?

SODERINI.
Straight and swift.

VESPUCCI.
Who has been burnt?

CORSINI.
Why, surely all of them.

SODERINI.
Nay, not a cowl nor single sandal scorched.
A splendid fire! an appetising fire!
But not a single friar to be fried.

BONSI.
Came they not then?

SODERINI.
O yes, they came in shoals,
Franciscans and Dominicans alike,
And went away again. 'Twas holy sport.
[Enter Cei (right).]
Was it not, Cei? Tell these gentlemen.

CEI.
'Tis easy told. The Loggia de' Lanzi
Was split in half: half to Saint Dominick,
And t' other to Saint Francis. I should count
At least two hundred champions from Saint Mark's,
Headed by Frà Domenico; with these,
Marcuccio Salviati and his train,
Who with his sword a line upon the ground
Irately scratched, vowing that he who crossed
Should taste his point.

VESPUCCI.
But Spini sure was there?

SODERINI.
Briskly he was, and round him all his lads,
Spangled with arms, and phalanxed underneath
The Tetto de' Pisani. 'Twixt the twain,
Stood soldiers of the Signory and filled
All the Piazza, save the platformed space
That, hedged with fagots, pine-cones, resin, oil,
Stretched out for forty braccia.

CEI.
And behind
Packed close as Lenten herrings, fifties deep,
Peered all the eyes that love a miracle;
And every roof and window in the Square
Was cloyed with folk like branches when bees swarm.

CORSINI.
But where was Savonarola?

SODERINI.
He was there,
Raimented white and carrying the Host,
Close by the side of Frà Domenico;
He habited in crimson, and his hands
Clasping a massive crucifix. In truth,
Flickered no fear on either countenance,
But that fixed glow my mother says is Faith,
And which, I own, I never yet have seen
Saving upon men's faces when they pray.

BONSI.
And where were the Franciscans?

CEI.
In the Square,
In their half of the Loggia; but appeared
Neither their champion Frà Giuliano, nor
The Frà Francesco that abetted him.
They with the Signory were closeted,
Too worldly wise to try if fire will burn,
Yet pressingly bewildered how to shirk
The hollow challenge solidly received
By mystic rivals.

SODERINI.
Suddenly it was urged
That Frà Domenico's red velvet cope
Might be enchanted by the demon spells
Of Frà Girolamo. Forthwith 'twas doffed.
What, Cei, plea came next? for I forget.

CEI.
'Twas laughable. They made him change his vest
With one of the Franciscans. Then they cried
He must remove from Frà Girolamo,
So that no hocus-pocus might be tried,
And stand 'mong the Franciscans.

BONSI.
To these tests
What answered Frà Domenico?

SODERINI.
Never blenched,
But fix'dly clasped his crucifix. O, he played
The fanatic to perfection. Only when
It was proposed to take that last poor help
Out of his hands, and send him on alone
Into the flames, he seemed to hesitate,
And prayed he might exchange it for the Host.
Then rose there such a hubbub as you hear
In o'erstocked rookeries at Whitsuntide
When the young birds are harried in their haunts.
A clatter of theology began:
Some shouted “sacrilege!” while some harangued
About “essential substance” “accidents,”
And suchlike fond conceits. The Signory
Cut short their long scholastic, and announced
The Ordeal deferred. See! Here they come,
The disappointed rabble.

CORSINI.
Let us go.
The after-drip of folly damps as much
As doth the storm itself.

[Exeunt Corsini, Bonsi, and Vespucci (left). Cei and Soderini remain. A crowd, composed of Piagnoni, Compagnacci, and Arrabbiati indiscriminately, comes on (right).]
FIRST ARRABBIATO.
A trap! a sham!
A hollow business!

FIRST PIAGNONE.
Whose fault was that?

SECOND ARRABBIATO.
Why, whose but your prophetic shavenpate's,
Whose prophesyings ever come to nought?

SECOND PIAGNONE.
He did not prophesy the Ordeal.

CAMPAGNACCIO.
But, when 'twas there, why did he shrink from it?

SODERINI.
Answer that riddle; if he wants to show
He is inspired, why not confront the flames
And make no more ado?

CEI.
And not stand by
Arguing, while others proffer to be burnt.

SECOND COMPAGNACCIO.
And are not burnt, nor even so much as singed,
Though everything they stickled for was trim
As faith could wish.

THIRD PIAGNONE.
Exactly what I feel.
A miracle was fairly due to us,
An actual downright patent miracle;
No visions, and stale juggleries of that sort,
But a good noonday miracle; one we could see,
And none could doubt about.

SECOND COMPAGNACCIO.
Now, do you think,
Were he in league with Heaven, he'd hesitate
To stand in hissing turpentine all day,
Like to the saints of old? What say you, man?

SECOND PIAGNONE.
I can say nothing; only that I wish
That Frà Girolamo had faced the Fire,
And made an end of it.

SECOND COMPAGNACCIO.
End of himself.
Leave him alone; he knows what he's about.

FIRST ARRABBIATO.
Ay, that he does, the tonsured charlatan;
A rank impostor.

SECOND PIAGNONE.
Nay, he is not that.

SECOND ARRABBIATO.
What is he, then? A prophet, I suppose?

SECOND PIAGNONE.
I did not say he was.

CAMPAGNACCIO.
If he is not,
What is the good of him?

TAILOR.
Such swindling work,
To lure industrious folks from off their stools
With promise of a miracle, and then
Befool them with a wrangle!

COBBLER.
In the time
I wasted gaping there, I could have made
Two uppers and a last. A sorry scene!
I've done with friars.

FIRST CITIZEN.
And so have I.

SECOND CITIZEN.
And I.

[Shouting is heard. The Crowd turn in the direction whence it proceeds; and Spini, followed by a band of armed Compagnacci, rushes upon the stage.]
SPINI.
A San Marco! A San Marco col Fuoco!

COMPAGNACCI.
On, comrades, to St. Mark's!

CEI.
What does he mean?

SODERINI.
You trust to him for that.
Whate'er he says, that echo!

[Spini waves his sword, and again cries, “To Saint Mark's!” The cry is taken up universally, and the air rings with the shout.]
ALL.
A San Marco col Fuoco! A San Marco col Fuoco!

[The Crowd follow Spini off the stage. The scene changes.]