University of Virginia Library

ACT III.

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.]

SCENE II.

Savonarola. Candida.
CANDIDA.
Your blessing, Father!

SAVONAROLA.
Daughter, it is yours,
Though you bring blessing with you; for each door
Through which you pass, invisibly becomes
Door of humility. What can I do for you?

CANDIDA.
There is a maiden nestled in my heart,
And whose uncounted tenderness is spent
On one who, though of worthy elements,
Is with the mundane enemies allied
Of you and Florence.

SAVONAROLA.
Doth that come between
Him and her love?

CANDIDA.
No! She is like the moon,
That never turns but one face to the earth,
Being so true a satellite.

SAVONAROLA.
And you
The centre of his orbit fain would shift,
Hers keeping fixed?

CANDIDA.
That, Father, is my prayer,
Which you alone can grant! Sometimes I fear
That passionate love hath twisted them awry,
Like trees that help each other out of shape,
And lose their heavenly perpendicular
By too close interlocking of their boughs.
Yet separate them not; but only lift
Their love more heavenward!

SAVONAROLA.
How may that be done,
Not done already? See how many souls
Are sliding to perdition, whom my hand
Might yet pluck back! Yes, I must preach, I must,
Though thousand Borgias bid me to be mute.
Daughter, I may not preach, so cannot save.
There is an interdict upon my tongue.
Yet, if I preach, bring this revolted soul
Unto the Duomo!

CANDIDA.
May that quickly be,
Lest he grow hardened in rebellion.
I thank you, Father.

[She turns to go.]
SAVONAROLA.
Tell me, my child, how fares
Valori's suit with your reluctant heart?

CANDIDA.
I willingly had been the bride of Heaven,
Had you not banned that nuptial; wherefore, now,
I linger in perplexity, my will
Petitioned by two hearts, I know not why,
Being of each unworthy.

SAVONAROLA.
Doubt not, child,
Which is the worthier. Tornabuoni plots
Against the liberties of Florence, whilst
Valori still upholds them.

CANDIDA.
These are things
Beyond my ken; though, Father, it hath seemed
To my scant vision that a valiant arm,
Committed to the State, needs all its nerve
For that tough task, and I should hamper it
With my small needs and weak defencelessness.

SAVONAROLA.
Weakness like yours may double a man's strength;
And so, my child, discourage him no more.
Men, when they love, see angels in a dream,
As Jacob did. Be you the stair whereby
Valori's earthlier aspirations may
Communicate with Heaven.

CANDIDA.
I were content,
Could I to such celestial use be put,
To learn the purport of this earthly love,
Which seems the native language of mankind,
Though I was born a mute.

SAVONAROLA.
'Tis not amiss,
Where such a tongue is spoken, maidens should
Be dumb, provided that they are not deaf.
So when Valori whispers you, give ear
Even to accents of the earthliest sound,
And from the heights of Heaven reply to him.

[Enter a Lay-brother.]
LAY-BROTHER.
Signor Valori, Father, awaits without.

SAVONAROLA.
Admit him.

[Exit Lay-brother.]
CANDIDA.
But not—not—

[Savonarola opens a side-door in the garden-wall.]
SAVONAROLA.
Dear child! pass through
Into the outer world, and take with you
The cloister of your purity.

[Exit Candida. Enter Valori from interior of the Convent.]

SCENE III.

Savonarola. Valori.
SAVONAROLA.
You bring
Grave news, Valori.

VALORI.
Graver never brought.
You know how lightly still the French King holds
His promises to Florence. Not his word,
Sworn in the Duomo on the Gospels, nor
Your threats and prophecies have kept him leal.
For fourteen thousand florins hath he sold
Their freedom to the Pisans, and for ten
All the artillery collected there.
Genoa for twenty thousand florins gets
Sarzana, and for thirty Lucca holds
Pietrasanta.

SAVONAROLA.
Facts, though grave, not new.
Have you none younger?

VALORI.
Since Capponi died,
Mortally stricken at Soiana, none
Of all our Captains have into our camp
Fortune seduced; and I am loath to turn
My back upon the city, wherein plot
Bigi, Arrabbiati, all the foes
Of the Grand Council and free government,
Once by your voice established, but now left
To me to uphold. The Ottimati, now
The Medici no longer govern, men
Like Bonsi and Vespucci, help no more,
But rather thwart.

SAVONAROLA.
The Pope hath silenced me.
How can I speak?

VALORI.
The League astutely formed
By Ludovico Il Moro 'twixt himself,
The Pope, and Venice, to our detriment,
Soon as King Charles was back in France, enticed
The Emperor Maximilian o'er the Alps.
He, well received in Pisa, now blockades
The port of Leghorn, with the aid of ships
Procured from Venice.

SAVONAROLA.
Do you think that news
So sharp and pointed hath not pierced these walls?
But you talk politics of earth, that here
Are close on sacrilege. What have I to do
With your affairs of State? A thousand times
I have protested, and I still protest,
That such is not my office. If I helped
To heal your discords, and establish laws
That shelter liberty and virtue, know,
I did it for God's glory, not for man.
What did men say? This Friar thirsts for power,
For gold, and for the Cardinal's red robe.
O Lord! that searchest hearts, the robe I want
Is the red robe of martyrdom alone,
Thou givest to thy Saints! O give it me quick,
And end my tribulations!

VALORI
(aside).
He is rapt
In ecstasy, his mind above the ground.
How shall I draw him back? But, Prior, see,
The currents of the upper and lower air
Are ofttimes contrary; yet 'tis the last
Which sway the motion of the things that have
Their roothold in the earth. The nearest thought
To every heart in Florence, as you know,
Is to recover Pisa.

SAVONAROLA.
And to mine,
The nearest, to recover souls to God.
You would see Florence great, and so would I,
But great in goodness. You mistake my end,
You with the rest.

VALORI.
If once the people think
Charles of Anjou will play us ever false,
Whereas the League, if joined, would give us back
Pisa, with all the Tuscan fortresses,
The very Piagnoni will demand
That profitable compact. Charles our foe,
Your prophecies all falsified, the base
Of your celestial menaces collapsed,
Where then would be your hold upon their hearts?
Already they are clamouring for a sign
To prove that you misled them not, when first
You in the pulpit welcomed the French King
As the New Cyrus and the Scourge of God.

SAVONAROLA.
And such he was, and such will he return,
If they repent not. Did I not foretell
His speedy punishment if he forbore
To renovate God's Church? And now what news?
Is not his eldest son, the Dauphin, dead?
What sign do they want? If needed, it will come.
But Thine, O Lord, the moment, Thine the hour,
Not theirs to ask for, and not mine to grant.

VALORI.
Still rambling 'mong the clouds. But hear you more!
Lamberto dell' Antella, venturing back
Without our leave to Tuscan territory,
Hath been arrested, and, by papers found
Upon his person, evidence provides
Of a conspiracy to reinstate
Piero de' Medici.

SAVONAROLA.
And with whose help?

VALORI.
The help of more than I can stay to count;
But chief among the treasonable band
Del Nero, Niccolò Ridolfi, with
Lorenzo Tornabuoni, Pucci, Cambi,
Men all of note.

SAVONAROLA.
So to be noted well.
The Medici must not return.

VALORI.
Then you must stir
The people with your voice, not leave to me
Sole weight of government. Piero once back,
Infested would again the city be
With luxury and lust; their songs obscene
And impure revelries once more usurp
The streets of Florence.

SAVONAROLA.
That may never be.
Christ bids me preach; no Pope shall silence me.
Go tell the people I exhort them bear
From out its shrine the sacred effigy
Of the Madonna dell' Impruneta round
The city walls, and wait for farther news.
Then, if our enemies be routed not,
I straight towards Pisa, crucifix in hand,
Will march, to raise the siege.

VALORI.
But you will preach?

SAVONAROLA.
God, Who knows all things, knows if I shall preach;
Press me no more. My message bear to them,
And see, Valori, treat you leniently
Lorenzo Tornabuoni.

VALORI.
Wherefore him?

SAVONAROLA.
Because he is young and gallant.

VALORI.
With more years
And more seductive graces to conspire
Against the Commonwealth. Del Nero's craft,
With Tornabuoni's vigour yoked, would make
The unlikeliest plots succeed. Together they
Have striven to rise; together let them fall!

[Enter Frà Domenico and Frà Silvestro, and a Lay-brother.]
FRÀ DOMENICO.
Frà Mariano, the Franciscan monk,
The slimiest of your enemies, demands
Admission to the Convent.

SAVONAROLA.
Tell him to enter. Frà Silvestro, see
All the community be present here,
To hear his words.

[Exeunt Lay-brother and Frà Silvestro.]
VALORI.
Prior, I take my leave.
But wanting not in reverence, I adjure
You heed my point.

SAVONAROLA.
Guard well the Commonwealth.

[Exit Valori.]

SCENE IV.

Savonarola. Frà Domenico.
FRÀ DOMENICO.
The cunning of this sly Franciscan bodes
No blessing to the Convent. He hath ne'er
Forgiven your diversion of the ears
Of Florence from his preaching.

SAVONAROLA.
Let him come,
Bring he or ban or blessing to our cells.
Christ lives, Christ reigns.

[Enter from the Convent Frà Mariano da Genezzano, with Ecclesiastical Attendants. At the same time the Monks of San Marco pour into the cloister.]
FRÀ MARIANO.
I bear with me the Brief
In every church in Florence to be read,
Of Excommunication launched against
Savonarola, Frà Girolamo,
Who calls himself the Prior of Saint Mark.
[He reads.]
“This Frà Girolamo, obeying not
Our apostolic admonition, sent
Time after time, that he repair to Rome,
And duly make submission at our feet;
And equally neglecting our decree,
Which in the Congregation newly formed
Of Rome and Tuscany hath henceforth merged
The Convent of Saint Mark, he claims to rule,
Is hereby excommunicate, and must
By all as such be held, who well are warned,
That, holding converse or communion
With this same Frà Girolamo, they will
Themselves incur an equal penalty.”

SAVONAROLA.
Have you your mission executed?

FRÀ MARIANO.
Yes.

SAVONAROLA.
Then leave me with my brethren. I can lend
No further welcome here.

[Exeunt Frà Mariano and his Attendants.]
SAVONAROLA.
My sons, you have heard;
And hearing, now decide. Are you content
In this new Congregation to be merged?

FRÀ DOMENICO.
Never; save, Father, you abandon us.
Is not that so?

MONKS.
It is! It is!

SAVONAROLA.
Remember,
Once merged in it your rule were lighter far
Than that I place upon you. You would have
Less prayer and fewer fasts, more sleep, more taste
Of carnal comfort.

FRÀ SILVESTRO.
But we wish them not.

MONKS.
Nor we.

OTHER MONKS.
Nor we!

SAVONAROLA.
Beware how you decide.
This road may lead to martyrdom. The Keys
Of Peter now are grasped by one who gained,
Through means notoriously simoniacal,
The Papal Chair. Christ's Vicar he is not,
And there must be a Council of the Church
To test his claims. But meanwhile he will plot
With our sworn enemies in Florence here
To baffle this intent. Are you prepared
To follow me, if need be, to the stake,
To purify the Church of God, and keep
Christ as the King of Florence?

MONKS.
Yes, all, all, all.

SAVONAROLA.
Then shall I preach again,
Though when, I know not; but I cannot live,
Live and not preach.

[The Monks make way for Savonarola, who enters the Chapel of the Convent alone.]

SCENE V.

[A Street in Florence. Enter (right) Candida and Letizia.]
LETIZIA.
He bade me meet him here.

CANDIDA.
We are too soon.

LETIZIA.
Love ne'er was late; and neither, look, is he.
See where he comes, and, with him, happiness.

[Enter Bettuccio (left).]
LETIZIA.
Sweet, here is one who a request would make

BETTUCCIO.
One unto whom request was ne'er refused
By man, I warrant.

CANDIDA.
Then, 'tis granted me?

BETTUCCIO.
Before 'tis uttered.

CANDIDA.
'Tis a simple wish;
That you Letizia will accompany,
When next discourses Frà Girolamo
Within the Duomo.

BETTUCCIO.
Anywhere with her.
Will you conduct us?

CANDIDA.
Never have I missed
One lesson through his sacred lips distilled.
It is a compact.

BETTUCCIO.
One I will not break.
But, lady, I this moment heard strange news,
That may concern you. Papers have been found
That implicate five leading citizens
In a conspiracy to reinstate
The Medici in Florence; 'mong the five,
Lorenzo Tornabuoni.

CANDIDA.
Ever rash
In snatching at a branch he cannot reach!
Think you he stands in danger?

BETTUCCIO.
In so much,
That, were I he, Florence should see my heels
Before it heard the Angelus.

CANDIDA.
Then go,
Apprise him quick! Letizia! let us haste
On the same errand. Peril pleads for him
Better than he himself. You to his house,
While I will aid him more circuitously.

[Exeunt Candida and Letizia (right). Bettuccio crosses the stage to leave (left). As he does so, enter Grosso's Wife. He runs against her.]
BETTUCCIO.
Where go you thus in haste?

ANITA.
I go to join
The great Procession Frà Girolamo
Ordains to rescue Pisa.

BETTUCCIO.
With the aid
Of statues and old women! Pretty help!
Swords and young limbs were likelier.

ANITA.
Won't you come?

BETTUCCIO.
No, take your husband.

ANITA.
Taking's easy said.
But he's so took with statues of his own,
And not a stitch upon them!

BETTUCCIO.
Fare you well!
Go, rescue Pisa.

[Exit (right). Enter People of all ages (left).]
FIRST CITIZEN.
Come along! this way!
The statue is got ready.

SECOND CITIZEN.
It will pass
Through the main streets with hymns and litanies.

ANITA.
Yes; and with candles burning.

[They pass across the stage, Anita with them, and so exeunt (right). As the last of them file away, enter (left) Del Nero, Ridolfi, and Tornabuoni.]

SCENE VI.

Ridolfi. Del Nero. Tornabuoni.
RIDOLFI.
See the last device
Of this religious mountebank to dupe
The trivial crowd.

DEL NERO.
A clever trick withal,
Suggested by Valori for his ends.
For superstitious piety, like wine,
Mounts to the brain and heats it servently.

TORNABUONI.
Pity that Piero neither drinks nor prays,
And so lacks courage for each enterprise.
Petrucci of Siena lent him aid
Beyond all hope; and thirteen hundred men
Bartolommeo d' Alviano raised,
Were ample for the deed.

RIDOLFI.
Besides, the gate
Of San Piero Gattolini stood
Open, to let him through.

DEL NERO.
What avails force
To them that hesitate? Wide-open gates
But point the way for cowards to contempt.
Let us forget him.

RIDOLFI.
That, perchance, were wise
If you were Gonfaloniere still;
But, with a hostile Signory, our plans
May, though abortive, from the ground be dug.

DEL NERO.
Then do not contemplate their grave, lest thus
You draw attention from our enemies.
Now surely it were safer for us all,
Like a wise wind that lays itself to sleep
When once it learns its fierce fatuity,
To keep a neutral calm.

TORNABUONI.
Counsel, if safe,
Not very soaring.

DEL NERO.
Have you never marked,
In cloudy weather, that the birds fly low?
Disdain not their instruction; for it is
The privilege of reason to grow wise
By noting tricks of instinct. Fare you well!

RIDOLFI.
[Taking Del Nero's arm.]
I have an errand leading me your way.
[To Tornabuoni.]
Heed what he says, and in this stumbling world
Learn, boy, to walk a thought more warily.

[Exeunt (left).]
TORNABUONI.
When blood grows cold by chilling of old age,
Men call it wisdom. Then how wise were death,
'Neath whose convincing frost the forward stream
Of slackening impulse stagnates and congeals.
But life means youth, youth signifies resolve,
And 'twixt resolve and action should intrude
No interval more long than takes to lift
The blade that is to fall!

[He crosses the stage (right). Enter Candida in haste (right).]
CANDIDA.
O fly, sir! fly!

TORNABUONI.
Fly? Anywhere with you! Where shall it be?

CANDIDA.
Waste not the precious seconds in retort.
Your liberty, perchance your life, exists
On prompt escape.

TORNABUONI.
Why, you are out of breath!
How did you lose it?

CANDIDA.
O, in seeking you.

TORNABUONI.
Whom hitherto, alas! you always fled.

CANDIDA.
You never were in danger; now you are;
O, be advised, and fly!

TORNABUONI.
While you remain!
How small you measure me! Though you refuse
To admit me to the region of your breath,
Something it is to draw the selfsame air
That you inhale, and fancy I absorb
Into my lungs the zephyrs that have coursed
Through your sweet veins.

CANDIDA.
O, this but madness is.

TORNABUONI.
Madness that you would reckon sanity,
Did you but share it. See! these senseless stones
Are to me by your footsteps vivified.
Though each street corner hid a dagger's point,
I should select a danger where you dwelt,
Than dull security on any ground
That was by you untrodden.

CANDIDA.
O, you throw
Your life away!

TORNABUONI.
What is my life to you?
To you being nought, it nothing is to me.

CANDIDA.
It is so much to me, I fain would save it.

TORNABUONI.
Then save it by the only way that serves,
For all else kills. Life severed from your love
Is to me death made sensitive, a corpse
Interred before pulsation be extinct.
You bury me alive; the hands you dread
Would, kindlier, kill outright.

CANDIDA.
What can I more?
My life is mine to give, and I would give it
To save you, sir; but, for my love—

TORNABUONI.
It is
Not yours to give, then to another given.

CANDIDA.
I said not so.

TORNABUONI.
Need none is there to say.
Love, e'en in madness, reasons not amiss.
Farewell, and let me settle with my foes.

CANDIDA.
O, I beseech you!

[Enter armed Officers of the Signory.]
OFFICER.
Sir, the Signory
Have your arrest decreed, and we are here
To execute their order, under which
Signors Del Nero and Ridolfi lie
Already locked in durance.

TORNABUONI.
Fare you well!
The road to death, if now 'tis to be walked,
Will by your obduracy smooth be made,
O lovely executioner!

[Exit (left) with Officers. He turns to gaze at Candida, who covers her face with her hands. Meanwhile Letizia has entered (right). She approaches Candida.]
CANDIDA.
Too late! Too late! Lead me away: I would
Be left alone a little.

[Exit Candida (right), supported by Letizia.]

SCENE VII.

[The sound of singing is heard, and a Procession, following the Statue of the Madonna dell' Impruneta enters (left), and passes round the stage. When it has done so, enter (right) Marcuccio Salviati; behind him, Compagnacci and Arrabbiatti, laughing, and shrugging their shoulders scornfully.]
SALVIATI.
Joyous news!
A messenger on horseback passed but now
Through Porta San Frediano, spurring on
Unto the Signory. His tidings are,
Ships from Marseilles, despatched by the French King,
Bearing relief for Leghorn, have been borne
Straight into port, despite the enemy,
By a Libeccio wind, which timely rose,
And Leghorn, crammed with victuals, is secure
Against all hazards.

FIRST PIAGNONE.
Who will argue now
Savonarola cannot prophesy?

SECOND PIAGNONE.
And who will say he does not help the State?

FIRST ARRABBIATO.
You have not got back Pisa.

FIRST PIAGNONE.
But we will.

SECOND ARRABBIATO.
From whom? From Charles or Maximilian?
The Pisans flung the statue of the King
Into the river when the Emperor came.

SALVIATI.
Whither his statue likewise will be thrown,
Save he go homewards. Frà Girolamo
Hath prophesied this would-be King of Rome
Will quick recross the Alps.

FIRST ARRABBIATO.
What if he do?
That will not upon Pisa's stubborn neck
Reset the foot of Florence, or compel
Its population, as of old, to kiss
The quarters of ‘Marzocco!’

SECOND ARRABBIATO.
That's the point.
We're for the League, if it will give us back
The fortresses and Pisa.

CROWD.
Down with the League!
And long live Savonarola!

[The Procession forms afresh, and exit (left), followed by the Compagnacci and Arrabbiati, scoffing. Enter (right) Candida and Letizia.]
LETIZIA.
Shall we unto the Convent?

CANDIDA.
No! 'twere wise
To seek a worldlier counsellor; one of late
I have too much avoided.

LETIZIA.
Shall I guess
Your lay auxiliary?

CANDIDA.
You surmise his name.

LETIZIA.
He will grant more than ever you can ask;
For love, in giving, is a prodigal.

CANDIDA.
'Tis not for love that I would have him give,
Robbing his virtue, granting it reward.
He for unhiring mercy's sake must spare
Lorenzo Tornabuoni. It may be
That we have saved Bettuccio's soul this day.
A body is in peril; let us save
That also. Then,—well, we will weep and pray.

[Exeunt (left).]

SCENE VIII.

[Enter (right) a number of young boys dressed like angels, and carrying large open baskets.]
FIRST CHILD.
Good folks! good folks! Bring out your Vanities!
We are collecting them for Carnival.

SECOND CHILD.
Bring out your Vanities, that they may burn,
Pictures, and books, and love-songs, naughty tales,
And poems, worst of all.

THIRD CHILD.
Quick, bring them out,
That we may make a bonfire of the leaves,
And dance around their ashes.

FIRST CHILD.
Vanities!
Who has more Vanities?

[Men and women come out of the houses, bearing books, pictures, and other objects, and give them to the children.]
FIRST CITIZEN.
A wicked book.
'Tis the Decamerone, written by
Boccaccio of Certaldo. Better burnt!
Twice I have read it through, and I were fain
My wife did not.

SECOND CITIZEN.
A wise precaution, friend.
I have two copies, and perhaps 'twere well
That one should burn. The other will I keep,
To make quite sure its fellow did deserve
Not to survive.

FIRST CHILD.
Vanities! Vanities!
Fetch out your Vanities!

THIRD CITIZEN.
Here! Take you this:
The Enchiridion, translated by
Poliziano in the Latin tongue.
I cannot read it; but my confessor
Declares 'tis full of wickedness.

FOURTH CITIZEN.
Here's a prize:
Antonio Panhormita's famous work,
Hermaphroditus, and along with it,
Poggio's Facetiæ; rather past a joke.
You're welcome to 't.

[Flings it into the basket of one of the children.]
FIFTH CITIZEN.
Who sent you here to cry
Your wares beneath our windows all day long?

SECOND CHILD.
Savonarola sends us, sir, to beg,
And not to buy; to beg the Devil's works,
And so give alms to Christ.

THIRD CHILD.
And we are trained
By Frà Domenico of Pescia,
Who loves the Prior of Saint Mark almost
As Frà Girolamo loves Christ Himself.

ALL THE CHILDREN.
Vanities! Vanities! Ransack your Vanities!

SIXTH CITIZEN.
All Pico's Works, and all Politian's.
They are too learned for me; but I daresay
They are as thick with wrong as a dark wood
With thieves and ghosts.

SEVENTH CITIZEN.
Now mark you, never say
I made no sacrifice. I paid for these
Five florins on the nail. See, they contain
Luigi Pulci's poems; first there comes
Morgante Maggiore; next—but well,
I will not say what next; but burn them all.
What have you there?

[To another Citizen, who brings out a bundle of books. All crowd round him.]
EIGHTH CITIZEN.
“Selve d' Amore,” by Lorenzo's self.
“Canzoni a ballo.”

SEVENTH CITIZEN.
Why, you never mean
To give up those? They are such merry lays,
The dumb would sing them, and the lame would dance,
Hearing their cadence.

[A book falls to the ground. The sixth Citizen picks it up.]
SIXTH CITIZEN.
What have we got here?
Canti Carnascialeschi! O, I say,
These must not be destroyed. Full half of them
Are great Lorenzo's, written in his prime.
They sing themselves, as rippling waters do,
And foot it as they sing. I mind me well
Treading a jocund round when I was young
To more than one of these. Ha! Here it is!
Ben uenga Maggio.
[Shuts the book, and hands it back.]
Ah May comes no more
To one whose leaves are half upon the ground,
One half upon the branches, soon to fall!

CHILDREN.
Vanities! Vanities! Any more Vanities?
Bring them and pile them up, that we may search
Their wickedness with fire.

[The boys pass across the stage and exeunt (left). At the same time enter (right) young girls, clad in white, and, like the boys, carrying open crates and baskets.]
FIRST GIRL.
Vanities! Vanities! Bring out your Vanities!
Rouge-pots and scented girdles, spices, gums,
Snares of the Evil One!

SECOND GIRL.
Ferret them out,
Unguents and patches, tresses false, and tricks
Of meretricious beauty, specious dyes,
Henna, vermilion, all of them Vanities.
Give them all up!

[Women come out of the houses, and put into the baskets pots, boxes, and caskets.]
THIRD GIRL.
Where are your books of dreams,
Your amorous astrology, your cards
Of wicked conjuring, your secret store
Of light love-ditties, all of them Vanities!

[Grosso's Wife emerges from a house, carrying books.]
ANITA.
Here they are, girls! I want no more of them:
Love-ditties by the score. When I was young,
My Grosso used to flute them all night long
Under my casement, while I listening sate
Behind the lattice, and conceived no harm.
They sounded very sweet. But I must own,
Now I am riper, when I hear them trilled
To budding maids at midnight, that they sound
Wrong, very wrong.

FIRST GIRL.
Vanities! Vanities!
Give up your curls, your counterfeits, your lures.
Love-philtres, and your Lydian potions mixed
By alchemists of Hell!

[All the time women keep bringing out objects which they deposit in the baskets.]
ANITA.
Wait just a bit,
And I will fetch you such a hecatomb,
It ought to buy me Heaven.

[Re-enters the house from which she came.]
SECOND GIRL.
Give up your drugs,
Intoxicating perfumes, subtle scents,
That lull the soul to slumber and arouse
The sleeping senses in their swinish sty,
And make them nose for garbage. Give them all up:
Lascivious fripperies, corsets, and the bait
Of perforated sandals!

[Anita returns, carrying long rolls of paper.]
ANITA.
Here they are!
To whom shall I entrust them?

[A Girl holds out her hand for them.]
ANITA.
Mind you, child,
You must not look at them, not even peep;
They are so shocking.

[She unrolls one of them, and hurriedly rolls it up again, putting her hand before her eyes.]
ANITA.
Oh! too terrible!
Shameless as the originals, and nude
E'en as at birth or death! Take special care
Not one of them escapes the virtuous flames.
How could he sketch such things? But having caused
Those to be shrivelled, surely I may keep
One little box of ointments? Is it wrong
To put spring roses upon autumn cheeks,
To keep a husband faithful?

FIRST GIRL.
Vanities!
Have all your Vanities been yielded up?
If not, bring out, bring out, more Vanities,
Till none be left.

ANITA.
I tell you what I'll do:—
Give them the robe I bought for Carnival
The year Lorenzo died. 'T has ne'er been worn,
Nor will be now, too gorgeous for the times.
I'll fetch it straight.

[She turns to go for it, then halts, and hesitates.]
ANITA.
No! stay! I'll have it dyed.

[Exit into her house.]
ALL THE GIRLS.
Vanities! Vanities! Bring out your Vanities!
All of your Vanities bring out to burn.

[As they say this they pass away from the stage, some right, some left. The scene rises, and changes to the Piazza of the Signoria.]

SCENE IX.

Piazza of the Signoria.
[In the middle of the Piazza rises a pyramidal octangular scaffolding, filled with faggots, and containing fifteen tiers of shelves for the articles that are to be burnt, many of which are already placed there. The boys that have been collecting objects for the bonfire enter (left), and the young girls enter (right). Other people, among them Bettuccio, come upon the stage, bearing in their hands pictures, books, and some of them statues, and these they lay upon the pyramidal scaffolding. Frà Domenico and three other Monks of San Marco superintend the operation. Bonsi and Vespucci stand apart, and look on.]
FIRST PIAGNONE.
See! There's Bettuccio carrying his load.
He used to howl with the wolves.

SECOND PIAGNONE.
And now he bleats
Like any lamb that's ready to be shorn.
Savonarola has converted him.

THIRD PIAGNONE.
And many another. What have you got here?

BETTUCCIO.
Only some worthless verses and designs,
That in the heyday of my fatuous joy
I used to fancy precious.

FIRST PIAGNONE.
Are they your own?

BETTUCCIO.
Only our vices are our own, good friend,
And these, to cure; the rest belong to Heaven.
This is my contribution.

SECOND PIAGNONE.
Verily,
Our Frà Girolamo works miracles.
Never before did poet burn his verse
At bidding of another.

THIRD PIAGNONE.
Did you hear,
Bartolommeo Baccio gives to the flames
His drawings from the nude?

BETTUCCIO.
Yes, and what's more—
Lorenzo Credi swells the holocaust
With his lewd sketches.

BONSI.
I have heard it said,
When beasts go mad, they hasten to devour
Their litter, the most comely offspring first.
These Whimperers do the same. I would have given
A thousand crowns for some of Baccio's work.

VESPUCCI.
Heed not: the fair originals remain,
And are in every season reproduced
By love, who casts them in a gracious mould.
Thus Nature, never foiled in her designs,
And inly smiling at the sour excess
Of these ephemeral fanatics, will prompt
Some other artist to repair the loss.
Come, let us leave them.

BONSI.
Rather let us watch
Their austere antics.

[They stand aside, and look on, while men, women, boys, girls, and monks, join hands, and make a circle round the pyramid, which, as they begin to dance round it, is set fire to.]
FRÀ DOMENICO.
Now then to begin.
Who has the torch?

SECOND PIAGNONE.
'Tis here.

FRÀ DOMENICO.
Then in with it.
Hark how the faggots crackle! It has caught.
Who gives the air?

THIRD PIAGNONE.
Why, all of us must sing.
'Tis “Una donna d' amor fino.”

SEVERAL VOICES.
Oh!

FRÀ DOMENICO.
Nay, be not shocked; the air is innocent,
Weaned from the rhymes that suckled it. It was
A song of sin; but if we it baptize
With holy words, it straightway will become
A canticle of grace.

BONSI.
There he is right.
Have you observed it is the privilege
Of unexplicit harmony to foil
Art's meretricious purposes till joined
With an unworthy consort, and, divorced
From the light tie of language, to resume
Its abstract purity?

VESPUCCI.
I have noted it.
But I was rather thinking, give me leave,
That 'tis the common foible of mankind
Ever to sing new words to the old tune.
That changeth not. Hark! they are singing it now!

[The circle being complete, and their hands joined, the company dance round the burning Vanities, singing, as they do so, the following hymn.]

[Fresh people pour in; one of them bearing aloft on a pole the portrait of a Jew.]
FIRST PIAGNONE.
What may this be?

NEW COMER.
It is the effigy
Of a rich Hebrew who would fain have bought
For twenty thousand florins in a lump
These Vanities we burn.

SECOND NEW COMER.
So we thought
That we would burn him too, at least so far
As goes combustion in these clement days.

CROWD.
Evivva Cristo! Put him on the pile.


[The portrait of the Jew is hoisted up, and surmounts the burning pyramid of Vanities. Then the people dance and sing again.]
Who wants a medicine for his soul?
Here is the recipe! Bring the bowl.
Throw in five ounces of Hope, and six
Of unquestioning Faith; then duly mix.
Pour in a pound of Love, and three
Of the finest syrup of Charity.
Humility's quintessential oil
Put in the last, and leave to boil.
And this will make you perfectly mad;
Mad, mad, mad, mad;
For the love of Christ divinely mad!

[By this time the fire begins to burn low, all the Vanities being consumed. The dancers are out of breath, halt, and disjoin hands.]
FIRST PIAGNONE.
I' faith, how quickly have the flames devoured
Their wicked forage.

A MONK.
Leave them alone; they know
There is much virtue in a good hot fire.

BONSI.
Then there must be much virtue, friend, in Hell.
Is that sound doctrine? Better have a care
Lest you be burnt yourself.

FRÀ DOMENICO.
The virtuous flames
He meant are rather those of Purgatory.

VESPUCCI.
Then all the ashes of the things you have burnt
In time will go to Heaven? That's heresy,
Bad as the first.

FRÀ DOMENICO.
Your logic may be good,
But dialectics never saved a soul.

SECOND PIAGNONE.
What shall we do with the ashes?

THIRD PIAGNONE.
Wheel them on,
And drown them in the Arno.

VOICES.
Off we go!

[They trundle the pyramid off the stage, some pulling, some pushing, others pressing round it. Exeunt gradually (right).]
BONSI.
See how they press the blameless elements
Into their bitter service! Heaven forfend
We have not other burnings worse than this,
Which is the obverse side of levity.
None but our carnal Florence could invent
So strange a carnival.

VESPUCCI.
I sometimes think
It needs the froward fluctuating air,
Between the hills and valleys buffeted,
Of this fair city, to produce such shifts
Of keen emotion.

BONSI.
Think you this will pass?

VESPUCCI.
You know the Florentines. They ever were
The substance out of which, when stars consent,
You get your poets, painters, and such like,
Quick, lissom, volatile, the very wood
Wherefrom to make a crowd of Mercuries.
Look how they run! The herald of the Gods
Could skip no faster.

BONSI.
But this earnest monk,
Savonarola, seems to hold them fast,
And sets them at the point of seriousness.

VESPUCCI.
Unto that quarter never were they fixed.
If they affect it now, 'tis from the mood
That sets the west wind backing to the north
When April is with zephyrs surfeited
And looks behind for March, though May's afront,
And will be welcomed wantonly.

[Enter Grosso (left), precipitately.]
GROSSO.
Good sirs!
Can you direct me where our madcap saints
Are burning all the relics of the gods
Who were reputed to have died in Greece,
But in this age have come to life again,
The gods of beauty, joy, and spaciousness?
I thought 'twas here.

BONSI.
And so it was. But now
The bonfire of their bigotry is spent,
And Arno holds its ashes.

GROSSO.
Say not so!
O, you but mock me! There is time to save
What unto me is dearer than my life,
My past, my future!

VESPUCCI.
But he mocks you not.
Your dearest, then, is gone. What may it be?

GROSSO.
O, then the gods are dead who would not stretch
A helping hand to shield their effigies!
Gone! burnt to smoke! parched cinders in the dust,
That I let suck my life-blood! dreamed at night,
To do by day, the cunning of my hand
Following my bent as speech obeys the brain,
All shrivelled into ashes! O sirs! I,
Who never prated of myself before,
Am now so probed and pestered to the quick,
That the whole universe seems filled with Me,
And we are wronged together!

BONSI.
He doth bewail his labours late consumed
In the quick oven of that foolish fire.

VESPUCCI.
A touching sight! The children of their thought
Are dearer to these men than carnal sons,
Since that they get them and they bear them too.
Such generation and conception are
Lodged in the single organ of the brain.
A fantasy of nature, Genius is
A vigorous hermaphrodite that teems
By brooding on itself, nor ever needs
Marriage with other minds.

BONSI.
He seems distraught
Think you he meditates to take the road
Whither his fancies have preceded him?
Speak him a word of comfort.

VESPUCCI.
[Approaching to Grosso, who has seated himself on a marble bench, his face buried in his hands.]
Worthy friend,
Are you not too determined in despair?
How know you that your pretty things were thrust
Into those flames fanatical?

GROSSO.
[Starting up.]
How do I know it!
I have a wife, the halver of my bed,
My shadow, substance, flesh of very flesh,
Bone of my bone, a chain that gnaws into them,
A dead negation not to be denied,
A dearer self, that holds me, O so cheap!
That what there is of me that is not her,
She reckons just as nought! A wife! a wife!
A murderess throttling all my babes at once,
Because she neither bore nor suckled them!
All my unfinished studies! naked, yes!
Naked as is the sky, as is the spring,
As Eve before the fancied fall, as Heaven,
Radiant, unraimented! Gone! all of them gone,
And my poor meaning with them!

BONSI.
But, good friend!
Your cunning may this gaping loss replace.
As many maiden models walk the earth
As sleep within its bosom, and no boon
Welcomer than this their modesty could wish,
That you should lift their loveliness to Heaven,
And fix them into immortality.

GROSSO.
Can you rewind the ticking of the brain
That hath run down its hour? Why, look at me!
Alas! my hairs are straggling gossamer,
And, like the seeded dandelion, good
Only to tell the time by!

VESPUCCI.
You are hale
To common seeming, and might procreate still
A lusty brood of fancies.

GROSSO.
Out on you,
If you have been a sire and lost a son!
The dead are dearest, be who will alive.
Can you by filling cradles empty graves?
But I am father, mother, both at once.
You do not understand.

BONSI.
In sooth we do,
And therefore pity; but we still would cheer.

GROSSO.
And so do men at funerals! Fare you well.
I thank you. Have you sons? Then tell them this:
Never to wed at hey-day. Then the blood
Surges and drowns the judgment. For a face,
A ripple on the brow, a line, a nought,
A touch like any other, an embrace
In homely darkness scarce distinguishable,
To stamp a mortgage on your life, and be,
Like me, by folly finally foreclosed,—
Why, what is that? The Syrens call it love,
Ulysses, lunacy, and while they sing,
Lashes his melting body to the mast,
And sails beyond them.

[Exit (right).]
VESPUCCI.
How exceeding wise!
Think you this instance might assist our boys?

BONSI.
Nowise. Such wit is not vicarious.
Folly is wisdom's nurse, whom we drain dry
Before we are weaned; and other babes require
To suckle similarly. Brought up by hand,
Lads rarely prosper. See, across the square,
Apparently in haste, Valori comes.
On his sole will revolves the government,
Since in his cell, restrained by interdict,
Savonarola keeps.

[Valori enters (left).]
VESPUCCI.
What news, Valori?

VALORI.
That still this matter is not brought to term,
Which, littering yet the road, trips up the State!
The Five still live, since that each Body in turn
Shrinks from the stroke. The Eight their guilt affirm,
Remitting judgment to the Signory,
Which, shirking a decision, calls a Court,
Formed of the Eight, with Seven of the Ten,
And five Arroti.—These unanimously
Confirm the verdict, but once more invite
The Eight to pronounce sentence.

BONSI.
Do they shrink?

VALORI.
Yes; not from conscience, but from cowardice.

VESPUCCI.
Then why doth not the Signory pronounce?

VALORI.
'Tis not their office. That belongs the Eight,
As well you know.

BONSI.
Besides the Signory
Are hopelessly divided, four 'gainst five,
Michele Berti being Del Nero's kin,
And other three recalcitrant.

VALORI.
Wait a bit,
And see how I will spur these gibbing jades.
Be here anon, when they shall reasons give
To the assembled people why they spare
These traitors to the Commonwealth.

[Candida enters (left), unnoticed by Valori, but observed by the other two. She advances hesitatingly towards them.]
VESPUCCI.
Fair child!
Would you have aught of us?

[Valori turns, and perceives Candida.]
CANDIDA.
I fain would win
Signor Valori to my words awhile.

BONSI.
No difficulty there, I should surmise.
Have your occasion.

[Exeunt Vespucci and Bonsi (right).]
VALORI.
Speak! I am all ear
Since you have put a bit upon my tongue
You bade me not pursue you with my vows
And so I halt.

CANDIDA.
O sir, I do not think
I ever was so scant of courtesy.
Such words would not beseem me.

VALORI.
Like to bees
Your honey lodges very near the sting,
But 'tis the second penetrates.

CANDIDA.
Forgive
If one so lowly upon one so high
Inflicted never such a trivial wound.
But let us change our parts. 'Tis I who smart,
And want your sweetness.

VALORI.
What I have of that
Is yours irrevocably.

CANDIDA.
I meant not that.
I come to beg, to knock, to whine, to weep,
To gain myself a passage to your heart
Through every chink of pity that you have,
And melt you into granting me.

VALORI.
Little need.
My heart is open, and I stand within,
Trembling, to catch your importunity.
What is it you would have? Quick as you ask,
'Tis given!

CANDIDA.
Lorenzo Tornabuoni's life.

VALORI.
What! That! That—that—is an affair of State.
I thought you some petition would prefer,
Was private, personal?

CANDIDA.
What thing is not?
How will you any sure distinction make
Betwixt a public and a private woe?
What sword of execution is so fine
That it can roll rebellion in the dust,
Yet leave the rebel standing? or what edge
Of your discriminating justice cleave
The traitor's neck, yet spare a space for love,
Unterrified, to lock its loyal arms?
Hark! while your ostentatious bells clang out
That retribution hath been slaked with gore,
The tear-drops widowed innocence secretes
Upon some fireless hearthstone muffled fall.
Oh! have him respited!

VALORI.
He has no wife,
So will not leave a widow to bewail him.

CANDIDA.
And is a wife the only stay that can
Make life reluctant to be yoked with death?
Look! He is flush like you, noble like you;
Like you he wears full summer in his face;
Youth dances unexhausted in his blood;
Yet you, his peer, his fellow, ay, his twin
In conscious satisfaction, thrust him out
Into the dark and famine of the night,
Just as the very banquet is prepared,
And all life's lights are shining!

VALORI.
You forget,
If he is young, others there be are old.
If we spare him, we needs must spare them all;
And to spare all would, see, be not to spare
Those they had spared not, many more than they,
Had they not in their stratagems been foiled,
And which, being spared, they quickly would renew.

CANDIDA.
I never heard you argue, sir, before.
Why do you reason now? I'm a poor maid,
Unskilled in lunges of the tongue, and apt
Only to sue for favours. Look! I drop
All bootless weapons, and your mercy crave,
Mercy for him—for them, if he and they
In the same balance must be hung.

VALORI.
She pleads
As though she loved him! O, you ply me hard!
But is it honest strategy to mine
My conscience with explosions in my heart,
Burrowing through its soft substance that I may
Feel all my solid judgments blown to space?
I know I love in vain: but though you raise
Obstructions big as Apennine to block
My entrance to the valley of your heart,
My restless thoughts can find no rest but there,
The far-off home of fancy. Leave me that!
Whereof I should be widowed did I think
You trafficked with my tenderness to leave
The sword of justice rusting.

CANDIDA.
O, I came
Sir, to importune you, but not to bribe.
Who trifle with men's honesty wear gifts
Peeping from out their sleeve; and I wear none,
Nor know what they may be. I would corrupt
Your sternness with your gentleness, that's all.

VALORI.
That were to parley with my weaker self,
Which you yourself have strengthened. Save for you,
I never might have learnt how deep the debt
Men owe the native atmosphere they breathe.
Forbidden to protect you, I now guard
The Commonwealth of Florence, tougher task.
Do not you turn against me, who denied
My arms a daintier duty.

CANDIDA.
How aloof
From every touch of littleness he seems!
I needs must love him now if he should speak,
And not be quite so flinty. Then in vain
I have besought your footsteps, and must take
This pressure from your presence? Yet 'tis hard
That those who fain would longer live must die,
And those who willingly would die must live.
Farewell; and may your minutes never lack
The respite you refuse!

[She turns to go.]
VALORI.
“Would die,” she said.
What bodes such wish? She loves him then, 'tis plain!
Stay! You have broken down my final fence.
If it be that you love him, own that fault,
And I will stand betwixt him and the block,
Though every throat in Florence yelled for blood,
And every visage flashed a headsman's axe.

CANDIDA.
Women love all whom grief and death attaint.

VALORI.
Save those whose grief they cause. Why could not grief
Come to me from some other source than you?
It then had drawn your pity. When death comes,
May you be near!

CANDIDA.
I echo can that prayer,
Though may your death be far as his seems near.

VALORI.
His shall be far, and life more dead than death
Near me henceforth, so you do once aver
Your life is but a satellite to his.
I will not then extinguish it; it shall
Shine to forfend your darkness. But, farewell
To public honour as to private bliss.
Within his cloister, quarantined by Rome,
Savonarola scrupulously keeps,
And on my unpropped steadfastness the State
Must tower or totter; and this ponder well,
If Florence is to stand these men must fall.
Hold back my hand from drowning them, their guilt
Will float upon a sea of innocent blood,
Freedom be chased, the Medici return,
Savonarola straight surrendered be
To the unjust inquisitors of Rome!
And this through me! Yet, be it so! When I
Look through your tears, the stars of duty swim,
And resolution crumbles at my feet.
Let the world crack, so your heart does not break.
I will go hide me where the panther hides,
In jungles where fame comes not, nor reproach
Can christen fondness with a fouler name.
Confess you love him!

CANDIDA
(aside).
Why does this close word
Pursue my footsteps, double as I will?

VALORI.
Why do you hesitate? One breath from you
Will save him, but it must be uttered quick.

[People enter the Piazza. The doors of the Palazzo Pubblico are thrown open. The Signory, followed by the Otto di Balìa, the Dieci de Guerra, and their attendants, also the Twelve Buoni Uomini, the Sixteen Gonfalonieri of the Companies, and the Eighty, or Senate, come out, and prepare to take their places on the benches in the Loggia de' Lanzi. Candida is standing at the left corner of the stage, near the footlights. Valori goes nearer to her. At the same time, a scaffold is wheeled forward and stands between the Palazzo Pubblico and the Fountain in the Piazza. A veiled Headsman mounts, and stands immovable, a naked axe reposing on his shoulder.]
VALORI.
If from the scaffold I now pluck him back,
Will you his rescued sensitiveness take
To the warm refuge of encircling arms?
Speak! for the murderous seconds will not wait!
Either the earth or yours must be his bed.
Quick! quick! Pronounce!

CANDIDA.
Then he must die!

[Letizia enters (left).]
VALORI.
[To Letizia.
Fair maid,
See to this lady!

[Letizia leads Candida away. Exeunt (left).]

SCENE X.

[The Signory sit upon a bench outside the Palazzo Pubblico. The Otto di Balìa, the Dieci di Guerra, and the Eighty, or Senate, are seated on benches in the Loggia de' Lanzi. On the floor of the stage, facing them in a semicircle, are ranged the Twelve Buoni Uomini, the Sixteen Gonfalonieri of the Companies, and the persons forming the Twelve Pancate of the simple citizens. Behind these, and to right and left of them, stand the Crowd. The scaffold rises, as described above. Valori occupies the centre of the stage. Francesco Gualterotti, one of the Dieci de Guerra, rises.]
GUALTEROTTI.
Signors and Citizens!
The safety of the Commonwealth demands
Delay be ended, and the guilty pay
The forfeit of their lives.

VOICES.
Appeal! Appeal!
Let the Grand Council speak.

GUALTEROTTI.
Wherefore appeal,
When every voice hath spoken that the law
Appoints to speak? Have not the Signory
With them the Eight, the Doctors of the Law
The panels of the citizens, and, last,
Two hundred special jurymen, pronounced
Their guilt is plain?

FRANCESCO DEGLI ALBIZZI.
Let justice quick be done!
Justice, I say! Than justice, nothing less!

[A Messenger enters the Square, carrying written documents.]
VALORI.
What bring you there?

[He takes the documents, and opens them.]
VALORI.
See! Want you farther proof,
Signors and Citizens, that there is need
Of expedition, it is written down
In these official messages despatched
From Rome and Milan. Your ambassadors
Unravel farther Medicean toils,
Abetted by the Borgian Pope, to snare
The liberties of Florence.

[Hands the documents to the Signory.]
VOICES.
No appeal!

SOME VOICES.
Yes! the Grand Council. Let the People speak.

VALORI.
The People have been heard, and are heard now.
Want you the execution?

[To the People.]
THE CROWD.
Ay! and straight!

A GONFALONIERE.
And if we do not get it, we will bring
The gonfalons of all the Companies
Into the streets, and wake the very stones
Against the traitors.

ONE OF THE EIGHT.
But we have convinced
The Five of treason, and we but await
The pleasure of the Signory, to pass
A fitting sentence.

[Sits down.]
[Valori, with furious mien and fast footsteps, strides to the table in front of the bench where the nine members of the Signory are sitting, and seizes the ballot-box, saying at the same time:]
VALORI.
Only one is fit,
And, it pronounced not, scandal will ensue.

[Turning fiercely to Luca Martini, one of the Signory, who is Proposto for the day, and holding out to him the ballot-box.]
VALORI.
You, the Proposto, put it to the vote.
Your vacillating slowness lets the State
Slide down the jaws of ruin.

[Luca Martini hands the ballot-box to the other members of the Signory, who drop their balls into it, and he then returns it to Valori, who counts the balls.]
VALORI.
Still but five!
Now to what end, O potent Signors,
Have ye so many citizens convened
Who by the hand of your own notary
Have signified their judgment 'gainst these Five,
Subverters of the freedom of the State,
And enemies of Florence?

[The Five Prisoners are led into the Piazza, barefoot and in chains, to move the compassion of the People. Valori turns his back upon them, and addresses the Signory more violently than before.]
VALORI.
Have you grown deaf,
And do not catch the universal cry
Jealous to save the Commonwealth, or blind,
And from your lofty watch-towers not discern,
The imminence of peril? Mind you, sirs!
The People placed you where you are, to shield
Those liberties which, through a false respect
For citizens in bloody treasons dyed,
You have uncovered. But of this be sure,
[He unsheaths his sword.]
An arm will not be wanting, wanting never,
To guard so just and sanctified a Cause
'Gainst them that traverse it! Now, vote again.

[Luca Martini again hands round the ballot-box. As he does so, the prisoners advance to the foot of the scaffold. Bernardo del Nero mounts the steps, reaches the summit, and stands on one side of the block. Niccolò Ridolfi follows, and takes his place on the other side of the block. Lorenzo Tornabuoni begins to ascend, but as he reaches the fifth step, there is a shout, and he pauses and turns, facing (left). At that moment, Candida re-enters, accompanied by Letizia.]
MARTINI.
Our voices are unanimous for death.

ONE OF THE EIGHT.
Therefore be death their doom!

[The People shout, “Long live the Commonwealth! Long live Liberty!” Tornabuoni gazes at Candida, who veils her eyes, and then ascends the remaining steps. Valori, still with sword lifted, turns and sees Candida. He inverts his sword, and gazes on the ground. The curtain falls.]