University of Virginia Library

ACT V.

SCENE I.

A Street in Florence.
[At the right of the stage, a small open Loggia, raised above the level of the stage by three steps, and up which clamber Banksia roses in full bloom. Inside the Loggia are seated Corsini, Bonsi, and Vespucci. On the left of the stage, facing them, are the northern parts of the city, Fiesole, Careggi, Monte Morello, and the spurs of the Apennines.]
CORSINI.
How passing fair the city looks to-day.

BONSI.
Yes, and how fresh her territory, robed
In the abundant greenery of May!
Quick-scaling roses have surprised the walls,
And the Valdarno laughs beneath the spears
Of serried growth in peaceful phalanx ranged.
Methinks I scent the clover even here.

VESPUCCI.
Likely enough; and note you how afar,
Melted by winsomeness of childlike Spring,
The manly mountains wear a feminine smile.
Scarcely a day for such a sight as that
Hourly preparing.

CORSINI.
Are all three to die?
'Twas said the Bishop of Ilerda strove
To rescue Frà Domenico.

BONSI.
If he did,
'Twas feebly argued. Answered, he not dead,
Savonarola's doctrine would survive,
Curtly the Pope's Commissioner replied,
“One friar more or less—what matters it?
Then burn him too.”

VESPUCCI.
He seems the stubborn sort.
Torture, they say, but tightened constancy;
And when they vouched him Frà Girolamo
Himself himself forswore, he sat him down,
And wrote unto the brethren of Saint Mark,
Enjoining them to bind up all the works
Of Frà Girolamo, nor fail to keep
One copy in the library, and one
In the refectory, securing them
Unto the lectern by a little chain.

CORSINI.
Think you that Savonarola did confess
His prophecies imposture?

BONSI.
Possibly.
The visionary's valour, that is fledged
In watches of uncontradicting night
Or sympathising solitude, and wings
Limitless flight through unresisting space,
Confronted by the sharp and alien air
Of earthly circumstance,—well, droops and flags.

VESPUCCI.
Doubtless, you probe it there. Vigil and fast,
Obeisant brethren, and the duping shout
Of crowds that foster frenzy, rarefied
His mind to vapour; which was back condensed
By the chill silence of a prison cell,
The face of cold inquisitors, the tramp
Of deaf, dumb gaolers, all the accidents
That render doubt substantial.

CORSINI.
Nor forget
The grimly real rack with grinning teeth,
The sceptic cords, the idealising brain
Helpless to serve the body in that pinch,
And Heaven not intervening!

BONSI.
Yet they say,
When last upon the rack stretched out afresh,
That he recanted every utterance
Discrediting his prophecies, and prayed
God would condone the frailty of the flesh
Which had denied Him, and that now he stands
Fast by that gospel. Here comes one that was
The worldly arm of the Frateschi till
Themselves had learned more worldliness.

[Enter Salviati (right), with his eyes upon the ground.]
VESPUCCI.
How now,
Good Salviati?

SALVIATI.
I am good no more,
Save to be exiled, if that suits my foes:
An officer whose privates have dispersed,
A flag without a following.

CORSINI.
How is that?

SALVIATI.
Why, even I, dull though I am, could see
On what a narrow and ambiguous edge
Florence was treading. I am a soldier, sirs:
Enjoy no visions, ask no miracles,
Under my breastplate no raw hair-shirt hide,
But served the State, while still Valori lived,
With some fidelity. But those daft loons
I pressed into my service had conceived
Praying would starve out Pisa, hymns persuade
The plague to pass elsewhere, and wealth increase
By burning of their luxuries. When they found
Cause was not crowned with consequence,—well, they
The Cause abandoned.

BONSI.
Have they all forsworn
The prophesying Prior?

SALVIATI.
Nearly all:
All saving credulous women. They stand firm,
Believing more, the more a thing's disproved.
Withal, Heaven bless them! They are like the dew
That comes with morning and returns with night,
And having cheered some luminary's dawn,
Shrink back into themselves when he rides high,
That they may soothe his setting. With your leave,
I will continue homewards, for I am
A trifle sad.
[Exit Salviati (right).]

VESPUCCI.
That's a straightforward man,
Entangled in the ravel of these times.
But he will cut it, for he has a sword.
These men of action tread the easiest road.
'Tis only thought's inextricable mesh
Makes life confusion.

BONSI.
Cease we then to think!
How softly doth the landscape kiss the eyes!
Let us awhile look on it quietly.

VESPUCCI.
There will not be much quietness to-day.
Look! Here they come.

SCENE II.

The Same.
[A number of Citizens enter (left). Frateschi, Arrabbiati, and Piagnoni; but the Frateschi and Piagnoni have discarded their distinctive garb.]
CORSINI.
Let us listen to their talk,
'Twill edify good sense.

FIRST ARRABBIATO.
So you're convinced
He's an impostor?

FIRST PIAGNONE.
Who can doubt of it?
Why, hasn't he confessed it with his hand?

SECOND ARRABBIATO.
And you, my comrade?

SECOND PIAGNONE.
Thoroughly satisfied.
Here is the copy of a letter sent
By friars of San Marco to the Pope.
Want you to hear?

FIRST PIAGNONE.
Yes, read it; and speak up.

SECOND PIAGNONE.
[Reads aloud.]

“Not only we, but men of much greater penetration,
were taken in by the astuteness of Frà Girolamo.
The correctness of his doctrine, the rectitude of his

life, the sanctity of his manners, his ostensible devotion,
the reputation he acquired by expelling from the
city evil customs, usury, and every feature of vice,
the many events which, foretold and verified beyond
the power of mere human imagination, confirmed his
prophecies;—all these were so striking, that if he himself
had not recanted, avowing that his words did not
proceed from God, we never should have been able to
withdraw our faith from him. And so thoroughly did
we believe in him, that we were all ready to expose
our bodies at the stake in confirmation of his doctrine.
Let it satisfy your Holiness to have got hold of the
source and origin of our errors, Frà Girolamo Savonarola.
Let him bear the fitting penalty, if such can be
devised, for so much wickedness. We, poor strayed
sheep, return to the true shepherd.”

THIRD PIAGNONE.
What more can any one want? Proof positive
This Prior was a charlatan.

FOURTH PIAGNONE.
A rogue.
'Tis patent as a syllogism.

CORSINI.
But, friends!
How if this recantation spurious be?

[Bettuccio, who has entered (right), comes forward, with a paper in his hand.]
BETTUCCIO.
As specious, spurious, lying, sure it is.

FIRST ARRABBIATO.
Bettuccio!

SECOND ARRABBIATO.
Nay, Frà Benedetto now,
Gone cracked since they interred his lady-love!

BETTUCCIO.
Where is the autograph Process? 'Tis destroyed.
Where the four hundred ducats, promised bribe
To Ser Ceccone, the false notary?
He gets but fifty; for his dirty work
Has proved not foul enough. And tell me this:
Why were two hundred citizens shut out
From the Grand Council when the Signory
Elected was anew? Why Doffo Spini,
His first, his worst, his bitterest enemy,
Placed on the jury that examined him?
Why never in his presence, nor before
All the Grand Council, was the Process read,
As is by law appointed?

FIRST PIAGNONE.
Why, because
Savonarola feared he would be stoned.

BETTUCCIO.
Afraid of being stoned! Then go and see
This coward die. But ere you go, hear this.
This is a later Process, garbled too,
But with the truth not utterly shut out.

VOICES.
Enough of Processes!

OTHER VOICES.
More than enough!

[A number of people, running, enter (left).]
FIRST CITIZEN.
Come on, good folks! Come quick! Or you'll be late.

FIRST ARRABBIATO.
What! Is it time?

SECOND PIAGNONE.
Then let us go!

ALL.
Come on!

[Exeunt all (right), save Corsini, Bonsi, and Bettuccio.]
BONSI.
[To Bettuccio.]
You might as well distinguish with the wind,
As intercept the crowd's conclusion
By pointing to the premiss. When this storm
Is beggared of its fury, write a book,
And tell the world of this strange episode.
You poets are the best historians,
And in your cloister, novice, you will have
Abundant leisure.
[To Corsini and Vespuccio.]
Shall we go in to breakfast?

[The Scene changes.]

SCENE III.

Piazza of the Signoria.
[Three Tribunals or Galleries, with their back to the Palazzo Pubblico. In one is the Bishop of Vasona, in his Episcopal robes; in the second, the Papal Commissioners, Gioacchino Turriano, General of the Dominicans, and Francesco Romolino, Bishop of Ilerda; in the third, the Signory. From these to the middle of the Piazza runs an elevated wooden way, at the end of which rises a tall strong stake, with a cross-beam near the top of it. From this cross-beam hang three halters and three chains. Round the stake is a heap of inflammable material. Foot-soldiers of the Signory prevent the people from approaching it. The Piazza is crowded with persons of all ranks, ages, and conditions.]
FIRST CITIZEN.
How like a cross that looks.

SECOND CITIZEN.
And looked more like,
Until the Signory, perceiving it,
Sawed off the top.

THIRD CITIZEN.
It still looks like a cross.

A WOMAN.
It looks like what it is.

FIRST ARRABBIATO.
I almost think
They might have spared his life. It had sufficed
To lodge him in close durance.

SECOND ARRABBIATO.
For how long?
For aught we know, another Signory
Had set him free, and then we should have had
This pother o'er again.

THIRD ARRABBIATO.
Best as it is.
An enemy that's dead makes war no more.

FIRST PIAGNONE.
Why, even now, men scatter through the streets
His Commentary on the Psalms, “In Te
Domine, speraui,” writ by him in prison.

SECOND PIAGNONE.
And a long Meditation late conceived,
Upon the Miserere; and 'tis said
He has again been prophesying ill
That is to fall on Florence when there reigns
A Pope called Clement.

FIRST ARRABBIATO.
Borgia had the wit
To avoid that name, which would have lent a foil
Too glaring 'gainst his nature. Are not those
The Pope's Commissioners?

SECOND ARRABBIATO.
Hush! Here they come.

[Enter Savonarola, Frà Domenico, and Frà Silvestro, barefoot. A Crier steps forward.]
CRIER.
The Gonfaloniere and the Eight,
Having the Processes considered well
Of the three Friars, and the grievous crimes
Therein contained, and having, most of all,
Considered the Pope's sentence, which condemns
And so consigns them to the secular arm,
That they be punished, hereby do pronounce:
That each of these three Friars do first be hanged,
Then burnt, until their souls be utterly
Dissevered from their bodies.

[Savonarola and his companions are led forward to the front of the Tribunal where the Bishop of Vasona sits, and are stripped of their outer habit, and left standing in long linen tunics.]
SAVONAROLA.
O sacred habit! how I cherished thee!
Thou unto me wast given by grace of God,
And spotless have I kept thee to the end.
Now do I not relinquish thee, but thou
Art taken from me!

FRÀ SILVESTRO.
Into Thy hands, O Lord,
I commend my spirit.

FRÀ DOMENICO.
Bear this well in mind,
The prophecies of Frà Girolamo
Will all be verified. For us, we die
Innocent.

[The Bishop, who has descended from the Tribunal, takes hold of the arm of Savonarola.]
BISHOP.
I separate thee from the Church
Militant and triumphant!

SAVONAROLA.
There, you trip!
Militant, yes! Triumphant? 'Tis not yours!

[He turns and walks along the platform to the place of execution, with Frà Domenico on his right, and Frà Silvestro on the left. Cei and Soderini emerge from the crowd.]
CEI.
Nay, come away! 'Twill be a loathsome sight.
There is a plaguing voice within my heart,
Whispers me we were wrong to plug our ears
Against the heavenly thunders of this Friar.

SODERINI.
A melancholy end!

CEI.
What end is not?
Yet different means breed different ends, be sure.
His name will live while life and death endure;
But as for these, his executioners,
Their very memory with their bones will rot,
And only slimy worms remember them!

[The Curtain falls.]