The angels of Savonarola

Contents

CHAPTER PAGE

I. Under the Rose Tree n

II. At the Cathedral 26

II At The Cathedrae

The fame of the great Dominican preacher continued to grow steadily, not only in Florence but throughout the length and breadth of Italy, during the two years which followed Bernardino Salviati's first meeting with Fra Girolamo.

From Padua and Naples and Perugia, even from Rome itself, there came men and women who were curious to listen to the oratory which was said to be more wonderful than anything that the world had yet produced. Hungry souls there were also, who came in true desire to be fed with the bread of life which this earnest monk knew how to give his flock, not offering them a pretended food which was in reality only chaff.

Savonarola's sermons were full of gospel truth, for though he was in many respects thoroughly loyal to the Church of Rome, and was only Protestant in so far as every great and holy soul which protests against evil has always been Protestant, yet he held fast to all the simple cardinal truths of Scripture for which Luther and Calvin were later to make their great stand. He believed and preached the complete sufficiency of

Christ's sacrifice to satisfy divine justice, and the perfect willingness of God to receive and hear the suppliant who comes in Jesus' name, without any intervention of or intercession by the saints.

He taught that no priestly absolution could be of any avail unless it was preceded by God's forgiveness, and that only by faith and submission could salvation come — not by virtue of outward works or penances. Also, he never hesitated to pour out fiery denunciations against the evils existing in the church and the vices of the clergy.

" The Church must be reformed before we can expect that the State will be ! " Fra Girolamo was accustomed to exclaim. " You force me to take up the cry of Jeremiah against your sins, and if a change does not soon come over the present condition of God's people, he will visit them with terrible w ( oes, even as he visited the children of Israel and Judah with ruin and devastation ! "

The Frate's sermons brought such tremendous crowds to the convent church of San Marco that many had to be turned away, and he was finally persuaded to transfer the services to the larger building of the Cathedral.

Very early one morning in the late autumn of the year 149 1 Bernardino Salviati might have been seen hurrying with his mother through the dimly-lighted streets of Florence towards the Duomo.

Both were warmly wrapped in fur cloaks, for the morning was chilly, and a slight, misty rain was making everything damp and unpleasant. In front of them walked two serving-men, carrying lighted torches, for it was still so early that the first faint streaks of dawn were only just beginning to show themselves in the east.

11 Mother," said Bernardino, shivering a little even under his warm wrap in the damp air, 11 why would not father come with us this morning, though we begged him to do so?"

Maria Salviati sighed, and did not answer for a moment. Then she said, " I think, Dino, that your father is anxious about Fra Girolamo, and that is why he is unwilling to go and listen to him as he used to be so fond of doing. Your father loves our dear friend as much as we do, but lately he seems to feel very certan that the Frate will soon bring down upon himself some terrible punishment from the chief authorities of the church if he continues in his bold preaching. You know that only last week the Papal Legate was here and held several conversations with Savonarola. No one seems to be certain what was the result of them, but we may feel quite sure that our brave friar never acceded for a moment to any demands made by the Pope."

" Of course he would never do anything which he did not think right, mother dear," answered

Dino cheerily, quite undaunted by his mother's anxiety, which indeed he was too young to comprehend very clearly. " Our Frate knows far better than any one else, even bishop or Pope, the difference between right and wrong, and I do not see how any one in the world could have the right to stop his preaching or to tell him what he ought to say! "

Maria Salviati smiled a little at the boy's simplicity, but she sighed again the next moment as she remembered how soon his eyes might be opened by some startling event which would perhaps bring disastrous consequences upon his friend Fra Girolamo.

In the two years which had just passed Bernardino had grown rapidly, and was developing into a tall, symmetrical lad. He was now in his eleventh year, and showed signs of unusual maturity at that age, which made his parents sometimes very proud of him, and sometimes rather anxious as to what his future might be. " I am not quite sure, Father," Guido Salviati had said one day to Savonarola, as they walked together in the convent garden, " whether our little Dino is to become a remarkable genius, or to leave this wicked world altogether, but really he is so unlike other children that he sometimes alarms me ! "

Fra Girolamo shook his head, smiling gently.

"The boy is, perhaps, developing early in unusual ways," he said, "but do not fear for him. In his case both heart and head are absolutely sound, and he has a very sweet and noble nature. I prophesy that he will one day become a great and good man, and I am sure that he is well-nigh as dear to me, my friend, as he is to you, his own parents."

These kind words, spoken by the good monk, were of great comfort to Guido, and they proved in the end true, as did so many other of Savonarola's wise sayings.

The boy returned the great preacher's affection with a love which was at once deep and enthusiastic, and during the time which had passed since their first meeting they had had many long and interesting talks together.

Although Dino was too young as yet to be admitted into the classes of Dominican novices or to come under the friar's actual tuition, yet Savonarola, who had by this time been elected Prior of San Marco, and who was necessarily a very busy man, was never too greatly occupied to give a few moments to the boy who loved him and whom he included in the number of his " angels," as he was fond of denominating his favorite pupils.

At length Bernardino and his mother had traversed the Piazza in the dim morning twilight and were standing before the great portals of the Duomo. Already such a vast crowd had collected outside that it was very difficult to get anywhere near the entrance, but the two stout servants who accompanied them managed by dint of some pushing and some persuading to force a pathway for the noble lady and her son through the densely packed mass of humanity until they found themselves quite close to the door.

Many of these people had already been waiting for an hour or more in the drenching mist, for so great was the desire to hear these wonderful sermons that nothing was deemed a hardship which would enable the thousands who loved Savonarola to come within the sound of his voice.

The assembling multitude was a very silent one, and when at last the doors were thrown open and they entered the vast, dimly-lighted building, it was almost without any noise or bustle that they took their places and waited until the services should begin. The time did indeed seem very long to Bernardino before he heard the sound for which he was listening, the far-off echo of boyish voices approaching gradually nearer and nearer through the long cloisters, until at length the procession of white-clad " angels " appeared through the chancel-door and marched, still singing, up and down the aisles of the cathedral.

How Bernardino wished that he might become one of them and live near his beloved friar in a little cell — one of those same tiny cells which the visitor to Florence to-day may see close to the bare study which the great monk himself occupied.

But the boy knew in the depths of his heart that his father would never consent to his becoming a monk, and he also knew full well that never would he be willing to take the tremendous step without his parents' consent. Many times he had spoken to Fra Girolamo concerning the matter, and each time his kind friend had counselled him wisely and firmly.

"Do not think, my son," he would say, "that our God desires the severing of natural ties or the breaking of hearts in a home, save when he vouchsafes some special and direct call to the individual soul. In my own case I did indeed leave a father and mother who were dearer to me than life itself, and tore myself from a home which was to me as heaven upon earth, but it was because our loving Father gave me a token which would admit of no disregarding. He called me to the Church for some wise purpose, hidden then, but since clearly revealed, and that purpose was none other than the salvation of Florence.

" With you, my son, however, it is far different. I feel very certain that you can do more good to the cause of Christ in this city outside the Church than even within it. Florence needs most sorely men just such as you will, I trust, become — men who love God simply and truly, and who serve him and the city without guile."

While Bernardino was waiting patiently in the Cathedral on that November morning, watching the first rays of the sun steal through the richlystained glass of the great windows and listening to the almost continuous anthems which came from the boy-choir, he had plenty of time to think over these words of the friar and many others like them.

At his side his mother knelt, fingering her rosary and murmuring over her Pater-nosters and Ave Marias. But Dino, though he tried to remain in a reverent frame of mind, and at times prayed earnestly with supplications quite original and words that were widely different from any found in the prayer-book, was unable to find very much comfort from repeating over and over again the few Latin syllables which his mother loved so well.

A saying of Savonarola's uttered one day to his class had made a great impression upon the boy's memory, and had taught him much concerning the true nature of prayer.

" Words," cried the great teacher, "are not really indispensable to an act of prayer. When a man is truly rapt in the spirit an uttered prayer becomes rather an impediment, and ought to yield to that which is wholly mental. Thus it will be seen how great a mistake those commit who prescribe a fixed number of prayers. God does not delight in a multitude of words, but in a fervent spirit."

Bernardino was still pondering this thought, and endeavoring to approach his Heavenly Father in a spirit of true adoration, when from the far-off stalls of the choir the clear young voices burst into a magnificent Te Deum. This was always a welcome sound to the congregation, for it signified that their period of expectancy was almost over and that it would soon be time for the preacher to make his appearance.

11 We praise Thee, O God," sang the melodious voices, "we acknowledge Thee to be the Lord. All the earth doth worship Thee, the Father everlasting. To Thee all angels cry aloud."

As they uttered these words some of the women whispered to one another that the sweet songsters were well-named " angels," for no one had ever listened to such music upon earth before!

About half-way through the Te Deum, however, there occurred a somewhat singular disturbance in the church, which was a surprise to every one, it was so foreign to the ordinary customs of Savonarola's congregations.

While the singing continued without pause two men were observed pushing .their way up tfhe crowded main aisle and endeavoring to secure places for themselves well towards the front in the assembled multitude. They were both wrapped in long, dark cloaks, and the voluminous folds of silken mufflers almost entirely hid their heads and faces, yet the richness of these same garments and a certain haughtiness of bearing and gesture alike proclaimed them to be of noble rank.

That they wished very much to maintain their incognito was quite evident, but also that they had by no means succeeded in the attempt was also evident. No sooner had the crowd caught sight of the first man, whose broad shoulders and magnificent physique were poorly concealed even by the long enveloping cloak, than a whisper ran from lip to lip, " See, that is Lorenzo de' Medici ! The Magnifico himself has come to hear our Dominican preach ! "

Nevertheless the people made no outward demonstration, and even the murmur of recognition was soon hushed, for they all stood in great awe of the proud man who ruled them with an iron rod, and they understood quite well that he would by no means tolerate with patience the effort to penetrate his disguise. Besides, the fact that Lorenzo should have deigned to come at all to listen to Savonarola's preaching was in itself a most anVazing one.

From the earliest moment when his influence in Florence had begun to assert itself Fra Girolamo had shown his entire disapproval of Lorenzo's government, and had never hesitated to express that disapprobation. When his fellow-monks elected him Prior of San Marco and suggested that, according to custom, it would be the proper thing for him to go and tender his respects to the ruling despot, Savonarola firmly refused to do so. His thoroughly honest nature made him unwilling to offer any semblance of a reverence which he certainly could not feel for the haughty sovereign.

Strange to say, this treatment did not seem to make Lorenzo very angry. He probably felt for the remarkable monk a vague sort of admiration, recognizing in him a character far above his own. There was too in Lorenzo something of greatness and nobility of soul which made him long for the Frate's esteem, even while he must have realized that he did not deserve it.

Once he had sent a high state official to ask that Savonarola would soften his denunciations of the Government, or else would leave the city altogether, and it was then that the monk had replied by sending him that singularly prophetic message which was so exactly fulfilled.

" Tell your master," cried the Dominican, " that it is he who shall go away from Florence, but it is / who shall remain here."

Little did Lorenzo comprehend, though it is probable that he was even then somewhat im-

GIROLAMO SAVONAROLA— 1452-1498.

pressed by the sombre significance of the prophecy, how soon it was to be fulfilled by his own death, nor how entirely the dominion which he had exercised with so haughty a sway over beautiful Florence was to pass into the hands of the humble Dominican friar, a rival apparently so little to be feared by the great and mighty noble !

But now the slight tremor of excitement caused by Lorenzo's suspected presence had passed away, and a hush of intense expectancy made itself felt throughout the assembled multitude.

The last triumphant strains of the Te Deurn were echoing through the cathedral: "O Lord, let Thy mercy be upon us, as our trust is in Thee. O Lord, in Thee have I trusted; let me never be confounded."

Silently the people watched, as the black-robed figure of their favorite teacher came out from the shadows of the arches and mounted the steps of the pulpit beneath the dark circle of the dome. At last the great voice poured itself forth, filling the vast auditorium with a volume of sound at once rich and sympathetic.

Perhaps no orator has ever possessed a voice so marvellous as Savonarola's. It was so musical that its softest accents were like the rippling of water over pebbles, and so far-reaching, when raised to its full compass, that listeners in the most distant portions of the huge cathedral could hear distinctly every syllable he uttered. It was a voice which could melt men to tears by its tenderness and pathos, or lift them to heights of unbounded enthusiasm and rapture by its swelling accents.

But though the voice of Savonarola was much in itself, and though it sometimes seemed to have a power almost supernatural over the population of Florence, yet it was really the soul behind the voice which actually swayed the people. It was because they so loved and trusted the character of the great preacher, who never played them false, never deceived them, but who dared to give them undistorted truth as he saw it, that his words were so able to move and touch them.

Savonarola began his sermon that morning by a simple and practical delineation of the Christian life and what it should be for the individual soul which desires to love and follow Jesus Christ as Lord and Master. His text was a passage from St. Paul's First Epistle to the Corinthians :

" For other foundation can no man lay than that is laid, which is Jesus Christ. Now if any man build upon this foundation gold, silver, precious stones, wood, hay, stubble, every man's work shall be made manifest: for the day shall declare it, because it shall be revealed by fire ; and the fire shall try every man's work of what sort it is. If any man's work abide which he hath built thereupon, he shall receive a reward. If any man's work shall be burned he shall suffer loss; but he himself shall be saved; yet so as by fire."

The monk began by saying that faith in the Lord Jesus Christ and in his atoning work was the only sure foundation-stone upon which the noble structure of each Christian character could safely be made to rise. Into the building of this superstructure there ought to enter three great principles, which should serve as the main supports of the whole: first, the fear of God; second, love for others; and third, a complete and systematic denial of self and of the baser passions.

"The fear of God/' said the friar, "must indeed be the chief and central support of our whole edifice. For unless the soul of man truly reverences and adores its Maker, it cannot possibly love in any genuine or unselfish way its brother-men, neither can it know what self-denial really means. He who loves his Creator in truth will, without doubt, love and desire to help those brothers and sisters who are children of the same great family, and will also strive to make himself a worthy child of that wise and benevolent Parent.

11 1 beseech you, my brethren," cried Savonarola, "begin to erect at once on the foundation-rock of faith in our Redeemer's sacrifice these three solid pillars, without which your building will be all in vain, and then go on to fashion, leaning upon them, an edifice which will not totter and fall, but which will stand the searching flames of that last great trial ! For I say unto you truly, my friends, that your work, the work that you shall accomplish or endeavor to accomplish in this life, is going to be put through a fiery ordeal which alone can thoroughly determine of what sort it is.

11 Do you know what kind of articles will best stand that scorching furnace, that furnace which is God Himself? — for He verily calls Himself a consuming fire. I will tell you some things which cannot be in danger of destruction therein, but which will emerge as pure gold from the refiner's assaying.

"They are the hours spent beside the bedside of the sick and suffering, the money freely given to the poor, of which the world will never hear, the cheerful encouragement held out to some weary one by a soul perhaps as weary but more courageous, the conquering of some tremendous temptation by God's help, the sacrifice of wealth or ambition for the good of others; these are parts of that structure, my friends, which no fiery trial can burn up; they are pure gold, and will continue forever, even as long as the immortal soul dwells in that blessed country which God's children shall inhabit to all eternity!

" But there are other substances of which some of you seem to be forming your dwellings here upon earth, and against which I would desire earnestly to warn you, for they are most dangerously inflammable. They will not abide the day of his coming, they cannot pass through the refiner's lire.

" Some of you who build in this loose and unstable way may indeed be true though erring disciples of our only Lord and Saviour, Jesus Christ. You may at the last be saved — be snatched by a wonderful miracle from eternal death — but alas, your whole life-work will perish, and you yourselves will suffer loss, a loss how great and terrible I may not even try to estimate.

11 To be saved only so as by fire! Ah, my brethren, that will be a sad estimate to be written against any man's earthly existence. Better than not to be saved at all, you say. Truly, I grant that, yet how dreadful to see the whole fabric of one's hopes and dreams crumble away and perish utterly because it is constructed completely of dross! What sort of things will enter into that destructible combination? I will enumerate a few of them: the lust of the flesh, the pride of life, the deceitfulness of riches.

" Oh, you who are loving this world more than the thought of the world to come, how earnestly do I cry unto you to awake from the delusion which makes you think it so important and so precious ! Soon you are going to leave it, this beautiful earth, with its jewels and its treasures.

" You may be dressed in gorgeous robes of silk and velvet now, but what certainty have you that when you pass from this sphere Jesus will be waiting to welcome you to his banqueting-house, and that He will put on you the white marriage garment of his righteousness and the golden ring which pledges his redeeming love?

"You may be the possessors now of palaces furnished with wonderful paintings by our greatest masters, and tapestries woven in the richest colors, but what guarantee have you that when you leave these pleasant homes, as so soon you must, to the generations who shall follow you in quick succession, what certificate do you possess that you will enter then into the many mansions which our dear Lord said he was preparing for his true disciples? Are your title-deeds as sure to a dwelling-place within the gates of pearl as they are to your houses inside the gates of Florence?

"Alas, my people, I tell you, No! Many of you are in a state of great danger, and if you continue building as you have begun, your work will most surely be entirely destroyed. I pray God you yourselves may be saved, but if you are, it will be, I fear, only so as by fire ! For be well assured, you who are living only for this world and storing up treasures which moth and rust will soon corrupt and cause to perish — be very sure that no gold nor precious stones can ever buy you an entrance into the Eternal City of God nor purchase his divine favor when you have ceased to merit it.

11 Do you think for a moment that all the treasures which the Magnifico has heaped up for himself in! his impregnable vaults and unassailable caskets will be fraught with the smallest power to rescue him from that terrible fate which is in store for him? Will they answer to God for all the blood which he has unjustly shed, for all the cries of the orphans and widows whom he has ruined to obtain them ? I tell you No ! He must soon pass away and leave them all, hearing as he descends to the depths of that awful punishment which awaits him only the melancholy greeting of those other fallen souls who have preceded him there — *0 Lucifer, Son of the Morning, how art thou fallen, and become like unto one of us! ' "

Savonarola's magnetic voice and eloquent gestures had always a measureless power over the congregations which assembled before him. But on this occasion the effect produced upon the immense audience gathered in the cathedral can with difficulty be described.

Long before he had finished his appeal to their consciences, and his description of the fearful mistake those made who were not building character of enduring substances, many of the women and a few of the men were weeping and the whole assembly was in a state of suppressed excitement. When, however, the matchless notes of his wonderful harangue echoed through the vast building in that thunder of terrible denunciation against the magnificent Lorenzo, no idea can be formed of the panic which ensued. For almost every individual in the multitude knew full well what the speaker himself was entirely ignorant of, that the potentate was actually present in person and was listening to those appalling words.

But the panic of fear into which they were thrown was a peculiarly silent one. Not a person cried out or uttered a note of alarm, though a few women swooned and one or two of the children sobbed aloud. The influence which kept all in a state of such terrified quiet was their intense anxiety as to how Lorenzo would act in this situation. Would he rise in his place and in turn denounce the daring monk, ordering him perhaps to cease from further preaching and leave Florence immediately?

Bernardino was trembling violently from head to foot as he thought of this awful possibility, and weeping silently too, with his head upon his mother's shoulder. Maria Salviati was herself very white, and her great blue eyes were wide with suppressed fear. But she was a brave woman, and she knew well that in Savonarola Lorenzo de' Medici had met his match — a man not only as capable of ruling men as himself, but also one far greater/ because the power of pure goodness and truth is always vastly stronger than that of evil and selfish passion/

So she waited calmly, feeling quite sure in her inmost soul that Lorenzo would never dare to assail the friar in his own church and pulpit, but that the Magnifico's guilty conscience would render him a humbled and helpless man before his accuser.

The sequel proved that Maria's intuition was the right one. For immediately, as the congregation tarried, the seraph notes of the boy-choir rose again in the strains of the Miserere, " Have mercy upon me, O Lord, according to thy loving kindness," and as the words echoed through the dim arches and up into the vast shadow of the dome, there was a slight movement in the crowd, and quickly a pathway w i as made through it for the two men, Lorenzo and his companion, who passed hurriedly down the main aisle and out through the wide doorway of the cathedral.

The onlookers saw them go with feelings of intense relief, and those who were nearest at hand noticed that Lorenzo staggered perceptibly as he walked, and leaned heavily on the arm of his companion in a way which contrasted strangely with his usual haughty and athletic bearing.

Ill

Spring had come once more to Florence, the spring of the year 1492, and again flowers were filling the gardens and fruit-trees were transforming themselves into pyramids of bloom. It has been well said that nowhere is there found a climate so like what one would fancy the climate of heaven might be as that of Italy in springtime.

On one of those glorious days, in the beautiful garden of the Salviati palace, a pleasant little group had gathered in the warm afternoon sunshine, under the falling pink blossoms of a great peach-tree.

Maria Salviati was there, seated before a small round table covered with a dainty white cloth, upon which there were set out dishes of cake and sweetmeats and tiny glasses of wine.

Near her on a wooden bench sat Fra Girolamo Savonarola, his dark cowl thrown back a little and his rugged features illuminated by a glow of unaccustomed enjoyment.

On the grass at his feet lay Bernardino, looking up eagerly into the face of his revered teacher, and, pacing up and down on the gravelwalk close by, was Guido Salviati, talking earnestly and pausing now and then with impressive gestures in front of the listening group. To an attentive observer it would have been evident that Guido was working himself into a state of excitement about some agitating matter, and that he was trying in vain to rouse his companions to a similar glowi of feeling.

The subject was, in truth, a somewhat wellworn one, thoroughly and often discussed by these four friends when together. It was the present political state of Florence and the great abuses of the Medicean rule. But the wonted enthusiasm was quite lacking in Savonarola that afternoon. The sweet calm of the beautiful spring day had crept over him, and made him unusually happy and peaceful in a gentle human way, which was not often his privilege, so stormy was his environment.