Seven Men by Max Beerbohm - HTML preview

Savonarola

 

A Tragedy By L. Brown

 ACT I

 SCENE: A Room in the Monastery of San Marco, Florence. TIME: 1490, A.D. A summer morning

 .

 Enter the SACRISTAN and a FRIAR.

 SACR.

 Savonarola looks more grim to-day

 Than ever. Should I speak my mind, I'd say

 That he was fashioning some new great scourge

To flay the backs of men.

 FRI.

 'Tis even so.

 Brother Filippo saw him stand last night

 In solitary vigil till the dawn

 Lept o'er the Arno, and his face was such

 As men may wear in Purgatory--nay,

 E'en in the inmost core of Hell's own fires.

 SACR.

 I often wonder if some woman's face,

 Seen at some rout in his old worldling days,

 Haunts him e'en now, e'en here, and urges him

 To fierier fury 'gainst the Florentines.

 FRI.

 Savonarola love-sick! Ha, ha, ha!

 Love-sick? He, love-sick? 'Tis a goodly jest!

 The CONfirm'd misogyn a ladies' man!

 Thou must have eaten of some strange red herb

That takes the reason captive. I will swear

 Savonarola never yet hath seen

 A woman but he spurn'd her. Hist! He comes.

 [Enter SAVONAROLA, rapt in thought.]

 Give thee good morrow, Brother.

 SACR.

 And therewith

 A multitude of morrows equal-good

 Till thou, by Heaven's grace, hast wrought the work Nearest thine heart.

 SAV.

 I thank thee, Brother, yet

 I thank thee not, for that my thankfulness

 (An such there be) gives thanks to Heaven alone. FRI. [To SACR.]

 'Tis a right answer he hath given thee.

 Had Sav'narola spoken less than thus,

 Methinks me, the less Sav'narola he.

 As when the snow lies on yon Apennines,

 White as the hem of Mary Mother's robe,

 And insusceptible to the sun's rays,

 Being harder to the touch than temper'd steel,

 E'en so this great gaunt monk white-visaged

 Upstands to Heaven and to Heav'n devotes

 The scarped thoughts that crown the upper slopes

 Of his abrupt and AUStere nature.

 SACR. Aye.

 [Enter LUCREZIA BORGIA, ST. FRANCIS oF ASSISI, and LEONARDO DA VINCI. LUC. is thickly veiled.]

 ST. FRAN

 . This is the place.

 LUC. [Pointing at SAV.]

 And this the man! [Aside.] And I--

 By the hot blood that courses i' my veins

 I swear it ineluctably--the woman!

 SAV.

 Who is this wanton?

 [LUC. throws back her hood, revealing her face. SAV. starts back, gazing at her.] ST. FRAN.

 Hush, Sir! 'Tis my little sister

 The poisoner, right well-belov'd by all

 Whom she as yet hath spared. Hither she came

 Mounted upon another little sister of mine--

 A mare, caparison'd in goodly wise.

 She--I refer now to Lucrezia--

 Desireth to have word of thee anent

 Some matter that befrets her.

 SAV. [To LUC.]

 Hence! Begone!

 Savonarola will not tempted be

 By face of woman e'en tho' 't be, tho' 'tis,

 Surpassing fair. All hope abandon therefore.

 I charge thee: Vade retro, Satanas.

 LEONARDO

 Sirrah, thou speakst in haste, as is the way

 Of monkish men. The beauty of Lucrezia

 Commends, not discommends, her to the eyes

 Of keener thinkers than I take thee for.

 I am an artist and an engineer,

 Giv'n o'er to subtile dreams of what shall be

 On this our planet. I foresee a day

 When men shall skim the earth i' certain chairs

Not drawn by horses but sped on by oil

 Or other matter, and shall thread the sky

 Birdlike.

 LUC.

 It may be as thou sayest, friend,

 Or may be not. [To SAV.] As touching this our errand, I crave of thee, Sir Monk, an audience

 Instanter.

 FRI.

 Lo! Here Alighieri comes.

 I had methought me he was still at Parma. [Enter DANTE.]

 ST. FRAN. [To DAN.]

 How fares my little sister Beatrice?

 DAN.

 She died, alack, last sennight.

 ST. FRAN.

 Did she so?

 If the condolences of men avail

 Thee aught, take mine.

 DAN.

 They are of no avail.

 SAV. [To LUC.]

 I do refuse thee audience.

 LUC.

 Then why

 Didst thou not say so promptly when I ask'd it?

SAV.

 Full well thou knowst that I was interrupted

 By Alighieri's entry.

 [Noise without. Enter Guelfs and Ghibellines fighting.] What is this?

 LUC.

 I did not think that in this cloister'd spot

 There would be so much doing. I had look'd

To find Savonarola all alone

 And tempt him in his uneventful cell.

 Instead o' which--Spurn'd am I? I am I.

 There was a time, Sir, look to 't! O damnation! What is 't? Anon then! These my toys, my gauds, That in the cradle--aye, 't my mother's breast-- I puled and lisped at,--'Tis impossible,

 Tho', faith, 'tis not so, forasmuch as 'tis.

 And I a daughter of the Borgias!--

 Or so they told me. Liars! Flatterers!

 Currying lick-spoons! Where's the Hell of 't then?

 'Tis time that I were going. Farewell, Monk,

 But I'll avenge me ere the sun has sunk.

 [Exeunt LUC., ST. FRAN., and LEONARDO, followed by DAN. SAV., having watched LUC. out of sight, sinks to his knees, sobbing. FRI. and SACR. watch him in amazement. Guelfs and Ghibellines continue fighting as the Curtain falls.] ACT II

 TIME: Afternoon of same day. SCENE: Lucrezia's Laboratory. Retorts, test-tubes, etc. On small Renaissance table, up c., is a great poison-bowl, the contents of which are being stirred by the FIRST APPRENTICE. The SECOND APPRENTICE stands by, watching him. SECOND APP.

 For whom is the brew destin'd?

 FIRST APP.

 I know not.

 Lady Lucrezia did but lay on me

 Injunctions as regards the making of 't,

 The which I have obey'd. It is compounded

 Of a malignant and a deadly weed

 Found not save in the Gulf of Spezia,

 And one small phial of 't, I am advis'd,

 Were more than 'nough to slay a regiment

 Of Messer Malatesta's condottieri

 In all their armour.

 SECOND APP.

 I can well believe it.

 Mark how the purple bubbles froth upon

 The evil surface of its nether slime!

 [Enter LUC.]

 LUC. [To FIRST APP.]

 Is 't done, Sir Sluggard?

 FIRST APP.

 Madam, to a turn.

 LUC.

 Had it not been so, I with mine own hand

 Would have outpour'd it down thy gullet, knave.

 See, here's a ring of cunningly-wrought gold

 That I, on a dark night, did purchase from

 A goldsmith on the Ponte Vecchio.

 Small was his shop, and hoar of visage he.

 I did bemark that from the ceiling's beams

 Spiders had spun their webs for many a year,

 The which hung erst like swathes of gossamer

 Seen in the shadows of a fairy glade,

 But now most woefully were weighted o'er

 With gather'd dust. Look well now at the ring!

 Touch'd here, behold, it opes a cavity

 Capacious of three drops of yon fell stuff.

 Dost heed? Whoso then puts it on his finger

 Dies, and his soul is from his body rapt

 To Hell or Heaven as the case may be.

 Take thou this toy and pour the three drops in.

 [Hands ring to FIRST APP. and comes down c.]

 So, Sav'narola, thou shalt learn that I

 Utter no threats but I do make them good.

 Ere this day's sun hath wester'd from the view

 Thou art to preach from out the Loggia

 Dei Lanzi to the cits in the Piazza.

 I, thy Lucrezia, will be upon the steps

 To offer thee with phrases seeming-fair

 That which shall seal thine eloquence for ever.

 O mighty lips that held the world in spell

 But would not meet these little lips of mine

 In the sweet way that lovers use--O thin,

 Cold, tight-drawn, bloodless lips, which natheless I

 Deem of all lips the most magnifical

 In this our city--

 [Enter the Borgias' FOOL.]

 Well, Fool, what's thy latest?

 FOOL

 Aristotle's or Zeno's, Lady--'tis neither latest nor last. For, marry, if the cobbler stuck to his last, then were his latest his last in rebus ambulantibus. Argal, I stick at nothing but cobble-stones, which, by the same token, are stuck to the road by men's fingers.

 LUC.

 How many crows may nest in a grocer's jerkin?

 FOOL

 A full dozen at cock-crow, and something less under the dog-star, by reason of the dew, which lies heavy on men taken by the scurvy.

 LUC. [To FIRST APP.]

 Methinks the Fool is a fool.

 FOOL

 And therefore, by auricular deduction, am I own twin to the Lady Lucrezia! [Sings.]

 When pears hang green on the garden wall

 With a nid, and a nod, and a niddy-niddy-o

 Then prank you, lads and lasses all,

 With a yea and a nay and a niddy-o.

 But when the thrush flies out o' the frost

 With a nid, [etc.]

 'Tis time for loons to count the cost,

With a yea [etc.]

 [Enter the PORTER.]

 PORTER

 O my dear Mistress, there is one below

 Demanding to have instant word of thee.

 I told him that your Ladyship was not

 At home. Vain perjury! He would not take

 Nay for an answer.

 LUC.

 Ah? What manner of man

 Is he?

 PORTER

 A personage the like of whom

 Is wholly unfamiliar to my gaze.

 Cowl'd is he, but I saw his great eyes glare

 From their deep sockets in such wise as leopards

 Glare from their caverns, crouching ere they spring

 On their reluctant prey.

 LUC.

 And what name gave he?

 PORTER [After a pause.]

 Something-arola.

 LUC.

 Savon-? [PORTER nods.] Show him up. [Exit PORTER.]

 FOOL

 If he be right astronomically, Mistress, then is he the greater dunce in respect of true learning, the which goes by the globe. Argal, 'twere better he widened his wind-pipe.

 [Sings.]

 Fly home, sweet self,

 Nothing's for weeping,

 Hemp was not made

 For lovers' keeping, Lovers' keeping,

 Cheerly, cheerly, fly away.

 Hew no more wood

 While ash is glowing,

 The longest grass

 Is lovers' mowing,

 Lovers' mowing,

 Cheerly, [etc.]

 [Re-enter PORTER, followed by SAV. Exeunt PORTER, FOOL, and FIRST and SECOND APPS.]

 SAV.

 I am no more a monk, I am a man

 O' the world.

 [Throws off cowl and frock, and stands forth in the costume of a Renaissance nobleman. LUCREZIA looks him up and down.]

 LUC.

 Thou cutst a sorry figure.

 SAV.

 That

 Is neither here nor there. I love you, Madam.

 LUC.

 And this, methinks, is neither there nor here,

 For that my love of thee hath vanished,

 Seeing thee thus beprankt. Go pad thy calves!

 Thus mightst thou, just conceivably, with luck,

 Capture the fancy of some serving-wench.

 SAV.

 And this is all thou hast to say to me?

 LUC.

 It is.

 SAV.

 I am dismiss'd?

 LUC.

 Thou art.

 SAV.

 'Tis well.

 [Resumes frock and cowl.]

 Savonarola is himself once more.

 LUC.

 And all my love for him returns to me

 A thousandfold!

 SAV.

 Too late! My pride of manhood

 Is wounded irremediably. I'll

 To the Piazza, where my flock awaits me.

 Thus do we see that men make great mistakes

 But may amend them when the conscience wakes.

 [Exit.]

 LUC.

 I'm half avenged now, but only half:

 'Tis with the ring I'll have the final laugh!

 Tho' love be sweet, revenge is sweeter far.

 To the Piazza! Ha, ha, ha, ha, har!

 [Seizes ring, and exit. Through open door are heard, as the Curtain falls, sounds of a terrific hubbub in the Piazza.]

 ACT III

 SCENE: The Piazza.

 TIME: A few minutes anterior to close of preceding Act.

 The Piazza is filled from end to end with a vast seething crowd that is drawn entirely from the lower orders. There is a sprinkling of wild-eyed and dishevelled women in it. The men are lantern-jawed, with several days' growth of beard. Most of them carry rude weapons-- staves, bill-hooks, crow-bars, and the like--and are in as excited a condition as the women. Some of them are bare-headed, others affect a kind of Phrygian cap. Cobblers predominate.

 Enter LORENZO DE MEDICI and COSIMO DE MEDICI. They wear cloaks of scarlet brocade, and, to avoid notice, hold masks to their faces.

 COS.

 What purpose doth the foul and greasy plebs

 Ensue to-day here?

 LOR.

 I nor know nor care.

 COS.

 How thrall'd thou art to the philosophy

 Of Epicurus! Naught that's human I

 Deem alien from myself. [To a COBBLER.] Make answer, fellow!

 What empty hope hath drawn thee by a thread

 Forth from the OBscene hovel where thou starvest?

 COB.

 No empty hope, your Honour, but the full

 Assurance that to-day, as yesterday,

 Savonarola will let loose his thunder

 Against the vices of the idle rich

 And from the brimming cornucopia

 Of his immense vocabulary pour

 Scorn on the lamentable heresies

 Of the New Learning and on all the art

 Later than Giotto.

 COS.

 Mark how absolute

 The knave is!

 LOR.

 Then are parrots rational

 When they regurgitate the thing they hear!

 This fool is but an unit of the crowd,

 And crowds are senseless as the vasty deep

 That sinks or surges as the moon dictates.

 I know these crowds, and know that any man

 That hath a glib tongue and a rolling eye

 Can as he willeth with them.

 [Removes his mask and mounts steps of Loggia.]

 Citizens!

 [Prolonged yells and groans from the crowd.]

 Yes, I am he, I am that same Lorenzo

 Whom you have nicknamed the Magnificent.

 [Further terrific yells, shakings of fists, brandishings of bill- hooks, insistent cries of `Death to Lorenzo!' `Down with the Magnificent!' Cobblers on fringe of crowd, down c., exhibit especially all the symptoms of epilepsy, whooping-cough, and other ailments.]

 You love not me.

 [The crowd makes an ugly rush. LOR. appears likely to be dragged down and torn limb from limb, but raises one hand in nick of time, and continues:] Yet I deserve your love.

 [The yells are now variegated with dubious murmurs. A cobbler down c. thrusts his face feverishly in the face of another and repeats, in a hoarse interrogative whisper, `Deserves our love?']

 Not for the sundry boons I have bestow'd

 And benefactions I have lavished

 Upon Firenze, City of the Flowers,

 But for the love that in this rugged breast

 I bear you.

 [The yells have now died away, and there is a sharp fall in dubious murmurs. The cobbler down c. says, in an ear-piercing whisper, `The love he bears us,' drops his lower jaw, nods his head repeatedly, and awaits in an intolerable state of suspense the orator's next words.]

 I am not a blameless man,

 [Some dubious murmurs.]

 Yet for that I have lov'd you passing much,

 Shall some things be forgiven me.

 [Noises of cordial assent.]

 There dwells

 In this our city, known unto you all,

 A man more virtuous than I am, and

 A thousand times more intellectual;

 Yet envy not I him, for--shall I name him?--

 He loves not you. His name? I will not cut

 Your hearts by speaking it. Here let it stay

 On tip o' tongue.

 [Insistent clamour.]

 Then steel you to the shock!--

 Savonarola.

 [For a moment or so the crowd reels silently under the shock. Cobbler down c. is the first to recover himself and cry `Death to Savonarola!' The cry instantly becomes general. LOR. holds up his hand and gradually imposes silence.]

His twin bug-bears are

 Yourselves and that New Learning which I hold

 Less dear than only you.

 [Profound sensation. Everybody whispers `Than only you' to everybody else. A woman near steps of Loggia attempts to kiss hem of LOR.'s garment.]

Would you but con

 With me the old philosophers of Hellas,

 Her fervent bards and calm historians,

 You would arise and say `We will not hear

 Another word against them!'

 [The crowd already says this, repeatedly, with great emphasis.]

 Take the Dialogues

 Of Plato, for example. You will find

 A spirit far more truly Christian

 In them than in the ravings of the sour-soul'd

 Savonarola.

 [Prolonged cries of `Death to the Sour-Souled Savonarola!' Several cobblers detach themselves from the crowd and rush away to read the Platonic Dialogues. Enter SAVONAROLA. The crowd, as he makes his way through it, gives up all further control of its feelings, and makes a noise for which even the best zoologists might not find a good comparison. The staves and bill-hooks wave like twigs in a storm. One would say that SAV. must have died a thousand deaths already. He is, however, unharmed and unruffled as he reaches the upper step of the Loggia. LOR. meanwhile has rejoined COS. in the Piazza.]

 SAV.

 Pax vobiscum, brothers!

 [This does but exacerbate the crowd's frenzy.]

 VOICE OF A COBBLER Hear his false lips cry Peace when there is no Peace!

 SAV.

 Are not you ashamed, O Florentines,

 [Renewed yells, but also some symptoms of manly shame.]

 That hearken'd to Lorenzo and now reel

 Inebriate with the exuberance

 Of his verbosity?

 [The crowd makes an obvious effort to pull itself together.]

 A man can fool

 Some of the people all the time, and can

 Fool all the people sometimes, but he cannot

 Fool ALL the people ALL the time.

 [Loud cheers. Several cobblers clap one another on the back. Cries of `Death to Lorenzo!' The meeting is now well in hand.]

 To-day

 I must adopt a somewhat novel course

 In dealing with the awful wickedness

 At present noticeable in this city.

 I do so with reluctance. Hitherto

 I have avoided personalities.

 But now my sense of duty forces me

 To a departure from my custom of

 Naming no names. One name I must and shall

 Name.

 [All eyes are turned on LOR., who smiles uncomfortably.]

 No, I do not mean Lorenzo. He Is 'neath contempt. [Loud and prolonged laughter, accompanied with hideous grimaces at LOR. Exeunt LOR. and COS.] I name a woman's name,

 [The women in the crowd eye one another suspiciously.]

 A name known to you all--four-syllabled,

 Beginning with an L.

 [Pause. Enter hurriedly LUC., carrying the ring. She stands, unobserved by any one, on outskirt of crowd. SAV. utters the name:] Lucrezia!

 LUC. [With equal intensity.]

 Savonarola!

 [SAV. starts violently and stares in direction of her voice.]

 Yes, I come, I come!

 [Forces her way to steps of Loggia. The crowd is much bewildered, and the cries of `Death to Lucrezia Borgia!' are few and sporadic.]

 Why didst thou call me?

 [SAV. looks somewhat embarrassed.]

 What is thy distress?

 I see it all! The sanguinary mob

 Clusters to rend thee! As the antler'd stag,

 With fine eyes glazed from the too-long chase,

 Turns to defy the foam-fleck'd pack, and thinks,

 In his last moment, of some graceful hind

 Seen once afar upon a mountain-top,

 E'en so, Savonarola, didst thou think,

 In thy most dire extremity, of me.

 And here I am! Courage! The horrid hounds

 Droop tail at sight of me and fawn away

 Innocuous.

 [The crowd does indeed seem to have fallen completely under the sway of LUC.'s magnetism, and is evidently convinced that it had been about to make an end of the monk.]

 Take thou, and wear henceforth,

 As a sure talisman 'gainst future perils,

 This little, little ring.

 [SAV. makes awkward gesture of refusal. Angry murmurs from the crowd. Cries of `Take thou the ring!' `Churl!' `Put it on!' etc. Enter the Borgias' FOOL and stands unnoticed on fringe of crowd.]

 I hoped you 'ld like it--

 Neat but not gaudy. Is my taste at fault?

 I'd so look'd forward to-- [Sob.] No, I'm not crying,

 But just a little hurt.

 [Hardly a dry eye in the crowd. Also swayings and snarlings indicative that SAV.'s life is again not worth a moment's purchase. SAV. makes awkward gesture of acceptance, but just as he is about to put ring on finger, the FOOL touches his lute and sings:--]

 Wear not the ring,

 It hath an unkind sting,

Ding, dong, ding.

 Bide a minute,

 There's poison in it,

Poison in it,

 Ding-a-dong, dong, ding.

 LUC.

 The fellow lies.

 [The crowd is torn with conflicting opinions. Mingled cries of `Wear not the ring!' `The fellow lies!' `Bide a minute!' `Death to the Fool!' `Silence for the Fool!' `Dinga-dong, dong, ding!' etc.]

 FOOL [Sings.]

 Wear not the ring,

 For Death's a robber-king,

Ding, [etc.]

 There's no trinket

 Is what you think it,

What you think it,

 Ding-a-dong, [etc.]

 [SAV. throws ring in LUC.'s face. Enter POPE JULIUS II, with Papal army.]

POPE

 Arrest that man and woman!

 [Re-enter Guelfs and Ghibellines fighting. SAV. and LUC. are arrested by Papal officers. Enter MICHAEL ANGELO. ANDREA DEL SARTO appears for a moment at a window. PIPPA passes. Brothers of the Misericordia go by, singing a Requiem for Francesca da Rimini. Enter BOCCACCIO, BENVENUTO CELLINI, and many others, making remarks highly characteristic of themselves but scarcely audible through the terrific thunderstorm which now bursts over Florence and is at its loudest and darkest crisis as the Curtain falls.]

ACT IV

 TIME: Three hours later.

 SCENE: A Dungeon on the ground-floor of the Palazzo Civico.

 The stage is bisected from top to bottom by a wall, on one side of which is seen the interior of LUCREZIA'S cell, on the other that of SAVONAROLA'S. Neither he nor she knows that the other is in the next cell. The audience, however, knows this.

 Each cell (because of the width and height of the proscenium) is of more than the average Florentine size, but is bare even to the point of severity, its sole amenities being some straw, a hunk of bread, and a stone pitcher. The door of each is facing the audience. Dim-ish light.

 LUCREZIA wears long and clanking chains on her wrists, as does also SAVONAROLA. Imprisonment has left its mark on both of them. SAVONAROLA'S hair has turned white. His whole aspect is that of a very old, old man. LUCREZIA looks no older than before, but has gone mad.

 SAV.

 Alas, how long ago this morning seems

 This evening! A thousand thousand eons

 Are scarce the measure of the gulf betwixt

 My then and now. Methinks I must have been

 Here since the dim creation of the world

 And never in that interval have seen

 The tremulous hawthorn burgeon in the brake,

 Nor heard the hum o' bees, nor woven chains

 Of buttercups on Mount Fiesole

 What time the sap lept in the cypresses,

 Imbuing with the friskfulness of Spring

 Those melancholy trees. I do forget

 The aspect of the sun. Yet I was born

 A freeman, and the Saints of Heaven smiled

 Down on my crib. What would my sire have said,

 And what my dam, had anybody told them

 The time would come when I should occupy

 A felon's cell? O the disgrace of it

 The scandal, the incredible come-down!

 It masters me. I see i' my mind's eye

 The public prints--`Sharp Sentence on a Monk.'

 What then? I thought I was of sterner stuff

 Than is affrighted by what people think.

 Yet thought I so because 'twas thought of me,

 And so 'twas thought of me because I had

 A hawk-like profile and a baleful eye.

 Lo! my soul's chin recedes, soft to the touch

 As half-churn'd butter. Seeming hawk is dove,

 And dove's a gaol-bird now. Fie out upon 't!

 LUC.

 How comes it? I am Empress Dowager

 Of China--yet was never crown'd. This must

 Be seen to.

 [Quickly gathers some straw and weaves a crown, which she puts on.] SAV.

 O, what a degringolade!

 The great career I had mapp'd out for me--

 Nipp'd i' the bud. What life, when I come out,

 Awaits me? Why, the very Novices

 And callow Postulants will draw aside

 As I pass by, and say `That man hath done

 Time!' And yet shall I wince? The worst of Time

 Is not in having done it, but in doing 't.

 LUC.

 Ha, ha, ha, ha! Eleven billion pig-tails

 Do tremble at my nod imperial,--

 The which is as it should be.

 SAV.

 I have heard

 That gaolers oft are willing to carouse

 With them they watch o'er, and do sink at last

 Into a drunken sleep, and then's the time