Chapter X: Aline’s Hopes (7)

This is a new and handsome edition of a story which, though it came out some years back in London, is probably unknown to very many of our readers. It is just one of those books which Catholics sadly stand in need of to adorn and grace their, to a certain extent, cumbersome literature. Miss Caddell has been fortunate in her choice of _Wild Times_, and _Wild Times_ have been fortunate in Miss Caddell. The period of the Reformation forms for the Catholic of to-day the most interesting one of English history; and recent researches, such as are exhibited in F. Morris’ late books (_Our Catholic Forefathers_, and _The Condition of Catholics under James I_.) and others similar, are bringing that particular period home to us with a clearness and fulness of knowledge which tend to make us acquainted with all the intricacies and common details of life, particularly Catholic life in those wild times, as we are with the humdrum life of to-day. Miss Caddell’s story is really the history of one of the very few noble English Catholic families who stood firm to their faith in that dark hour, and who, for the simple reason of being true to their God, were, according to law, false to their sovereign and country. The chief characters are two young brothers, Sir Hugh and Amadée Glenthorne, the latter a Jesuit educated on the Continent, and returning by stealth to the work of the ministry, which at that time meant martyrdom; the former a fiery, high-spirited English gentleman, whose hot blood and lofty aspirations cannot run tamely in the dismal groove set him by the “law,” because he happens to be a Catholic, but who, when the hour of trial comes, and he is weighed in the balance, is not found wanting. Around these two, with their charming sister Amy, the plot gathers; and the tracing of their fortunes and misfortunes makes a most beautiful and moving tale. There are plenty of other characters in the book: Blanche Monteman, Hugh’s betrothed, and Guy, the lover of Amy, both Protestants, give occasion for some very skilfully constructed complications; and the proud nature of the girl, and the terrible fall of that pride, are given with what the lady author may allow to be called a masterhand. There is also a weird gipsy queen, Ulrique, who turns out eventually to be something quite different, powerfully drawn, whilst the premature death of the mischievous little imp, Tom Tit, is as touchingly told, if not more so, as that of Little Paul Dombey. To enter into the plot of the story further than has been done would be to deprive the reader of _Wild Times_ of half the pleasure of a story so skilfully woven that the interest is sustained to the very last line, and its development hidden until the author chooses to disclose it. The style is of the purest, occasionally rising to the strongest, English. Miss Caddell has mastered the old forms, without making them as wearisome as some of Scott’s Northern dialects cannot fail to be to the unhappy uninitiated. The love in the story is by no means of the namby-pamby order, but good, and honest, and true; in a word, manly and womanly in the true sense of those words; and though mainly carried on between Catholic and Protestant, it serves for that very reason to heighten the interest of the story, and as here depicted seems a very natural thing in those wild times; whilst one has the hope all through that earthly love will blend with a higher. The gradual change effected in the blunt, fiery character of Hugh by the chastening hand of affliction, under which at first he chafes till you fear for him, but finally rises with all his strength of character to the heroism of a Sebastian, is as ably, though naturally and unconsciously, developed as anything the writer remembers seeing in this style of book. The only thing he quarrels with is the preface. Without being dogmatic on the point, it is very doubtful whether, “when the queen—Elizabeth—ascended the throne, Catholicity was still the religion of the great masses of the people, and was either secretly followed or openly professed by a large half of the noblest families in the land.” English history scarcely bears this out; and had only one-half the noblest families in the land been even secretly Catholics, still less such Catholics as Hugh Glenthorne and his brother, England would never have sworn by a goddess in petticoats, and Mr. Froude would never have felt compelled to write his history. Again, when the author speaks of “the brightest and bravest of the band who form a halo of glory round the throne of Queen Elizabeth,” the reader involuntarily asks himself, What band? And the very question is its own answer. Still, a notice is not for a preface; and however one may quarrel with that, with the story itself no fault can be found. It is a beautiful, high-toned, moving picture of noble Catholic struggle, suffering, and death, drawn evidently with infinite pains and after historic study, and with that highest art which is nearest nature.

PETER’S JOURNEY, AND OTHER TALES. By the author of _Marion Howard_ and _Maggie’s Rosary_. WILFULNESS AND ITS CONSEQUENCES. By Lady Herbert. New York: The Catholic Publication Society. 1873.

The little book before us is intended for a premium-book for schools, and is admirably adapted to this purpose. The stories are thoroughly natural, and written in a good, healthy Catholic spirit. They are calculated to reach the masses in the most satisfactory way which could be chosen, that is, through their children. A great deal is constantly said about the authority of parents in the home, but we should not forget the immense and preponderating element of the children’s influence on their parents. This, if used in the right direction (which means, if guided in that direction by the teacher) may become of the utmost importance. It may civilize many a half-savage unfortunate who seems dead even to the stings of his own conscience; it may turn to serious reasoning the mind hitherto careless, because not exercised on spiritual things; it may shame into decency a character not irredeemably bad, but overgrown with the evil habits of half a century. In _Peter’s Journey_, or a drunkard’s dream, we see put into plain words the devil’s plea against the victim of intemperance. He claims him as his own by _fair barter_. “When thou didst ask for drink, did I not ask thee in return, not only thy wife’s affection, thy children’s happiness, thy home’s comfort, but, more than all, did I not demand thy soul? _I asked thee openly, and thou didst willingly agree...._ Well, didst thou not have the drink, morning, noon, and night? _And if so, shall I not have my price in full?_” This is a dark, but far from overwrought picture. Yet the mercy of God is greater than even such malicious sins, and till the very last the “pearly shadow” of his angel guardian protects the poor sinner. Peter awakes, and a sudden reformation is at hand. The poor wife, breaking down under her troubles, is weary and fretful, but Peter does not heed this, and in his stormy exit is only stopped by the baby, who is “examining the handle [of the door] with an attention worthy of an amateur locksmith.” Peter raised it in his arms, looked at it for a moment, and then, kissing it almost reverently, gave it to Mike and clumped down-stairs. “Poor Norah hoped he had not got _delirium tremens_.” It was a long time before Peter came back; when he did, it was behind the rampart of a large basket bursting with eatables. He goes down on his knees to his wife and begs forgiveness in the most charmingly abrupt and natural way, and when Norah recovers from a fainting-fit, everything is bright and happy again. “Certain it is that, when the _Angelus_ rang, it found them sitting side by side, shelling peas, and the baby on his knee, chuckling over a stick of rhubarb that it expected every one to smell every five minutes.” And what is the end? A triumph for Peter, and a hopeful example for all those who are honestly trying to follow in his footsteps. “In the whole parish there is not a cleaner house, better children, or a happier wife than Peter’s.... He collects the subscriptions for the schools, takes the money in church, carries the big banner at processions, and seems to do the work of half a dozen men made into one.... Is there a drunkard to reclaim, Peter is the man to take him in hand, depend upon it. Is there a drunkard’s widow struggling with her little ones alone, Peter will help her and put her in a way to get her living ... and he thanks God for all things, for his home, his little ones, his means of doing good, but, more than all, he thanks him for his wife Norah, and for a journey he took, of which he never speaks, on the Feast of S. Peter and S. Paul.”

Of the “other tales,” we much prefer “A Carpenter’s Holiday.” The evils of bad companionship are here depicted, the absurd temptations which human respect thrusts in the path of young and often weak men, the manliness and true Anglo-Saxon spirit which even outsiders recognize in a firm refusal to yield to such temptations. The character of Sam is very interesting, and the history of his conversion quite a natural one. A lesson here and there is worth taking from it. For instance, the Catholic carpenter says to his friend, “People talk so much about our flowers and candles that really one would think they was a great part of our religion, _and, as it is, they’re just nothing_.” The old lesson of the example of converts is also well put forward. The end is, of course, an introduction to an earthly paradise, in the shape of a snug little farm, “the house hidden by roses, jasmine, ivy, and honeysuckle ... a dear, large, old-fashioned garden, with its apple and pear trees, its currant and gooseberry bushes, and its bed of flowers and cabbages, never thinking, as grand people’s flowers and cabbages seem to think, that they are not fit company for each other.” We are inclined to think that, if all discontented, restless people believed this sort of thing to be the inevitable reward of virtue, they would immediately become virtuous and leave off being discontented and restless. _We_ should, at any rate. And if this kind of life was the ending to which all good carpenters who spent their early holidays properly had a chance of attaining, why, then, we should be much freer than we are from trades-union strikes and International Associations. “The Carpenter’s Holiday” is the story most full of human interest and natural incident among all the little group by the author of _Maggie’s Rosary_.—We now come to Lady Herbert’s story of _Wilfulness_. This is an extract from the diary of a Sister of Mercy, and reveals one of the many phases of silent misery of which a large city is always full. The story is interesting if only as a picture of the heroism, the sacrifices, the sufferings, and the charity of people in humble, struggling circumstances, who could never hope to have their virtues set before an admiring public, and whose only motive was evidently the love of God and reverent trust in his divine providence. The last days of the heroine are touchingly told, her unselfishness in behalf of her father especially. “Every shilling which had been given her to spend in the little comforts so urgently required, had been hoarded up by her for this long-expected situation, when she was determined that her father’s appearance should do no discredit to his kind recommender. ‘Only think,’ she continued, ‘I had enough for everything but one pair of boots, and I could not conceive where that eighteen shillings was to come from. But I set to work and prayed one whole night for it, and the next morning a young priest came to see me, and brought me a sovereign, which he said a gentleman had given him that very day to give to his first sick call!’”

TWO THOUSAND MILES ON HORSEBACK. A Summer Tour to the Plains and New Mexico. By James F. Meline. New York: The Catholic Publication Society. 1873.

This is the fourth edition of this excellent book, which is now published by The Catholic Publication Society. As we noticed this book at some length in THE CATHOLIC WORLD for February, 1868, we can only reiterate what we then said, viz.:

“There is just about enough fact to make the work decently solid, a good deal of fancy and impression, and, above all, a light hand. The style as a whole is really good, because it does pretty evenly just what it attempts and professes—sometimes more, seldom less. The descriptions of Denver and Central City, and the account of the Pueblos of New Mexico, interested us especially—the former for its manner, the latter for its interesting and curious facts. But another reader would call our selection invidious, and cite quite another set of incidents. The fact is, Mr. Meline is everywhere vivid, easy, and suggestive, and we do think we like those two parts best because we have friends in Denver and take a special interest in the old Poltec question.”

PROCEEDINGS OF THE FOURTH ANNUAL CONVENTION OF THE IRISH CATHOLIC BENEVOLENT UNION, HELD AT PHILADELPHIA, OCTOBER 16-18, 1872; TOGETHER WITH THE CONSTITUTION, ADDRESSES, ETC. Philadelphia: Office of the _Catholic Standard_. 1872.

This was a convention of the representatives of nearly 20,000 Catholic workingmen. These men, living in different parts of the country, are organized into numerous beneficial societies, each independent for its own purposes and government, yet enjoying a fellowship with all the others for the sake of mutual benefit. The Benevolent Union makes these men each others’ friends, in sickness and in death, in any part of the country where a society exists. We say it makes them friends—we might better say brothers; for attention and support in sickness and Catholic burial after death are acts more than friendly. Any society which is beneficial and composed exclusively of practical Catholics, can become associated on payment of five dollars initiation fee, and not to exceed twenty-five cents a year for each member—this tax last year having been but ten cents. From these sources a fund is raised to pay the expenses of the conventions and a very small salary to the secretary and treasurer. Any member away from home is entitled to recognition by simply presenting his travelling card. In case of sickness, it entitles him to receive from any affiliated society whatever aid his own would give him, and in case of death, to the expenditure of the same amount for his funeral as would have been allowed at home. Expenses thus incurred are refunded by the society to which the recipient belonged.

The mere statement of these advantages suffices to explain the extraordinary success which has attended the Union. Begun in the little city of Dayton, Ohio, with a small number of societies, it has in four years extended itself in every direction; sometimes creating new societies, sometimes affiliating old ones, everywhere attracting great attention and eliciting the warmest encouragement; until it is not too much to say of it now that it is one of the great beneficial institutions of the country. At the last convention, the President of the Philadelphia City Council extended a public welcome to the delegates. The proceedings were opened by a sermon from the distinguished Jesuit Father Maguire, and the speeches and debates were orderly and dignified, and sometimes eloquent, the most important questions being discussed and decided expeditiously and without ill-temper. Among other things, we noticed that measures were instituted looking to the settlement of immigrants in favorable places, and to their safety and comfort while in transit. A full and minute account was rendered of the receipt and disbursement of the common fund, and expression frankly and powerfully given to the unanimous sentiment of the societies with regard to Catholic education, and of sympathy with the Holy Father in his present distress. There was no evidence whatever of any spirit of rivalry; on the contrary, a committee was appointed to negotiate for the extension of the benefits of the Benevolent Union among other Catholic bodies.

These large assemblages of intelligent and zealous Catholics supply one of the greatest wants of the church. After business matters are fairly disposed of, the convention becomes a great Catholic representative body—not indeed to make laws or to enforce them, but to give voice to the thoughts of the Catholic laity on questions which concern the general welfare of the church. Never did the clergy, from the Pope down to the parish priest, stand in greater need of the encouragement of the faithful, and never before have the faithful exhibited greater alacrity in giving it. Such gatherings as these are the best support which the church nowadays can have in resisting oppression and securing her rights. We therefore pray God to give this Benevolent Union a great success; and we are at a loss to perceive why such should not be the prayer of every good Catholic. The organization of a branch society in a parish will be the best preventive of Freemasonry and other condemned societies; it will secure the poor man and his family from want in case of sickness or accident at home or among strangers; it will give the priest and the educated layman an audience outside the church for the advocacy of Catholic public rights; and at least once a year the convention will exhibit to the American public, in a most striking manner, the unity, the charity, the patriotism, and the power of the Catholic people of this country.

THE HOMES OF OBER-AMMERGAU. A series of Twenty Etchings in heliotype, from the original pen-and-ink drawings, together with Notes from a diary kept during a three months’ residence in Ober-Ammergau, in the summer of 1871. By Eliza Greatorex. Munich: Published by Jos. Albert, photographer to the courts of Munich and St. Petersburg. 1872. New York: Putnam.

Many books have been published about Ober-Ammergau and its Passion-Play. This one is not, however, a mere repetition of their substance under a different form. It is altogether different in substance, and, therefore, a really new as well as most interesting description. The accomplished author does not occupy her pages with an account of the play itself, but takes us into the homes of the actors, and among the scenes of that picturesque German village. Though she is not a Catholic, her heart is full of kindliness, sympathy, and reverence, and we have read her truly exquisite portrayal of the primitive and most Christian life of the favored inhabitants of Ammergau with pleasure and admiration. The etchings are in the style of the best and truest art. The author has been honored by an autograph letter from the King of Bavaria, who, in spite of his faults as a ruler, is a man of taste and cultivation in the fine arts, and by a very kind reception at the private audience which was granted to her by the august Pius IX. We recommend this beautiful volume very cordially to all lovers of art, and of the most genuine, simple, and charming phases of nature and of Catholic piety which are to be found in the modern world, which is so full of glaring but empty illusions. As the edition in the hands of the New York publisher is a small one, those who desire to procure a copy would do well to be in haste about ordering it from the publisher.

FILIOLA. Baltimore: Kelly, Piet & Co. 1873.

ERNSCLIFF HALL. THE REVERSE OF THE MEDAL. Dramas for young ladies’ school exhibitions. New York: The Catholic Publication Society. 1873.

The latter of these, a whimsical satire on the discontent of each class with its own duties, pleasures, and belongings, and envy of those of every other class, is amusing. To every rose there is a thorn, and while some envy their superiors in position those luxuries which the latter care nothing for, these again are often constrained to envy the freedom of those on a lower level. But nothing is truer than the adage, that _the back is fitted to the burden_.

THE DEAF-MUTE: OR, THE ABBÉ DE L’EPÉE. Historical Drama in Four Acts. New York: The Catholic Publication Society. 1873.

The following, taken from the preface of the work, is a synopsis of this little play: Julius is exposed in Paris at the age of ten by his uncle, who procures a written evidence of the boy’s death, and then seizes upon his property. The Abbé De l’Epée, Director of the Deaf and Dumb Asylum in Paris, finds the youth, and educates him. Suspecting the boy to be of noble blood, he bestows all his care on the helpless deaf-mute during eight years, creates his soul anew, as it were, and in the meantime endeavors to find out the place of his birth. For this purpose the Abbé travels with his protégé over a great part of France, and finally arrives at Toulouse, which city the young man recognizes as the place of his home. The Abbé consults the young lawyer Frauval, a friend of St. Alme, who is the son of Julius’s uncle. Darlemont refuses to recognize his nephew, but is at last prevailed upon to restore Julius to his rightful inheritance, by the threatened exposure of his son St. Alme. So the matter is settled amicably, and Julius grants to St. Alme, his former playmate, half of his estate.

THE

CATHOLIC WORLD.

VOL. XVII., No. 99.—JUNE, 1873.

Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1873, by Rev. I. T. HECKER, in the Office of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington, D. C.

JEROME SAVONAROLA.

“No breath of calumny ever attainted the personal purity of Savonarola.”—_Henry Hart Milman, Dean of S. Paul’s._

THE bright and shining fame of Girolamo Savonarola, the man upon whom, in the XVth century, the wondering attention of the whole civilized world was admiringly fixed, fell during the XVIIIth century into oblivion or contempt—a not uncommon fate in that period for religious reputations and religious works. The generally received opinion concerning him was that of the sceptic Bayle, who, with show of impartiality and phrase of fairness (‘Opinion is divided as to whether he was an honest man or a hypocrite’), but with cold and cruel cynicism, covered the unhappy Dominican with his sharpest and most pungent sarcasm, leaving the reader to infer that he was a mean impostor, who most probably deserved the martyrdom he suffered.

In our own day, Dean Milman, of the Established Church of England, asks:

“Was he a hypocritical impostor, self-deluded fanatic, holy, single-minded Christian preacher, heaven-commissioned prophet, wonder-working saint? Martyr, only wanting the canonization which was his due? Was he the turbulent, priestly demagogue, who desecrated his holy office by plunging into the intrigue and strife of civic politics, or a courageous and enlightened lover of liberty?”

And—unkindest cut of all—punishment transcending in degree the worst faults and most terrible crimes of which he has been unjustly accused by his most cruel enemies—modern German Protestantism has placed him in bronze effigy in company with the bigamous Landgrave Philip of Hesse, and with Prince Frederick of Saxony, on the monument at Worms, as one of the predecessors and helpers of Luther. The ascetic Savonarola the acolyte of the beery Monk of Wittenberg! The chaste Dominican the inferior of the sensual Reformer! The ecclesiastic who, in the flower of his manhood and the fulness of his intellect, made the unreserved declaration of Catholic faith[118] in which he lived and died, the aider and precursor of the archheresiarch!

Truly, so far as the judgment of this world is concerned, one hour of the degradation of Worms is sufficient to have cancelled all his sins. Poor Savonarola!

Jerome Savonarola, born in Ferrara, in 1452 (Sept. 21), was the son of Nicholas Savonarola. His mother Helen was of the Buonaccorsi family of Mantua, and his paternal grandfather a physician of Padua of such high reputation that Nicholas, Prince of Este, induced him, by the bestowal of honors and a pension, to come to Ferrara. Jerome’s youth was serious and studious, and, under the fostering care of one of the best of mothers, his character developed favorably. At the age of ten, he went to the public school of his native city, and it was intended that he should complete the usual studies necessary to his becoming a physician.

The traveller of to-day, who sees the deserted squares and grass-grown streets of Ferrara, can form but little idea of the Ferrara of that period; a splendid city of one hundred thousand inhabitants, possessing one of the most brilliant courts of Italy, and witnessing the frequent passage of princes, emperors, and popes, whose presence gave constant occasion for pageants, processions, and banquets. The young Jerome, it was noticed, sought none of these, but was fond of lonely walks and solitude, even avoiding the beautiful promenades in the gardens of the ducal palace.

He pursued his medical studies for some time, but his favorite reading was found in the works of Aristotle and S. Thomas Aquinas. Long years afterward, he said of the latter: “When I was in the world, I held him in the greatest reverence. I have always kept to his teaching, and, whenever I wish to feel small, I read him, and he always appears to me as a giant, and I to myself as a dwarf.” Although, like most youths of his age, he indulged in making verses, his were not of the ordinary callow model. One of his short youthful poems which survived him was on the spread of sceptical philosophy and the decay of virtue. “Where,” he asks—“where are the pure diamonds, the bright lamps, the sapphires, the white robes, and white roses of the church?” Such language, taken in connection with his declaration at the time that he would never become a monk, shows that the idea, although in a negative form, was already working in his mind. He afterwards related that, being at Faenza one day, he by chance entered the church of S. Augustine, and heard a remarkable word fall from the lips of the preacher. “I will not tell you what it was,” he added, “but it is here, graven on my heart. One year afterwards, I became a religious.”

Modern novels and the average silly judgment of worldly people in such matters are usually unable to comprehend why any man or woman should enter a convent unless they are what is called “crossed in love.” Some such story is related of Savonarola, and Milman says of it: “There is a vague story, resting on but slight authority, that Savonarola was the victim of a tender but honorable passion for a beautiful female.” We should also incline to be of the same opinion, were it not that Villari[119] refers to it as having some foundation. He says that, in 1472, a Florentine exile, bearing the illustrious name of Strozzi, and his daughter, took up their abode next to the dwelling of Savonarola’s family. The mere fact that he was an exile from Dante’s native city was sufficient to excite Savonarola’s sympathies. He imagined him oppressed by the injustice of enemies, suffering for his country and for the cause of liberty. His eyes met those of the Florentine maiden. Overflowing with confident hope, he revealed his heart to her. What was his bitter disappointment on receiving a disdainful answer rejecting him, and giving him at the same time to understand that the house of Strozzi could not lower itself by condescending to an alliance with the family of Savonarola. He resented the insult with honest indignation, but, says his chronicler, _il suo cuore ne restó desolato_—“his heart was broken.” This may all be, but certain it is that the disappointed youth did not instantly rush into a convent to bury his blasted hopes. On the contrary, the incident of the sermon at Faenza occurred nearly two years afterward. On this circumstance he frequently dwelt, saying that a word, _una parola_, of the preacher still strongly affected him, but he always reserved it as a sort of mysterious secret even from his most intimate friends.

In returning from Faenza, he was light of heart, but found, on reaching home, that a hard trial was before him. It was necessary to conceal his intention from his parents, but his mother, as though she read his secret, would fix her eyes upon him with a gaze which seemed to penetrate his very soul. This struggle went on for a year, and Savonarola often refers to his mental sufferings during that period. “If I had made known my resolution,” he says, “I believe my heart must have broken, and I should have allowed myself to be shaken in my purpose.” Again, on another day, the 22d of April, 1475, Jerome, seating himself, took a lute, and played an air so sad that his mother, turning to him suddenly, as if moved by the spirit of prophecy, said to him in a tone of sorrow: “My dear son, that is a farewell song.” With great effort, the young man continued to play with trembling hand, but dared not raise his eyes from the ground.

The next day, April 23, was the feast of S. George, a great festival for all Florence. Savonarola had fixed upon it to leave his father’s house, and, as soon as the religious ceremonies of the morning were over, he quitted home, and made his way to Bologna, where he knocked for admittance at the

CONVENT OF THE DOMINICANS.

He was then just twenty-two and a half years old. Announcing his desire to enter on his novitiate, he wished, he said, to be employed in the most menial of the offices of the community, and to be the servant of all the others. Being admitted, he seized his first leisure moment that same day to write a long and affectionate letter to his father, in which he sought to comfort him and explain the step he had taken. It is a memorable letter:

“DEAR FATHER: I fear my departure from home has caused you much sorrow—the more so that I left you furtively. Permit me to explain my motives. You who so well know how to appreciate the perishable things of earth, judge not with passion like a woman, but, guided by truth, judge according to reason whether I am not right in carrying out my project and abandoning the world. The motive determining me to enter on a religious life is this: the great misery of the world, the iniquities of men, the crimes, the pride, the shocking blasphemies, by which the world is polluted, for there is none that doeth good—no, not one. Often and daily have I uttered this verse with tears:

‘Heu fuge crudelas terras! Fuge littus avarum.’

I could not support the wickedness of the people. Everywhere I saw virtue despised, and vice honored. No greater suffering could I have in this world. Wherefore every day I prayed our Lord Jesus Christ to lift me out of this mire. It has pleased God in his infinite mercy to show me the right way, and I have entered upon it, although unworthy of such a grace. Sweet Jesus, may I suffer a thousand deaths rather than oppose thee and show myself ungrateful! Thus, my dear father, far from shedding tears, you should thank our Lord Jesus, for he has given you a son, has preserved him to you up to the age of twenty-two, and has deigned to admit him among his knights militant. Can you imagine that I have not endured the greatest affliction in separating from you? Never have I suffered such mental torment as in abandoning my own father to make the sacrifice of my body to Jesus Christ, and to surrender my will into the hands of persons I had never seen. In mercy, then, most loving father, dry your tears, and add not to my pain and sorrow. I am satisfied with what I have done, and I would not return to the world even with the certainty of becoming greater than Cæsar. But, like you, I am of flesh and blood; the senses wage war with reason, and I must struggle furiously with the assaults of the devil.[120] They will soon pass by, these first sad days, bitterest in the freshness of their grief, and I trust we will be consoled by grace in this world, and glory in the next. Comfort my mother, I beseech you, of whom, with yourself, I entreat your blessing.”

In the convent at Bologna, Savonarola spent seven years. During his novitiate, his conduct was the admiration of all his brethren. They wondered at his modesty, his humility, and his faultless obedience. He appeared to be entirely absorbed in ecstatic contemplation of heavenly things, and to have no other desire than to be allowed to pass his time in prayer and humble obedience. To one looking at him walking in the cloisters, he had more the appearance of a shadow than of a living man, so much was he emaciated by abstinence and fasts. The severest trials of the novitiate seemed light to him, and his superiors had frequently to restrain his self-imposed denials. Even when not fasting, he ate hardly enough to sustain life. His bed was of rough wood with a sack of straw and one coarse sheet; his clothes, the plainest possible, but always scrupulously neat. In personal appearance, Savonarola was of middle stature, dark, of sanguine-bilious temperament, and of extraordinary nervous sensibility. His eyes flamed from beneath dark eyebrows; his nose was aquiline, mouth large, lips thick but firmly compressed, and manifesting an immovable determination of purpose. His forehead was already marked with deep furrows, indicating a mind absorbed in the contemplation of grave subjects. Of beauty of physiognomy there was none, but it bore the expression of severe dignity. A certain sad smile, passing over his rough features, gave them a kindly expression which inspired confidence at first sight. His manners were simple and uncultivated; his discourse, plain to roughness, became at times so eloquent and powerful that it convinced or subdued every one.

As Savonarola advanced in his studies, he devoted all the time he could possibly spare to the writings of the Fathers and to the Holy Scriptures. There are no less than four different copies of the Bible still existing in the libraries of Florence, and a fifth in the library of S. Mark, in Venice, of which the margins are covered with Latin notes written by him, which are excessively abridged, and in a writing so fine as to be read only with difficulty. According to the custom of the order, the young monk was in due time sent out on the mission, that is, to different cities and towns, to preach and exercise his other clerical duties. In 1482, he was ordered to Ferrara, whither he went, very much against his will. His relatives desired that he should remain there, in order to be near his family. Referring to this, he wrote to his mother: “I could not do as much good at Ferrara as elsewhere. It is seldom that a religious succeeds in his native place. Hence it is that the Scripture commands us to go forth into the world. A stranger is better received everywhere. No one is a prophet in his own country. Even concerning Christ, they asked: ‘Is not this the son of the carpenter?’ As to me, it would be inquired, ‘Is not this Master Jerome, who committed such and such sins, and who was not a whit better than ourselves? Ah! we know him.’”

THE CONVENT OF S. MARK.

From Ferrara, Fra Hieronimo was sent to the Convent of S. Mark, at Florence. A mass of saintly and artistic recollections cluster around the history of this convent. Holy men passed their lives within its austere cloisters, and eminent artists here consecrated their works by Christian inspiration. It is sufficient to mention from among them the names of Fra Angelico, whose admirable frescoes adorn its walls, of Fra Bartolomeo, known to the world as Baccio della Porta, the equal of Andrea del Sarto, of Fra Benedetto, and of the brothers Luke and Paul della Robbia. Villari dwells on one of its greatest illustrations, F. Sant’ Antonino, the founder or renewer of nearly all the charitable institutions of Florence, and in particular of the Buoni Uomini di San Martino, which exists to this day in all its beautiful Christian edification, if, haply, the tide of modern progress, under Victor Emmanuel, have not swept it away.

F. Sant’ Antonino’s memory is still cherished there as that of a man burning with divine charity, and consumed with the love of his neighbor. His death, which took place in 1459, was deplored in Florence as a public calamity.

The early history of the convent is closely connected with that of Cosmo de’ Medici, who was its munificent patron. Besides large amounts spent on the building, he made them a still more valuable donation. Niccolo Niccoli, a name well known to scholars, a collector of manuscripts of European fame, had spent his life and a large fortune in making a collection of valuable manuscripts which was the admiration of all Italy. At his death, he bequeathed it to the public, but the donation was useless by reason of the heavy debts against his estate. Cosmo paid them, and, retaining for himself a few of the most precious documents, gave all the rest to the convent. This was the first public library in Italy, and it was cared for by the monks in a manner which proved them worthy of the gift they had received. S. Mark became, as it were, a centre of learning, and not only the most learned monks of its affiliated convents in Northern Italy, but the most distinguished men of that period, sought every occasion to frequent it.

Savonarola’s arrival in the Florentine convent had been preceded by his reputation for learning and for piety. It was even said of him that he had made some miraculous conversions, and the story was told that, in making the journey from Ferrara to Mantua by the river, he had been shocked by the obscene ribaldry of the boatmen. He turned upon them with terrible earnestness, and, after half an hour of his impressive exhortation, eleven of them threw themselves at his feet, confessing their sins, and humbly demanding his pardon.

Savonarola was at first delighted with all he saw of Florence. The delicious landscape bounded by the soft outline of the Tuscan hills, the elegance of language, the manners of the people, which appeared to increase in refinement and courtesy as you approached Florence, all had predisposed him to find delight in this flower of Italian cities, where nature and art rival each other in beauty. To his mind, so strongly imbued with the religious feeling, Florentine art seemed like a strain of sacred music, attesting the omnipotence of genius inspired by faith. The paintings of Fra Angelico appeared to him to have summoned the angels to take up their abode in these cloisters; and, gazing at them, the young religious was transported into a world of bliss. The holy traditions of Sant’ Antonino and of his works of charity were still fresh among the brethren, and everything appeared to draw him closer to them. His heart was filled with hopes of better days, he forgot his former disappointments, as well as the possibility that there might be fresh ones in store for him when in time he came to know the Florentines better.

LORENZO THE MAGNIFICENT.

When Savonarola came to Florence, Lorenzo the Magnificent had been its ruler for many years, and was then at the apogee of his fame and his power. Under his sway[121] everything looked prosperous and happy. The struggles that formerly convulsed the city had long ceased. Those who refused to bend to the domination of the Medici were imprisoned, exiled, or dead. All was peace and tranquillity. Feasts, dances, and tournaments filled up the leisure of this Florentine people, who, once so jealous of their rights, now seemed to have forgotten the very name of liberty. Lorenzo participated in all these diversions, and even exerted himself to invent new ones. Among these were the _Canti Carnascialeschi_, first written by him and sung by the young nobility and gentry of Florence in the masquerades of the Carnival. Nothing perhaps can better depict the corruption of the period than these songs. At this day not only educated young men, but the lowest of the populace, would hold them in scorn, and their repetition in public would be an offence against decency swiftly to be suppressed by the police. And yet such were the occupations of predilection of a prince praised by all, and considered as the model of a sovereign, a prodigy of courtesy, a political and literary genius. And there are those who are to-day inclined to think of him as he was then looked upon, to pardon him the blood cruelly spilled to maintain a power unjustly acquired by him and his, the ruin of the republic, the violence by which he forced from the community the sum necessary for his reckless expenditure, the shameless libertinism to which he abandoned himself, and even the rapid and infernal corruption of the people which he studied to maintain with all his force and mental capacity.[122] And all this must be pardoned him forsooth, because he was the protector of literature and the fine arts!

Among all the Italian historians who have painted Florence at this epoch, there is but little difference except in the variety and depth of the colors used by them. Bruto writes, and what he says is neither useless nor irrelevant reading if, as we progress in his description, we bear in mind to what extent it may be applied to New York in the year 1873 as well as to Florence in 1482. “The Florentines,” he says, “seeking to live in idleness and ease, broke with the traditions of their ancestors, and in immoderate and shameful license fell into the way of the most disgraceful and detestable vices. Their fathers, by dint of labor, fatigue, virtue, abstinence, and probity, had made the country flourish. They, on the contrary, as if they had cast aside all shame, seemed to have nothing to lose: they gave themselves up to drinking, gambling, and the most ignoble pleasures. Lost in debauch, they had shameless intrigues and daily orgies. They were stained with all wickedness, all crime. General contempt of law and justice assured them complete impunity. Courage consisted in audacity and temerity; ease of manner, in a culpable complaisance; politeness, in gossip and scandal.”

SAVONAROLA IN FLORENCE.

In consideration of his acquirements, Fra Hieronimo, was appointed a teacher of the novices, and held the position for four years (1482-1486). In 1483, owing either to a want of preachers or to the high opinion formed of him from his success as a professor, he was appointed to preach the course of Lenten sermons at the church of S. Lawrence. Meantime, what he had learned of the Florentines from personal observation had not tended to raise them in his estimation. He had discovered that, in spite of their finished education and highly cultivated intellects, their hearts were filled with scepticism, and an ever-present sarcasm hovered on their lips. This want of faith and of high principles caused him to shrink anew into himself, and his disappointment was the greater as it contrasted so keenly with the hopes he entertained on entering Florence. With these feelings he for the first time ascended a Florentine pulpit. Hardly twenty-five people came to hear him a second time. Twenty-five persons! They could hardly be seen in the vast building. His voice was feeble, his intonations false, his gestures awkward, his style heavy. His preaching was a failure. But he was not discouraged, and was anxious to make another attempt. His superiors, not caring to renew the experiment in Florence, sent him to San Gemignano for two years. He made no attempt to change his style. The Florentines had been accustomed to preachers who carefully studied the elocutionary part of their sermons, many of them seeking to form themselves upon some classical mould, and their delivery was generally polished and graceful. Savonarola despised these aids, and thundered in his rough, uncultivated way, against scandals and want of faith, speaking with scorn of the modern poets and philosophers, and despising their fanaticism for the classics. The Bible he quoted profusely, and made it the foundation of all his sermons. His success at San Gemignano was by no means a decided one, nevertheless it was sufficient to give him confidence in himself, and to confirm the course he had marked out for himself as a preacher. Returning to his convent, he continued to fulfil his modest duties as reader or professor until 1486, when by his superiors he was

SENT TO LOMBARDY,

where he remained four years. These four years are the most obscure of his life. It is known, however, that during this period he preached in various cities of that country, and especially at Brescia. Here his power in the pulpit first fully revealed itself. He preached on the Apocalypse. With fervid words, imperious accents, and impressive voice, he reproached the people with their sins, and threatened them with the anger of God. Making startling application of the prophecies to Brescia itself, they should see, he told them, their city a prey to furious enemies, who would make their streets run rivers of blood. Crime and cruelty would visit them in their worst shape, and everything would be delivered up to terror, fire, and destruction. His menaces appalled them, and his voice appeared to come from another world. These prophecies were recalled when, a few years later, in 1512, Brescia was taken by assault by the French troops under Gaston de Foix, and the city sacked and devastated with the most dreadful barbarity. Six thousand of its inhabitants were killed.

Savonarola is next heard of at Reggio, in 1486, where a chapter of Dominicans was convened for the discussion of certain questions of theology and discipline. A number of learned laymen were also present, attracted by the prospect of theological discussion. Among these was the celebrated Pico di Mirandola, then only twenty-three, but already famous as a prodigy of intelligence and learning. He was struck by the appearance of Savonarola before the monk had said a word, and had noted his pallid countenance, and sunken eyes, and forehead ploughed with furrows of thought. In the theological debate, Savonarola took no part, but when the question of discipline came up he spoke and thundered. What he said left upon Mirandola the impression that he beheld an extraordinary man, and on his arrival at Florence some time afterward, he besought Lorenzo de’ Medici to have Savonarola recalled to Florence.[123] After preaching at Bologna and Pavia, and delivering a course of Lenten sermons at Genoa, he was, at the instance of Lorenzo, recalled by his superiors to Florence, in 1490. Thus it was that the bitterest enemy of the Medici, the subverter of their power, was by one of themselves invited to return. Notwithstanding his discernment Lorenzo little knew what sad disasters he was preparing for his house, or what a flame he was kindling in the convent which his ancestors had built. In order to give an example of the Christian simplicity he preached, Fra Hieronimo made the journey home on foot, and, owing to physical weakness, accomplished only with difficulty his

RETURN TO FLORENCE.

In his convent he quietly resumed his functions of reader. There was no question of his preaching, for he had not forgotten the icy indifference of the Florentines. Devoting himself sedulously to the instruction of his novices, they became the objects of his tender care and of his fondest wishes. Meantime his powers had increased and his fame had spread. It was echoed from Northern Italy, and confirmed by Mirandola. Gradually the professed brothers of the convent joined the novices in listening to Savonarola’s lectures, and scholars and learned men of the city demanded permission to be admitted to them. Among those was his adviser Pico. The study-room in which he gave his lectures was no longer sufficient to hold the crowd. The garden of the convent was then taken possession of, and there, under the shade of a bush of damask roses, carefully renewed to this day by the brothers of the convent with religious veneration, he continued his lessons. His subject was the exposition of the Apocalypse. The crowd of his hearers still increased, and it was proposed to the Prior of S. Mark that Fra Hieronimo should continue his lectures in the church. This was accorded, and on Sunday, August 1, 1490, crowds flocked to hear the preacher, who, formerly so much despised in Florence, had gained such a reputation in other parts of Italy. From an account of it left by himself, he that day preached a terrible sermon. He continued his explanation of the Apocalypse. The walls rang with his terrible conclusions, he succeeded in communicating to the excited multitude the impetuosity of his own feelings, his voice seemed to them superhuman. The success of that day was complete. Nothing else was talked of in all Florence, and the literati for a short time forgot Plato to discuss the merits of the new Christian preacher. Here is his own account of the event:

“On the first day of August of this year, 1490, I began publicly to expound the Apocalypse in our church of S. Mark. During the course of the year, I continued to develop to the Florentines these three propositions 1. ‘That the church would be renewed in our time.’ 2. ‘Before that renovation, God would strike all Italy with a fearful chastisement.’ 3. ‘That these things would happen shortly.’ I labored to demonstrate these three points to my hearers, and to persuade them by probable arguments, by allegories drawn from sacred Scripture, by other similitudes and parables drawn from what was going on in the church. I insisted on reasons of this kind; and I dissembled the knowledge which God gave me of those things in other ways, because men’s spirits appeared to me not yet in a state fit to comprehend such mysteries.”

The reader will not fail to notice the portentous intimation conveyed in the last sentence of this remarkable record. Savonarola already believed himself the recipient of supernatural communications “the knowledge which God gave me of these things in other ways.” We shall find him presently boldly announcing his celestial visions and commands from heaven, and here may be discerned clearly and at once the point at which his noble mind and pure spirit, disturbed by the excitement of years of mental tension and meditation on Apocalyptic visions, lost its clearness and its balance, and fell into the gravest errors of judgment and doctrine.

THE FAMOUS SERMONS.

Crowds continued to press into the church of S. Mark to hear the preaching of Fra Girolamo, until the utmost capacity of the building no longer sufficed to hold them. For the Lent of 1491, his preaching was appointed to take place in the cathedral, and the walls of Santa Maria del Fiore for the first time echoed to his voice. From this moment he was lord of the pulpit and master of the people, who, increasing every day in number as hearers, redoubled in their enthusiasm for him. The pictures he drew charmed the fancy of the multitude, and the threats of future punishments exercised a magic influence upon all, for sinister forebodings appeared to rule the hour. All this was far from satisfactory or pleasing to the Magnificent Lorenzo, and naturally begat among his adherents a feeling of strong opposition to Savonarola. The result was that a deputation of five of the principal citizens (Domenico Bonsi, Guidantonio Vespucci, Paulo Antonio Soderini, Bernardo Rucallai, and Francesco Valori) waited upon him, with instructions to advise him that he was risking his own safety and that of his convent, and to admonish him to be more moderate in his tone when teaching or preaching. Savonarola abruptly cut short their discourse, saying: “I see that you come not of your own motion, but that you are sent by Lorenzo de’ Medici. Tell him to make haste to repent of his sins, for God is no respecter of persons, and has no fear of the great ones of this earth.” Proud of his independence as a priest, Savonarola desired thus to crush at the outset the established custom in S. Mark of continually bending and prostrating before the house of Medici. At this the deputation pointed out to him the danger he was in of being exiled; and he answered: “I have no fear of exile from your city, which is, after all, a mere grain of dust upon the face of the earth. But although I am only a stranger in it, and Lorenzo a citizen and its head, know ye that I shall remain, and ye shall depart.”