by George Eliot
CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR.
INSIDE THE DUO.
When Baldassarre, with his hands bound together, and the rope round hisneck and body, pushed his way behind the curtain, and saw the interiorof the Duomo before him, he gave a start of astonishment, and stoodstill against the doorway. He had expected to see a vast nave empty ofeverything but lifeless emblems--side altars with candles unlit, dimpictures, pale and rigid statues--with perhaps a few worshippers in thedistant choir following a monotonous chant. That was the ordinaryaspect of churches to a man who never went into them with any religiouspurpose.
And he saw, instead, a vast multitude of warm, living faces, upturned inbreathless silence towards the pulpit, at the angle between the nave andthe choir. The multitude was of all ranks, from magistrates and damesof gentle nurture to coarsely-clad artisans and country people. In thepulpit was a Dominican friar, with strong features and dark hair,preaching with the crucifix in his hand.
For the first few minutes Baldassarre noted nothing of his preaching.Silent as his entrance had been, some eyes near the doorway had beenturned on him with surprise and suspicion. The rope indicated plainlyenough that he was an escaped prisoner, but in that case the church wasa sanctuary which he had a right to claim; his advanced years and lookof wild misery were fitted to excite pity rather than alarm; and as hestood motionless, with eyes that soon wandered absently from the widescene before him to the pavement at his feet, those who had observed hisentrance presently ceased to regard him, and became absorbed again inthe stronger interest of listening to the sermon.
Among the eyes that had been turned towards him were Romola's: she hadentered late through one of the side doors and was so placed that shehad a full view of the main entrance. She had looked long andattentively at Baldassarre, for grey hairs made a peculiar appeal toher, and the stamp of some unwonted suffering in the face, confirmed bythe cord round his neck, stirred in her those sensibilities towards thesorrows of age, which her whole life had tended to develop. She fanciedthat his eyes had met hers in their first wandering gaze; butBaldassarre had not, in reality, noted her; he had only had a startledconsciousness of the general scene, and the consciousness was a mereflash that made no perceptible break in the fierce tumult of emotionwhich the encounter with Tito had created. Images from the past kepturging themselves upon him like delirious visions strangely blended withthirst and anguish. No distinct thought for the future could shapeitself in the midst of that fiery passion: the nearest approach to suchthought was the bitter sense of enfeebled powers, and a vaguedetermination to universal distrust and suspicion. Suddenly he felthimself vibrating to loud tones, which seemed like the thundering echoof his own passion. A voice that penetrated his very marrow with itsaccent of triumphant certitude was saying--"The day of vengeance is athand!"
Baldassarre quivered and looked up. He was too distant to see more thanthe general aspect of the preacher standing, with his right armoutstretched, lifting up the crucifix; but he panted for the threateningvoice again as if it had been a promise of bliss. There was a pausebefore the preacher spoke again. He gradually lowered his arm. Hedeposited the crucifix on the edge of the pulpit, and crossed his armsover his breast, looking round at the multitude as if he would meet theglance of every individual face.
"All ye in Florence are my witnesses, for I spoke not in a corner. Yeare my witnesses, that four years ago, when there were yet no signs ofwar and tribulation, I preached the coming of the scourge. I lifted upmy voice as a trumpet to the prelates and princes and people of Italyand said, The cup of your iniquity is full. Behold, the thunder of theLord is gathering, and it shall fall and break the cup, and youriniquity, which seems to you as pleasant wine, shall be poured out uponyou, and shall be as molten lead. And you, O priests, who say, Ha, ha!there is no Presence in the sanctuary--the Shechinah is nought--theMercy-seat is bare: we may sin behind the veil, and who shall punish us?To you, I said, the presence of God shall be revealed in his temple asa consuming fire, and your sacred garments shall become a winding-sheetof flame, and for sweet music there shall be shrieks and hissing, andfor soft couches there shall be thorns, and for the breath of wantonsshall come the pestilence. Trust not in your gold and silver, trust notin your high fortresses; for, though the walls were of iron, and thefortresses of adamant, the Most High shall put terror into your heartsand weakness into your councils, so that you shall be confounded andflee like women. He shall break in pieces mighty men without number,and put others in their stead. For God will no longer endure thepollution of his sanctuary; he will thoroughly purge his Church.
"And forasmuch as it is written that God will do nothing but herevealeth it to his servants the prophets, he has chosen me, hisunworthy servant, and made his purpose present to my soul in the livingword of the Scriptures, and in the deeds of his providence; and by theministry of angels he has revealed it to me in visions. And his wordpossesses me so that I am but as the branch of the forest when the windof heaven penetrates it, and it is not in me to keep silence, eventhough I may be a derision to the scorner. And for four years I havepreached in obedience to the Divine will: in the face of scoffing I havepreached three things, which the Lord has delivered to me: that _inthese times God will regenerate his Church_, and that _before theregeneration must come the scourge over all Italy_, and that _thesethings will come quickly_.
"But hypocrites who cloak their hatred of the truth with a show of lovehave said to me, `Come now, Frate, leave your prophesyings: it is enoughto teach virtue.' To these I answer: `Yes, you say in your hearts, Godlives afar off, and his word is as a parchment written by dead men, andhe deals not as in the days of old, rebuking the nations, and punishingthe oppressors, and smiting the unholy priests as he smote the sons ofEli. But I cry again in your ears: God is near and not afar off; hisjudgments change not. He is the God of armies; the strong men who go upto battle are his ministers, even as the storm, and fire, andpestilence. He drives them by the breath of his angels, and they comeupon the chosen land which has forsaken the covenant. And thou, OItaly, art the chosen land; has not God placed his sanctuary withinthee, and thou hast polluted it? Behold, the ministers of his wrath areupon thee--they are at thy very doors!'"
Savonarola's voice had been rising in impassioned force up to thispoint, when he became suddenly silent, let his hands fall and claspedthem quietly before him. His silence, instead of being the signal forsmall movements amongst his audience, seemed to be as strong a spell tothem as his voice. Through the vast area of the cathedral men and womensat with faces upturned, like breathing statues, till the voice washeard again in clear low tones.
"Yet there is a pause--even as in the days when Jerusalem was destroyedthere was a pause that the children of God might flee from it. There isa stillness before the storm: lo, there is blackness above, but not aleaf quakes: the winds are stayed, that the voice of God's warning maybe heard. Hear it now, O Florence, chosen city in the chosen land!Repent and forsake evil: do justice: love mercy: put away alluncleanness from among you, that the spirit of truth and holiness mayfill your souls and breathe through all your streets and habitations,and then the pestilence shall not enter, and the sword shall pass overyou and leave you unhurt.
"For the sword is hanging from the sky; it is quivering; it is about tofall! _The sword of God upon the earth, swift and sudden_! Did I nottell you, years ago, that I had beheld the vision and heard the voice?And behold, it is fulfilled! Is there not a king with his army at yourgates? Does not the earth shake with the tread of horses and the wheelsof swift cannon? Is there not a fierce multitude that can lay bare theland as with a sharp razor? I tell you the French king with his army isthe minister of God: God shall guide him as the hand guides a sharpsickle, and the joints of the wicked shall melt before him, and theyshall be mown down as stubble: he that fleeth of them shall not fleeaway, and he that escapeth of them shall not be delivered. And thetyrants who have made to themselves a throne out of the vices of themultitude, and the unbelievin
g priests who traffic in the souls of menand fill the very sanctuary with fornication, shall be hurled from theirsoft couches into burning hell; and the pagans and they who sinned underthe old covenant shall stand aloof and say: `Lo, these men have broughtthe stench of a new wickedness into the everlasting fire.'
"But thou, O Florence, take the offered mercy. See! the Cross is heldout to you: come and be healed. Which among the nations of Italy hashad a token like unto yours? The tyrant is driven out from among you:the men who held a bribe in their left-hand and a rod in the right aregone forth, and no blood has been spilled. And now put away every otherabomination from among you, and you shall be strong in the strength ofthe living God. Wash yourselves from the black pitch of your vices,which have made you even as the heathens: put away the envy and hatredthat have made your city as a nest of wolves. And there shall no harmhappen to you: and the passage of armies shall be to you as a flight ofbirds, and rebellious Pisa shall be given to you again, and famine andpestilence shall be far from your gates, and you shall be as a beaconamong the nations. But, mark! while you suffer the accursed thing tolie in the camp you shall be afflicted and tormented, even though aremnant among you may be saved."
These admonitions and promises had been spoken in an incisive tone ofauthority; but in the next sentence the preacher's voice melted into astrain of entreaty.
"Listen, O people, over whom my heart yearns, as the heart of a motherover the children she has travailed for! God is my witness that but foryour sakes I would willingly live as a turtle in the depths of theforest, singing low to my Beloved, who is mine and I am his. For you Itoil, for you I languish, for you my nights are spent in watching, andmy soul melteth away for very heaviness. O Lord, thou knowest I amwilling--I am ready. Take me, stretch me on thy cross: let the wickedwho delight in blood, and rob the poor, and defile the temple of theirbodies, and harden themselves against thy mercy--let them wag theirheads and shoot out the lip at me: let the thorns press upon my brow,and let my sweat be anguish--I desire to be made like thee in thy greatlove. But let me see the fruit of my travail--let this people be saved!Let me see them clothed in purity: let me hear their voices rise inconcord as the voices of the angels: let them see no wisdom but in thyeternal law, no beauty but in holiness. Then they shall lead the waybefore the nations, and the people from the four winds shall followthem, and be gathered into the fold of the blessed. For it is thy will,O God, that the earth shall be converted unto thy law: it is thy willthat wickedness shall cease and love shall reign. Come, O blessedpromise; and behold, I am willing--lay me on the altar: let my bloodflow and the fire consume me; but let my witness be remembered amongmen, that iniquity shall not prosper for ever." [See note at the end.]
During the last appeal, Savonarola had stretched out his arms and liftedup his eyes to heaven; his strong voice had alternately trembled withemotion and risen again in renewed energy; but the passion with which heoffered himself as a victim became at last too strong to allow offurther speech, and he ended in a sob. Every changing tone, vibratingthrough the audience, shook them into answering emotion. There wereplenty among them who had very moderate faith in the Frate's propheticmission, and who in their cooler moments loved him little; nevertheless,they too were carried along by the great wave of feeling which gatheredits force from sympathies that lay deeper than all theory. A loudresponding sob rose at once from the wide multitude, while Savonarolahad fallen on his knees and buried his face in his mantle. He felt inthat moment the rapture and glory of martyrdom without its agony.
In that great sob of the multitude Baldassarre's had mingled. Among allthe human beings present, there was perhaps not one whose frame vibratedmore strongly than his to the tones and words of the preacher; but ithad vibrated like a harp of which all the strings had been wrenched awayexcept one. That threat of a fiery inexorable vengeance--of a futureinto which the hated sinner might be pursued and held by the avenger inan eternal grapple, had come to him like the promise of an unquenchablefountain to unquenchable thirst. The doctrines of the sages, the oldcontempt for priestly Superstitions, had fallen away from his soul likea forgotten language: if he could have remembered them, what answercould they have given to his great need like the answer given by thisvoice of energetic conviction? The thunder of denunciation fell on hispassion-wrought nerves with all the force of self-evidence: his thoughtnever went beyond it into questions--he was possessed by it as thewar-horse is possessed by the clash of sounds. No word that was not athreat touched his consciousness; he had no fibre to be thrilled by it.But the fierce exultant delight to which he was moved by the idea ofperpetual vengeance found at once a climax and a relieving outburst inthe preacher's words of self-sacrifice. To Baldassarre those words onlybrought the vague triumphant sense that he too was devoting himself--signing with his own blood the deed by which he gave himself over to anunending fire, that would seem but coolness to his burning hatred.
"I rescued him--I cherished him--if I might clutch his heart-strings forever! Come, O blessed promise! Let my blood flow; let the fire consumeme!"
The one cord vibrated to its utmost. Baldassarre clutched his ownpalms, driving his long nails into them, and burst into a sob with therest.
