XLVII.

SAVONAROLA AND LORENZO THE MAGNIFICENT.

BY MRS. M. O. W. OLIPHANT.'

LORENZO fell ill in the early spring of the year 1492, and then occurred a scene which has been often told and retold, but which is one of the most striking and remarkable of that or any time. Lorenzo was still in the full vigor of his life and of his great powers, Florence 5 at his feet, flatterers on every side, and everything going well with him when his summons came. So he had said and sung: "Let us eat and drink, for to-morrow we die;" words often lightly said, and gayly, though they embody the very soul and essence of despair. When 10 that to-morrow comes, however, few of the believers in this so-called gay philosophy find much comfort in the eating and drinking, the revelry and enjoyment, of the past; and when it was Lorenzo's turn suddenly out of his sunshine to enter this gloom, conscience awoke with-15 in him. He thought upon certain things he had done, which no charitable interpretation could explain away, or cheerful sophistry account for, and an agony of desire to get himself pardoned arose in his mind. He was too able and clear-sighted not to see through those 20 parasites, the Fra Marianos, who flattered and humored him as much as his secular friends did. Only one man could the dying magnifico think of, whose absolution would be sufficiently real and true to carry comfort with it, and that one man was the friar3 who had repulsed 25 him, the Mordecai' in his gates, the Dominican stranger,

who no doubt had appeared an arrogant and intolerant priest, notwithstanding his genius, to the genial prince who, for the sake of that genius, had condescended to seek him. That this should have been the case is a singular and touching testimony to the character of Lo- 5

renzo.

He sent to San Marco' for the Prior when he felt his state desperate. "I am not the person he wants; we should not agree; and it is not expedient that I should go to him," said Savonarola. Lorenzo sent back 10 his messenger at once, declaring his readiness to agree with the Prior in everything, and to do whatever his reverence bade; and upon this promise the prophet was induced to obey the summons.

It was in the village of Careggi, amid the olive gar-15 dens, that Lorenzo lay dying among all the beautiful things he loved. As the Prior took his way through the Porta San Gallo up the hill, with the companion whose duty it was to follow, he told this monk that Lorenzo was about to die. This was, no doubt, a very 20 simple anticipation, but everything the prophet said was looked upon by his half-adoring followers as prophecy. When the two monks reached the beautiful house from which so often the magnificent Lorenzo had looked out upon his glorious Florence, and in which his life of lux-25 ury, learned and gay, had culminated, the Prior was led to the chamber in which the owner of all these riches lay, hopeless and helpless, in what ought to have been the prime of his days, with visions of sacked cities and robbed orphans distracting his dying mind, and no aid 30 to be got from either beauty or learning.

"Father," said Lorenzo, "there are three things which drag me back and throw me into despair, and I know not if God will ever pardon me for them." These were

the sack of Volterra, the robbery of the Monte delle Fanciulle, and the massacre of Pazzi. To this Savonarola answered by reminding his penitent of the mercy of God. We quote the dramatic climax of this scene from the detailed and simple narrative of Burlamacchi, who seems to us, at least, a satisfactory witness:

"Lorenzo,' he said, 'be not despairing, for God is merciful, and will be merciful to you, if you will do the . three things I will tell you.' Then said Lorenzo, 'What are these three things? The Padre answered, 'The first 10 is that you should have a great and living faith that God can and will pardon you.' To which Lorenzo answered, 'This is a great thing, and I do believe it.' The Padre added, 'It is also necessary that everything wrongfully acquired should be given back by you, in 15 so far as you can do this, and still leave to your children as much as will maintain them as private citizens.' These words drove Lorenzo nearly out of himself; but afterwards he said, 'This also will I do.' The Padre then went on to the third thing, and said, 'Lastly, it is 20 necessary that freedom, and her popular government, according to republican usage, should be restored to Florence.' At this speech Lorenzo turned his back upon him, nor ever said another word. Upon which the Padre left him and went away without other con-25 fession."

We do not know where to find a more remarkable scene. Never before, so far as we can ascertain, had these two notable beings looked at each other face to face, or interchanged words. They met at the supreme 30 moment of the life of one, to confer there upon the edge of eternity and part, but not in a petty quarrel; each great in his way, the prince turning his face to the wall in the bitterness of his soul, the friar drawing his cowl

over his head, solemn, unblessing, but not unpitifulthey separated after their one interview. "Talking of Lorenzo afterwards, the Padre would say that he had never known a man so well endowed by God with all natural graces; and that he grieved greatly not to have s been sooner called to him, because he trusted in the grace of God that Lorenzo might then have found salvation." Curious revenge of one great soul upon another: the prince had sought the unwilling preacher in vain when all was well with Lorenzo; but the preacher 10 grieved greatly" not to have been sooner called when at last they met; and Savonarola recognized in the great Medici a man worth struggling for—a fellow and peer of his own.

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Thus Lorenzo died at forty-four, in the height of his 15 days, with those distracting visions in his dying eyesthe sacked city, the murdered innocents of Pazzi blood, the poor maidens robbed in their orphanage :

"In the lost battle, borne down by the flying,

Where mingle war's rattle with groans of the dying."

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He had been victorious and splendid all his days, but the battle was lost at last, and the prophet by the side of his princely bed intimated to Lorenzo, in that last demand to which he would make no answer, the subversion of all his work, the downfall of his family, the 25 escape of Florence from the skilful hands which had held her so long.

The spectator, looking on at this strange and lofty conflict of the two most notable figures of their time, feels almost as much sympathy for Lorenzo, proud and 20 sad, refusing to consent to that ruin which was inevitable, as with the patriotic monk, lover of freedom as of truth, who could no more absolve a despot at his

end than he could play a courtier's part during his life. As that cowled figure traversed the sunny marbles of the loggia, in the glow of the April morning, leaving death and bitterness behind, what thoughts must have been in both hearts! The one, sovereign still in Florence, reigning for himself and his own will and pleasure, proudly and sadly turned his face to the wall, holding fast his sceptre, though his moments were numbered; the other, not less sadly, a sovereign too, to whom that sceptre was to fall, and who 10 should reign for God and goodness, went forth into the spring sunshine, life blossoming all about him, and the City of Flowers lying before him, white campanile' and red dome glistening in the early light. Life with the one, death with the other; but Nature, calm and 15 fair, and this long-lived, everlasting earth, to which men great and small are things of a moment, encircling both. Careggi still stands smiling on the wealthy slope, looking from its many windows and its painted loggia upon Florence, proving that its great master was wrong 20 when he sang, “Let us eat and drink, for to-morrow we die;" for this far-distant to-morrow has more knowledge of that death-bed scene of his than of all the festas and all the singing that has happened there since his time.

Lorenzo de' Medici died, leaving, as such men do, the deluge after him, and a foolish and feeble heir to contend with Florence roused and turbulent, and all the troubles and stormy chances of Italian politics; while the Prior of San Marco returned to his cell and his pul-30 pit-from which, for a few years thereafter, he was to rule over his city and the spirits of men-a reign more wonderful than any that Florence had ever seen.

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