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Romola
Part 3   Part 3 - Chapter 62. The Benediction
George Eliot
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       _ Part Three: Chapter Sixty Two. The Benediction
       About ten o'clock on the morning of the twenty-seventh of February the currents of passengers along the Florentine streets set decidedly towards San Marco. It was the last morning of the Carnival, and every one knew there was a second Bonfire of Vanities being prepared in front of the Old Palace; but at this hour it was evident that the centre of popular interest lay elsewhere.
       The Piazza di San Marco was filled by a multitude who showed no other movement than that which proceeded from the pressure of new-comers trying to force their way forward from all the openings: but the front ranks were already close-serried and resisted the pressure. Those ranks were ranged around a semicircular barrier in front of the church, and within this barrier were already assembling the Dominican Brethren of San Marco.
       But the temporary wooden pulpit erected over the church-door was still empty. It was presently to be entered by the man whom the Pope's command had banished from the pulpit of the Duomo, whom the other ecclesiastics of Florence had been forbidden to consort with, whom the citizens had been forbidden to hear on pain of excommunication. This man had said, "A wicked, unbelieving Pope who has gained the pontifical chair by bribery is not Christ's Vicar. His curses are broken swords: he grasps a hilt without a blade. His commands are contrary to the Christian life: it is lawful to disobey them--nay, it is not lawful to obey them." And the people still flocked to hear him as he preached in his own church of San Marco, though the Pope was hanging terrible threats over Florence if it did not renounce the pestilential schismatic and send him to Rome to be "converted"--still, as on this very morning, accepted the Communion from his excommunicated hands. For how if this Frate had really more command over the Divine lightnings than that official successor of Saint Peter? It was a momentous question, which for the mass of citizens could never be decided by the Frate's ultimate test, namely, what was and what was not accordant with the highest spiritual law. No: in such a case as this, if God had chosen the Frate as his prophet to rebuke the High Priest who carried the mystic raiment unworthily, he would attest his choice by some unmistakable sign. As long as the belief in the Prophet carried no threat of outward calamity, but rather the confident hope of exceptional safety, no sign was needed: his preaching was a music to which the people felt themselves marching along the way they wished to go; but now that belief meant an immediate blow to their commerce, the shaking of their position among the Italian States, and an interdict on their city, there inevitably came the question, "What miracle showest thou?" Slowly at first, then faster and faster, that fatal demand had been swelling in Savonarola's ear, provoking a response, outwardly in the declaration that at the fitting time the miracle would come; inwardly in the faith--not unwavering, for what faith is so?--that if the need for miracle became urgent, the work he had before him was too great for the Divine power to leave it halting. His faith wavered, but not his speech: it is the lot of every man who has to speak for the satisfaction of the crowd, that he must often speak in virtue of yesterday's faith, hoping it will come back to-morrow.
       It was in preparation for a scene which was really a response to the popular impatience for some supernatural guarantee of the Prophet's mission, that the wooden pulpit had been erected above the church-door. But while the ordinary Frati in black mantles were entering and arranging themselves, the faces of the multitude were not yet eagerly directed towards the pulpit: it was felt that Savonarola would not appear just yet, and there was some interest in singling out the various monks, some of them belonging to high Florentine families, many of them having fathers, brothers, or cousins among the artisans and shopkeepers who made the majority of the crowd. It was not till the tale of monks was complete, not till they had fluttered their books and had begun to chant, that people said to each other, "Fra Girolamo must be coming now."
       That expectation rather than any spell from the accustomed wail of psalmody was what made silence and expectation seem to spread like a paling solemn light over the multitude of upturned faces, all now directed towards the empty pulpit.
       The next instant the pulpit was no longer empty. A figure covered from head to foot in black cowl and mantle had entered it, and was kneeling with bent head and with face turned away. It seemed a weary time to the eager people while the black figure knelt and the monks chanted. But the stillness was not broken, for the Frate's audiences with Heaven were yet charged with electric awe for that mixed multitude, so that those who had already the will to stone him felt their arms unnerved.
       At last there was a vibration among the multitude, each seeming to give his neighbour a momentary aspen-like touch, as when men who have been watching for something in the heavens see the expected presence silently disclosing itself. The Frate had risen, turned towards the people, and partly pushed back his cowl. The monotonous wail of psalmody had ceased, and to those who stood near the pulpit, it was as if the sounds which had just been filling their ears had suddenly merged themselves in the force of Savonarola's flashing glance, as he looked round him in the silence. Then he stretched out his hands, which, in their exquisite delicacy, seemed transfigured from an animal organ for grasping into vehicles of sensibility too acute to need any gross contact: hands that came like an appealing speech from that part of his soul which was masked by his strong passionate face, written on now with deeper lines about the mouth and brow than are made by forty-four years of ordinary life.
       At the first stretching out of the hands some of the crowd in the front ranks fell on their knees, and here and there a devout disciple farther off; but the great majority stood firm, some resisting the impulse to kneel before this excommunicated man (might not a great judgment fall upon him even in this act of blessing?)--others jarred with scorn and hatred of the ambitious deceiver who was getting up this new comedy, before which, nevertheless, they felt themselves impotent, as before the triumph of a fashion.
       But then came the voice, clear and low at first, uttering the words of absolution--"Misereatur vestri"--and more fell on their knees: and as it rose higher and yet clearer, the erect heads became fewer and fewer, till, at the words "Benedicat vos omnipotens Deus" it rose to a masculine cry, as if protesting its power to bless under the clutch of a demon that wanted to stifle it: it rang like a trumpet to the extremities of the Piazza, and under it every head was bowed.
       After the utterance of that blessing, Savonarola himself fell on his knees and hid his face in temporary exhaustion. Those great jets of emotion were a necessary part of his life; he himself had said to the people long ago, "Without preaching I cannot live." But it was a life that shattered him.
       In a few minutes more, some had risen to their feet, but a larger number remained kneeling, and all faces were intently watching him. He had taken into his hands a crystal vessel, containing the consecrated Host, and was about to address the people.
       "You remember, my children, three days ago I besought you, when I should hold this Sacrament in my hand in the face of you all, to pray fervently to the Most High that if this work of mine does not come from Him, He will send a fire and consume me, that I may vanish into the eternal darkness away from His light which I have hidden with my falsity. Again I beseech you to make that prayer, and to make it now."
       It was a breathless moment: perhaps no man really prayed, if some in a spirit of devout obedience made the effort to pray. Every consciousness was chiefly possessed by the sense that Savonarola was praying, in a voice not loud, but distinctly audible in the wide stillness.
       "Lord, if I have not wrought in sincerity of soul, if my word cometh not from Thee, strike me in this, moment with Thy thunder, and let the fires of Thy wrath enclose me."
       He ceased to speak, and stood motionless, with the consecrated Mystery in his hand, with eyes uplifted, and a quivering excitement in his whole aspect. Every one else was motionless and silent too, while the sunlight, which for the last quarter of an hour had here and there been piercing the greyness, made fitful streaks across the convent wall, causing some awe-stricken spectators to start timidly. But soon there was a wider parting, and with a gentle quickness, like a smile, a stream of brightness poured itself on the crystal vase, and then spread itself over Savonarola's face with mild glorification.
       An instantaneous shout rang through the Piazza, "Behold the answer!"
       The warm radiance thrilled through Savonarola's frame, and so did the shout. It was his last moment of untroubled triumph, and in its rapturous confidence he felt carried to a grander scene yet to come, before an audience that would represent all Christendom, in whose presence he should again be sealed as the messenger of the supreme righteousness, and feel himself full charged with Divine strength. It was but a moment that expanded itself in that prevision. While the shout was still ringing in his ears he turned away within the church, feeling the strain too great for him to tear it longer.
       But when the Frate had disappeared, and the sunlight seemed no longer to have anything special in its illumination, but was spreading itself impartially over all things clean and unclean, there began, along with the general movement of the crowd, a confusion of voices in which certain strong discords and varying scales of laughter made it evident that, in the previous silence and universal kneeling, hostility and scorn had only submitted unwillingly to a momentary spell.
       "It seems to me the plaudits are giving way to criticism," said Tito, who had been watching the scene attentively from an upper loggia in one of the houses opposite the church. "Nevertheless it was a striking moment, eh, Messer Pietro? Fra Girolamo is a man to make one understand that there was a time when the monk's frock was a symbol of power over men's minds rather than over the keys of women's cupboards."
       "Assuredly," said Pietro Cennini. "And until I have seen proof that Fra Girolamo has much less faith in God's judgments than the common run of men, instead of having considerably more, I shall not believe that he would brave Heaven in this way if his soul were laden with a conscious lie." _
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本书目录

Part 1
   Part 1 - Proem
   Part 1 - Chapter 1. The Shipwrecked Stranger
   Part 1 - Chapter 2. Breakfast For Love
   Part 1 - Chapter 3. The Barber's Shop
   Part 1 - Chapter 4. First Impressions
   Part 1 - Chapter 5. The Blind Scholar And His Daughter
   Part 1 - Chapter 6. Dawning Hopes
   Part 1 - Chapter 7. A Learned Squabble
   Part 1 - Chapter 8. A Face In The Crowd
   Part 1 - Chapter 9. A Man's Ransom
   Part 1 - Chapter 10. Under The Plane-Tree
   Part 1 - Chapter 11. Tito's Dilemma
   Part 1 - Chapter 12. The Prize Is Nearly Grasped
   Part 1 - Chapter 13. The Shadow Of Nemesis
   Part 1 - Chapter 14. The Peasants' Fair
   Part 1 - Chapter 15. The Dying Message
   Part 1 - Chapter 16. A Florentine Joke
   Part 1 - Chapter 17. Under The Loggia
   Part 1 - Chapter 18. The Portrait
   Part 1 - Chapter 19. The Old Man's Hope
   Part 1 - Chapter 20. The Day Of The Betrothal
Part 2
   Part 2 - Chapter 21. Florence Expects A Guest
   Part 2 - Chapter 22. The Prisoners
   Part 2 - Chapter 23. After-Thoughts
   Part 2 - Chapter 24. Inside The Duo
   Part 2 - Chapter 25. Outside The Duomo
   Part 2 - Chapter 26. The Garment Of Fear
   Part 2 - Chapter 27. The Young Wife
   Part 2 - Chapter 28. The Painted Record
   Part 2 - Chapter 29. A Moment Of Triumph
   Part 2 - Chapter 30. The Avenger's Secret
   Part 2 - Chapter 31. Fruit Is Seed
   Part 2 - Chapter 32. A Revelation
   Part 2 - Chapter 33. Baldassarre Makes An Acquaintance
   Part 2 - Chapter 34. No Place For Repentance
   Part 2 - Chapter 35. What Florence Was Thinking Of
   Part 2 - Chapter 36. Ariadne Discrowns Herself
   Part 2 - Chapter 37. The Tabernacle Unlocked
   Part 2 - Chapter 38. The Black Marks Become Magical
   Part 2 - Chapter 39. A Supper In The Rucellai Gardens
   Part 2 - Chapter 40. An Arresting Voice
   Part 2 - Chapter 41. Coming Back
Part 3
   Part 3 - Chapter 42. Romola In Her Place
   Part 3 - Chapter 43. The Unseen Madonna
   Part 3 - Chapter 44. The Visible Madonna
   Part 3 - Chapter 45. At The Barber's Shop
   Part 3 - Chapter 46. By A Street Lamp
   Part 3 - Chapter 47. Check
   Part 3 - Chapter 48. Counter-Check
   Part 3 - Chapter 49. The Pyramid Of Vanities
   Part 3 - Chapter 50. Tessa Abroad And At Home
   Part 3 - Chapter 51. Monna Brigida's Conversion
   Part 3 - Chapter 52. A Prophetess
   Part 3 - Chapter 53. On San Miniato
   Part 3 - Chapter 54. The Evening And The Morning
   Part 3 - Chapter 55. Waiting
   Part 3 - Chapter 56. The Other Wife
   Part 3 - Chapter 57. Why Tito Was Safe
   Part 3 - Chapter 58. A Final Understanding
   Part 3 - Chapter 59. Pleading
   Part 3 - Chapter 60. The Scaffold
   Part 3 - Chapter 61. Drifting Away
   Part 3 - Chapter 62. The Benediction
   Part 3 - Chapter 63. Ripening Schemes
   Part 3 - Chapter 64. The Prophet In His Cell
   Part 3 - Chapter 65. The Trial By Fire
   Part 3 - Chapter 66. A Masque Of The Furies
   Part 3 - Chapter 67. Waiting By The River
   Part 3 - Chapter 68. Romola's Waking
   Part 3 - Chapter 69. Homeward
   Part 3 - Chapter 70. Meeting Again
   Part 3 - Chapter 71. The Confession
   Part 3 - Chapter 72. The Last Silence