The Palace

The crowd this hot summer morning had been disappointingly small, and Savonarola had castigated the entire congregation for the lack of fervor the Fiorenzeni were showing him. His threats of the dire fate awaiting the lax worshipers were enough to make three women faint, and he felt somewhat mollified.

He lingered at Santa Maria del Fiore to have a few words with i Priori, for many of the city's dignitaries were alarmed about the coming of the French.

"You will see," he told the apprehensive men who had gathered around him, "that this Charles of France is a godly king, not a man of flesh and com." He was pleased to see how soberly i Priori were dressed. No more bright-colored guarnacche with embroidered edges, no more brocades. The men wore the lucco, which was not unlike a cassock, and all were made of simple, dark-dyed wool. Aside from the collars of their office, none of the men wore jewelry. Even their shoes were plain, having no slashings or elegantly turned-back linings. He considered the matter, then decided he would mention this new mode. "It is gratifying to see you have put vanity behind you and are turning your thoughts to other concerns. To see men of your station and responsibility forgetting their dignity and strutting like peacocks is always distressing. But now, in your simple garments and humble manner, at last your true worth may be seen, not for the display you make in the world, but for the excellence of soul you show to God."

One of the officials smiled at this praise, and was instantly rebuked by Savonarola. "It is not fitting for you to be pleased. You should strive only to be pleasing to God. If you take pleasure and pride in this, then I have failed and you are surely damned to burn forever in the deepest pits of hell."

At last the clerk of la Signoria dared to address the little prior on another matter. "Reverend Domenicano, though you are not given to think of these considerations, it is necessary that we have your opinion on what is to be done with the Franchesi in Italia. Are we to wait here? Are we to welcome them? You tell us that Charles is a godly man, but if his army is not?" Gradazo Ondante glanced at the other men uncomfortably. With the full force of the sun on him, his lucco of dark wool was intolerably hot. He saw that the others were suffering in the same way, and wished that the small man in the Domenican habit would show the same human distress.

The oldest of the delegation, a man who had served the Console for many years, added a few words to Ondante's questions. "We are concerned, Buon Prior, for the safety and security of this city, of la Repubblica Fiorenzen. It would be a simple thing for Charles to defeat us with arms, and then we would be isolated. Siena would not come to our aid then, nor Modena, nor Milano, certainly. We might be crushed."

Savonarola studied them, his green eyes smoldering. "If you are worried about your fate in this world, I am filled with shame. This world is nothing. It is heaven that matters. All else is vanity. You say that you fear we will be crushed. I tell you that unless there is repentance, reform and acceptance of what God sends to us, then the heaviest, most utter ruin that might be visited on us will be too light to make amends for the gravity of our sins."

"But," Gradazo Ondante persisted, "if the state is destroyed, how then do we serve God? If my life preserves the life of Fiorenza and her citizens, that's nothing-"

"A prideful boast, Ondante. Remember it when you come to confession."

For the first time Gradazo Ondante found he was out of patience with Savonarola. "It was not said in pride-"

"God alone knows how it was said. Be sure you confess it, for to question God is heresy." He looked at the men around him and met their uneasy glances with a challenge. "Don't attempt to bargain with God as if He were a rival merchant. That way lies disaster and the

Vengeance of God that waits for all who deny Him and who live their lives in sin."

One of the Console coughed and tried to motion the others aside, but Ondante was determined. "All that you tell me may indeed be so, and for it I will suffer eternally. But for the moment it is my responsibility to help keep la Repubblica in order, to keep it whole and prosperous. If I don't do that, I have failed in the task given to me in life, and God admonishes us not to shirk responsibility. If it is appropriate that we make the first gesture to the Franchesi, then let us do so now. But if we bring war onto us, then every one of us should be cursed." He didn't realize how heated his voice had become until one of the others pulled at his sleeve and murmured a few words to him.

Savonarola had given him a measured glance for the latter part of this outburst, and he said slowly, "You have given me a great deal to think on. Yes. I will send for you when I have decided what action should be taken to discipline you." With a curt nod he dismissed i Priori and stood waiting until the men had moved away from him.

He was about to join the group of monks waiting to return to San Marco when he saw a white-habited nun coming toward him. He had seen Suor Merzede, Superiora of Sacro Infante, perhaps a dozen times in the last four years. He disliked the serenity of the Celestiana, he found her confidence inappropriate to her calling. But he refused to let these conflicting feelings trouble him. He assumed his most forbidding expression and waited until the nun had come and made a proper reverence to him.

"Greetings in the Name of the Father, the Son and the Holy Spirit," Suor Merzede murmured as she kissed Savonarola's outstretched hand. "I pray you will hear me out, good Prior."

"Well? What is it?" He knew that this response was far from gracious, and he hurriedly made the Sign of the Cross as a gesture of amends.

Suor Merzede blinked at this Turkish treatment, but she had long dealt with monks and knew that their ways were often harsh. She folded her hands into her sleeves and said, "It has been more than a year since you were last at Sacro Infante. We've had the care and counsel of Fra Milo, but my Sisters and I long for your guidance. Many of our charges, too, yearn to hear your prophecy. The mad and infirm are as much in need of salvation as the prosperous and tranquil of mind-it may be that they crave your ministration even more in their loneliness and affliction than others do, who have the benefit of daily recourse to your teachings."

Savonarola regarded Suor Merzede with suspicion. He moved back a step or two so that her slightly greater height would not be noticed. As he did so, he remembered that the nun was one of an ancient and distinguished Pisan family, and it seemed to him she had lost too little of her aristocratic manner in her convent. "There is too much for me to do here, Suor Merzede. It is true that all those in despair deserve the comfort of Scripture. But madness-that may be otherwise, for madness is often caused by demons."

"Then who but you should cast them out?" Suor Merzede said swiftly. "Blessed Savonarola, listen to me, if not for the sake of the habit I wear, then for the sake of the wretches kept at Sacro Infante. Every day our Sisterhood sees the terrors of hell reflected in the eyes of those we care for. We know what it is to fight endlessly for the smallest of victories. It is a victory when a simple man learns to mend a pan. It is a victory when a boy who has done nothing but stare at the walls for three years asks one morning for a piece of bread. Each of these little, little triumphs we offer to God in our love. But there is so much more we could do, and because we are few and our charges are many, those other triumphs are lost, perhaps eternally. You, good Prior, you could give us new courage and help us renew our determination to battle for our tiny successes. And certainly your words will stir the hearts of all who hear them."

As he cast an anxious glance over his shoulder toward his waiting Brothers, Savonarola said, "It might be possible, Suor Merzede, but not just at present."

Skillfully Suor Merzede concealed her annoyance. "There is another reason I ask you to come to Sacro Infante."

"Yes?"

At il Palazzo della Signoria, its famous bell, la Vacca, named that for its mooing tone, began to toll, indicating that the Console had gathered to meet. Savonarola felt a certain satisfaction in knowing that they were meeting to discuss what he had said only a few minutes before.

"We have a charge, a certain Donna Estasia della Cittadella, who has been with us for some time. She would seem to be possessed of the very devils you mentioned. But of late she has said she would like to confess so that her soul will be free from sin at last. She has fasted much, and tried to pray, but declares that until she has received absolution, she cannot hope for redemption."

Somewhat absently Savonarola nodded, forcing his concentration back to what Suor Merzede was saying. "Then provide her with a priest."

"She has said," Suor Merzede said, meeting the monk's green eyes evenly, "that she will confess to no one but you, for it was your exhortation that first brought her to awareness of her sins. She had declared that if you will not come to her, she cannot confess."

"It is vain and prideful in her. If she is truly repentant, she will confess most humbly to anyone who in the function of his office hears confession." He was about to turn away, but Suor Merzede's next words stopped him.

"That's what we told her, and we brought Fra Milo to her. She promised obedience to the decision to have him hear her. But as soon as she tried to speak, devils seized upon her, and she tore her shift from her body and threw herself with lascivious abandon on the crucifix that stands to the side of our chapel. Fra Milo was horrified, and when Donna Estasia was restored to her senses"-she did not mention that this was done with a sharp slap-"she herself cried out in her suffering, demanding that she be walled up to be an anchorite where she could harm no one, and would have only herself and the demons for company."

"Donna Estasia... Donna Estasia..." Savonarola turned the name over in his memory. "Was she the one who disrupted my sermon, some time ago? The one who exposed her breasts and tore at them?"

"Yes. She was brought to Sacro Infante that day and has not left since then. Her cousin Sandro Filipepi comes to see her often, but she despises his company now, and swears that she doesn't want to talk to him out of shame for what she has done in his company."

One of the monks approached to find out why Savonarola was being delayed by the Celestian nun. He was quite near when his prior made an abrupt gesture that sent the monk scurrying back to his Brothers.

"She says that demons seize her: what then?" He nibbled his lower lip furtively though his eyes were haughty.

"They impose on her. There is much carnality, much sensuality. But it terrifies her, and she struggles to escape. She is convinced that if the demons possess her, your strength and your righteousness must prevail and bring her at last to salvation." Suor Merzede had seen the flash of interest her mention of Estasia's complaint had caused, and she could not help but wonder if indeed the prior was as uncorrupt as everyone claimed. She quickly banished this dreadful thought from her mind, and sternly ordered herself to beg her bread and water for a week.

"Always before the demons have prevailed?" Savonarola asked, measuring something in the distance with his bright eyes.

"Yes. You are her last hope. She insists that if you will not hear her, if you will not right for her, she will find a way to take her own life to be free of these terrible visions."

"For that sin she would surely be damned forever to the greatest of tortures." He said the last word slowly.

"We have told her that, but she insists that if you cannot save her, then she knows she is damned anyway, and she might as well dispatch her soul to hell rather than risk contaminating others with her devils." Suor Merzede still thought that Donna Estasia was being capricious to demand that Savonarola himself be her confessor, but she had prayed that the beautiful young widow might be restored, and occasionally allowed herself to hope that once redeemed, Donna Estasia might desire to be of help to Sacro Infante. It was an unworthy thought, but she could not banish it.

"If I hear her confession, it will be written and proclaimed in public. The confession must be complete. No detail overlooked, no shameful act left unrecorded. If she still wants to confess to me, send me word and I will come with a secretary. And if this is a hoax, she will pay dearly for her heretical tamperings." He did not pause to see what effect this announcement would have on Suor Merzede. With a quick motion he turned and strode away to join his anxiously waiting Brothers, so that only they saw the strange smile on his fleshy lips.

Text of a document of commendation issued by the Console of la Signoria:

By the order of i Priori, la Signoria and the Console, I, Gradazo Ondante, clerk of la Signoria, am mandated to issue notice of thanks and commendation to il Conte Francesco Ragoczy da San Germano, stragnero, residing in Fiorenza.

For in the unfortunate time of plague which has recently claimed two hundred thirty-one Fiorenzeni souls, this Ragoczy did, with the assistance of Donna Demetrice Clarrissa Renata di Benedetto Volandrai, succor the sick and dying with no regard for his safety or his expenditure. Further, he did, of his own will and volition, offer to victims of the plague such articles of need as blankets, other bedding, candles, and foodstuffs, which often he himself distributed.

For in the time of plague, he compounded or caused to be compounded a miraculous substance that saved many from the jaws of death, and with that compound and others, rid many houses of all trace of plague, thus serving not only the unfortunate victims, but the city at large with his protection.

In acknowledgment of this splendid service and selfless devotion to the good of Fiorenza, this official commendation is published so that all will know of Ragoczy's good works and his amazing skills.

Executed by order of i Priori, la Signoria and the Console, this day, August 23, 1494, by my hand.

Gradazo Ondante clerk