THE RENAISSANCE 
 
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 THE RENAISSANCE
 
 IRA GIROLAMO SAVONAROLA 
 
 fiontiipiect
 
 THE RENAISSANCE 
 
 SAVONAROLA — CESARE 
 BORGIA — JULIUS II. — LEO X. 
 MICHAEL ANGELO :: BY 
 ARTHUR, COUNT GOBINEAU 
 
 ENGLISH EDITION EDITED BY DR. OSCAR LEVY 
 
 IVJTH TWENTY ILLUSTRATIONS 
 
 NEW YORK 
 
 G. P. PUTNAM'S SONS 
 
 MCMXIII
 
 Translated from the French by 
 Paul V. Corn, b.a. (Camb.) 
 
 Printed in Ens^land
 
 SRLF 
 YRL 
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 
 SAVONAROLA 
 
 3 
 
 CESARE BORGIA 
 
 93 
 
 JULIUS IL 
 
 165 
 
 LEO X. 
 
 235 
 
 MICHAEL AxNGELO 
 
 293
 
 LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS 
 
 FRA GIROLAMO SAVONAROLA 
 
 KING CHARLES VIIL OF FRANCE 
 
 POPE ALEXANDER VI. 
 
 A SAVONAROLA SERMON 
 
 LUCREZIA BORGIA 
 
 THE BURNING OF SAVONAROLA 
 
 CESARE BORGIA 
 
 NICCOLO MACHIAVELLI 
 
 THE ENGELSBURG IN THE XVth CENTURY 
 
 POPE JULIUS II. 
 
 FROM THE ERECTION OF ST. PETER's, ROME 
 
 RAFFAELE SANTI (RAPHAEL) 
 
 CARDINAL BEMBO 
 
 POPE LEO X. 
 
 LOVE SCENE 
 
 EMPEROR CHARLES V. 
 
 MICHELANGELO BUONARROTI 
 
 GERMAN LANDSKNECHT 
 
 TIZIANO VECELLIO (TITIAN) 
 
 PIETRO ARETINO 
 
 Frontispiece 
 
 To face page 
 
 i8 
 
 22 
 
 56 
 62 
 
 86 
 
 94 
 100 
 
 146 
 166 
 168 
 176 
 226 
 236 
 246 
 286 
 294 
 300 
 328 
 332
 
 THE LIFE WORK AND INFLUENCE 
 
 OF COUNT ARTHUR DE GOBINEAU 
 
 AN INTRODUCTORY ESSAY BY 
 
 DR. OSCAR LEVY 
 
 fHciUci : " Every sensible man must be a conservative, 
 
 in the right sense of the 7vord.^' 
 
 B. Disraeli. 
 {Sybil, Book II., Cap. 15.)
 
 I 
 
 It has been generally thought and stated that the past century- 
 was a profoundly irreverent and irreligious age, the age of the 
 twilight of old gods, the shattering of old idols, the ruin of 
 an old and holy creed. Nothing, however, could be further 
 from the truth. In every department of human knowledge, 
 in philosophy, in science, and in politics as well as in art, 
 the nineteenth century was deeply imbued with religious 
 ideas; nay, spoilt by what may almost be called a spiritual 
 intoxication. It was the only century known to history in 
 which theology and its favourite offspring, morality, had 
 swamped everybody and everything. Whether it paraded 
 itself as cold and scientific, as warm and humanitarian, as 
 lukewarm and agnostic, as progressive and liberal, as ethical 
 and socialistic, as anarchical and revolutionary, as conserva- 
 tive and reactionary, as rationalistic and freethinking or as 
 romantic and artistic, there was always one and the same 
 personality behind that cloak of many colours, behind that 
 medley of divers fashions ; and that personality was a good 
 man, a religious man — a Christian. 
 
 Thank heaven, this good man is growing wiser and a little 
 wickeder. Thank heaven, that gloomy and oppressive century 
 is past! Thank God, the spiritual deluge of the nineteenth 
 century is fast dispersing! How that religious flood roared 
 and rushed, how it deafened our ears, how it drowned the 
 voice of our innermost heart, how it frightened every one of 
 
 A 2 iii
 
 INTRODUCTION 
 
 us into submission ! And now — unknown, of course, as yet 
 to the great majority — the ebb of that movement has set in, 
 and we are able to discern, with a cahner mind, the object 
 of our terror. There it is : receding before our feet, crawhng 
 back into eternity, carrying its constituents away with it to 
 the deep sea of obhvion — water, plenty of water, froth, plenty 
 of froth, and sand, plenty of sand. And there are also a 
 number of pebbles among the outgoing tide, and these 
 pebbles are the great celebrities of the past century, the heroes 
 who were acclaimed as superior and representative men, as 
 leaders of mankind by their religious contemporaries, who 
 proved once more their superabundance of faith by the selec- 
 tion of their celebrities. Good-bye, good pebbles ; good-bye 
 and away with you for ever into the watery limbo! 
 
 But what is that strange sight yonder ? The sand and the 
 water and the froth and the pebbles are disappearing fast 
 before our eyes, but some firm rocks, which no one has ever 
 yet seen, or even suspected, are left standing in lonely majesty 
 between the receding waves. They seem to be firmly 
 established, and like everything firm and self-centred, they 
 are respected by the waves and the sands, which are flowing 
 round them as if in awe and veneration, nay, which seem to 
 flee from them as fast as they can as if frightened by a 
 bad conscience. And well might they have a bad conscience, 
 for while the flood was reigning, they had hidden from every- 
 body's view these mighty rocks, pretending they were 
 not there, they had danced merrily over them, roaring out 
 of their myriad throats : they, the little pebbles, and the 
 microscopic sands, and the babbling waves. But they could 
 only hide for a time those mighty rocks, they could not 
 move them — and now, when the ebb has set in, these 
 rocks spring into everybody's sight, and grave and erect 
 they stand above their surroundings, smiling grimly at the 
 tiny pebbles and the loquacious waters at their feet. Away 
 with you, ye ephemeral waters, away with you — and make 
 room for the eternal rocks ! 
 
 iv
 
 INTRODUCTION 
 
 Take close heed of these rocks, you younger generation of 
 the twentieth century ! These rocks can no longer be ignored, 
 as they were by your fathers and grandfathers : rocks that are 
 ignored are dangerous ! But if you pay due attention to them, 
 they will be of welcome service to you ; for these rocks, which 
 your blind and superstitious ancestors did not notice, or did 
 not wish to notice, are the only firm structure left to your 
 youth, to the New Age, to the century which you one day 
 will have to direct. Upon these rocks, upon this mighty founda- 
 tion of granite, you shall henceforth build, you must build, 
 for they alone, and not the pebbles and the sands that your 
 forefathers thought eternal, will offer you a fitting and lasting 
 foundation for the palace of the future. 
 
 One of those men, who, like those mighty rocks, is only 
 now beginning to appear above the waters of the receding 
 nineteenth century, is Count Arthur de Gobineau. 
 
 Joseph Arthur, Comte de Gobineau, was born at Ville 
 d'Avray, on the 14th of July, 18 16. He was the descendant 
 of a family that had remained loyal to the ancient dynasty of 
 the Bourbons, and his father, Louis de Gobineau, an officer 
 of the Royal Guard, had followed Louis XVIII. into exile 
 during the hundred days of Napoleon's return. It was told 
 of him that he considered Voltaire as the devil and Charles X. 
 as a saint, but that he was enough of an independent thinker 
 to love the Devil Monsieur de Voltaire, as well as the Saint 
 Charles X. 
 
 The grandfather of our Count, who was a Councillor to 
 the Parliament of Bordeaux, had a remarkable wife, who may 
 have transmitted some of her qualities to her famous grandson. 
 Her name was Victoire de la Haye, and she was a descendant of 
 a Norman family of great wealth. A story is circulated about 
 her that one day when she saw her son Thibault- Joseph fall 
 from a horse upon the stone-pavement, she went up to him and 
 coolly asked him, " Monsieur, did you do yourself any injury ? " 
 "No, mother." "Well then, get on again." Thibault-Joseph
 
 INTRODUCTION 
 
 never forgot the scene and always spoke with the greatest 
 reverence of his mother and her unusual strength of character. 
 This uncle, Thibault-Joseph, who was destined to play a 
 certain part in Arthur's life, was another noteworthy member of 
 the family. When he was a pupil at the college of Guyenne, 
 he was ignominiously sent away from that school, because one 
 day he had tried to set fire to the school-house — which may 
 certainly be considered as a proof that neither intelligence 
 nor energy was wanting in this remarkable stock. Later on 
 he fought under Dugommier in Spain and excelled in deeds 
 worthy of those feudal knights from whom his famous nephew 
 always imagined himself to descend. Almost single-handed he 
 is said to have captured an English brig. He was a violent 
 anti-Jacobin and legitimist, and after the ninth of Thermidor 
 he did everything to re-establish the old order. 
 
 After a long journey in Germany with his mother, and 
 having attended school at the College of Bienne, in 
 Switzerland, Arthur Gobineau was sent to Paris to live with 
 this marvellous uncle of his. The latter, however, in the 
 course of time, had become more and more a quaint fellow : 
 his whole occupation now apparently consisted in cursing the 
 upstart Louis Philippe and in loose talking about the re-estab- 
 lishment of the legitimate kings of France. He spent his 
 days on a sofa, his head hidden behind big newspapers, and 
 without troubling in the least about his nephew, whom 
 his valet was supposed to look after. Arthur Gobineau 
 endured this life for three weeks and then went up to his uncle 
 and frankly declared that he would commit suicide on the spot, 
 and before his eyes, if the uncle did not change his behaviour 
 towards him. Then, and only then, is the strange man 
 reported to have given in and paid more attention to his 
 nephew, whom he certainly must have recognised as belonging 
 to his own breed. 
 
 On account of his Conservative political views, Gobineau, 
 of course, never thought of playing a part under the new 
 
 vi
 
 INTRODUCTION 
 
 democratic regime of France. All the time he was staying 
 with his uncle, in the years 183 5- 1848, he occupied himself, 
 with literary work and thus acquired, during the most 
 important years of his life, a knowledge which was all the 
 more vast in that no spur to honour and bread forced him tO; 
 specialise, and all the more useful and deep in that the love 
 of study alone had caused him to acquire it. It is to this 
 training, which Gobineau gave himself — the only training for 
 a man worth having nowadays — that he owes his freedom 
 from many of the popular or academic prejudices of his time 
 and country. 
 
 While thus occupied with his studies in Paris, the young 
 Count made the acquaintance of Alexis de Tocqueville, the 
 famous author of La Dhnocratie en Ajnerique, who in 1848 
 became Minister of Foreign Affairs. Tocqueville appointed 
 Gobineau his private secretary, and soon afterwards chief of 
 his Cabinet. Thus Gobineau, who had never dreamt of 
 taking active part in political affairs, saw himself launched 
 upon a career which was — in its diplomatic variety — to become 
 the career of his life. 
 
 De Tocqueville did not retain his post for long. On 
 retiring, however, he recommended his young friend to his 
 successors, with each of whom Gobineau remained popular. 
 One of them. General Marquis d' Hautpoul, nominated him 
 CO be first secretary to the French Embassy at Berne. 
 
 This, no doubt, was an easy post and thus quite suitable to 
 the literary propensities of Arthur Gobineau. It was here and 
 later on at Hanover and Frankfort that he wrote from the 
 notes collected during his Parisian studies his famous Essai 
 sur rinegalite des races humaines. This book, which he 
 published in two volumes, one in 1853 and the other in 1855, 
 gives us the key to Gobineau's personality and the quintessence 
 of all his thought. 
 
 In Frankfort Gobineau made the acquaintance of Bismarck, 
 but the Prussian politician, as was to be expected, took notice 
 
 vii
 
 INTRODUCTION 
 
 neither (-•[ ihe young diplomatist nor of his extraorilin:iry 
 ideas. IJisniarck apparcntl}- was so busy fighting the Austrian 
 preponderance and pretensions to supremacy that he quite 
 overlooked the man who was destined, more than himself, to 
 give new blood and new beliefs to the future, just as he over- 
 looked Schopenhauer, who, already famous, was then living 
 at Frankfort. Thus in the long run the politician, even the 
 politician of genius, is always beaten by the man of thought, 
 the creator of ideas : empires vanish, but thought is immortal. 
 Much more interest in Gobineau was taken by Bismarck's 
 enemy and antagonist, Baron von Prokesch-Osten, who was 
 not only a diplomatist but likewise an eminent writer on 
 Oriental subjects. He was a very able disciple of Metternich 
 and became well known later on as Austrian Ambassador in 
 Constantinople. " Is the Gobineau who has written the book 
 on the Inequality of the Human Races one of your relatives ? " 
 the old gentleman once, asked the Count. " I have written it 
 myself." "What — and so young?" was the astonished answer. 
 Throughout his life Gobineau maintained cordial relations with 
 the Baron, and kept up a most interesting correspondence 
 with his admirer, who lived to a very great age. 
 
 In 1854 Gobineau was nominated first secretary to the 
 Embassy in Teheran, and took with him his wife, whom 
 he had married eight years previously, and his little 
 daughter. He was delighted to go there, for, in spite of his 
 Germanic propensities, the Orient, from his youth upwards, 
 had always greatly attracted him. He went there with 
 the firm resolution — so rarely found in a European diplo- 
 matist — to try to understand the Asiatics. He learned the 
 language of the country, he sought the acquaintance of 
 erudite Persians, he cultivated friendship with anyone who 
 could be of use to his eager, searching mind. " I have tried 
 to banish from my mind any idea of true or false superiority 
 over the people that I have studied. Before delivering judg- 
 ment on them and on their peculiarities, I have attempted to 
 get into their habits of thought, I have tried to see things 
 
 viii
 
 INTRODUCTION 
 
 from their point of view." Thus Gobineau wrote in his book 
 "Three Years in Asia," which he pubhshed in 1856 on his 
 return to France. But another and more important book was 
 the fruit of his Persian sojourn, a book which had some success 
 even during the author's lifetime. It is entitled " The 
 Religions and Philosophies of Central Asia," and certainly 
 ranks amongst the best' that Gobineau has ever written. We 
 shall hear more of it later on. 
 
 On his return to France, Gobineau was sent on a French 
 man-of-war to Newfoundland in order to settle the eternal 
 question of the fishing rights with the representatives of the 
 British Government. He again profited from this journey, and 
 brought back a book, "Voyage to Newfoundland." In a little 
 book published later, under the title " Reminiscences of Travel," 
 which contained three little stories, there is one that has its 
 scene in Newfoundland. It is the story of a vain Parisian, a 
 man about town, with whom a British Colonial girl falls in 
 love, and who thus — quite contrary to his expectation — sees 
 himself taken seriously by the simple Anglo-Saxon tempera- 
 ment, and threatened with that Waterloo of all philanderers 
 and poets, to wit, matrimony. This story could only be 
 written by a good European, that is to say by a man who, 
 like Gobineau, understood the weaknesses of his own as well 
 as the virtues and shortcomings of other peoples. He was 
 entirely above the two nations and was thus enabled to 
 describe them with all that bonhomie and true satire which 
 is and always must be the outcome of a certain good-natured 
 contempt for its object. 
 
 In the year 1861 Gobineau was sent again to Teheran, this 
 time as chief of the French Embassy, and here he passed two 
 years in succession. During this time he tried to make use of 
 his great personal influence in Persian circles to gain a footing 
 for France in that country, where Russia and England were 
 not yet so firmly established as they are to-day. But in 
 Paris his ideas were considered those of a dreamer: in this 
 world the rare man of healthy ima'Tination is usiial]\' ranker! 
 
 ix
 
 INTRODUCTION 
 
 among the idealists, while the real idealists always appeal 
 strongly to the men in power, who usually are Philistines 
 and stand in sore need of a little romanticism as a welcome 
 antidote to their prosaic souls. The French bureaux, the seat 
 of power in modern France, had always distrusted the Count, 
 wliom the)' could not forgive, because, besides an anti- 
 democrat, he was also a " scribbler," a fact which, combined 
 with the want of success even in this inferior direction, was a 
 sure sign of a wild personality. Long ago a friendly Minister 
 of Foreign Affairs had said to Gobineau, alluding to his essay : 
 " A scientific book of such importance will do your diplomatic 
 career no good ; on the contrary it may do you a great deal 
 of harm ! " 
 
 Gobineau soon discovered that this Minister was rieht, and 
 that neither his books nor his political ideas had influenced the 
 central authorities in his favour. When, in 1864, he applied 
 for an appointment in Constantinople, his request was not 
 granted. He was sent to Athens instead, where he published 
 the two books mentioned above, his "Reminiscences of 
 Travel" and "The Religions and Philosophies of Central 
 Asia." He wrote and published some other books besides 
 during his stay at Athens : "The History of the Persians," the 
 "Asiatic Novels," and a number of poems, which received 
 the title of " Aphroessa." 
 
 In the year 1868 the count was transferred from Athens to 
 Rio de Janeiro, where he suffered a great deal from uncon- 
 genial surroundings. It may be easily imagined that an 
 aristocratic nature, a firm believer in good blood, could not 
 but he shocked and horrified by the aspect of that mixed 
 population (all the more repugnant because it is a prosperous 
 mixed population) which the two Americas, those of the 
 north and south, offer to a cultured European. His only con- 
 solation was the friendship with the Emperor Dom Pedro, 
 who seems to have suffered from his exile as much as Gobineau, 
 and who probably complained to the French Count often 
 
 X
 
 INTI^ODUCTION 
 
 enough in the orthodox Ovidian strain about his Brazihan 
 isolation : 
 
 " Barbarus laic ego sum, quia non intelligor ulli." 
 
 (Here I am a barbarian, because there is nobody who understands me.) 
 
 The Emperor seems to have had an intimate knowledge of 
 Count Gobineau's books, and every Sunday the two, the 
 Monarch and the French Ambassador, met for long conversa- 
 tions. Even after Gobineau — for reasons of health — had left 
 Brazil, this friendship was maintained by means of a long 
 correspondence, a correspondence which was only interrupted 
 by the prolonged stay of the Emperor in Europe during the 
 years 1871, 1876 and 1877. 
 
 The war of 1870 found Count Gobineau in France. He 
 had inherited a fortime from his uncle Thibault-Joseph, 
 and had with part of the money bought the castle of Trye-en- 
 Vexin, which he considered as the cradle of the Norman House 
 of Gournay, the house from which his mother was descended. 
 As the Mayor of Trye he was able to do a great deal for his 
 fellow-citizens during the war. He spoke German fluently, he 
 had a good knowledge of the German character, and was able 
 by means of successful parleys with the victorious generals to 
 shield his district from a great deal of severe treatment. 
 Unlike Taine and Renan and so many other Frenchmen, he 
 had foreseen the defeat of his country: he likewise thought 
 that France, on account of her rampant democracy, had 
 thoroughly deserved that defeat. But his aversion to demo- 
 cratic France did not prohibit him from doing what he could 
 for her in the hour of danger, and thus this despiser of patriots 
 and democrats was of more use to his fatherland than many of 
 its enthusiastic and well-meaning, but less intelligent wor- 
 shippers. When the war was over the town of Beauvais 
 publicly acknowledged its gratitude to the Count. His 
 grateful fellow-citizens even wished to send him fo Parliament 
 or to the Senate, an honour which Gobineau, as gentilhomme 
 and hontiHe homme and disbeliever in the divine right of the
 
 INTRODUCTION 
 
 people and its votes, liad to decline with polite though deter- 
 mined thanks. 
 
 In iS;j Gobineau was sent to Stockholm. There, as else- 
 where, he does not seem to have found many congenial friends 
 amongst his colleagues and apparently led a very solitary life. 
 And these colleagues themselves do not seem to have had at 
 any time much knowledge of the Count's ideas and doings. 
 One day, for instance, Gobineau in a certain drawing-room met 
 another diplomatist, a former acquaintance of his German 
 days. This colleague was asked by the lady of the house 
 whether he knew the Count. " Oh, yes," was the reply, 
 " the worthy Gobineau, of course, I know him." " You see," 
 whispered Gobineau (who was, of course, highly amused 
 at being called "worthy" while propagating so many daring 
 ideas), " you see, madam, how well-known I am," and in his 
 simple and good-natured manner he heartily shook hands with 
 the great connoisseur of human character. It must be added, 
 however, that Gobineau himself was apparently not desirous 
 of leading people on to the right track about himself and his 
 literary achievements. He was not a man of letters, but a 
 gentleman of letters, and as such was not given to talking over- 
 much of his printed offspring. He also, no doubt, knew what 
 kind of literary people a democratic age brings to pre-eminence, 
 and in order not to be mistaken for one of the geniuses of 
 the day he may not have cared to acknowledge his author- 
 ship in public. He never looked a genius either : like young 
 Professor Nietzsche, he had something military in his bearing 
 as well as in his manner, so that a flunkey in the Tuileries. 
 whom he had asked a question one day, replied to him, "Oui, 
 mon general ! " 
 
 In 1876 Gobineau received leave of absence from his 
 government, which enabled him to accompany the Emperor of 
 Brazil on a journey to Russia, Turkey, and Greece. They 
 returned by way of Rome, where Gobineau for the first time 
 met Richard Wagner, who, as the Count's discoverer, was 
 destined to plnv a certain part in his life. Tt was, however, 
 
 xu
 
 INTRODUCTION 
 
 not a case of appreciation "at first sight" ; it was not until a 
 year later, when Wagner had read Gobineau's book on the 
 Renaissance, that he knew, or thought he knew, who the 
 French Count really was. But from this time a rather close 
 friendship sprang up between the composer and the ambas- 
 sador, a friendship which led to a great deal of personal 
 intercourse and was destined to last till the end of Gobineau's 
 life. 
 
 This end, however, was hastened by the ill-use to which 
 Gobineau was subjected on the part of his old enemies the 
 govermental bureaux in Paris. They apparently knew what 
 an enemy of their order and class they had to deal with, 
 and pensioned the independent Count off before his time. 
 As if wishing to poison the wound they thus inflicted, they 
 nominated as his successor the Marquis de Tamissier, 
 whose real name was Carrier. This Carrier was a grand- 
 son of the notorious Carrier who, when sent as commis- 
 sioner by the Convention to Nantes, had thousands, of people 
 executed, some by the rapid method of drowning in the 
 Loire. " The grandson of the Carrier of the Noyades de 
 N antes," wrote Gobineau to a friend, " the Carrier of the 
 ' Republican IMarriages ' (the drowning of a man and woman 
 bound together was called by the popular wit a ' Republican 
 Marriage') it is he who is going to be my successor." Thus 
 ran the complaint of our anti-Jacobin ambassador, whose 
 manly heart must have been sore at the double affront offered 
 him. Soon afterwards his health broke down, his eyes began 
 to trouble him, and he likewise suffered some heavy monetary 
 losses. He went to Rome, where he led a very simple life, 
 occupying himself with sculpture, which since his residence in 
 Athens had been a constant source of pleasure to him. From 
 time to time he went to Bayreuth, where he enchanted the 
 Germans by his tales of many lands — but it must not be 
 forgotten that he was an old and broken man, and that only 
 thus can the friendship between such a fantastic thinker as 
 
 xiii
 
 INTRODUCTION 
 
 Wagner and such a profound mind as Gobineau be satis- 
 facloril)- explained. 
 
 During the winter of 1 881-1882 his health deteriorated more 
 and more. In the spring he went to Bayreuth, but could not 
 stop more than two days. He then went to Gastein, where 
 he slightly improved. During the summer he visited his 
 friends the Count and Countess de la Tour in their chdteau in 
 the Auvergne. When the autumn came he wished to return to 
 Italy and left his hosts on October nth to go to Pisa. In 
 Turin, on the 13th, while trying to get into the railway carriage, 
 he had a sudden seizure and had to be carried back to the 
 hotel. A priest was called who administered the last consola- 
 tion of the Church, but stated later on that the Count ,w,as 
 already unconscious and unable to appreciate the benefit con- 
 ferred upon him. The power of the great freethinker's mind 
 was such that it could even give way at the right moment ! 
 
 II 
 
 When Gobineau was an old man, his Essay on the 
 Inequality of Human Races went into a second edition, to 
 which he prefixed a new introduction. In this he declares : 
 " I leave these pages just as I wrote them many years 
 ago, when the doctrine they contain sprang out of my 
 mind just like a bird that puts its head out of its nest and 
 then seeks its way in illimitable space." This poetical 
 sentence alone gives the reader a hint of the great value 
 of the book, a value which at first sight might not seem 
 so obvious. For there is no doubt that the Essay is not free 
 from faults. It is very long, it is rather chaotic, and it is dry 
 reading in places. It suffers from great prejudices and from 
 some omissions. Neither its facts, nor its theories, nor its 
 judgments are wholly admirable or even true. But what is 
 wholly admirable is the spirit in which the book is written. 
 
 xiv
 
 INTRODUCTION 
 
 It is one ol the few books that had to be written — the author's 
 heart, one feels, would have burst in the fulness of its ecstasy, 
 if it had not found an outlet on paper. The book is full of 
 inward fire, of fire only half hidden and breaking out again and 
 again from underneath the grey ashes of scientific, archaeo- 
 logical, historic, Imguistic and other facts. It is a rebellious 
 book, but the rebel in this case is a creative rebel, a rebel from 
 above, a rebel against the rebels of his time, and, let me add, 
 of our own time. He is an aristocratic rebel, who has deduced 
 and proves from history a terrible truth which he throws like 
 a bomb into the faces of the victorious heretics, reformers, 
 radicals, socialists, and other Philistines and Pharisees of 
 revolution. This truth discovered by Gobineau is the all- 
 importance of race. This truth is the neglect of the principle 
 of race under democratic conditions. This truth is the refuta- 
 tion of the democratic idea that by means of an improvement 
 in environment a healthy and noble people could be produced 
 out of a rotten stock. 
 
 Gobineau's "system," as explained in the Essay, is the 
 following : " The history of mankind proves that the destinies 
 of people are governed by a racial law. Neither irreligion, 
 nor immorality, nor luxurious living, nor weakness of govern- 
 ment is causing the decadence of civilisations. If a nation 
 goes down, the reason is that its blood, the race itself, is 
 deteriorating. Now, there has been only one race that was 
 able to create a civilisation, because it alone possessed the 
 element of order and a certain healthy imagination, and that 
 was the white race — the Aryans. If there had only been 
 Aryans on earth, humanity would have been easily and for 
 ever perfectible. But there were inferior races as well, the 
 yellow and the black races, which always and everywhere 
 adulterated the pure white blood. These mixtures, no doubt, 
 have benefited the yellows and the blacks, and thus even 
 these mixtures have created something in this world. But the 
 Aryan blood, again and again rejuvenating inferior peoples, 
 has finally exhausted itself. There is consequently nothing 
 
 XV
 
 INTRODUCTION 
 
 Icll 111 llub world ol uuib but hali-casles, that is lo say, cowardly 
 iuid iuipotent peoi)le, ready to adapt themselves to any law 
 and any master, and nut minding the loss of their personality, 
 because they do not happen to possess one." 
 
 History, philolog)', archaeology, anthropology, are called in 
 by the author to support his thesis, or rather his cry of alarm. 
 For the poet again and again peeps out from behind his 
 pedantic, dry, and scientific mask, and this long epic, which 
 might litly be called " The Twilight of the Aryan," rings out 
 in a noble and passionate complaint, worthy of a great author 
 and laying bare the bleeding heart of a Jewish prophet : 
 
 "Not death, but the certainty of dying in degradation, is 
 the gloomy prospect in store for us ; and perhaps this disgrace 
 that is doomed to fall upon our posterity might leave us cold, 
 did we not feel, with a hidden thrill of terror, that the clawing 
 hands of destiny are already upon our shoulders." 
 
 If we wish to gauge the importance and novelty of this 
 idea, we must go back to the nineteenth century and remember 
 the two main currents of thought regarding men, currents 
 which we shall understand all the better as they are still 
 flowing, though with diminished strength, through the thought 
 of our own day. One of these is the spirituaHstic current of 
 Christianity, the Christianity that wishes to save every soul 
 because it thinks everyone perfectible and possibly, if con- 
 verted to the eternal truth, equal to everybody else. In 
 opposition to this trend of thought stands the materialistic 
 school of the natural scientist, a school ba.sed upon the ideas 
 of Montesquieu, Herder, and Hegel, or in this country, of 
 Buckle and John Stuart Mill, according to which a human being 
 is an unstable entity dependent upon outside circumstances 
 and changing with them — a creature, in short, of chance and 
 environment. In opposition to both these schools, the 
 spiritualistic and the materialistic, Count Gobineau had the 
 courage to declare, in the midst of his dark age, that the environ- 
 ment scarcely mattered, that the " eternal truth " was an 
 impotent assumption, and that everything, perfectibility as well 
 
 xvi
 
 INTRODUCTION 
 
 as history, depended upon the blood, upon the race. His con- 
 clusions were the same as Disraeli's, who probably had never 
 heard of him : '" All is race, there is no other truth." 
 
 From this little glimpse at the Essay alone we may perceive 
 that we have to do with an author of the aristocratic school, 
 that is to say, of a school that heartily despises the values of 
 modern morality. Gobineau, it will be seen, belongs to the 
 same school as Nietzsche, and thus he not only despises our 
 current opinions on "good and evil," but he fears and loathes 
 them on account of their deleterious effect upon humanity. 
 For Gobineau as well as Nietzsche had noticed fifty years 
 ago what the most cultured people of to-day are only beginning 
 to suspect, that our moral values, the values of Democracy, 
 SociaHsm, Liberalism, Christianity, lead to the survival of a 
 type of man who has no right to survive, or who ought 
 only to survive on an inferior plane. Gobineau as well 
 as Nietzsche knew that "good" under the present values 
 and in our time only means " tame, adaptable, conven- 
 tional," at best " industrious, persevering, efficient and business- 
 like." Both could never forget, and again and again they 
 emphasize the fact, that goodness in non-vulgar times meant 
 something quite different from to-day, that goodness once 
 upon a time signified "energy, bravery, daring, strength of 
 character, power of endurance, power of attacking, power of 
 overcoming," that it did not mean " harmlessness, absence of 
 faults and vices, negative virtue, female virtue, commercial 
 sharpness and cleverness, mediocrity." 
 
 True, Gobineau did not, like Nietzsche, hold Christianity 
 openly responsible for this transvaluation of noble values into 
 coward's values, but he nevertheless agrees with him as to the 
 source of this evil by pointing with great emphasis to the influ- 
 ence of the later Semitic race. To the earlier Semite, the 
 warrior-Semite, the Semite under his kings, he seems to have 
 given full approval. This Shnite-blanc primitif, as he is 
 called in the Essay is, according to the author, even a near 
 relation to his hero, the Aryan, and his actions, as those 
 
 B xvii
 
 INTRODUCriON 
 
 ol" unbroken conqueror tribes, found in Gobineau a natural 
 and willing admirer. Unfortunately these early white Semites 
 mixed their blood with lower races and thus degenerated. 
 Through this mixture, the race of Shem fell for ever from the 
 high position it held in the ancient world ; nay, it even became 
 U fond corruptcur of this ancient world, and by its inter- 
 marriage with the pure and noble Aryan blood it ruined tlie 
 race of Rome. Here it will be seen, we come across one of 
 those deductions of Gobineau's which he — to satisfy his theory 
 that every degeneration arises from the crossing of races — 
 had to make, but which is nevertheless only a partial truth. 
 For how, we may ask, could these insignificant Semitic tribes 
 spoil the noble blood of a whole mighty empire, even supposing 
 that some of them did intermarry with the Romans, which the 
 Jews, as far as we know, never did to a great extent ? And 
 what, it might be asked, led the proud Romans to intermarry 
 with such inferior beings ? 
 
 This is, no doubt, a weak point in Gobineau's system : he 
 overrates the physical effects of a race and neglects its 
 spiritual influence ; he overlooks the influence of ideas and 
 values. Surely a race may influence the world directly by its 
 blood ; but yet more frequent and much more powerful is the 
 indirect influence, the influence of ideas, and this is the 
 influence which the Jews have exercised. It was by means 
 of their ideas, not by means of their blood, that the Semitic 
 race broke the Roman Empire. It was Christianity, that 
 popular accentuation of Judaism, which among the slaves, 
 women, and weaklings of Rome found such a ready accept- 
 ance, that slowly but surely undermined that unique and 
 flourishing empire. It was Christianity that made the slaves 
 equal to their masters, that, helped by decadent Pagan 
 philosophy, poisoned the good conscience and healthy 
 instincts of these masters, and finally led them to intermarry 
 with slaves and barbarians. It was intermarriage with the 
 non-race, with the people, that led to the ruin of Rome : it 
 was the mixture of different classes much more than the 
 
 xviii
 
 INTRODUCTION 
 
 mixtures of different races that produced that decadent and 
 servile chaos of the later Roman Empire. 
 
 But apart from these minor shortcomings there are startlmg 
 flashes of wisdom in the Essay, flashes which attest the 
 unprejudiced and pagan attitude of Gobineau's mind, and 
 further prove that Gobineau was a Nietzschean before 
 Nietzsche. Gobineau sees the connection between later 
 Semitism and Democracy, he sees that Democracy is the 
 enemy of all government and all society : " All civilisations 
 that assume democratic forms are speedily ruined," he says. 
 In the question of slavery, he is likewise in agreement with 
 Nietzsche : " Slavery," says our author, " like all human institu- 
 tions, rests not only upon constraint but upon other conditions 
 as well. . . . There is no doubt that slavery sometimes 
 has a legitimate basis, and we are almost justified in 
 laying down that in this case it results quite as much from the 
 consent of the slave as from the moral and physical pre- 
 dominance of the master." 
 
 But the real genius of Gobineau, the clear thought, flashes 
 out — just as that of Schopenhauer in his " Parerga and 
 Paralipomena " — when he forgets his system and speaks of 
 what he has seen and felt. 
 
 Gobineau's " Philosophy of History," as we have seen, is 
 to some extent forced and questionable, and even in its truer 
 and indisputable parts it has been more lucidly developed 
 by Friedi'ich Nietzsche ; but when the theory of the Essay 
 leaves Gobineau he becomes a true pioneer of thought. I am 
 referring here to a science — or rather an art, which, after the 
 collapse of wiredrawn metaphysics and idealist tomfooleries, 
 will play the principal part in any further philosophy : the art 
 of psychology, that is to say, the insight into the character of 
 human beings and the subsequent valuation of this character. 
 
 It is in this that Gobineau, as a poet, excels. His psychology 
 of the yellow race (Book III., cap. 4 and 5) is a masterpiece. 
 His description of the purest and the noblest Aryan organisa- 
 tion, that of the Brahmins, is of the greatest value even to-dny 
 
 B 2 xix
 
 INTRODUCTION 
 
 and of special interest to Englishmen ; and while perusing 
 these eloquent chapters (Book 111., cap. i and 2) we must not 
 forget that it was penned iifty years before Meredith 
 Townsend, in his "Asia and Europe," came to the same 
 conclusions. iVll through the book we meet with observations 
 on the habits and thoughts of mankind which charm us by 
 their truth and insight. 
 
 The Essay, as was to be expected, met with little success. 
 Who in this specialised world could take an interest in a work 
 that was based upon so many different sciences ? Already the 
 diplomatists, as we had seen, had ignored Gobineau's ideas by 
 placing him amongst the litterateurs and professional 
 Utopians, while the professional Utopians were not tempted 
 to interest themselves in a man who had based his theories 
 upon such an astounding series of facts. And those occupied 
 with facts, the professional scientists, were then, as now, 
 divided into a great number of clans, each busying itself with a 
 certain set of facts, and, if honest, not over-much inclined to 
 speak in public about a book which was beyond their compre- 
 hension. The specialisation of our age, though of course better 
 than an all-embracing dilettantism, is a danger to all truly 
 comprehensive, philosophical works, which, even when noticed 
 by men of science, are heartily recommended only to the 
 colleagues of another speciality. 
 
 The archaeologist says that the book in question belongs to 
 the department of anthropology, the anthropologist hands it 
 over to the philologist, the philologist shifts the duty on to 
 the Orientalist, the Orientalist to the theologian, the 
 theologian recommends it to the earnest attention of the 
 historian, while the historian completes the vicious circle by 
 handing it back to the archaeologist. These conscientious men 
 of science behave like a policeman whom, during my student 
 days, I met one night in an obscure quarter of Berlin and with 
 whom I struck up a friendship. I asked him why he did not 
 arrest a certain drunkard who made such a terrible noise 
 and would surely do harm to himself or others? "I never 
 
 XX
 
 INTRODUCTION 
 
 arrest a drunkard," he answered, " it means so much bother 
 over a Kttle thing : if tiie worst comes to the worst, all 1 do 
 is to chase the fellow mto another policeman's beat, and there 
 the other policeman, you see, has the pleasure of running him 
 in and giving evidence against him, and so on." 
 
 In our times, however, wiien a book is ignored or insufficiently 
 spoken about in public, it is often taken seriously by a select 
 circle ; nay, it may even stir up, amongst a few, violent applause 
 or condemnation. And that is what happened, at least with 
 one man, in the case of Gobineau's Essay. It was his mighty 
 friend and patron, Alexis de Tocqueville, the famous author 
 of La Dhnocratie en Anierique, who was touched on the raw 
 by what he called Gobineau's dangerous and pernicious 
 doctrines. 
 
 The epistolary interchange between Tocqueville and 
 Gobineau is all the more interesting as Tocqueville's answers 
 are the typical objections of his and of our own age. 
 Tocqueville was a typical Liberal representative of the nine- 
 teenth century — that is to say, a man whose opinions (whether 
 he knows it or not) are based upon Christian prejudices. For 
 Liberalism is a latent religion, Liberalism is crypto-Christianity, 
 every Liberal is a Nazarene priest in mufti. No doubt, 
 Tocqueville was a very enlightened crypto-Christian, who 
 could not or would not absolutely close his eyes to the danger 
 of democracy and other unpalatable facts, but, being a 
 Christian, his judgments on the one hand are very pessimistic 
 as regards human nature and his proposals and remedies on 
 the other are coloured by a puerile optimism. The misgivings 
 and doubts which Tocqueville has concerning democracy are 
 many and grave, his fatalism and pessimism are as severe as or 
 severer than Gobineau's ; but he saves himself from Gobineau's 
 conclusion by that peculiar and tenacious hopefulness, which 
 is the outcome of the cowardice so characteristic of the 
 Christian thinker. Desperately he clings to the most unsub- 
 stantiated assertions, all the more desperately as they are his 
 " last straw," and he knows that giving up for a moment means 
 
 xxi
 
 INTRODUCTION 
 
 tlie break-down of his whole system. \\ hich of us has not met 
 some philosophic Liberal, who, like Tocqueville, has the 
 greatest contempt for his contemporaries, who takes a gloomy 
 view about their future, who deplores their want of manliness, 
 character, daring and independence, but who will never draw 
 the right and straightforwarci conclusions from these facts? 
 He will point out that the environment ought to be improved, 
 or that education has been lacking, or that only the upper 
 classes are spoilt and the people are " quite sound " ; he will 
 patiently wait for " evolution " or " progress " to better things, 
 or for co-operative and socialistic reforms, nay, he will appeal 
 to religion and a revival of morality and idealism — he will do 
 an}-thing, in short, rather than utter an honest yea or nay, 
 rather than come to Gobineau's conclusion that no apple tree, 
 by careful nursing, will produce grapes, that no education can 
 get out of a man any qualities which are not in him, that base 
 blood cannot be turned into noble blood by any " free " patent 
 medicine, and that the' present race of Europeans has, with 
 very few exceptions, to be found in all nations and classes 
 alike, become a countless horde of helots v.ho are in many 
 instances even useless helots. It is the shallow Christian 
 Liberalism of the past century that comes out in these letters 
 of Tocqueville to Gobineau, a Christian Liberalism which is, 
 to be sure, carefully wrapped up in high-sounding principles 
 and made palatable by the well-known exuberant phraseology 
 of that numerous sect 
 
 Having received the book on October nth, 1853, M. de 
 Tocqueville at once confesses that he has a great distrust 
 of its principles and ideas because " it takes for granted," 
 he says, " the fatality of constitution, and this fatality is 
 applied not only to individuals but likewise to that collection 
 of individuals called a race." 
 
 On November 17th, 1853, he repeats: "Your doctrine is a 
 sort of fatalism, or, if you like, of predestination — which, of 
 course, is different from the fatalism of St. Augustine, the 
 Jansenists, and the Calvinists, inasmuch as yours is based more 
 
 xxii
 
 INTRODUCTION 
 
 upon the deterioration of matter, or what you call race. This 
 predestination seems to me very nearly related to pure 
 materialism. It likewise tends to a great restriction of human 
 liberty. And this, of course, is very bad," our author con- 
 tinues, " for how can anyone tell people who already live like 
 slaves and barbarians, who are already prone to any sort of 
 weakness and cowardice, that there is no hope for them, no 
 possibility of perfection, of changing their habits and of im- 
 proving their government ? " " Don't you see," he concludes, 
 " that from your doctrine naturally arise all the evils of 
 inequality, pride, violence, tyranny, contempt of one's 
 neighbour, and slavery in every form ? " 
 
 All these arguments are highly typical of the Liberal. It 
 is very significant that he at the outset tries to brand with the 
 name of " materialist " a man who troubles about science, about 
 race, about eugenics, about the body — for to the Christian 
 (and our Liberal is a Christian) it is the soul alone that matters, 
 at least so long as he is a real Liberal, and has not forgotten 
 or adulterated his own principles. Tocqueville's complaint 
 about Gobineau's restriction of human liberty and his reproach 
 about a pure fatalism in Gobineau's views, is likewise entirely 
 Christian, for the Christian is forced by his religion to believe 
 in free will, and in the consequent perfectibility of every 
 human soul, which, if perfected in the orthodox manner, 
 becomes as good as anybody else's soul. In this belief, in this 
 expectation, Tocqueville is a glorious optimist, an optimist, be 
 it understood, for the future, for the kingdom to come, for the 
 Messianic Empire, as promised by his priests, prophets and 
 other prestidigitators. But when he begins to judge present 
 conditions, and more still when he begins to act, his poisoned 
 pessimistic and nihilistic nature and his entire disbelief 
 in everything and everybody around him comes out most 
 shamelessly. For the Christian, it must not be forgotten, has 
 the "evil eye" for "the world," and is thus obliged to see evil 
 in even the most healthy manifestations of human nature, 
 which his anti-natural and anti-human morality forces him to 
 
 xxiii
 
 INTRODUCTION 
 
 condemn. Wiiat Tocqucville Ihinks of his contemporaries is 
 really much worse than what Gobineau thinks, for Gobmeau 
 only complains of their weakness, ad.iptability, impotence, 
 while Tocqueville despairs of their very nature, and like a true 
 Christian all the more so, the more potent that nature is. 
 Thus Gobineau despises but loves at the same time, while 
 Tocqueville fears and loathes. But in spite of his loathing 
 of mankind around him, Tocqueville, as a real Liberal, care- 
 fully avoids drawing any realistic conclusions from his obser- 
 vations. On the contrary, he who fears the people, wishes to 
 do something for the people, he who despairs of their very 
 nature, wishes them to live on in faith, love and hope for 
 something better, which might possibly " turn up " (change of 
 government, customs, etc., etc.) without being able to give a 
 shadow of a practical proof why this should be better for them, 
 how it should be brought about, and who should bring it about. 
 Between the Scylla of a senseless optimism and the Charybdis 
 of an unjust pessimism he sails along, and if this Liberal 
 Christian did not come to grief long ago through his want of 
 balance and principle, it was not his merit, it was the absence 
 ot any efficient counter-current w^hich kept his unstable barque 
 afloat during the last century. Qnousqiie tandem? 
 
 In a letter, dated July 30th, 1856, Tocqueville comes back 
 to the charge that Gobineau's ideas are extremely pernicious 
 and immoral. He likewise throws out the hint, and rightly, I 
 think, that the system is hostile to the doctrine of his Church, 
 and that no one, not even that "cynic" Merimee, would dare 
 to proclaim such views openly in modern France. This 
 reproach is repeated in a more outspoken way in a letter of 
 January 14th, 1857. Here Tocqueville writes: "The very 
 essence of Christianity is the endeavour to make out of 
 humanity a single family whose members should be equally 
 capable of perfecting themselves and of becoming more and 
 more similar to each other. How can this essence of 
 Christianity be reconciled with a doctrine of history which 
 postulates different and unequal races, whose powers of 
 
 xxiv
 
 INTRODUCTION 
 
 judgment and action are more or less limited, and whose 
 origmal dispositions are something fixed, and thus hinders 
 some of these races from attaining any sort of perfection? 
 Christianity, certainly has tried to make out of all human 
 beings brethren, and equal brethren. Your doctrine, how- 
 ever, considers them at the very best like cousins, whose 
 father is in heaven. . . . For you there are no other people 
 in this world but the conquerors and the vanquished, masters 
 and slaves, and that by the very right of birth. ... I there- 
 fore wish to point out to you again that the perusal of 
 your book has made me very doubtful about your faith, your 
 religiosity." 
 
 It is astonishing — but in a way easily explained — that 
 Gobineau denies with indignation the charge of not being 
 a good Catholic. In one of his answers, which gives us a hint 
 as to the origin and cause of the Essay, he tells Tocqueville 
 that he has seen the revolution with his own eyes. On this 
 occasion all the dirty blouses have produced such a disgust in 
 him, have accentuated his ideas of justice and truth to such 
 an extent that, if he had not been married, he would have been 
 capable of becoming a monk, only in order to be as antagonistic 
 to the spirit of revolution as possible. ..." Don't doubt my 
 religion," he pleads most earnestly with Tocqueville. "If I 
 say I am a Catholic, it is the truth. Of course I am not a 
 perfect Catholic, which I regret, though some day I hope to 
 be one, but at least I am a sincere Catholic, Catholic in heart 
 and soul, and if I believed for a moment like you that my 
 historical ideas were in opposition to the Catholic religion, I 
 should give them up immediately." 
 
 Such were Gobineau's opinions on his religion in early life, 
 opinions which no doubt became somewhat modified later on. 
 But on the whole he really seems to have had, like several 
 other Catholic free spirits, no idea or consciousness of his own 
 want of orthodoxy. All his attention was concentrated upon 
 the victorious heretics, upon our modern revolutionaries, and 
 by fighting them to the utmost of his power it absolutely 
 
 XXV
 
 liNlRUDUCTlON 
 
 i"b.capi'Ll iiim liiai he iuid abandoned lus Church, a Church 
 which, in spile of its pagan varnishing cannot deny certain 
 moral principles and ideas — the equality of man, original sin, 
 free will and others, upon which the whole of Christianity is 
 founded. By fighting the heretics Gobineau had become 
 a heretic himself, but a heretic after the fashion of the 
 Renaissance, a heretic as many brilliant Popes had been before 
 him, that is to say, a heretic from above. He had left his 
 Cliurch unconsciously, but rightly, for it must be stated here 
 tiiat no one who wishes honestly to fight the spirit of revolu- 
 tion can remain, or should remain within even the Catholic 
 Church. The Catholic Church is indeed the most pagan of 
 the Christian Churches ; it is the most anti-Christian Church 
 in existence ; it is a Church that to a certain extent counteracts 
 the baleful doctrines of true Christianity, for it is an 
 aristocratic Church — but it is still a Church ; it would cease 
 to be a Church if it were to give up Christianity altogether : 
 a non-Christian Church, like a plum cake without plums, 
 would be an absurdity. Catholicism will always keep up 
 Christianity, and with Christianity the spirit of revolution. 
 Thus no true enemy of the revolution can remain even 
 within the Catholic fold any more than Gobineau could. 
 But the mere fact that Gobineau — at first, anyhow — still 
 imagined himself to be a faithful son of his Church, will 
 prove how naturally the spirit of an enlightened paganism 
 arises in our midst, how inevitable is this grand aristocratic 
 reaction against modern democracy, how healthy the whole 
 movement is and how powerful it will one day become. It is 
 a movement which has filled some minds with almost religious 
 fervour, a very necessary fervour, by the bye, for democracy 
 is itself the outcome of a religion and can only be fought by 
 another religion. And it is a European movement, to be sure, 
 just like its enemy, democracy ; for Gobineau was by no 
 means the only unconscious pagan of his age. In England we 
 have had the similar and still more instructive case of Benjamin 
 Disraeli. This great man, for whom Christianity was only 
 
 xxvi
 
 INTRODUCTION 
 
 another form of Judaism, likewise considered himself all his 
 life as a true son of Semitism, as a pillar of his holy and 
 ancestral creed, as a stalwart defensor fidei against the 
 infidels — and all his life he had not the slightest suspicion that 
 by fighting English Liberalism, Puritanism, Nonconformity, 
 he was not fighting, as he thought, infidelity, but faith, that he 
 was really fighting his own religion, or rather, the logical 
 outcome of his religion. 
 
 Tocqueville's letter of January 24th, 1857, is the fitting 
 
 coping-stone to this memorable correspondence. " Ever since 
 
 I have known you," Tocqueville writes in an apparent fit of 
 
 indignation, " I have found your temperament essentieilement 
 
 frondeur. . . . What end can be served by these political 
 
 discussions between us ? We belong to two different camps, 
 
 cam.ps that absolutely exclude each other. You consider the 
 
 human race as consisting of big children ; and, besides, these 
 
 children are, according to you, degenerate and badly educated 
 
 children. ... I am, like you, of the opinion that our present 
 
 humanity is very badly educated, which tact is the principal 
 
 cause of its miseries and weaknesses, but I sincerely hold that 
 
 a better education could remedy the evil. At any rate, 1 do 
 
 not consider myself as justified in renouncing this task of 
 
 education for ever. I believe that one can still lead the human 
 
 race towards better things, and this by an appeal to its natural 
 
 honesty and good sense. In short, I wish to treat men as 
 
 grown-up beings — perhaps I am wrong in this. . . . You, sir, 
 
 on the other hand, profoundly despise our human kind; at 
 
 least our special part of mankind ; you consider our people 
 
 not only in a state of momentous distress and submission, but 
 
 incapable of ever again rising to the surface. Their very 
 
 constitution, you think, condemns them to slavery. ... I do 
 
 not allow myself such liberty of thought about my people and 
 
 country, and I think that no one has any right to come to 
 
 such desperate views concerning them. In my eyes, 
 
 individuals and societies only become something through 
 
 liberty. That liberty is more difficult to establish and to keep 
 
 xxvii
 
 INTRODUCTION 
 
 up in democratic societies like ours tiian in certain aristocratic 
 societies that have preceded us, 1 have always admitted. But 
 that the establishment of democratic liberty is impossible, I 
 shall never be courageous enough even to think. That any 
 attempt in this direction must fail, and that there is absolutely 
 no hope for its establishment — that is a thought with which 
 I would ask God never to inspire me. No, no, I do not 
 believe, and I do not wish to believe, that this human species 
 which is at the head of the visible universe, has become that 
 horde of bastards which you think it, a horde which conse- 
 quently should be handed over without future hope of help 
 to a small number of herdsmen or keepers, who after all are 
 not better than we are and sometimes may be even worse. 
 With your kind permission I beg to say that I have less 
 confidence in you than in the goodness and justice of our 
 Father in Heaven." 
 
 This letter breathes, if not wisdom, at least honesty. 
 Gobineau's principle of race, as Tocqueville rightly sees, can 
 never be " discussed " or " explained " or " taught," like that 
 Socratic virtue, which proved its democratic origin by the very 
 fact that it could be taught. Gobineau's "Virtue," his prin- 
 ciple of race, cannot be transmitted in this easy Socratic way : 
 it must be felt, and where it is not felt, explanations and 
 discussions are useless. But in spite of Tocqueville and 
 Christianity, it is felt and will be felt more and more, and one 
 day the decision between the two different creeds, that 
 of Tocqueville and that of Gobineau, will have to be made — 
 a decision, not of Parliament, but of the battlefield : for the 
 sons of the Europeans of to-day — unlike their fathers, who 
 fought for markets — will again fight for ideas. 
 
 XXVlll
 
 INTRODUCTION 
 
 III 
 
 GOBINEAU did not listen to de Tocqueville. No man who 
 wants to do anything in this world can or should listen to 
 his friends. Like the treasure-seeker in the Gerinan fairy 
 tale he must pursue his lonely way, regardless of all the 
 warnings, mysterious voices, friendly admonitions, frightening 
 prophecies, tempting offers, and fond entreaties that force 
 themselves on his attention and seek to lead him astray. If 
 he gives in for a moment, if he listens, if he turns to the right 
 or the left — so the tale runs — he loses his treasure, his truth. 
 Gobineau did not listen, and so he found the way to his truth. 
 But even the bravest have their hours of weakness and 
 despair, and if the brave soldier lives to a certain age and has 
 experienced all the meanness and vicissitudes of a hostile 
 world, he too, begins to yearn for less solitude and more 
 gratitude and may be tempted to make — what other and less 
 heroic people do all their life long — a slight compromise. It 
 was in his old age, when he was tired and worn out, that 
 Gobineau made a compromise which, I think, in the interest 
 of his work, he was perfectly justified in making. He had 
 become a friend of Richard Wagner and allowed himself to 
 be " discovered " by this man, who had not the slightest inkling 
 of what Gobineau was driving at. 
 
 It was a real abyss that separated Gobineau from Wagner. 
 First of all Wagner had been a revolutionary, and Gobineau, 
 the gentilhomme, the honniie homme of the ancient regime 
 abhorred all kinds of revolutions and revolutionaries. He 
 knew what to expect from revolutions ; he knew what 
 kind of people a revolution brings to the top ; he knew that 
 a revolution only causes a reaction, and that between reaction 
 and revolution the highest interests of life suffer, and not only 
 suffer, but are often crushed. What had such a man to do with 
 Wagner ? True, Wagner was now an old man and had turned 
 
 XXIX
 
 INTRODUCTION 
 
 into a romanticist and a Christian. But such characteristics 
 could hkewise never please a man hke'Gobincau, who knew (or 
 ought to have known) that an old revolutionary invariably 
 becomes cither reactionary or a Christian, and who likewise 
 knew that revolution, romanticism and Christianity are only 
 the three progressive stages of the same decadent ailment. 
 Had not he seen it often enough? First, the revolutionary 
 makes the world uglier and sicker than it ever was before, 
 then the romanticist offers the " hashish " of his art to alleviate 
 the torments of the sick, and when the patient's senses 
 and intelligence are dulled and numbed the Christian steps 
 in and offers his panacea of redemption to the " sinner," 
 whose only sin is his stupidity. Wagner had been through 
 all the three stages himself ; he had been a revolutionary, 
 a romanticist and a Christian, he thus knew the needs of 
 his time by his own experience, and had some justification 
 for posing as the principal adviser and physician, or rather 
 quack doctor, to his age. What had Gobineau in common 
 with this typical representative of a decadent and neurotic 
 epoch ? 
 
 " I call ' romantic ' the sick, and ' classical ' the healthy," 
 said Goethe. Gobineau, like Goethe, belonged to the few 
 healthy minds, the few " lucky strokes " of nature, of that most 
 unlucky and unhealthy past century. He had been healthy 
 enough to diagnose the sickness of his time, and could not 
 possibly overlook the sickness of his new friend, Richard 
 Wagner, and his Bayreuthian followers. The Germanisation 
 of Christianity by means of a theatrical art, the redemption of 
 the world by vegetables, the improvement of the race by more 
 love-matches and other fads of the actor genius, must cer- 
 tainly have caused many a smile to appear on the lips of the 
 critical Count. On the other hand he, no doubt, was too 
 much of an homme dii jfwnde to give his whole mind to 
 his histrionic host and the crowd of wild enthusiasts 
 around him. It is nevertheless on record that he invariably 
 entered a sort of mild protest against some of the more 
 
 XXX
 
 INTRODUCTION 
 
 popular ideas of the musical reformer. It was, for instance, 
 in vain that Wagner, who of course, as a true son of his 
 age, occupied himself with " social questions," tried to win 
 over his new friend to Schopenhauer's philosophy of pity. 
 To prefer in this world the poor to the rich, the fool to the 
 wise, the sick to the healthy, was in Gobineau's opinion a great 
 error. A brave and noble soul, he answered, is ready to help 
 and give its best to the world in noble sacrifice by itself and 
 quite independently of any philosophic teaching. To Christian 
 resignation he opposed his pagan dignity, to Christian humility 
 self respect, to tame forgiveness stoical forbearance or con- 
 tempt, and to the passive and feminine virtues of faith, hope 
 and love the antagonistic active and manly virtues of deed, 
 daring and bravery in thought as well as in action. 
 
 And when it came to the equality of men he would not 
 even listen. He likewise' abhorred the " Teutonic " ten- 
 dencies of Wagner, who in these days posed as Germany's 
 truest protagonist and staunchest defender against the 
 Jewish danger. Gobineau knew well enough that these 
 Teutonic tendencies had caused in the past his Mte noire, 
 that mother of all modern revolutions, the German reforma- 
 tion. From his aristocratic point of view he could only see a 
 heretic and a revolutionary in the modem German — and cer- 
 tainly he could never be persuaded by Wagner to believe in 
 Germany's "great" reformer. Martin Luther. But he seems 
 to have always been civil and tolerant toward his German 
 acquaintance, his long travels, residences abroad and know- 
 ledge of mankind having no doubt taught him to wear that mask 
 of bonhomie which the simple-minded are apt to mistake for 
 affability and simplicity, but which is in reality nothing but cruel 
 contempt There is a story related in the Bayreuther Blatter, 
 according to which Wagner once praised the good influence of 
 a well-brewed beer upon his favourite Luther and had asked 
 Gobineau to join him in drinking the health of the famous 
 miner's son. Gobineau is said to have winced a little, but 
 after n while to have joined in with a smile, and the words : 
 
 xxxi
 
 INTRODUCTION 
 
 " Very well, let us drink the beer to the health of Martin 
 Luther." It must have been a delightful scene. Gobineau 
 drinking beer in the company of Germans to the health of 
 a superstitious monk — does that not remind one of Louis XVI. 
 with the red cap of the revolution on his head giving friendly 
 nods to his people below ? 
 
 There is an article in the May-June number (1881) of the 
 Bayreuther Blatter, entitled " Heroism and Christianity." 
 It is a joint production of Montague and Capulet, of the Pagan 
 and the Christian, of Gobineau and Richard Wagner. 
 Gobineau wrote the article and Wagner added a preface 
 of his own to it — and thus it became a most extraordinary 
 document, reminding one of those Landsknecht-uniforms of 
 the Middle Ages, of which one half was yellow and the. other 
 red, or perhaps, as in this case, one half black and the other 
 white. 
 
 The black colour fittingly represents the gloom of Gobineau's 
 thought. He again repeats in this article his pessimistic views 
 of the European peoples whose distinguishing features are 
 sucked out by the ever-progressing vampire of democracy, a 
 monster which their want of health and character is unable to 
 resist. The views of the Essay are reiterated, but since his 
 residence in Asia Gobineau has noticed another cloud upon 
 the horizon of Europe ; the yellow danger, the imminent 
 Mongolian expansion. This danger he thinks is even more 
 accentuated by the unconscious help it received from those 
 "European door-keepers," the Slavonic peoples, who will in 
 time be only too ready to hand over to their Asiatic cousins 
 the keys of Europe. The gradual decadence of Europe — thus 
 Gobineau concludes — was announced long ago in the Essay: 
 the only mistake with which he had to reproach himself, is 
 that from an optimism peculiar to youth he had thought the 
 development of this decadence much slower than it really was 
 and will turn out to be. 
 
 And now let us listen to the innocent, the " white," the 
 Christian preface-writer who naturally lives in hope, in love, 
 
 xxxii
 
 INTRODUCTION 
 
 in faith, and in other clouds. In a very casual fashion, Wagner 
 at first repeats Gobineau's ideas about the degeneration and 
 decadence of mankind. He, like Gobineau, thinks that this 
 degeneration was caused by the mixture of races which was 
 brought about by an initial fault of the human race, inex- 
 perienced in its youth as it then was. This initial fault, it 
 will be seen, has already a somewhat Semitic flavour : for by 
 means of it the concept of " original sin " is smuggled into the 
 system of Gobineau. But Wagner forgets or wishes to forget 
 that Gobineau declares this fault to be absolutely fatal, 
 ineradicable ; for Gobineau, not being a theologian or a 
 Teutonic metaphysician, preferred to stick to scientific observa- 
 tions, however disagreeable they might turn out to be. But 
 Wagner knew what he was doing when he declared 
 "decadence" to be a "fault" and a "sin." A sin, of course, 
 allows of redemption ; and by means of the redemption which 
 our Christian has to offer, Gobineau's pessimism is turned into 
 more hopeful channels. Man, no doubt, is a damnable sinner 
 and a miserable decadent, but likewise a possible future hero- — 
 thus Wagner's secret thought runs. It is an astounding 
 assumption, but what assumptions are impossible to pious 
 souls, what benumbing of reason are they not capable of? 
 
 For our composer, who was now a Christian, was as such not 
 allowed to lose hope in the sinner and the decadent, as did that 
 gifted, though perhaps too gloomy, Gobineau. Wagner, there- 
 fore, in the latter half of this article, " Heroism and Christianity," 
 expresses the firm belief, that out of the chaos of stupidity 
 and impotence, which "our friend Gobineau" has laid bare, 
 salvation is still possible. True, the blood of the most noble 
 races has deteriorated, but even for the most humble race and 
 individual there must be a way to hope and health. By means of 
 that " only genuine Christian Sacrament, which consists in the 
 symbolic consumption of the blood of Christ," a divine purifica- 
 tion might be effected, and he, Wagner, would recommend 
 this Sacrament as a sure antidote against the degeneration of 
 
 C xxxiii
 
 INTRODUCTION 
 
 nuuikiiul which Gobmeau had dcscnbcd in such a masterly 
 aiaiuicr in his Essay on the Inequality of Human Races. 
 
 Rightl}-, M. Scillicre,* the intelligent French critic, who 
 unfortunately is not poet enough himself to appreciate to a 
 proper degree either a Gobineau or a Nietzsche, says " Talk 
 history to a mystic like Wagner! Gobineau's labour on 
 such a man is lost entirely, lliis thick-skinned interpreter 
 of his thinks that the only consequence of Gobineau's 
 gloom and bitterness will be to inspire a certain whole- 
 some shock to our thoughtless age, to shake that easy 
 optimism in which we still indulge, and thus to prepare us 
 gently for that holy path, that path of sighs and tears that 
 leads to Golgotha and the Cross. Is it possible to love each 
 other more and understand each other less than this prefacer 
 and his author have done?" 
 
 No, it is not ; but, nevertheless, to this hopeless misunder- 
 standing on the part of Wagner, Gobineau owes his discovery : 
 without his blind friend, Gobineau might have remained 
 unknown to this very day. The whole world would have 
 been poorer for it, but the loss would have been mostly felt 
 by the Germans, with whom Gobineau has become a 
 popular hero, a protagonist of the Empire, a name to conjure 
 with for all the enemies of the Fatherland : Jews, Catholics, 
 Poles, Latins, and other second-rate people. But this popu- 
 larity of Gobineau in Germany — an irony as great as that of 
 Gobineau's discovery by a romantic musician — is entirely due 
 to a misunderstanding of Gobineau on the part of the 
 Germans, a misunderstanding, however, which is to some 
 extent caused by what I consider as one of the rare flaws 
 in Gobineau's system itself. 
 
 The hatred of the French Revolution and the doctrine 
 of the Equality of man had thrown Gobineau into such 
 antagonism against everything around him that he finally 
 began to hate France down to her very historical roots. 
 
 * Ernest Seillifere : Le Comte de Gobineau et I'Aryanisme Historique : 
 Paris, 1903 (p. 370). 
 
 xxxiv
 
 INTRODUCTION 
 
 He was tempted to see charlatanism, theatricality and 
 exuberant phrase-making (which are the characteristics of a 
 democratic age) everywhere even in that grand early history 
 of the Latin races, and thus became very unjust, I think, 
 to the whole of Grseco-Latin culture, and especially to the 
 most flourishing ages of that culture, in Greece and Rome. 
 Henceforth his ideal in history became the Germanic tribes 
 of the Middle Ages, and their feudal institutions, which allowed 
 a man to attach and defend his honour sword in hand — times, 
 when a man was his own master still and not subjected to 
 the law of Polis or Urbs. In Polls and Urbs the lawyers and 
 phrasemongers would always prevail — among the warrior tribes 
 of the Franks, the Normans, the Lombards, the glib tongue 
 of sly plebeians had never to be feared, and a free and noble 
 personality never stood in danger of being suppressed. 
 Gobineau himself, isolated as he was amongst his plebeian 
 surroundings, thought himself related to those ancient and 
 noble tribes ; he firmly believed in his descent from a Scan- 
 dinavian and Germanic stock. He even wrote a book, 
 " Ottar Jarl," in which the history of his ancestors is minutely 
 described. This Ottar Jarl is a descendant of a Norwegian 
 family of the ninth century, who, being a younger son, is 
 disinherited from rural possessions according to law and con- 
 sequently obliged to emigrate from Scandinavia. He becomes 
 a pirate, descends upon the French coast, and there founds 
 the feudal house of Gournay, the house from which Gobineau 
 himself claimed descent. When our Count was French 
 Minister in Stockholm, he one day made an excursion with 
 some friends to those beautiful isles which, covered with pines, 
 lie dotted in crystal waters all along the Swedish coast. 
 Before a group of imposing ruins, Gobineau suddenly stopped 
 and said : " I feel this is the place where I hail from " — a story 
 which will set a good many people smiling. But it is a fact — 
 which science, that satellite of poetical observation, may one 
 day elucidate — that very sensitive people easily recognise the 
 place where their ancestors have lived : there are Jews who at 
 
 C 2 
 
 XXXV
 
 INTRODUCTION 
 
 once feel at home in the South and among Orientals, and the 
 French ( ount ma)' have experienced a similar sensation when 
 his foot had touched that Scandinavian spot. 
 
 Thus we need not deny that Count Gobineau had Norman 
 blood in his veins, but the conclusion he draws from this fact, 
 the veneration he feels for this blood, ought to be somewhat 
 critically examined. It was modesty after all on the part of 
 Gobineau, it seems to me, if he attributed his nobility of 
 thought to his Norman and Germanic ancestry. For Gobineau 
 was, above all, what these tribes never were, a man of daring 
 thought. And the objection which I would raise to 
 Gobineau's idealisation and veneration of the ancient Germans 
 is just this, that they were sadly lacking in all the higher 
 elements of culture, sadly lacking in what Gobineau possessed 
 — in ideas. In stating this I do not underrate the value of 
 personal bravery and prowess as exhibited by these Franks, 
 Lombards, and Normans, because these are virtues v/hich 
 our industrial age sadly lacks and urgently requires : but 
 I do not consider these virtues alone sufficient. I am of the 
 opinion that they only constitute a kind of barbarian great- 
 ness which can never be compared with that cultured great- 
 ness, that combination of great thought and great action which 
 was the glory of Greece and Rome. Military prowess was 
 possessed by such a race as the Huns, too ; it was possessed, 
 and is still possessed to some extent, by the Turks — but no 
 one, I think, would set up Huns and Turks as model races for 
 mankind. Where, I should like to ask the manes of Count 
 Gobineau, are the ideas of his beloved Germanic tribes ? Have 
 they founded a religion like the Jews ? Flave they excelled 
 in art, like the Assyrians, Babylonians, and Egyptians? In 
 philosophy and tragedy like the Greeks, in government and 
 law like the Romans ? Have they bequeathed a holy or 
 unholy book to the world — a book that could rival the Old 
 Testament, the book of Manu, the tragedies of Sophocles, the 
 manly history of Thucydides, the sweet poetry of Ovid and 
 Horace? No, they have not. They have had no ideas, and, 
 
 xxxvi
 
 INTRODUCTION 
 
 though puetically endowed hke all youlhful and martial 
 peoples, this gift was never strong enough to withstand the 
 onslaught of Oriental thought, and thus their song of the 
 Nibelungs, their Beowulf, and even their Edda, have come down 
 to us in a half-Christianised dress. They have had no ideas of 
 their own to oppose to the Semitic idea: that is the reason, 
 the only reason, why they were conquered and converted by 
 the mere breath of a Christian missionary. It was the want 
 of the inner Holy fire, the want of strong and burning passion, 
 it was in short the poverty of the race which will put Count 
 Gobineau's much-beloved Germanic tribes for ever into the 
 second rank, when compared for instance with that similar 
 conqueror-tribe — the Arabs. The Arabs, too, were a martial 
 people, and when they left their desert, they were as poor in 
 earthly possessions as were the Franks and Normans ; they 
 had no art as yet and scarcely any written literature ; but, when 
 they had conquered the world, when they had gained their 
 place in the sun, they at once proved that the germ of the great 
 and the sublime was at least in them : they created that great 
 Empire from the Tigris to the Guadalquivir in which art, 
 science, and literature flourished, which kept the lamps of 
 Hellenic thought burning in the midst of Christian darkness 
 and which the Christianised Germanic tribes, the enemies of 
 light, afterwards successfully extinguished. Rightly, therefore, 
 and to this very day those historians, who though Christians 
 are honest historians, regret the fall of Granada. 
 
 Why did Count Gobineau, universal historian that he was, 
 fail to allude to Arabic civilisation, fail to relate the story of 
 the fall of Granada? It is a story which might well have 
 appealed to him, as a poet, just as it has appealed to a colleague 
 of his, to one who was more nearly related to the Arabs — 
 Heinrich Heine. In November, 1491, Boabdil, the last king of 
 the Moors, came out of Granada and gave the keys of the town 
 to the victorious Catholic sovereigns, Ferdinand and Isabella. 
 Then, with a few followers, he left for the south, but upon a 
 rocky eminence which commanded a last view of Granada he 
 
 xxxvii
 
 INTRODUCTION 
 
 checked his horse and, as his eyes for tlie last time wandered 
 over the scenes of his departed greatness, his heart swelled 
 and he burst into tears. " You do well," said his mother, when 
 she saw him cry, " to weep like a woman for what you could 
 not defend like a man." It was a Semitic mother who could 
 speak these manly words to her son, words, no doubt, that 
 caused a Semitic mother more pangs of pain than any other. 
 Is it not almost certain that over his enthusiastic praise of the 
 noble Germanic blood, Count Gobineau forgot that there 
 was in the world a noble Semitic blood, a blood all the 
 more important as it still exists amongst us almost in its racial 
 purity ? 
 
 IV 
 
 But happy that author whose writings have a decided weak- 
 ness somewhere or contain a palpable untruth, for he is sure 
 to be discovered ! Unhappy that Homer who never nods, 
 for he will nod for ever, and no discoverer or disciple will 
 awake him, and no posterity will rise up to do honour to his 
 message. And thrice happy the author whose weaknesses 
 are even misunderstood : sic ilur ad astra, only thus and then 
 is he sure to fmd the way to the heart of humanity. 
 
 Count Gobineau, as we have seen, had sung the praise of 
 the noble Germanic blood, of a blood which, as he thought, 
 ran in his own veins, and which he rightly judged to be 
 different from and superior to that of other mortals. It was 
 certainly a fault of his racial system that he forgot even to 
 mention the noble Arabic blood, but this omission, after all, 
 only slightly interferes with the value of his book as an 
 original piece of work. But precisely by this flaw, by the 
 neglect of the Semitic blood, by this praise of the noble 
 Germanic blood, has he endeared himself to the heart of the 
 Germans, who, once the question of race came to the fore- 
 ground in European thought, were most eager to establish their 
 claim to a noble past and a noble blood. For the Germans are 
 
 xxxviii
 
 IN'IRODUCTION 
 
 people who live on thought and theories, people who conse- 
 quently have to adapt themselves to any new theories that 
 spring up on the intellectual horizon of our Continent. In this 
 respect, they are very unlike the " materialistic " Englishmen, 
 who in their innermost heart have a contempt for "braini- 
 ness," who think they can do without "ideas," who know for 
 a certainty that they will "muddle through" somehow, for 
 Providence, that just Providence, cannot — in their opinion — 
 help having strong British propensities. The German rather 
 looks down upon this British contempt of ideas, this blind 
 trust in Providence : it is his glory to have acted differently, 
 to have always helped Providence by his own thoughts — 
 although I have my doubts whether Providence does not 
 prefer the British modesty and non-interference to the German 
 cver-zeal and obtrusiveness. Be this as it may, one thing is 
 quite certain : theories that arise anywhere in Europe are sure, 
 sooner or later, to attract the attention of the Germans, and 
 living by theories as they do, he has sooner or later to 
 adapt himself to the new and victorious thought. Of late 
 this new thought has not been very favourable to the Germans ; 
 it has become more and more difficult to adapt the old 
 Teutonic ideals to the new theories — and Germany has con- 
 sequently become somewhat embarrassed. Not for long, 
 though — what could embarrass that gifted nation of "poets 
 and thinkers " for long ? The idea of " race," for instance, was 
 certainly a very perplexing one for the Germans, who, after 
 all, have troubled about race less than any nation in Europe, 
 who have never had an aristocracy worthy of the name, like 
 the French and English, like the Poles and Italians: but why 
 should a thinking nation be embarrassed by a new idea, if this 
 nation is at the same time also a poetical one? Let the 
 poetical gift of this nation, let its powers of idealistic inter- 
 pretation play round the " New Thought," and the thought is 
 rendered harmless and ready for adaptation. If we cannot 
 adapt ourselves to the new theories — thus the Germans reason 
 — let us adapt the theories and their exponents for our own 
 
 xxxix
 
 IN IRODUCilON 
 
 bcnclit, lol us rc-interpiel Ihem, let us poetise them, vaporise 
 them, until .... 
 
 It is by means of this power of poetical interpretation, that 
 the Germans liave succeeded in making Gobineau a kind 
 of national hero. No doubt this was a great feat of 
 "poetic licence," but the licence was justified by success. 
 Gobincau's name is uttered with the greatest respect all over 
 the Fatherland, his books and letters have neeirly all been 
 translated : they have gone into many editions and are 
 read all over the country, and Gobineau's " Renaissance " 
 — five times translated into German — has even been on 
 the repertoire of theatres. Many years ago, a Gobineau 
 Society was formed in Germany ; the ablest men of letters, 
 scientists and politicians became members ; to be a Gobinisle 
 became a sort of patriotic duty— not to be a Gobiniste stamped 
 one as an " enemy of the Empire." Gobineau has even 
 been set up by these enthusiastic Teutonics as a sort of anti- 
 pope against Nietzsche, and it has thus come about that the 
 Frenchman is venerated in modern Germany with the same 
 fervour as Nietzsche the German, is worshipped in France. 
 But how was it done ? What has Gobineau to do with modern 
 Germany? Hov/ could the Germans appropriate him? The 
 answer is : by means of their power of poetical interpre- 
 tation. It is this German gift which has allowed the German 
 nation, under the guidance of their princes and professors, to 
 claim Gobineau's system for themselves and to apply it to 
 their own history, past and present. They have made use of 
 Gobineau's weakness, his exaggerated praise of the German 
 conqueror tribes, but they have misunderstood or "poetically 
 interpreted" even this weakness, and have quite innocently 
 transferred his praise of the Germanic past to the Germanic 
 present, his praise of the "Germanic hero" to the praise of 
 the modem German citizen. 
 
 To Gobineau, modern Germany was as contemptible a 
 country as modern France ; for it was based, like France, upon 
 a plebeian revolution, the Protestant Reformation, which he 
 
 xl
 
 INTRODUCTION 
 
 most heartily detested. And it was not only the Germany of 
 the Reformation that Gobineau disliked ; it was modern Ger- 
 many as well ; it was the Empire itself, that glory of the 
 Teutomaniac, that roused his doubts and his displeasure. Can 
 this cause wonder? How could a profound thinker like 
 Gobineau overlook the flaw in this Empire, this powerful 
 organisation without aim, ideas or reason, this body without a 
 soul, this incarnation of materialism on earth? How could a 
 psychologist be deceived by that mask of foggy philosophy, 
 romantic art and crazy idealism, behind which the modern 
 German tries to hide his ignoble aspect ? How could he be 
 blinded by the " success " of such a motley crew, gained as this 
 success was and is by the trampling down of every genuine 
 individuality, of every valuable idea, of everything beautiful 
 and noble ? Thus even in the early days of the Empire, we 
 see our Count in doubt about this modern Germany. "I 
 understand," he writes to his friend. Professor Kellermann, of 
 Tubingen, on August i8th, 1872, "the motives which have 
 forced Germany into an excessive concentration of all her 
 powers, but this very concentration is the surest way to 
 paralyse all intellectual action, and thus your organisation will 
 cost you so much, not only financially, but also physically and 
 morally, that I do not think anything good for the life of the 
 whole or the parts can ensue from it." What a true prophet 
 spoke here ! And what deaf ears he found and still finds ! 
 Or, should I, as an excuse, say, what poetical ears? The 
 warnings of this prophet are ignored by his audience, his con- 
 clusions from the past are falsified and misunderstood, and 
 his message for the future — race — is misapplied by these 
 intoxicated patriots to the present day, to themselves. For 
 the modern Germans pretend that they are a race, that they 
 are Gobineau's ideal Germanic race, and that their success in 
 this world is due to their pure and noble blood. A brewer, 
 when he grows wealthy and successful, desires a title and 
 must be on the look-out for a pedigree. 
 
 To the honour of truth, however, it ought to be stated that 
 
 xli
 
 INTRODUCTION 
 
 it is not the true Gobineau who has become the god of the 
 " cuhured " modern Germans. After all, Gobineau was too 
 much of an honest writer for this, too little of an idealist, too 
 much of a man who never shirked facts and had uttered terrible 
 truths, just as Stendhal, Merimee, Nietzsche, and other brave 
 Europeans had done. In order lo make Gobineau palatable 
 to the ordinary modern German, he had lirst to be remodelled 
 and refashioned. It is a full-blown Englishman who has done 
 Germany this service, an Englishman who has become 
 Germanised, and who — just as converted Jews become more 
 Christian than born Christians — has become more German, 
 more ideahstic, more of a poet than even the best German 
 metaphysician. This man was Wagner's son-in-law, Mr. 
 Houston Stewart Chamberlain. 
 
 Air. Chamberlain's book, The Foundations of the Nine- 
 teenth Century* is a double pasan, a paean to modern Germany 
 and to Christianity in its Protestant form, which latter, how- 
 ever, if I understand Mr. Chamberlain rightly, is still open to 
 some improvement by the Teutonic genius, especially gifted 
 as this genius is in the high realms of religion. And not only 
 in religion, but in other spheres as well ; for, according to 
 Mr. Chamberlain, ever since the sixth century all men who 
 have produced anything in politics, ideas, or art, without 
 exception, belonged to the Germanic stock. Thus this stock 
 (in which Mr. Chamberlain, for safety's sake, includes the Celts 
 and the Slavs, but whose most gifted branch is the Teuton) has 
 created all the great and good things in this world, while on 
 the other hand everything bad or inferior is of Latin or 
 Semitic origin. Great Latins and great Jews who appealed 
 to Mr. Chamberlain's taste are of course allocated by him to 
 the Germanic stock. Thus Christ, as is proved by Mr. 
 Chamberlain, was only born in a Jewish milieu, but was a Jew 
 neither by race nor spirit (Vol. I., p. 351). Thus the great 
 Renaissance was never a creation of the fine Latin and 
 
 * The Foundations of the Nineteenth Century, by Houston Stewart 
 Chamberlain ; transl. by John Lees (London, 191 1). The page quotations 
 are taken from this edition. 
 
 xlii
 
 INTRODUCTION 
 
 Southern spirit, but a manifestation of the Germanic genius, 
 which was racially predominant at that time in both northern 
 and southern Italy. These ignoble Southerners, these 
 slavish children of the "chaos of the peoples," with their 
 " materialistic " Catholic Church governing them, would never 
 have done anything without these pure-blooded idealistic 
 Teutons who alone m this world have kept up the ideas of 
 faith, race, nobility, and individuality. And as in the past so 
 in the present : all true culture is Teutonic. For the Teuton is 
 the artist of the modern world, he is " the only human being who 
 can be compared with the Hellene — in him, too, the striking 
 and specifically distinctive character is the simultaneous and 
 equal development of knowledge, civilisation and culture." 
 (Vol. II., p. 255.) As Lord Redesdale, who has written the 
 preface to the English translation, rightly puts it : " The 
 leitmotiv which runs through the whole book is the assertion 
 of the superiority of the Teutonic family to all the other races 
 of the world." 
 
 Though Chamberlain's conclusions are very different from 
 Gobineau's, it will on closer examination be seen that the 
 root of Chamberlain's system is to be found in Gobineau. 
 Gobineau's is the idea of race, the idea of the pre-eminence 
 of the Germanic stock, the idea of the rejuvenation of Rome 
 by the invasion of the Germanic tribes, the idea of the manly 
 and superior qualities of these tribes as opposed to Latin 
 and Semitic inferiority : as also is Gobineau's the idea of the 
 fraudulence and cowardice of the ancient Greeks and the little 
 trust to be put in their historic narratives and the accounts 
 of their victories. I feel quite certain that without Gobineau's 
 epos, " The Decline and Fall of the Aryan," Chamberlain's 
 " Rise and Progress of the Teuton " would never have been 
 written. In place of Gobineau's gloomy and final vaticina- 
 tions, of course, a " happy ending " had to be substituted, 
 that " happy ending " which is so dear to our theatrical 
 managers ; for no true tragedy could be endured by our 
 exhausted audiences, even were they composed of that 
 
 xliii
 
 IxNTRODUCTION 
 
 flower ul llic iidtions, the Gciinaus. It would have been 
 lolly for an\' of Ihciii to produce a true Gobineau before thai 
 decadent public, accustomed as it is to romantic optimism or 
 nerve-racking brutalities. The adaptation of Gobineau to a 
 more modern taste was therefore essential, and in justice to 
 the adapter and populariser, it should be added that he has 
 done his work well. He has suppressed the best thoughts of 
 Gobineau, weakened the strong ones, accentuated the bad 
 ones ; dimmed, darkened and dulled the whole, and then added 
 some ideas of his own which, though not in touch vi^ith truth, 
 at least prove that our fortunate philosopher is in thorough 
 touch with something else, to wit, his age. As a matter of 
 fact, it is not difficult to please one's age if one belongs so 
 closely to it as Mr. Chamberlain. Quiconqiie rcssemble an 
 pcuple, rhneiit, as Goethe used to say. 
 
 In conformity with the spirit of the age. Chamberlain is a 
 very religious and moral personality. No pagan, no Gobineau- 
 gospel — and that in spite of Goethe — could have any general 
 success in Germany, where the upper classes hypocritically 
 cling to the Church in the vain hope of keeping down, by 
 means of Christianity, the atheistic and revolutionary middle 
 and lower classes, and where these latter sincerely but uncon- 
 sciously adhere to the essence of Christianity, its morality, 
 which is that of submissive or revolutionary slaves. Even the 
 Catholics of Germany have something crude, bigoted and 
 low-churchy about them, which separate them entirely from 
 their Catholic brethren, those semi-pagans of France, Italy, 
 and even Ireland. There is no country in Europe more hope- 
 lessly Nazarene than Germany ; and Chamberlain, by baptising 
 that over-healthy pagan Gobineau and also otherwise watering 
 down some of his ideas, at once appealed to those countless 
 thousands for whom water is everything, and truth, other than 
 religious or moral, too intoxicating. Mr. Chamberlain, how- 
 ever, did not only become a mere Nazarene, but a German 
 Nazarene — that is to say, a Jew-hater. Gobineau, too, had 
 hated Semitism, but Gobineau's hatred of Semitism was of a 
 
 xliv
 
 INTRODUCTION 
 
 very different kind. Gobineau's was an honest Antisemi- 
 tism, it was, like Nietzsche's, an historical Antisemitism : it had 
 nothing whatever to do with modern Antisemitism, that move- 
 ment born from fear, envy, and impotence. This is how Count 
 Gobineau speaks of the modern Jews : " In no period has 
 daring thought in the realm of philosophy been wanting in 
 the Jew. Nothing has changed with him in this respect, and 
 I could quote several learned men of Bagdad who, by the 
 audacity of their reasoning, are entirely worthy of the most 
 heterodox spirits that their race has ever produced. The Jewish 
 mind is, of its very nature, enquiring, and it is eager to extract 
 from the wealth of this world the element of knowledge 
 as well as the element of gold." — {Les Religions ei Us 
 Philosophies dans V Asie Cenlrale, p. 66.) Gobineau's Anti- 
 semitism (this must be upheld even in the teeth of German 
 Jewry, which on account of the Teutonic misrepresentation of 
 our author still looks askance at him) has nothing whatever to 
 do with modern Antisemitism, it is not the Antisemitism of 
 people who are (as Nietzsche has baptised them) "step- 
 motherly treated by nature " {schlecht weggekommene) : it is 
 an upright, a genuine, a gentlemanly Antisemitism, it is the 
 Antisemitism of the aristocrat, who sees his very blood 
 threatened by revolutionary religions. Both Niet/.sche's 
 and Gobineau's Antisemitism, therefore, included of course 
 Christianity. Chamberlain, however, turns this Antisemitism 
 of an honnete homme into the Antisemitism of the people 
 and directs it, according to the "needs of the age," against 
 the modern Jews to the exclusion of Christians. He likewise 
 turns Gobineau's anti-classical and anti-Roman tendencies into 
 modern channels, that is to say, against the modern Catholics, 
 the Jesuits, and that Roman Church which is still such an 
 eyesore to the German Protestant. All this, of course, was 
 done in good faith, without the wish to deceive and entirely 
 without bad conscience on the part of the author. 
 
 The Foundations had a wonderful success. All the 
 leaders of thought from the German Emperor down to the 
 
 xlv
 
 INTRODUCTION 
 
 humblest schoolmaster were overflowing with delight. The 
 German Emperor had a copy of the book sent to every 
 school, and all the schoolmasters oi the l-atherland were busy — 
 witli the additional help of the cane — in impressing upon the 
 minds and bodies of the German youths their heroic descent. 
 What they had long suspected, but did not dare to think, was 
 now proved beyond all doubt ; they were a noble, a pure race. 
 Just as Moliere's bourgeois gcntilhomme was astonished and 
 delighted when he was told by someone, that he wrote 
 " prose," the bourgeois allemand was perhaps less astonished 
 but even more charmed that he was himself "poetry" and 
 " culture," that his very blood was heroic and holy, that he was 
 a member of a race, as a matter of fact, of the noblest 
 race on earth. And out of this race, so Chamberlain had 
 assured him in his book, there would "blossom out a future 
 and harmonious culture such as the world had never seen 
 before, a culture incomparably more beautiful than any of 
 which history has to tell, a culture in which men would 
 really be better and happier than they are at present ! " 
 (See Author's Introduction, p. xcviii.) God was in His 
 Heaven, all was right with the world, the triumph of the 
 Teuton assured for ever. Standing upright in his triumphal 
 car, with flashing eyes and quivering nostrils, this grandson of 
 Arminius, captain no more of barbarian hordes, but of industry 
 and of "culture" was driven up the Capitoline Hill to receive 
 an enormous, well-deserved laurel wreath for his square, 
 capacious, cultured head. Only one little important figure was 
 missing in this noisy procession. In order to check the i5/9/9t9 
 of the victorious conqueror, in order to restrain that pride which 
 invariably comes before the fall, the Romans never forgot to 
 employ a slave, who was seen standing next to the hero upon 
 the quadriga and heard to whisper into his ear from' time to 
 time the warning, " Remember that thou, too, art mortal." This 
 slave was wanting ; but instead of the slave a herd of slavish 
 and time-serving authors and critics assured the pure-blooded 
 captain on the triumphal car that Chamberlain's book was the 
 
 xlvi
 
 INTRODUCTION 
 
 last word on the subject, and that in this gifted Enghshman 
 the Teuton Achilles had at last found a heaven-inspired 
 Homer who could do justice to his character and noble 
 achievements in past, present and future. 
 
 Of course, there was likewise a great deal of profound 
 dissent, there was also, from the more cautious critics, a 
 demand for a closer study of the question and the acquisi- 
 tion of more scientific facts. But the fitting and the only 
 answer to Chamberlain's gospel has never been given, nor, so 
 far as I know, even been suspected. And how could it have 
 been suspected? How could it have been thought that this 
 author, this member of a pure race, this man " glorying in the 
 consciousness of his pure race " (Vol. I., p. 269), would produce 
 a real bastard book, a book in which two wholly incompatible 
 ideas had been "crossed," two ideas by nature mutually 
 exclusive of one another had been "married" and mixed 
 together — that of race and that of Christianity? Has there 
 ever been an unholier alliance, and that committed by an 
 enemy of mesalliances, of cross-breedings, of purposeless inter- 
 marriages ? 
 
 Race is a matter of selection and exclusion, something 
 hostile to, or at least regardless of, the outer world. Chris- 
 tianity is the religion of "love," that is to say, it has nothing 
 exclusive, but something obtrusive about it, especially if it is 
 remembered that this declaration of "love" came from the 
 lower classes. Thus Christianity from its beginning, and 
 through all the ages up to this very hour, has had one aim, 
 and that is to be a universal religion, a religion to be offered 
 to all, a religion which, if accepted by all, would make out of 
 humanity one great family of equal brethren. It was on 
 account of this very idea that the first Christians separated 
 from the Jews and founded that all-embracing religion which 
 to-day is called Christianity — for the Jews themselves, or 
 rather the Jewish Christians (as may be read in the Acts and 
 the Pauline epistles) still held fast to the behef that their 
 creed was not for everybody, that the Messiah had been sent 
 
 xlvii
 
 INTRODUCTION 
 
 to I hem alone, and that not every stranger and outsider had 
 a right to participate in the Salvation. 1 he idea of race, of 
 exclusiveness, of " the chosen people " still haunted these Jews 
 even after they had become Christians, and over the question 
 of race (not over the question whether the Messiah had come, 
 but to ivhom He had come) Jews and Christians soon separated. 
 Thus a modern Jew may pride himself on race, a modern noble- 
 man, like Gobineau or Nietzsche, may pride himself on race ; 
 but never a true and modern Christian, least of all a German 
 Christian. For the German Protestant Christian is again 
 a rechauffe of the first Christian, he is (as Mr. Chamberlain 
 himself sees) a Pauline Christian, that is to say, a rebel, a 
 heretic, a democrat : just as the first Christians rebelled 
 against the Jews, he — by means of his Reformation — has 
 rebelled against the aristocracy of the Italian Renaissance, 
 he owes his " Empire," his present position in Europe, to his 
 rebellion. It is likewise he who — indirectly by the same 
 reformation — instigated the French Revolution ; it is he who 
 has brought all the democratic values to the front in modern 
 Europe ; it is he who even to-day, with his four millions of 
 Socialists, marches in front of all the European democracies. 
 Only a few months ago (May 8th, 1912) the German Reichstag 
 by a great majority asked the Government to bring in a Bill 
 legalising in their colonies marriages between whites and 
 blacks. That was indeed German, democratic, and Christian ; 
 but such people should never talk about race, for race was, 
 is, and should be, the Germans' greatest abhorrence, an 
 abhorrence which, if genuine, everyone can understand, and 
 even tolerate to a certain extent. What cannot and must not 
 be tolerated is the confusion of these two contradictory 
 values — Race and Christianity. 
 
 It will be seen that my description of the German as a 
 " hopeless Nazarene " needs some correction, the " hopeless- 
 ness " in him being really more accentuated than the 
 Christianity. In plain English : the German is modern — 
 neither fish nor flesh, neither oil nor water, neither a Christian 
 
 xlviii
 
 INTRODUCTION 
 
 nor an aristocrat. A real aristocrat must abhor the idea of 
 Christianity, just as a good Christian ought to abhor the idea 
 of race. But the bad Christians and the bad aristocrats have 
 a less decided taste — they behave Hke that capricious prima 
 donna, who woke up one morning with the idea, " Tea is good, 
 chocolate is good, why not have both together ? " and then 
 ordered her maid to bring her a cup of tea and chocolate 
 mixed. Mr. Chamberlain, with unconscious humour, fre- 
 quently points in his great book to the dualistic nature 
 of the German character — it is no doubt due to this dualistic 
 nature of his that dualistic books, tea-and-chocolate books, 
 like Mr. Chamberlain's, appeal to him so very strongly. Sixty- 
 thousand copies of this "philosophic" production have now 
 been sold in Germany. Similia sinii'Libus. 
 
 On the whole, however, Mr. Chamberlain himself — my sense 
 of justice prompts me to state this — ought to be exempted 
 from the blame attached to his German admirers and should 
 not be accused of any want of consistency in his taste. Mr. 
 Chamberlain has even a very pronounced judgment and has 
 always protested against that astounding tendency of his readers 
 to swallow everything, to muddle everything, and to digest 
 for instance even such antagonistic natures, as Gobineau and 
 himself. On several occasions, and with great eloquence, Mr. 
 Chamberlain has stated* that he has nothing to do with 
 Gobineau and that his name should never be mentioned in 
 the same breath even with that of the French Count, who was 
 a man of quite different stamp. It would be rash to 
 conclude from this protest that he has the intention of 
 deceiving his public, that he wishes to pose as an original 
 genius, that he wishes to impress upon mankind the fact that 
 he is not an epigone and populariser, but a creative spirit. 
 This would be a great injustice to Mr. Chamberlain, who, it 
 must be repeated, is, if nothing better, at least an honest 
 man. The only conclusion to which his extraordinary and 
 angry protest can lead us, is again a very honourable, 
 
 •See amongst others his Wehr nnd Gegeuwehr (Mvinchen, 1912), 
 pp. 12-15. 
 
 D xlix
 
 liNTRODUCTlON 
 
 though a negative one, namely, that Mr. Chaniberlani does 
 not belong to the numerous and disagreeable class of 
 snobs. For a snob is a man who tries to get into touch 
 with people above his station, and who, having gained 
 access to the charmed circle, boasts of his distinguished 
 acquaintances : there have even been snobs, who have accused 
 themselves of having stolen silver spoons from a lord's tabic, 
 only in order to let other people know they " have been there." 
 But Mr. Chamberlain is quite a different man — he too, has 
 been at a lord's table, but he never boasts about it, for he 
 does not know that "he was there." And there was plenty 
 of beautiful plate upon the table, but Mr. Chamberlain 
 again did not know that it was silver. And the lord, who 
 had lived in Oriental countries and had imbibed Eastern 
 munificence with the air, had asked Mr. Chamberlain to help 
 himself freely to everything on the table with the inclusion even 
 of some of the valuable plate. Mr. Chamberlain consequently 
 pocketed many silver spoons, but he considered them' just 
 ordinary spoons and did not attribute to them any special 
 value. And then, when he came home, he procured plenty 
 of shiny brass spoons (which look like gold), and partly with 
 the lord's fine old silver and partly with his own shiny brass 
 he feeds his numerous "Aryan" public, which is not very 
 expert in matters artistic and much prefers Mr. Chamberlain's 
 brass spoons to the count's old silver. It were only to be 
 wished that Gobineau could return from Walhalla and 
 assist once, as the guest of the evening, at such a grand 
 "Aryan" dinner. No doubt he would experience a kind of 
 satisfaction for having been a true though pessimistic 
 prophet of the future of the Aryan. But, good heavens, how 
 sorry he would have been for having wasted his silver spoons ! 
 
 V 
 
 In Oriental towns, towards evening, when the talk a"nd the 
 bustle of the market is at its loudest, a voice from above is 
 
 1
 
 INTRODUCTION 
 
 suddenly heard, ringing out into the crystal air over house- 
 tops and bazaars, over gardens and fountains, over rivers and 
 coffee-houses, a voice that drowns with its clear and metallic 
 force the noisy talk of the vulgar crowd in the market place 
 below. It is the voice of the Muezzin who from the top of the 
 minaret calls the faithful to prayer. Let us listen to him. 
 Let us forget the literary market place below with its Jewish 
 and Christian, French and German dealers in modern ideas, 
 .let us no longer heed that loud, crowded, and alas ! so empty 
 shopland, where the honest merchants are not intelligent, 
 where the intelligent merchants are not honest, and where 
 the crowds of sellers and buyers are neither one nor the other. 
 Let us listen to the voice from above, let us listen to the 
 Muezzin, let us listen to Gobineau's own words and ideas. 
 
 In light, sweet, and joyful tones this voice rings out of the 
 pages of Gobineau's Les Religions ei les Philosophies dans 
 I'Asie Centrale. The first chapter of this book on the moral 
 and religious character of the Asiatics, has justly become 
 famous, and, with its lucid power of argument, will come as a 
 surprise to many intelligent Europeans, accustomed as they 
 are to look down upon all Asiatics as inferior beings. 
 Gobineau is able to undermine many of their prejudices, for 
 some of the so-called Asiatic vices are only vices in the eyes 
 of the simple-minded European, and really turn out to be 
 virtues, if only seen in the proper light. Thus, that dreaded 
 Asiatic hypocrisy (a practice so common in Central Asia that 
 it has received the special name of Kctnian) is, according 
 to our exploring ambassador, only a mask put on by the more 
 profound Oriental mind in order to keep truth away from 
 inferior or vulgar souls. Gobineau compares this behaviour 
 of the modern Asiatic with that of the Greek philosophers, 
 who likewise taught that all truth of a superior kind should 
 be enveloped in mystery, for il was not reasonable to throw 
 higher wisdom before inferior and unworthy beings. But 
 while thus paying a high compliment to the intelligence and 
 profundity of the Asiatic, Gobineau does not forget that draw- 
 
 D 2 li
 
 INTRODUCTION 
 
 back which every high development of the poetical and 
 ps}-choIogical faculties must bring in its train. It is this super- 
 abundance of thought which makes the Asiatic as much of a 
 fantastic dreamer as a superabundance of common sense 
 makes his European brother a dry matter-of-fact creature. 
 And it is this crowd of ideas and theories, which constantly 
 chase and supplant each other in the mind of the Asiatic, that 
 are the cause and source of his political weakness. This over- 
 intelligence, as it might be called, isolates our Asiatic from 
 his fellows to such an extent that collective action (based 
 as it always must be upon uniformity of sentiment in a large 
 number of people) becomes almost an impossibility among the 
 gifted Asiatic races. As a consolation it might be conceded 
 to the Asiatic that fools find it much easier to combine, first 
 because they are obliged to do so on account of their weak- 
 ness, and then because no individuality of their own makes 
 them shrink from' too close a contact with their brethren. In 
 Asia, Count Gobineau tells us, with an ironical side-glance at 
 Europe, fools are the greatest exception. 
 
 But the best part of the book, and the greater part of it, is 
 dedicated to the history of the Babists, a Persian sect founded 
 shortly before Gobineau came to Persia, by a young and 
 spirited Persian who was called " The Bab." It is a strange 
 tale that our author has here to tell, a story which seems to 
 us more than familiar, reminding us as it does of the common 
 religious bonds of Asia and Europe, of the holy tales of our 
 own gospel. Was it the intention of Count Gobineau — and 
 this is a question that v^ll easily occur to a critic who is accus- 
 tomed to look for the meaning between the lines — to write a 
 parody on the ancient document of the Christian faith ? I do 
 not think so for a moment, for Gobineau had, like many 
 Catholics, even free-thinking Catholics, a sort of shyness about 
 touching upon religion in too outspoken a manner. If there 
 is parody, it is entirely unconscious, but parody undoubtedly 
 there is. There is the Saviour, the "Bab," that is to say, 
 "the only door by which one can reach the knowledge of 
 
 Hi
 
 INTRODUCTION 
 
 God," a quiet, studious, patient, and somewhat mystical youth, 
 une dnie douce et un -peu reveuse, as Gobineau describes 
 hhn. He has quite a number of interesting, though hardly 
 novel, ideas in his head : how to bring man happiness in this 
 world, how to unite under one ethical roof the Jew, the 
 Christian, and the Moslem, how to emancipate and enlighten 
 the fair sex, likewise how to be good and charitable though 
 rich, and how to be just and forgiving though dealing with 
 criminals and enemies. There was a faint flavour of 
 Buddhistic sweetness, I think, in this attractive personality, 
 who by his charming and persuasive manner easily converted 
 all those who came into contact with him. But these new con- 
 verts, less Buddhistic, of course, and more impulsive than the 
 Master, tried to strengthen peaceful persuasion by other means. 
 They openly accused the authorities of immorality and cor- 
 ruption, they ran about the streets looting, rioting and 
 threatening and insulting the mullahs (clergy), and thus 
 finally forced the Government to intervene between them and 
 their accusers — an intervention that caused a bloody revolu- 
 tion in two provinces and was only suppressed with the 
 greatest difficulty. The Saviour, as seems to be the habit of 
 Saviours, had promised to bring peace and happiness, but had 
 in reality brought the sword — a sword, which, once unsheathed, 
 naturally begins now to threaten himself and his two most 
 faithful followers. And thus more and more the story begins 
 to remind us of Asia, never-changing Asia. Those in 
 authority, again wrongly assuming that the execution of the 
 Saviour would suppress a rebellion — have decided to do away 
 with him. A sham action is brought against him, he is 
 searchingly questioned by the judges, who are bent upon his 
 ruin, he is asked for miracles by the Mullahs, who doubt his 
 ^ft and his inspiration, but he, according to his followers, 
 confounds them all. Well, however, though he stands the test, 
 he is nevertheless condemned to death by his persecutors, 
 frightened as these are about the progress of the rebellion. 
 The day of execution has come. From early morning till late 
 
 1 
 
 111
 
 INTRODITCTION 
 
 ill ihc evening tlie Bab and his two disciples arc conducted, 
 under the weight of their chains, through the town of Tabriz, 
 llie infuriated mob screaming and shaking their hsts at them, 
 striking the defenceless victims in the face amid screams 
 of laughter at every successful blow. Then one of the 
 disciples, as the result of all the pain and shame heaped upon 
 him, gives way, and throwing himself on to the ground, begins 
 to weep most bitterly. The captain of the guard promises 
 him freedom if he will curse the Bab. And he curses the 
 Bab. Then the captain of the guard asks him to spit into 
 the Bab's face. And he spits into his face, and is then set 
 free ; but only in order to repent and commit afterwards, like 
 Judas, a sort of expiatory suicide. 
 
 Then the other follower, a rich citizen of the town of Tabriz, 
 is worked upon to give up the Bab ; with truly fiendish clever- 
 ness his young wife and his children are fetched from the 
 bazaar, they are confronted with him and they implore him 
 to abjure his creed, to live again happily with them as before ; 
 but the man simply turns his head and remains firm, only 
 asking as a favour to be executed before his Saviour. The 
 sun begins to set ; the two are about to suffer the extreme 
 penalty, and when in front of a large crowd they both hang 
 side by side over the wall of the citadel, waiting to be shot, the 
 faithful disciple is heard saying to the Bab : " Master, art thou 
 satisfied with me ? " . . . O Asia, there thou art once more 
 with thy fanatics, thy dreamers, thy rebels, with thy martyrs, 
 who willingly shed their blood for "truth," and thy Saviours 
 who triumphantly wear the crown of thorns ! There thou art 
 once more, thou continent of eternal recurrences, putting to 
 shame thy little sister Europe with her innocent belief in 
 progress ! 
 
 But still there is "progress," and the progress lies with the 
 narrator who this time tells the holy story. It is related in a 
 cold and sceptical manner, very accurately to be sure, but 
 not without touches of irony and Voltairian wit. by a man 
 who decidedly has some doubts about all Saviours and all 
 
 liv
 
 INTRODUCTION 
 
 enthusiasts, by a man who knows from his own experience that 
 it IS more difficult to hve for truth than to die for it, by a 
 man who has a silent smile even for self-sacrifice ; for he 
 knows that self-sacrifice comes most easily to those whose self 
 does not matter much, to those who sacrifice little with their 
 " selves." A grand seigneur is relating this extraordinary 
 story, a man who is freethinking without being unprincipled, 
 gay without being foolish, warm-hearted without being gush- 
 ing, and cool without being phlegmatic or platitudinarian. It 
 is an important contribution to literature : the first narrative 
 of a holy movement, by an unholy and sober pen. It is a 
 decided improvement upon a very holy book : it is a gospel 
 written by a gentleman. 
 
 But let no one believe that this refined gentleman always 
 preserves his refinement of manner. True, the tenor of the 
 Count's literary work cannot be compared to that of the more 
 passionate Nietzsche, whose mighty curses on civilisation run 
 into eighteen volumes and whose only prototypes in litera- 
 ture — prototypes standing, though, for the opposite ideal — are 
 the ancient Jewish prophets. But let no one be mistaken by 
 this outward appearance of more grace, repose, and restraint : 
 at bottom, it must be repeated again and again, Gobineau and 
 Nietzsche are men of the same stamp, and the French Count 
 can raise his voice to the same dangerous pitch as the German, 
 or rather anti-German philosopher. And on these rare occa- 
 sions, we entirely miss that "Greek Harmony," that "golden 
 mean," which is so dear to the Philistine worshippers of classical 
 antiquity, we look absolutely in vain for that "sweetness and 
 light," which a gifted, thotigh Victorian, author once so 
 urgently recommended to his public ; true, there is light, 
 but only for those who can see ; true, there is sweetness, 
 but only for people with healthy and not over-fastidious 
 tongues. Listen only how our Count describes his own time, 
 hear what he thinks of his contemporaries, see in what colours 
 this master-author paints the picture of what he considers the 
 universal slavery : 
 
 Iv
 
 INTRODUCTION 
 
 Have a look at the world around you. Do you recognise its supreme 
 barbarism — not a youthful, bold, courageous, picturesque, happy 
 barbarism, but a savagery that is ugly, treacherous, repellent, ill- 
 humoured, that will kill all and create nothing ? At any rate, admire its 
 size, which is indeed enormous ; admire the beautiful arrangement of its 
 tripartite division ; at its head, the motley tribe of the babblers ! They 
 lead everywhere, carry the keys, coin phrases, weep on finding themselves 
 deceived, declare that they would ne\er have imagined. . . . Here now 
 are the fools ! They are everywhere, in front, at the side, in the rear ; 
 they run about, bustle and grow excited, their sole business being to 
 prevent anything from becoming ordered or decided before they are in a 
 settled state themselves. But what is the use of their becoming settled ? 
 Hardly has one of their companies declared itself satisfied than other 
 hungr)- swarms come up at a run to start the whole process afresh. 
 
 And finally, here are the beasts. The babblers have let them loose. 
 .... You ask me what I make of this pandemonium. I interpret it for 
 what it is — stupefaction, destruction and death 
 
 Would you wish to spare this rabble, if you held in your hands a sure 
 means of destroying it ? That is your business ! As for me, lend me for 
 a moment the thunderbolts of Jupiter and you shall see ! But I shall only 
 
 destroy' so much as is necessary of the irresponsible herd of beasts 
 
 It is not fit to discern anything ; I do not attribute to it a soul, and it is 
 not the herd's fault if it cannot be controlled. Nor do I wish to go in 
 for any violent measures against the fools ! I do not declare to you that 
 they are the salt of the earth, but they assuredly are the pickle. We can, 
 if need be, put up with them, and if we hang a few of them occasionally, 
 the rest can be employed, if not in honourable, at any rate in useful 
 occupations. Besides, it must be admitted, our planet produces them 
 naturally without waiting much to be asked ! The world, whatever we 
 may say or do, could not succeed in getting rid of them, nor perhaps even 
 in dispensing with them. 
 
 As to the babblers, I should be merciless. They are the vainglorious 
 and criminal authors, the sole and detestable initiators of universal 
 degeneration, and the rain of my fiery bolts would ruthlessly pour down 
 upon their perverse heads. No, such a crew does not deserve to live : 
 nay, this croaking vermin cannot live and let the world live in orderly 
 fasliion by its side. The great flourishing epochs of Humanity were those 
 when such reptiles did not crawl upon the steps of power. Away with 
 them ! 
 
 Would anyone believe that a passage of such honest indigna- 
 tion — against the people, if you please, not against the " ruling 
 classes" — was penned in the middle of that mob-petting 
 nineteenth century? In the midst of the century of revolu- 
 tionary slaves ? In the midst of the era of romanticism, senti- 
 mentality, brutality, eccentricity, and idealism ? Still it was 
 written, written, of course, without reaching the long ears of 
 that democratic age, but written nevertheless for a juster 
 
 Ivi
 
 INTRODUCTION 
 
 posterity — and the passage is found in what should be con- 
 sidered as one of the finest books of Gobineau, a novel pub- 
 lished by him in 1874 in Stockholm, called the Pleiades. 
 
 While the Essay, and that in spite of its good points, will 
 always have to be considered as a youthful production, the 
 man Gobineau comes out best and fully developed in the book 
 of his advanced years, the Pleiades. There is no more dis- 
 cussion here as in the Essay about colour and nobility, Gobineau 
 has modified to a certain extent that scientific idea of his younger 
 days about a fine Aryan race that had fallen readymade from 
 heaven, and was only spoiled by the blood of inferior stocks. 
 The artist has here got the better of the philosopher and his 
 system, and, although the system' was upheld by Gobineau till 
 the end, it does not interfere in the least with this novel. 
 And for this reason some of the Count's dark pessimism has 
 become latent, there is hope in the book, for Gobineau has dis- 
 covered a clearing in the dismal forest of democracy, he has 
 noticed that there is some nobility left on earth in spite of all 
 popular laws, all fine literature, and all " spread of education." 
 True, these higher qualities are only possessed by a very few 
 individuals, who have managed to keep themselves, though 
 with great difficulty, afloat after the universal shipwreck of 
 aristocratic civilisation. But what does it matter ? They are 
 still there ; Gobineau has detected them, he rejoices over the 
 brilliant discovery, and what is more, he gives us in this novel 
 the bright portraits of these men, standing out from the dark 
 background of universal slavery around them. There are men 
 and women to be met here, who, like certain stars in the 
 nocturnal sky, brilliantly outshine the millions of minor luminous 
 bodies around them, men and women of light and brightness, 
 who greet each other with flashing eyes over the heads of their 
 poorer surroundings, men and women, who belong to the 
 greater stars on the human firmament, who belong — hence the 
 title of the book — to the Pleiades. 
 
 In the first pages of the novel we are introduced to some of 
 the Pleiades, three travellers, a Frenchman, a German, and an 
 
 Ivii
 
 INTRODUCTION 
 
 Englishman, who begin their tale with the announcement : 
 " We are three calenders, sons of kings." Gobineau, the 
 admirer of the Orient, is imitating here the tales of " Thousand 
 and One Nights," in whicli the Arabian storyteller regularly 
 begins with, " 1 am the son of a king." These magical words 
 — thus Gobineau explains — indicate that " the hero is endowed 
 with special gifts, with rare qualities, which make him 
 entirely different from the ordinary crowd of people around 
 him." " I am the son of a king," however, Gobineau takes care 
 to add, does not mean that he is really the son of a king, and 
 that his father was not a merchant, artist, soldier, ironmonger, 
 or stationmaster ; it only signifies one thing : " I am' — no matter 
 where I come from — of a generous and courageous tempera- 
 ment, and I am a stranger to most of those influences which 
 generally move and interest other human beings around me. 
 My taste is not that of everybody — I have my own feelings 
 on all subjects ; I do not love or hate according to the leaders 
 and criticism of the papers. The independence of my ideas, 
 the absolute liberty of my opinions, are the certain indications 
 and privileges of my noble origin. . . ." And where do 
 these extraordinary qualities come from ? Through the mouth 
 of one of the other travellers Gobineau gives the answer. 
 " They arise from a sort of mysterious and native combination : 
 it is a union in one individuality, of those noble, or, if you will, 
 divine qualities, which his ancestors long ago possessed to the 
 fullest degree, qualities which the unwholesome and undigni- 
 fied alliances with inferior beings may have suppressed, or 
 may have only disguised for some time, but which nevertheless 
 did not die entirely, but suddenly developed and blossomed out 
 again in these after-born, the sons of the kings." The French 
 traveller adds to this : " Thus there exist in the world of to-day 
 a number of men, women and children, and that in all nations 
 alike, whose personality is composed of the most precious 
 atoms of their most precious ancestors, and who form an 
 aristocracy of perhaps no more than 3,500 people in the whole 
 world." 
 
 Iviii
 
 INTRODUCTION 
 
 But how shall they make themselves heard? How is this 
 aristocracy, submerged and nearly drowned as it is, to rise 
 again to the top? How can they survive in an age like the 
 present ? Are not those few aristocrats, discovered by 
 Gobineau in all classes of the population, much too isolated to 
 be able to withstand the torrent of vulgarity around them? 
 And how can they know one another, how can they hold out 
 a helping hand to one another ? Is not the aristocratic nature 
 by itself adverse to that "combination" and "union" which 
 has rightly become the panacea of all the weak, of all the 
 democrats ? Does it not rather prefer to stand alone ? Does 
 it not even rejoice in standing alone? Is there not a certaui 
 mixture of shyness and pride in the aristocrat, which forbids 
 him to address others, to ask others for help, to complain to 
 others, or even to open his heart to others ? And is the 
 aristocrat's shyness not justified, has he not been taught by 
 hundreds of shameful experiences how he will be misunder- 
 stood, or what is worse, what fine specimens of humanity will 
 understand him or pretend to understand him ? Can he forget 
 that it was the " Swine " that rushed first into Nietzsche's 
 garden? Is he not in his innermost heart sure of the sad 
 fate that he lives in a desert, of the sad fate that he has to 
 live in a desert, and that his only companions there, if not 
 swine, will be asses and camels ? 
 
 Gobineau has an answer to all these questions, he knows a 
 way out of our difficulties, he proves that — though not shirking 
 any of the terrible facts of our wild present-day life — he is 
 able to master this life, he is able to be a true guide through 
 the wilderness of this life. It is through the mouth of the 
 German Prince John Theodor that he gives a lesson to those 
 isolated beings, whose strength among the uncounted numbers 
 of weak people is in danger of becoming broken, or " adapted 
 to the environment " — a lesson, though, which is not a social, 
 a Christian, or an altruistic one. For the German Prince has 
 the audacity to recommend to those aristocrats : " Look after 
 yourself, see that you do not lose yourself, don't trouble about 
 
 lix
 
 INTRODUCTION 
 
 anytliing but the welfare of your own souls." But, perhaps, 
 this after all is a Christian lesson, for is it not likewise one of 
 the imperative demands of the Christian religion to look after 
 one's soul ? And it is this that the Prince recommends : 
 
 I consider the honest man, the man who feels in himself a soul, has more 
 than ever the imperious duty of recoiling back upon liimself. This is 
 pccuharly the work of times such as ours. All that society loses does not 
 disappear, but takes refuge in indi\idual lives. The whole is small, 
 wretched, shameful, repulsive. The isolated being soars up and expands, 
 and, as in Egyptian ruins, in the midst of a heap of rubbish, misshapen 
 and unrecognisable debris, crumbled and shattered buildings, often difficult 
 to restore, there survive and rise up towards heaven some giants, some 
 obehsks, whose height maintains the noblest idea, perhaps an idea superior 
 to what was formerly the temple or the town now razed for ever ; so 
 nowadays men who are isolated, but at the bottom more noteworthy, more 
 deserving of our admiration than were their precursors, help to keep up 
 the notion of what the noblest and loftiest of God's creatures should be 
 
 To work at ourselves, to raise what is good in us, to subdue what 
 
 is evil, to stifle or at least to shelve our worst instincts — this is henceforth 
 our duty, the only duty that is of any avail ! 
 
 There is a Christian rmg about this passage, is there not? 
 Yet it cannot be Christian, and it is not Christian, for the 
 very reason that Gobmeau practised what he preached, which 
 the Christian, at least if there is a shade of healthy instinct 
 left in him, never does. And Gobineau practised what he 
 preached, though he, as an aristocratic writer, as a leader of 
 humanity, had no need to do so, though he had full liberty 
 to claim exceptional rights on account of his exceptional 
 duties. 
 
 It is the duty only of the Christian — as a democrat — to live 
 up to his principles. This duty, however, the Christian care- 
 fully avoids, and all the more carefully, the more of a Christian 
 he is. A Bismarck, who "edits" a foreign telegram, causes 
 a bloody war through it, and with all this humbly goes to 
 Communion ; a Tolstoi, who preaches the abolition of private 
 property, but hands his own over to his wife — who recom- 
 mends strict chastity in his Kreuzer sonata, but begets a 
 child himself a year after its publication— that is Christian, 
 those (and many other discordant celebrities with them), 
 were the true Christians, the great Christians of the nine- 
 
 Ix
 
 INTRODUCTION 
 
 teenth century. But the non-Nazarene noblemen of that 
 time, such as Gobineau and Nietzsche, though at full 
 liberty to live a hypocritical life, never did live it, nor were 
 they obliged to live it, nor could they have lived it, for the 
 purity of their character and intelligence would not have 
 allowed to them what it apparently allows to all pious folk. 
 Not to them was it granted to go through life making conces- 
 sions right and left, not theirs the strength to live a life of con- 
 tradiction and despair, not theirs the weakness never to 
 approach, never to criticise Christian values ; but not theirs 
 either that religion of the Redeemer who apparently redeemeth 
 His faithful servants of any serious thoughts on an unprincipled 
 existence, not theirs the religion of the Comforter, who com- 
 forteth them through all the discomforts of a bad conscience, 
 so that they live honoured and idolised by all human kind to 
 an old age ! 
 
 There is no doubt that Gobineau's life in the midst of these 
 comfortable great and small Christians was not a very enviable 
 one. Nietzsche, as is well-known, went mad over the solitude 
 of such an honest life in the midst of vile and stupid sur- 
 roundings, and of Count Gobineau we know — if we could not 
 read it between the lines of his writings — that he was 
 only too frequently near the abyss of despair. " The principal 
 thought of great minds is not to break," our author used to 
 remark frequently, an opinion doubly significant, in the mouth 
 of such a joyful, witty, spirited companion, such as according 
 to the testimony of all contemporaries, German and French 
 alike. Count Gobineau usually was. In Stockholm, especially, 
 he seems to have suffered. He went there alone, his wife 
 stayed away from the northern climate for reasons of health, 
 and during his whole Sojourn he apparently experienced only 
 little desire to mix with the world at large. His lodgings 
 were in a very quiet, and not even fashionable street, his whole 
 mode of life was so simple that his colleagues of other nations 
 frequently scoffed at it ; the bell outside his chambers is 
 said to have consisted of a hare's foot, and when this was rung, 
 
 Ixi
 
 INTRODUCTION 
 
 the Count's only companion and servant, a Syrian Christian, 
 appeared and asked tlic visitor into a drawing-room, whose 
 furniture was as old-fashioned and "out of season" as the 
 ideas of its proprietor, lionore Michon — this was the name 
 of the servant — became Count Gobineau's dragoman, when 
 ho went to Persia ; he hated Europe as heartily as did his 
 master, but he loved his master more than he hated Europe, 
 and was so devoted to him that he would never leave him 
 afterwards ; he would have gone to the North Pole — so the 
 talk in diplomatic circles ran — if France had stood in need 
 of a representative there and had singled out Gobineau as 
 her Ambassador. Gobineau was likewise heartily attached to 
 him and left the whole management of his modest establish- 
 ment to the tender care of the Syrian, whose principal task 
 was to look after two green parrots. But while ordinary 
 minds are broken or " converted " by such uncongenial 
 surroundings as two parrots and an exotic servant undoubtedly 
 are, the sterner characters, as Gobineau rightly suggests in 
 the Pleiades, are elevated and spurred on by adverse circum- 
 stances, and thus we owe to the solitude of Count Gobineau 
 not only his best novel, but also that other book of his upon 
 which his fame principally rests, the book translated here — 
 The Renaissance. 
 
 It was only natural that the artistic imagination of a 
 Gobineau willingly turned back to that golden time of the 
 post-Christian era, to that only time of the Christian era 
 which was no longer Christian, to that time when Christianity 
 lay vanquished and broken in the very heart of Christianity, 
 in Rome itself ; to the time of the Renaissance. In his pre- 
 dilection for the Italian Revival, Gobineau only proved once 
 Tnore his intimate and genuine relationship to that best school 
 of European thought, to those few eminent poets and critics, 
 who had all hated the Semitic infection around them, who 
 had all abhorred the Christian revolutionary spirit, who had 
 all turned their backs upon the slaves and their clamorous 
 desires for liberty and equality. In the age of the Renaissance 
 
 Ixii
 
 INTRODUCTION 
 
 it had been — so they all saw witli deep envy — their turn ; it 
 was the age of liberty for them, for the best, the intelligent, 
 the daring, the brave, the proud, the beautiful — the age for an 
 enlightened aristocracy of birth and spirit. There was liberty 
 then, because there was no equality, for where there is liberty 
 there can be no equality, and where there is equality there can 
 be no liberty. Liberty is the requirement of the few, equality 
 the wish of the many — and Gobineau's age, having declared 
 for the many, had driven its most valuable, its only useful 
 members into despair, madness, suicide, or at least into 
 isolation. No wonder, those few isolated beings — a Goethe, a 
 Stendhal, a Nietzsche, a Gobineau, and even a Heine — turned 
 their saddened eyes back to the opposite age, to the age of 
 freedom for them, the generous, loving, free-spirited and 
 brave ; to the age, when Kings, Popes and Statesmen were 
 not yet servants of the mob and of the State, but masters of 
 the State, of their own individualities, of their own wishes, and 
 above all had wishes and desires, that corresponded to 
 those of the great artists and writers of their time. Noble 
 Renaissance, to what depth of despair and darkness has the 
 world " progressed " since then ! 
 
 It was left to this late-born son of the Renaissance, this 
 pagan by heart and intelligence, this super-Christian gcntil- 
 homnie — it was left to Gobineau to give us in the following 
 pages a true historical and poetical picture of the Renaissance, 
 such as none of his or our own contemporaries have been able 
 to present to the world. Himself a scholar, a poet, a sculptor, 
 and likewise an ambassador, he was so nearly related to that 
 glorious Italian age and its versatile genius, to a Michael Angelo 
 and a Leonardo da Vinci, that an insight into the period and 
 into the character of its leading spirits came to him naturally 
 and instinctively. And thus here, over the head of four 
 centuries, one lonely but kindred spirit speaks to his equals, 
 to his true and only, but alas, departed brethren. He under- 
 stands them, with their fears and their hopes, their loves and 
 their hatreds, their virtues and their vices — he rightly diagnoses 
 
 Ixiii
 
 INTRUDUCilON 
 
 what ruined them, he rightly divines what had elevated 
 them. Justice itself speaks out of the pages of the book, 
 and that highest kind of justice, an innocent, childlike, 
 a poet's justice, a justice that is high above moral 
 prejudices. The clear and benevolent sun of Gobineau's 
 tliought shines upon weak and strong, upon Christians and 
 Nobles, upon Protestants and Catholics, upon populace and 
 artists, upon saints and criminals alike, and wherever its rays 
 fall, they warm, they adorn, and they enlighten. A man like 
 Luther, with whom Gobineau could hardly have had any 
 s)inpathy, is brought nearer to our understanding, nay, to 
 our heart ; he too, that great destructive spirit, that great 
 unconscious evildoer, could not have acted otherwise. A man 
 like Savonarola, that monster of morality, that Puritan of the 
 renascence, that "Bab" translated into European and 
 Nazarene, is appreciated by our poet, a little too much, one 
 would even think, especially when this moralist is said to have 
 influenced the great Michael Angelo, whose morality was 
 certainly of a different and higher order. And not only the 
 moral and revolutionary heroes, the rebels and the Protestants, 
 open their hearts to the magical key of the Count's genius, 
 but likewise their enemies, the Catholics, the faithful sons of 
 the ancient Church, the opponents and repressors of the 
 Reformation. There is Charles V. and his son, Philip II., 
 stern and unbending both, typical respresentatives of law and 
 order, men, who, though rightly considering the " Calvinistic 
 and Lutheran abomination as a cancer in the flank of the 
 Church," proceed to cure that cancer with fire and iron ; 
 favouring the Jesuitical order, re-establishing the mediaeval 
 inquisition, re-introducing the Christian faith upon the Papal 
 chair, and thus committing more murders and atrocities than 
 that " monster " Caesar Borgia himself. 
 
 And murders and atrocities, which Gobineau in his inner- 
 most heart utterly condemns, for, as he is careful to inform us, 
 these crimes of the Reformation and the counter-Reformation 
 were, compared with those of Caesar Borgia, absolutely sense- 
 
 Ixiv
 
 INTRODUCTION 
 
 less, because they were religious crimes. There is not the 
 slightest doubt that Count Gobineau's sympathies, in spite of his 
 great tolerance and his poetical benevolence towards even the 
 religious people of the period, are entirely on the side of the 
 pagans, of the Popes and their artists, on the side of a 
 Julius II. and Caesar Borgia, of a Machiavelli, and Michael 
 Angelo. Nor is the reason for this far to seek : his book is 
 written in favour of the Master-Morality, and Gobineau's secret 
 endeavour is to throw suspicion upon the prevailing and all- 
 powerful Morality of his good and brave, though neurotic, 
 feminine, and prosaic contemporaries. In a manner that will 
 frighten many readers even to-day, Gobineau's deep, manly 
 persuasion of "one right and duty for me, one right and duty 
 for you" rings out of an audacious scene, that scene, where 
 Pope Alexander VI. defends his son Caesar Borgia before his 
 sister Lucrezia, whose husband, Don Alphonso d'Aragon, 
 Caesar Borgia has just strangled : — 
 
 He is not a monster, my daughter, but a ruler who could not enter his 
 destined sphere but at the price of the most sustained and sometimes the 
 most pitiless effort. Listen to me, Lucrezia, and don't raise your hands 
 to hea\-en. ... I am trjdng to awaken in you what I know to be true, 
 
 clear-cut and powerful sentiments My daughter, you are as 
 
 beautiful as Pride, j'ou are Strength itself ! Hence I will speak to you. 
 . . . Know then that for that kind of persons whom fate summons to 
 dominate others, the ordinary rules of life are reversed and duty becomes 
 quite different. Good and evil are hfted to another, to a higher region, 
 to a different plane. The virtues that may be applauded in an ordinary 
 woman would in you become vices, merely because they would only be 
 sources of error and ruin. Now the great law of this world is, not to do 
 this or that, to avoid one thing and run after another : it is to live, to en- 
 large and develop one's most active and lofty qualities, in such a way 
 that from any sphere we can always hew ourselves out a way to one that 
 is wider, nobler, more elevated. Never forget that. Walk straight on. 
 Do only what pleases you, but only do it, if it likewise serves you. Leave 
 to the small minds, the rabble of underlings, all slackness and scruple. 
 There is only one consideration worthy of you — the elevation of the house 
 of Borgia and yourself. 
 
 But Caesar Borgia failed : the story of his ghastly death 
 
 is vividly told in one of the scenes of the " Renaissance." And, 
 
 with Caesar Borgia, failed the whole of the Renascence : 
 
 through the quarrel between that far nobile fratruin, the 
 
 E Ixv
 
 INTRODUCTION 
 
 Church and the Reformation (of which the less noble was the 
 Reformation), art, life, health, beauty, everything good and 
 noble and great was again banished from the world for 
 centuries. "Thou hast conquered again, O Galilasan!" But 
 hast Thou really conquered ? Hast Thou really succeeded in 
 eradicating out of all human breasts the yearning after some- 
 thing higher, nobler, and stronger, hast thou really extin- 
 guished in all human hearts the desire for joy, for light, for 
 wisdom, and for beauty ? Is the Renascence quite as dead as 
 Thou wishest and as Thou thinkest, Thou humble and pale 
 Galitean, Thou enemy of rosy cheeks and proud necks? 
 No, no, it is not dead, and it was never as dead as 
 Thou hadst hoped and desired, and how little dead it 
 was, is proved by the following beautiful pages of the 
 French nobleman, who rightly lets his Michael Angelo predict 
 an eternal life for that grand age, in spite of Thy triumph and 
 Thy premature exaltation. " We are bequeathing," thus run the 
 last words of the aged Michael Angelo, "We are bequeathing 
 a great legacy, great examples. . . . The earth is richer than 
 it was before our coming. What is to disappear will not 
 disappear altogether. . . . The fields can rest and remain 
 fallow for awhile : the seed is in the clods. The fog may 
 spread and the grey and watery sky become covered with mist 
 and rain, but the sun is above. . . . Who knows what will 
 come again?" 
 
 I know it — and know it for a certainty — a new Renascence. 
 The dawn of this age is upon us : soon the sun of reason 
 will rise again and his first rays will dissipate the fog of 
 superstition and the nightmare of democracy. May the 
 first translation of this truly great book help to prepare the 
 Anglo-Saxon world for this coming new age ! May it find 
 readers worthy of its great ideals! May it give light and 
 strength to those upon whose shoulders the heavy task of 
 leadership may be destined to fall! 
 
 OSCAR LEVY. 
 London, 1913. 
 
 Ixvi
 
 FIRST PART 
 
 SAVONAROLA 
 
 E 3
 
 BOLOGNA. 
 
 1492. 
 
 The garden of the monastery of the Fathers of St. Dominic. Midnight. 
 The sky is clear, cloudless and deep ; the stars sparkle ; the moonlight 
 penetrates even under the archways of the square cloisters, surround- 
 ing the space planted with great trees and fragrant plants. On the 
 moonht walls are fresco paintings ; red robes and blue cloaks, pallid 
 faces, clasped hands ; aureoled heads of saints, men-saints and women- 
 saints, all radiant with happiness. In the midst of the courtyard, 
 on a flight of five or six stone steps, a marble crucifix, fashioned in 
 thirteenth-century style, portraying on the arms of the crucifix the 
 witnesses of the crucifixion. Around this cross, a broad avenue where 
 the Prior of the monastery is walking ; on his right, Fra Girolamo 
 Savonarola ; at the latter 's side, Fra Silvestre Marufh. 
 
 FRA GIROLAMO : Yes ! The time has come. The hour 
 strikes ! Now or never is the moment to raise on high the 
 Word of God and spread it throughout the world. Darkness 
 retreats. Light is re-born, and casts upon ancient error the 
 full force of its damning ray. How many demons are at work 
 about our misfortunes ! How they stir the fire ! How they 
 fan the flame that seeks escape ! We must repel them ! We 
 must make the present age less shameful than its precursor ! 
 We must shake men up from the somnolence of their fore- 
 fathers, but not to put in its place the awakening of evil ! We 
 must illumine the nations — guide them — lead them- — drive 
 them ! " Ah, brother," you will say, " how would an abortion 
 such as you be capable of a task like that ? " You have read 
 of David, and know the deeds of that wretched shepherd ? 
 THE PRIOR: No doubt! But what voice from on high 
 summons you to so lofty an undertaking ? 
 FRA GIROLAMO : God is speaking to me, God impels me! 
 The conviction that throttles me, the transports that I feel 
 cannot deceive me ! 
 
 FRA SILVESTRE: It is true! He is right! His learning, 
 his eloquence, his virtue, are not these all signs? Where do 
 you hope to find signs more striking? Is he not boimd to 
 make use of his gifts ? 
 
 THE PRIOR: I deny nothing. But why such vehemence? 
 Can we not go forward with measured step ? What is it, after
 
 THE RENAISSANCE 
 
 all, that you claim, Era Girolamo? If I take your meaning 
 aright, it is nothing less than to reform the Church and to lead 
 back high and low alike to the keeping of the Gospel's laws. 
 Do )-ou look on that task as easy ? Do you forgot that the 
 doctors and the councils have but lately foundered on this 
 very rock, not to mention the fact that we live under the 
 crozier of Alexander VI. ? What a moment you are about to 
 choose, great God ! for speaking to the world of self-restraint ! 
 ERA GIROLAMO: God knows not "a moment"— all 
 moments are His ! I tell you once more : the hour has struck, 
 it is time to act ! All is changing in our present epoch, already 
 so different from the ages that have gone before ; all is in froth 
 and ferment ; from a fresh centre, with a fresh horizon, will the 
 universe henceforth unfold to us its sights. It will make for 
 good if religion raises the cross ; it will make for evil if the 
 ever-active efforts of the wicked uproot and overthrow this 
 tree of shelter. See you not what is coming to pass ? Counter- 
 feit sages are rising up and tearing from the walls the musty 
 and worn-out tapestry that delighted former ages. Italy is 
 full to bursting of unbridled adventurers, of upstart princes, 
 of hireling soldiers, of tyrants of cities, despots of castles, rebel 
 peasants, quarrelsome burgesses, and all inheritances great and 
 small are the prey of this rabble, joined by the wolves that 
 come to us in packs from Spain and Erance. And for all that, 
 in the midst of these disasters, see what is happening! The 
 nations are awakening ; they rub their eyes ; for their morn- 
 ing meal these famished creatures demand liberty and peace ; 
 liberty, I tell you, and above all the peace and the justice 
 whereof their fathers never knew or tasted the savour. And 
 I, I call to them : "Ask, above all, for faith ! " Without faith, 
 the rest is tasteless and turns to poison. But faith, where is it ? 
 Where shall we find its source again ? The clergy reck naught 
 of it. . . . The cardinals rend it. . . . The Pope. . . ah, the 
 Pope ! . . . I will not tell you what he is, you know too well ! 
 If we do not take care, there will issue from our unhappy 
 Church overgrown with brambles, from our rotting doctrines.
 
 SAVONAROLA 
 
 from our decaying disciplines, the hideous heads of heresies, 
 hissing from the tips of their forked tongues the excuses, the 
 pretexts furnished them by these abominable doctrines, and 
 turning them to venom. Do you mark them, these monsters 
 seeking their quarry throughout the kingdoms of Christendom ? 
 And they have only too powerful an aid in those other vipers, 
 the scholars, drunk witli the pride of having learnt to read in 
 the new-found books of Greece and Rome. Do you not hear 
 what counsellors they offer us, to take the place of the great 
 doctors of theology ? Plato, Seneca, the wretched Martial, 
 the obscene Ovid, the impure Anacreon, a Lucan, a Petronius, 
 a Statius, a Bion, an Apuleius, a Catullus. Every day you 
 may see old greybeards, mad as the foolishest of youths, 
 uttering these cries witli a shameful enthusiasm and putting 
 forward a page of Cicero as preferable to the holiest verses of 
 our Gospels ! Are these dangerous attacks enough, threats 
 enough for the balance of men's consciences ? No ! The 
 brush comes to join the pen, and with the brush the chisel 
 and the engraver's tool, to reveal the new world to the eyes 
 of a crowd amazed with infamous novelties. Yes, I say, all 
 the senses of mind and heart are set in motion, stirred up, 
 tickled by Satan ; and if we must defend ourselves, it is high 
 time to think of defence. Have you never heard tell of what 
 they call " love of art " — v/hich is really nothing but the 
 shameful appetite for vice ? This abomination has crept into 
 our Churches, which have thus become, what .■' — synagogues of 
 the Devil ! A Magdalen, a Sebastian, are only pretexts for 
 unveiling the human form as shamelessly as Apollo and Venus. 
 And I, I, who see and touch and feel and understand the 
 horror of these degradations, I whose soul rises to furious 
 disgust, yes, to the holy rage of indignation for the Cross, do 
 you expect me to let these foulnesses heap their filth upon 
 hapless humanity, without setting my life as a barrier against 
 such an invasion? No! a thousand times no! I shall not 
 remain inactive before such a levy of the forces of the arch- 
 fiend ! I shall defend the world ! I shall defend the age in 
 
 5
 
 THE RENAISSANCE 
 
 which 1 hvc! 1 sluiU forge the wcapuns of the future and 
 try to put them in its hand ! The century that is opening 
 will march on, regenerated, towards the endless waves of 
 eternity, engulfuig for ever the unsightly ruins of evil and of 
 its debaucheries ! 
 
 THE PRIOR : Then, to repeat it all in cool and sober 
 language, you declare war against all the powers of the earth ? 
 War against the will of the Church, war against the manners 
 of princes, war against the weakness, the indifference, the 
 caprice of all ? That is what you intend to do ? 
 FRA GIROLAMO: I intend to do it, I will do it! If it 
 means death to me, why not ? . . . Are my bones worth 
 sparing? . . . But if I succeed, and if, even when I am 
 execrated, disgraced, crushed, dead, Italy, our Italy owes me a 
 shining faith, a valiant freedom, a joyful virtue, what ground 
 will you have for pity? 
 
 THE PRIOR : None. Where do you begin your preaching? 
 At Venice ? 
 
 FRA GIROLAMO : Venice is gagged by worldly wisdom. 
 She will be the last to come to our side. 
 THE PRIOR: At Rome.? 
 
 FRA GIROLAMO : Rome is the pillar of salvation submerged 
 in a sea of pestilence. Butat Florence men can act. The death 
 of Lorenzo de' Medici leaves me a free field ; he would have 
 prevented everything, for he was a pagan ; but the authority 
 of his son Piero is sapped at its roots. The masses and the 
 nobles have suffered ; they know at least how to talk of equity 
 and morals, they have some idea of independence . . . they 
 think, and although they are not worth much, still with them 
 it is possible to attempt reform. Besides, at Florence the 
 people loves me, it listens to me — I am expected. 
 THE PRIOR : Go then, brother ; you have my blessing. . . . 
 Embrace me, both of you. You are about to put into action 
 that which I sometimes dreamed, in days gone by, in my 
 youth, and which seems to me very difficult. . . . Perhaps you 
 are right. ... I feel a deep sadness come over me.
 
 SAVONAROLA 
 
 FRA GIROLAMO : I am filled with a boundless hope. You 
 
 follow me, then, Fra Silvestre ? 
 
 FRA SILVESTRE : In death as in life. I will never leave 
 
 your side. 
 
 FRxA. GIROLAMO : Come then ! Open the door. How the 
 
 countryside widens out before our gaze! It is the image of 
 
 the task we are about to undertake. Do you not see anyone 
 
 on that white road where our steps will take us? It is all lit 
 
 up by the rays of the moon, and stretches far in the direction 
 
 of Florence. 
 
 FRA SILVESTRE : No, Girolamo, I see no one ! 
 
 FRA GIROLAMO : WeW, as for me, I clearly discern the 
 
 features of two great faces ! 
 
 FRA SILVESTRE: Where, pray, brother? 
 
 FRA GIROLAMO: There! Look again! They are Faith 
 
 in God and Our Country! Forward, Fra Silvestre, forward! 
 
 After the two monks have passed the garden gate and the Prior has 
 shut it again, two men dressed in shabby garb, their breasts un- 
 covered, their hair curly and dishevelled, their faces mean, appear 
 behind an embrasure of the wall. 
 
 FIRST ROBBER: Coward! 
 
 SECOND ROBBER: Fool! Do you not see that they are 
 two ? 
 
 FIRST ROBBER: Well, what of that? 
 SECOND ROBBER : In our trade we should always be at 
 least two to one. 
 
 FIRST ROBBER : Bah ! I should have dealt a good knife- 
 thrust to the taller of them ; as to the shorter, a blow of the 
 fist would have been enough to make him roll like a ninepin. 
 So there are two excellent robes of wool lost to us. It's out 
 of the question to prosper with poltroons of your kidney ! 
 SECOND ROBBER: Let us go and drink a dram at Ruddy- 
 locks' ; perhaps the night will bring us a better opportunity.
 
 Tlir. RENAISSANCE 
 
 MILAN. 
 1494. 
 A hall in the palace. — Ludovico Sfurza, regent of the Milanese, is seated 
 bclore a great table covered with a cloth of red velvet worked with 
 patterns of gold, silver and colours. He is dressed in black satin, 
 set olf with embroideries of jet, and wears at his waist a richly inlaid 
 dagger. He toj's with his glove. Around him are seated Antonio 
 Cornazano, author of the poem on the art of war ; Giovanni Achillini, 
 antiquary, poet, Hellenist and musician ; Gaspardo Visconti, famed for 
 his sonnets and considered by his contemporaries the equal of Petrarch ; 
 Bernardino Luini, painter ; Lionardo da Vinci. 
 
 LUDOVICO: Well! this time, Master Lionardo, have you 
 come back for good ? 
 
 LIONARDO : Sire, I do not deserve such severity. Your 
 highness knows well that I am devoted to your service. 
 LUDOVICO : Yes, at the moment you make me the finest 
 protestations in the world, I admit ; and, weary of Florence, 
 disgusted by the fanatical preachings of Fra Girolamo 
 Savonarola, angered at the enthusiasm they arouse, you are 
 ready (so you write me) to invent me cannon, pieces of artillery, 
 machines of every kind, to build me bridges, to trace the plan 
 of our forts, to dig canals, and finally to beautify our cities 
 by palaces and churches, by statues and paintings. I know 
 quite well that you are capable of doing everything ; but can 
 you also check your wayward temper ? How many times have 
 you changed your opinions and your friendships ! These are 
 not reproaches, my dear Lionardo, but frankly, you are as 
 fickle as a froward girl. 
 
 LIONARDO (shaking his head) : I cannot help smiling at 
 the affectionate charges of Your Highness, for, say what you 
 will, they still remain charges, and I confess that appear- 
 ances are all against me. Yet no, I am not fickle ! I should 
 perhaps have spent my whole hfe at Florence, but there is so 
 much to see in the world, so much to learn ! If I had dwelt all 
 the time in the same place, I should perhaps lack two-thirds 
 of the knowledge I have gained, and nevertheless I have not 
 reached the hundredth part of all that I wish to learn. 
 ANTONIO CORNAZANO : Perhaps it would be better for 
 you. Master Lionardo, to give yourself up to a single pursuit, 
 
 8
 
 SAVONAROLA 
 
 rather than to follow interests so many and so diverse. For 
 example, you are an admirable painter — why seek your glory 
 elsewhere ? 
 
 LIONARDO : You talk like Bernardino. 
 BERNARDINO LUINI : Ah, master, if you would only 
 consent to finish the pictures you begin ! What happiness for 
 me, your pupil ! What lessons ! 
 
 LIONARDO : None the less, I could not renounce geometry 
 or mathematics. 
 
 GASPARDO VISCONTI : You had far better increase the 
 number of your poems and of your charming musical com- 
 positions. Fall in love only with the theorbo invented by 
 you! 
 
 LIONARDO: I shall return to it and perfect it. Music is 
 new in its first infancy, and will take a long time to grow up. 
 It is not music that is the subject of interest at present. 
 ACHILLINI : Is it the treatise on optics ? 
 LIONARDO : Not even that. 
 
 LUINI : Then it is anatomy. In that study at least there is 
 material for the painter. 
 
 LIONARDO : Anatomy is a fascinating science. But I am 
 above all troubled because they refused at Florence to adopt 
 my plan for the canal to Pisa. The greatest advantages would 
 have resulted from it ; and if I have come here, it is because in 
 default of this rejected scheme you will perhaps allow me to 
 persuade you to put an end to the floods from which the 
 peasants suffer so much along the valleys of Chiavenna and 
 Valtelino. I have brought my plans. 
 
 LUDOVICO : Master Lionardo, to a man like you we must 
 allow all freedom to create at his own sweet will, for he could 
 not produce results other than admirable. But I know before- 
 hand that a whim will seize you, and that you will leave me 
 once more. You are admired and summoned by every prince. 
 Lorenzo the Magnificent did all he could to retain you in the 
 midst of the illustrious men he kept about him. He is dead, 
 and that means one competitor the less ; but the Gonfalonier
 
 THE RENAISSANCE 
 
 Soderini only lei you go with great difliculty ; Galeazzo 
 Bcntivoglio makes the most lavish offers to attract you to 
 Bologna, and 1 am not unaware that the Duke of Valentinois 
 has appointed you his chief engineer and architect. You will 
 end by letting yourself be drawn away. 
 
 LIONARDO: 1 think not, sire, so long as I enjoy your 
 bounties, for you have the greatest feeling for the arts of any 
 prince in Italy. An admirable poet yourself, you understand 
 the genius of poets ; men are happy at your Court, they can 
 talk with you, they are understood by you, and the largesses 
 of your rich intellect are to me a hundred times more precious 
 than the gilded favours of the wealthiest purses. I will remain 
 as long as you desire. 
 
 LUDOVICO : O, my friends, how sweet and beautiful would 
 life be if we could see it glide like a river of paradise between 
 the verdant and fruitful banks of science and art ! But you 
 all know how different reality is from so glorious a fiction, 
 and what must be undergone by the unfortunate men ordained 
 by Heaven to govern the nations ! I never feel a joy truly 
 unalloyed save in the too brief moments when I am alone in 
 your company ! 
 
 LIONARDO : It is a great misfortune that, instead of being 
 our reigning duke, you are only the temporary regent of the 
 State. We live in an age that has need of men to lead the 
 nations, and Lord Galeazzo, with his weak health and his 
 scanty intelligence, is nothing but a downright child. I crave 
 your pardon if I speak so openly, but I am only repeating 
 before you what everyone says aloud, when you are not there, 
 and that, too, all over the Milanese and in all Italy. 
 VISCONTI : That is the precise truth. What a misfortune 
 to be governed at this moment by so great a prince, who is 
 condemned soon to abandon us to all the hazards of inex- 
 perience and weakness ! 
 
 LUDOVICO : Your words afflict me sorely, friends. I love 
 my nephew Galeazzo ; I love his wife, the Duchess Isabella, 
 and I only seek means of serving them ; albeit — I cannot hide 
 
 10
 
 SAVONAROLA 
 
 it from myself, it is no precious metal that went to the making 
 of my ward. God guard us from the misfortunes which the 
 young man's lack of ability forebodes to our house ! 
 ANTONIO CORNAZANO: Sire, I served a long while 
 under the noble and valorous Lord Bartolommeo Colleone, 
 and I have seen many governments made and unmade. If I 
 misread not the signs of the times, the Duchy has more need 
 than ever to be defended by a manly spirit and held by a 
 strong hand. 
 
 LUDOVICO : You see aright. Lord Antonio; I recognise in 
 your speech the tried warrior, the dexterous statesman, no less 
 than the scholar and the man of letters. My friends, with you 
 I can talk freely of the great matters that engage our atten- 
 tion ; besides, there are no longer any secrets here. 
 LIONARDO : You are about to reveal to us one that is 
 very great, sire, and that alone interests me more than all 
 others : that is, to show us the way in which noble and 
 courageous souls perceive, represent, judge and hope to guide 
 the destinies of empires. 
 
 LUDOVICO : Listen to me then, philosopher, since the 
 movements of the human soul are to you so important, and 
 look at me, painter, if you wish to gaze upon a man of resolu- 
 tion. You know that two years ago Pope Alexander VI. 
 assumed the Papal tiara. He whom men called Cardinal 
 Roderigo Borgia thus became the head of the Church. You 
 all lower your headb with a troubled air ? I can well imagine 
 that ; but I know the Pope, I know him through and through, 
 and I will tell you this : he is a man gifted with lofty wisdom, 
 foresight and penetration. His eloquence, when occasion 
 demands, is as irresistible as is his art of gripping the minds 
 of men and bending them to his purpose. As to his inflexible 
 perseverance, it is that of a god, and by virtue of this quality, 
 the most dangerous in an opponent, he is in almost all 
 encounters assured of success. There is a man with whom the 
 universe must reckon, and we all know that, when armed for 
 war and supremacy, he knows no faith, no law, no religion, 
 
 II
 
 THE RENAISSANCE 
 
 no scruple, no mercy, and has but one interest in the world, 
 that of the house of Borgia as represented by his children. 
 He is a marvellous being. Up to now he has succeeded every- 
 where, in spite of being known for what he is. Hence all the 
 real statesmen of the College of Cardinals, feeling themselves 
 to be in great danger, have had recourse to the only means of 
 safety that remained : they have taken to fliglit. Giuliano della 
 Rovere stays in his episcopal city of Ostia, surrounded by 
 fortifications and troops ; Giovanni Colonna thinks himself 
 secure only in Sicily. Giovanni de' Medici is in Florence. 
 For my part I confess that I am as much afraid of the man 
 as are the Cardinals themselves. I know that his son, the 
 Duke of Valentinois, would fain destroy us and deprive us of 
 the Milanese ; I know that the family has allied itself to the 
 Aragonese, my enemies; I know that Piero de' Medici is 
 arraying his Florentines against me ; I know that from Venice 
 I can expect nothing, save to be eaten up in the event of my 
 growing weak. In this situation, it has seemed to me profit- 
 able to determine first of all where I should look for my most 
 formidable adversaries. There is no possibility of mistake 
 about that — they are the Aragonese and the Florentines. 
 They will attack me in the open field the very first day, hence 
 it is towards them that I must look first. In doing so, I have 
 observed, not for the first time in my life, that every condition 
 that seems at its worst is not so bad as it looks, and that 
 in analysing it with care we can extract a health-giving 
 substance from the direst poison. Thus I found that 
 Alexander VI. was, with regard to Ferdinand of Naples and 
 the Medici, in precisely the same position as I. I accordingly 
 sent my brother, Cardinal Ascanio Sforza, to the Sovereign 
 Pontiff, and we have formed an alliance. At the same time 
 I approached the Venetians, who are no better disposed 
 than he to the house of Aragon, and in this way I 
 have been able to counterbalance the Florentines by Venice 
 and the Aragonese by the Pope. At bottom it is but a frail 
 and temporary scaffolding, a cardboard structure which will 
 
 12
 
 SAVONAROLA 
 
 topple or catch fire, and in face of this evidence and of the 
 urgent necessity of guarding myself carefully against my 
 allies, I have addressed the King of France. I have per- 
 suaded him, as heir of the house of Anjou, to claim Naples. 
 He has added the plan of dethroning Alexander and 
 declaring him unworthy of the tiara — a plan which leads me 
 to hope that for the moment, at any rate, he will not come to 
 an understanding with the Pope. Charles VIII. has crossed 
 the mountains, he is marching on Florence ; later on we shall 
 have to think how to send him back ; but for the present 
 consider, and tell me if my nephew Galeazzo is the man to 
 understand and guide aright combinations so delicate and yet 
 so necessary. 
 
 LIONARDO: Assuredly not! But the mind of one such 
 as you, sire, what a powerful creation of the most holy 
 profundity of the mind of God! 
 
 VISCONTI : It is as certain that Duke Ludovico is made for 
 the crown as that the crown will come of its own accord to 
 place itself on his head. 
 
 A GENTLEMAN-IN-WAITING : Sire, I have come from 
 Rome at full gallop. I had orders not to delay for one instant. 
 Here is the dispatch which my most reverend lord, the Cardinal 
 Ascanio, commands me to deliver to you. 
 LUDOVICO : Give it me. Let us see what my brother 
 writes. 
 
 He goes to a window, reads the dispatch, and comes back smiling. 
 
 Since you are so fond of learning things, Master Lionardo, 
 listen to this : My ally, the Holy Father, has come to an 
 understanding with the Aragonese. The hand of Dofia Sancia 
 of Aragon, who is seventeen, is given to his son, Goffredo 
 Borgia, who is thirteen. Alexander is satisfied, as indeed he 
 should be. 
 
 LIONARDO : That confounds your plans, sire. 
 LUDOVICO : Not in the least. I had played my pawn 
 before the Pope touched his. The French are marching on 
 
 13
 
 THE RENAISSANCE 
 
 Florence, I tell you, and \vc nuisl all get into the saddle at 
 once, as we are, to go to Chiara before the King. I will leave 
 you and go and ask Madam Beatrice, my wife, to make haste, 
 she and the fair ladies whom we are taking. The French love 
 this kind of meeting and the games that follow. Go, my lords, 
 put on your richest habits, you will take my horses and I will 
 present you to Charles VIII. 
 ACIIILLINI : We shall be greatly honoured. 
 
 FLORENCE. 
 
 The court of Luigi de' Buonarotti's little house. A roof of beams in a 
 corner, under which Michael Angelo is working at a statue of Hercules 
 twenty-four feet high. On an upturned wash tub is seated Luigi, 
 his father, his arms crossed and his face troubled. 
 
 LUIGI : You are now twenty-two ; by my reckoning you 
 should bear yourself at that age like a man. But you are and 
 always will be nothing but a child, useless to yourself and 
 to others. 
 
 MICHAEL ANGELO : I work as much as I can and deserve 
 no hard words. 
 
 LUIGI : Since the death of Lorenzo the Magnificent, what I 
 had foreseen has come about. You earn nothing. . . . 
 Heavens ! Are you crying again ? 
 
 MICHAEL ANGELO (wiping his eyes): I cannot think 
 without sorrow of my benefactor, to whom I owe so much. 
 LUIGI : If that man had not made your head swell, you would 
 have obeyed me and would be better off. Instead of enrolling 
 yourself among those idle artis't fellows and disgracing your- 
 self, yourself and the honour of your family, by following the 
 stonemason's trade, you would now be in the silk business, 
 and I should not see you always covered with plaster and your 
 hands m the mud. 
 
 MICHAEL ANGELO : When my deceased master had the 
 kindness to admit me to the sculptor's workshop in his gardens 
 of San Marco with Francesco Granacci, he allowed me five 
 
 H
 
 SAVONAROLA 
 
 ducats a month, and he always paid handsomely for what I 
 did. What is more, it is out of consideration for me that you 
 have obtained that post in the Customs w^hich gives bread to 
 you and all the family, 
 
 LUIGI : Besides, your comrade Torrigiani, in his frenzy at 
 seeing you too clever, bruised your face all over, you forget 
 that. That is the glorious advantage you have gained from 
 Lorenzo the Magnificent! I'm sorry for you. 
 MICHAEL ANGELO : For good or evil, I am what I am. 
 You don't intend to put me to-day into apprenticeship with a 
 weaver ? 
 
 LUIGI : Well, that would be the best thing to do. It's plain 
 that the Medici will not order any more pictures or statues 
 from you. Duke Piero is not like his predecessor, and what 
 will become of you ? 
 
 MICHAEL ANGELO : Duke Piero does not treat me badly. 
 Only yesterday evening he asked my advice about an antique 
 cornelian which has been offered him for sale. 
 LUIGI : And he has even made you fashion a statue of snow. 
 A noble task! Honourable, forsooth! The man uses you 
 as one uses a buffoon. The first fine day he'll abandon you 
 to the spite of those daubers of canvas in the midst of whom 
 you have chosen to live. I tell you once more that 1 do not 
 approve of your great friendship with that Francesco Granacci ; 
 he is a scamp. I am still more annoyed at your frequenting 
 the company of young Niccolo Machiavelli. It is true, he is 
 of good birth, I don't deny it, but they say he has no morals, 
 and he has got married to Marietta at an age when he ought 
 to think of nothing but making his way. He only busies 
 himself with the ancient Romans! Then, too, he is without 
 means, and very soon he'll want to borrow money from you, 
 if he has not done so already. Has he tried yet? 
 MICHAEL ANGELO: You know that I give you all that 
 I earn. 
 
 LUIGI: Can I guess what you put aside? But we'll leave 
 '' .5
 
 THE RENAISSANCE 
 
 that vexed question. 1 doii'l like Alachiavelli ; 1 think he is 
 
 conspiring against the government of Duke Piero. . . . Not 
 
 that I trouble much about the Medici. They are ahvays on 
 
 the point of being driven out, and decidedly we are sick of 
 
 them. I am quite aware also that worthy Fra Girolamo favours 
 
 government by the people, and God forbid that I should 
 
 oppose Fra Girolamo's views! But I do not care for a man's 
 
 meddling with affairs of State when he's a misbegotten 
 
 creature like that Machiavelli. What do you and he do 
 
 together ? What do you talk about ? He will draw you into 
 
 some piece of foolishness. Just tell me what plots you hatch 
 
 when you go out together. 
 
 Michael Angelo lays lus tools on the seat and sits on the bench, his 
 head in his hands. 
 
 What is the matter with you ? Are you ill ? 
 
 MICHAEL ANGELO : ! have a bad headache. 
 
 LUIGI : It's idleness that makes you ill. If you worked at 
 
 something useful you would feel well. 
 
 Enter Niccol6 Machiavelli 
 
 MACHIAVELLI : Messer Ludovico, I greet you in all 
 
 humility. Good morning, Michael Angelo. 
 
 LUIGI : I am busy, I have to go out, sir — and as for you, 
 
 Michael Angelo, remember that you are working there at a 
 
 task that admits of no slackening, and that you have no time 
 
 to chat. God guard you, Messer Niccolo. 
 
 Exit. 
 
 MACHIAVELLI : Ah ! my friend, I have come to tell you 
 
 quickly what it is that fills my soul with joy. The French 
 
 will be here in a few hours. 
 
 MICHAEL ANGELO : As friends ? As enemies ? 
 
 MACHIAVELLI : Nothing is known. Negotiations are 
 
 being carried on ; if friendship cannot be established, we shall 
 
 resist like men and defend our countr}^ But there's more to 
 
 come ! Piero de' Medici commits nothing but follies. Fra 
 
 Girolamo has come over to our way of thinking, and is joining 
 
 the popular party, so that the coming of the French will cause 
 
 the fall of that haughty house whose pride stifles our liberties. 
 
 i6
 
 SAVONAROLA 
 
 MICHAEL ANGELO : I owe everything to the father, and 
 will not be reckoned among the foes of the children. 
 MACHIAVELLI : You have a heart ; but remember that the 
 interests of your country come before your own. All is in 
 ferment ; the water is hot, burning, boiling. The whole 
 people is working itself into a frenzy. Ah, Michael Angelo! 
 what a glorious moment ! I am going to see liberty, settled 
 order, wise government elsewhere than in the dead pages of 
 old books and in the abstractions of my dreams ! Every man 
 worthy of the name in Florence is on our side : Soderini, 
 Valori, Vespuccio, Marsilio Ficino, the scholars, the artists, all 
 devotees of high thinking, all well-wishers towards mankind ! 
 MICHAEL ANGELO : I am not on your side. I will have 
 none of you. The Medici are my patrons, and it is not to 
 my liking that Era Girolamo, instead of continuing to preach 
 virtue to us as of old, meddles with politics. 
 MACHIAVELLI : His meddling is to a good purpose, and 
 when we can act, we must. Action alone is worthy of a man. 
 MICHAEL ANGELO : Come into my room. I have to dress 
 and pack up my things. 
 
 MACHIAVELLI : Where are you going, then? 
 MICHAEL ANGELO : To Bologna, to see Duke Galeazzo 
 Bentivoglio ; and if I am not well received at Bologna, I shall 
 go to Venice. I shall not remain in the midst of this turmoil ; 
 one cannot work in it ; besides, I have other reasons. It is 
 impossible for me any longer to endure. . . Well, come ! You 
 shall lead me up to the town gate. 
 
 MACHIAVELLI : Before that I'll prove to you that you are 
 wrong. Listen ! 
 
 MICHAEL ANGELO : Talk as much as you like ; my mind 
 i& made up. 
 
 He goes back into the house. 
 
 F 2 j;
 
 THE RENAISSANCE 
 
 PIACENZA. 
 
 A palace serving as residence to King Charles VIII. An ante-chamber. 
 Two French captains. 
 
 FIRST CAPTAIN : Is it you, comrade ? Ah, let me embrace 
 you! 
 
 SECOND CAPTAIN : You are welcome. How well you 
 look! Egad, what health! 
 
 FIRST CAPTAIN : Ay, on my honour, we lead a fine life! 
 Where do you hail from? 
 
 SECOND CAPTAIN : Straight from Lyons. I bring you 
 twenty-five lancers fully-armed. It cost me dear to raise them ! 
 Picked men all ! 
 
 FIRST CAPTAIN : You will find a hundred and one oppor- 
 tunities of recouping yourself. Do you know that all is going 
 wonderfully well ? 
 
 SECOND CAPTAIN : Tell me something of your fortunes. 
 FIRST CAPTAIN: You haven't heard? Everything is 
 going splendidly! At Turin we were received with open 
 arms ; and there, after a deal of festivities, we borrowed the 
 diamonds and jewellery of the Duchess Bianca. She frowned 
 a trifle at first, but we pawned the lot. 
 SECOND CAPTAIN : What fun you must have had. 
 FIRST CAPTAIN: There's twelve hundred good ducats 
 earned. At Casale, the Marchioness of Montferrat gave us a 
 ball — silly creature ! and also showed us her jewels. The same 
 as at Turin : we had a raffle. 
 
 SECOND CAPTAIN : So this country is a real paradise 
 and a promised land ? 
 
 FIRST CAPTAIN : My oath upon it ! What is more, we are 
 well-established at Genoa, and the Milanese troops give us a 
 helping hand. The Swiss, it is true, have sacked the city of 
 Rapallo, inconsiderately, perhaps ; they might have plundered 
 less completely and avoided killing everyone ; but, in general, 
 the result has been good. The Duke d'Aubigny apprises us 
 from the Romagna that the Neapolitans are showing the white 
 feather and retreating before him When we have reached 
 
 i8
 
 To face fiage i8 
 
 Kl.\(. CIIARLKS Mil. OK FRANCE
 
 SAVONAROLA 
 
 Asti, Duke Galeazzo's uncle came to meet us with his sister 
 
 Beatrice, and I'll whisper in your ear that he presented to 
 
 the King a number of Milanese ladies who, on my honour, 
 
 have given us most excellent entertainment. 
 
 SECOND Cx\PTAIN : You make my mouth water. A pity 
 
 that I did not come sooner ! 
 
 FIRST CAPTAIN : There'll be no lack of chances. Hush ! 
 
 here is the King. 
 
 Enter Charles VIII., small, feeble, but haughty of expression ; he is pale 
 and worn in consequence of the illness caught a few days before 
 at Asti, from which he nearly died. In his retinue, several officers, 
 Philip de Commines, Lord d'Argenton ; Lords de Bonneval, de 
 Chatillon, both great favourites of the King ; the physician Teodoro 
 of Pavia. 
 
 THE KING : You say, Teodoro, that Galeazzo has just died, 
 
 and that the cause of this sudden death is not clear. 
 
 TEODORO : On the contrary, sire, I fear it is only too clear. 
 
 There was poison. 
 
 THE KING : Ludovico the Moor* goes too far. What has 
 
 he done with the Duchess Isabella and his nephew's children ? 
 
 TEODORO : They are locked up in a dark and somewhat 
 
 unhealthy chamber. 
 
 THE KING : I am sorry for that — but I have other matters 
 
 to think of. This Ludovico would be capable of poisoning 
 
 me myself, in spite of his fine show of friendship. M. D'Urfe 
 
 writes that to me. I do not know why I remain in Italy. I am 
 
 advised to return home, and perhaps that were my best course. 
 
 This country holds nothing but traitors. 
 
 DE BONNIVAL: Still, there are the Medici, especially 
 
 Cardinal Giovanni, strongly urging us not to desert their cause. 
 
 DE COMMINES : It is only natural that those Medici should 
 
 have little scruple about making the King fish in troubled 
 
 waters ; they are bent on returning to their city and taking 
 
 vengeance. 
 
 DE CHATILLON: Those Florentines! Lunatics, counselled 
 
 • ' The Moor,' a name given to Ludovico Sforza on account of his 
 swarthy countenance. 
 
 19
 
 THE RENAISSANCE 
 
 by a monk named Girolamo. A strange fellow ! And their 
 
 prince, a coward, a man of straw, brow-beaten and gagged by 
 
 Gino Capponi and all the enemies of his house, before whom 
 
 he can only tremble ! I cannot hear his name even without 
 
 feeling a desire to spit on him. (Laughter.) He is incapable 
 
 of recognising the benefits showered on him by your Royal 
 
 house ! 
 
 THE KING : I have been told that my ancestor Charlemagne 
 
 and his twelve peers built Florence ; is it true ? 
 
 DE COMMINES : If they did not exactly build it, at any rate 
 
 they helped it to emerge from its ruins. 
 
 THE KING : Then the Florentines are my subjects ; they 
 
 are rebels ; my knightly vow compels me to chastise them, 
 
 and I shall carry it out with a vengeance. 
 
 DE COMMINES: It would be more politic to guide these 
 
 people to better sentiments than to estrange them from us. 
 
 Since your Alajesty has decided to go to Naples by way of 
 
 Tuscany, we must keep the road behind us open. 
 
 DE BONNEVAL : The Lord d'Argenton always seems to 
 
 think that we might be defeated. 
 
 THE KING : It is true. You have not a generous spirit, my 
 
 Lord — you are like my father. 
 
 DE COMMINES : He was a great prince, and exceedingly 
 
 shrewd. 
 
 DE CHATILLON (very loud) : The King has not invaded 
 
 Italy to play the pedant, but rather to display to the world his 
 
 valour, and astonish it by mighty feats of arms. 
 
 THE KING : I need no other models than the famous Gawain, 
 
 Lancelot and Rinaldo, who performed such noble exploits. 
 
 With God to aid me, I hope to do likewise ! 
 
 DE CHATILLON : That's the v/ay to talk ! What is the 
 
 use of being a valiant knight and redoubtable conqueror if one 
 
 stops to reflect, to weigh, to balance, in a word, to play the 
 
 fox ? 'Zounds, we shall go everywhere, everywhere ! On our 
 
 heads and our bellies ! With great sword-strokes, with mighty 
 
 20
 
 SAVONAROLA 
 
 lance-thrusts ! Without that, it had not been worth while to 
 
 come so far ! 
 
 BONNEVAL : Blows, battles, amours, feasts and triumphs! 
 
 If there is anything else, I shall go back. 
 
 THE KING (smiling) : They are right ! I feel the same ! 
 
 Go to bed. Lord Philip ; you are old, your heart has lost its 
 
 glow. 
 
 ROME. 
 
 The chamber of Pope Alexander VI. — The Pope, Giorgio Bosarcli ; Burchard, 
 master of the ceremonies. 
 
 THE POPE : Master Burchard, my friend, stay a while 
 behind the door and see that no one comes to interrupt us. 
 I have to speak to that lad there. 
 BURCHARD : Yes, Most Holy Father. 
 
 He passes behind the door. 
 THE POPE : Now, Giorgio, ass that you are, pay me all 
 attention and try to understand. You are going to start to-day 
 for Constantinople, and you will make all possible speed. 
 BOSARDI : Yes, Holy Father. 
 
 THE POPE : Listen to me carefully. You will only speak 
 to the Grand Vizier himself, in the strictest secrecy — you 
 understand ? 
 
 BOSARDI : Yes, Holy Father. I comprehend the intention of 
 Your Holiness. It is only in the strictest secrecy that I shall 
 speak — and then cautiously — with the Grand Vizier. 
 THE POPE : And you w^ill only be quite explicit with the 
 Sultan Bajazet in person. 
 BOSARDI : That was my idea. Holy Father. 
 THE POPE : Don't imagine yourself too knowing. I am 
 quite aware that you are merely a fool, but in certain circum- 
 stances one does not know whom to trust, and you can never 
 count for certain upon clever men. 
 BOSARDI : Yes, Holy Father. 
 THE POPE : You will say to the Grand Vizier, if you cannot 
 
 21
 
 THE RENAISSANCE 
 
 speak first to tlic Sullan, that I send him my sincerest compli- 
 ments and give him my apostohc benediction. 
 BOSARDl: Yes, Holy Father. 
 
 THE POPE : You will add that I do not forget for a single 
 day, for a single minute, his affection for me, that I repay it to 
 him with interest, and you will deliver to him from me this 
 charming Madonna of Giovanni Bellini for which he has asked 
 me through his master's ambassador at Venice. 
 BOSARDl: I shall not fail to do so. Holy Father. The 
 Madonna has already been taken to Ostia, and put on board 
 my galley, and I shall address the Sultan Bajazet and his 
 minister in the words best suited to convince them of the most 
 friendly sentiments of your Holiness towards their persons. 
 THE POPE : Then, coming to essentials, you will begin by 
 reminding them how surprised I am, and with good reason, 
 at not receiving the two quarters already due of that annuity 
 of forty thousand ducats, granted to Pope Innocent VIII. from 
 1489 ; and you will not omit to insist on the fact that I deserve 
 it quite as much as my predecessor, since I watch no less 
 carefully over Prince Zizimi, brother to the Sultan, and do not 
 let him pass out of my guardianship. 
 
 BOSARDl : Your Holiness may rest quite assured. I shall 
 make him renew payment of the annuity. 
 THE POPE : This settled, you will describe the frenzied am- 
 bition of the King of France. You will explain that his main 
 idea in seizing the kingdom of Naples is to proceed to the 
 attack of Constantinople, in order to gain the crown of the 
 Byzantine emperors. He is not yet at Florence at the present 
 moment, he wishes to come to my territory so as to fight the 
 Aragonese ; nevertheless, he already hides none of his 
 ambitious aims, which threaten the security of the Ottoman 
 throne. He has told me of his projects, he has told the 
 Venetians, the Duke of Milan, they are no secrets ; but what 
 he confided to me in particular, and what I am revealing to 
 Bajazet, is his wish to take away the Prince Zizimi from me, 
 so that he can use him at the proper time and place against the 
 
 22
 
 i'Ol'K AI.i;X.\M)l.R \1. 
 
 To jii(c piigr u
 
 SAVONAROLA 
 
 Sultan. Bajazet is bound to be terrified at such an idea — you 
 will point out to him the serious consequences. So far as I 
 am concerned, I shall not yield to Charles VIII. 's importunities ; 
 I shall not deliver Zizimi to the King of France, so long as it 
 is possible for me to resist ; and if finally, being no longer the 
 more powerful, I am obliged to let my prisoner go, I shall 
 arrange to hand him over under such conditions that the 
 Sultan need feel no anxiety about him. You can promise him 
 that from me. But it is an understood thing that Bajazet 
 must merit so great a service. You will put these confidences 
 in a way that will not be compromising. 
 
 BOSARDI : It is not difficult to show the connection and the 
 bearing of events without saying a single word about them. 
 THE POPE : As to the good offices which I expect from my 
 ally they are — to help me to drive the barbarians from Italy ; 
 and for this purpose it would be useful to have at my disposal, 
 either in the Romagna or in Apulia, a good Turkish army. 
 This would ensure our gaining the upper hand of the French, 
 which would be advantageous to the Sultan as well as to me. 
 That is your mission — do you understand it all ? 
 BOSARDI : Yes, Holy Father — the annuity of forty thousand 
 ducats, and Turkish troops in Italy. 
 
 THE POPE : Go, make all speed ! Send me good news 
 promptly. . . . Burchard ! Ho, Burchard! 
 BURCHARD : Most Holy Father? 
 
 THE POPE : Conduct this gentleman to the Holy Signatory 
 and have his letters of credit delivered to him as well as the 
 private letter which I am addressing to the Sultan. Ah ! if I 
 could stop these French bandits before they reach Rome ! 
 
 Enter a chamberlain 
 CHAMBERLAIN: An envoy of the Duke of Milan waits 
 without, Holy Father. 
 
 THE POPE : Who is it ? Ah ! good ! it's the little man ! . . . 
 The confidant ! . . . Come in, my friend. How does my Lord 
 Ludovico ? So his nephew Galeazzo has died in his arms of 
 a sudden illness, and the aforesaid Galeazzo's little son, also ? 
 
 23
 
 THE RENAISSANCE 
 
 THE ENVOY: Yes. Most Holy Father. 
 THE POPE : Your master is subject to such misfortunes. 
 What says he ? 
 
 THE ENVOY: He says that Your Ilohness is not keeping 
 your word in the affair of Fra Girolamo. You humour this 
 fanatic, and his preachings go on all the time. Not to mention 
 that the Florentines would be more amenable and would 
 desert the French cause with all their heart, if this monk were 
 not turning their heads ; the North of Italy is all topsy-turvy. 
 The princes are very discontented ; the clergy is still more 
 so ; they are going to lose their domains ; Savonarola talks 
 of nothing less than of handing over to the sick the ecclesias- 
 tical estate and even the sacred vessels. 
 THE POPE : I find the Duke of Milan's solicitude for Holy 
 Church rather amusing. I shall not trouble about Savonarola 
 so long as I have heavier burdens on my hands. Why has 
 your master, in spite of his promises, not already broken, with 
 the French ? Is he jesting ? If the Venetians have taken no 
 action, they are at least making preparations and have given 
 us pledges. Are the Neapolitans and ourselves likely to await 
 your good pleasure indefinitely? The Florentines and your 
 master are the only parties left who will not come to a decision. 
 When will it all end ? 
 
 THE ENVOY : A Roland for an Oliver ! Act with sincerity 
 as regards Savonarola and we will consider your interests. 
 That is your message from the Grand Duke. 
 THE POPE : Go and chat about all this with Don Cesare, 
 and I will see what can be done. 
 
 24
 
 SAVONAROLA 
 
 NEAR FLORENCE. 
 
 A road in a hollow near the French camp. A peasant's house burning ; 
 the owner is lying on the ground, weeping ; on a stone are seated 
 Jean de Bonneau, archer of M. de Terride's company, and Jacques 
 Lamy, another archer, engaged in eating bread and onions on their 
 thumbs ; from time to time they take a draught of wine from their 
 gourds. 
 
 LAMY (to the peasant) : How old was your wife ? 
 
 PEASANT (weeping) : Nearly twenty-two. 
 
 DE BONNEAU: Was she pretty? Come! don't groan! 
 
 You're like a calf. The long and the short of it is, they have 
 
 killed her. What of it ? 
 
 PEASANT (wringing his hands) : Ah, my God ! my God ! 
 
 LAMY : We are rough fellows, we Gascons. Eat a bit. . . . 
 
 Here! 
 
 PEASANT : No ! . . . no ! Ah, my God ! 
 
 LAMY : Don't you see, my good man, that what's done is 
 
 done ! . . . That's war. The soldier, too, must have his fun. 
 
 PEASANT : My wife ! ... My poor wife ! . . . 
 
 LAMY : It would be better if you set about putting out the 
 
 fire of your hovel. . . . Everything will be burnt ! 
 
 PEASANT : It's all one to me. 
 
 DE BONNEAU : He's a savage. Well, good-day. Console 
 
 yourself. Are you coming, Jacques ? 
 
 LAMY (to the peasant) : Here, my lad, I leave you the rest 
 
 of the bread and two onions. . . . When your heart bids you, 
 
 eat I There's no doubt he is a savage. 
 
 The peasant sobs ; the soldiers go off singing at the top of their voices : — 
 
 Chatillon, Bourdillon, Bonneval 
 Hold the Royal house in thrall. 
 
 25
 
 THE RENAISSANCE 
 
 FLORENCE. 
 
 In front of the Mcilici Palace. — The square is filled with people. Sudden 
 cries, shouts, roars and clamours. At the doors of the palace are 
 drawn up bantls of French and Swiss cross-bowmen, musketeers and 
 pikcmen ; two companies in battle array ; bodies of artillery come up 
 through tlie crowd and take up their position in front. At the windows, 
 numbers of French captains and oflicers, their casques on their heads. 
 
 A PORTER (shaking his fist at the French) : Oh, the ruffians ! 
 A BUTCHER: Cursed thieves! See if I don't sht their 
 belhes, all of them, with my cleaver! 
 
 A CITIZEN (mounted on a boundary-stone) : Citizens, friends, 
 don't believe a word of what they tell you of these wretches 
 from across the mountains ! They, our friends ! Friends, 
 indeed ! They have taken Sarzana by storm and burnt it ; 
 they have massacred men, women and children ! Dreadful 
 sights have been seen 1 
 
 CRIES IN TliE SQUARE : Down with the French ! 
 CITIZEN (gesticulating) : We have driven out Piero de' 
 Medici ! He has gone to join his scoundrelly brothers, the 
 Cardinal and the other one ! And these foreigners want to 
 bring them back! Is he not a coward? Is he not a traitor? 
 We have dragged his scutcheons in the mire, and now we are 
 to restore them ? We have razed his palace to the ground 
 and now we are to build it up again ? It's a scandal ! 
 VIOLENT SHOUTS : Death to the Medici ! Death to the 
 French ! 
 
 A YOUTH (leaping on another boundary-stone) : Yes, death 
 to them all ! They are fiends ! They are barbarians ! After 
 they made Pisa revolt from us and threatened us with a siege, 
 we admitted them to our city ! We have suffered Charles VIII. 
 to make his entry under a dais like the Host ! We have let 
 them march through the streets in battle array, with lance on 
 thigh like conquerors! We have given them flatteries, com- 
 pliments, embraces ! We have played them the Annunciation 
 of the most Holy Virgin in the Church of Santa Felice, and 
 that twice over because they asked us to, and now they want 
 to enslave us ! 
 
 26
 
 SAVONAROLA 
 
 THE CROWD : No ! No ! No ! Death to the French ! Give 
 us cudgels and swords ! 
 
 Great agitation ; the people begin to arm themselves. 
 
 CAPTAIN TERRIDE (to his Lieutenant): Remain at the 
 
 head of the company and bid the men lower their visors. . . . 
 
 I am going up there to relate what is happening. 
 
 LIEUTENANT : My Lord, one good charge at that crowd, 
 
 eh? 
 
 CAPTAIN TERRIDE: Yes; but wait for the order. No 
 
 rash measures ! 
 
 He gets down from his horse and goes into the palace. 
 
 A hall in the Medici Palace. The King, PhiUp of Savoy, Count de Bresse, 
 M. de Piennes, M. de Bourdillon, M. d'Argenton ; officers in great 
 number ; Messer Gino Capponi and three Florentine commissaries. - 
 
 THE KING (stamping his foot) : I am master here ! I demand 
 
 obedience ! 
 
 CAPPONI : Your Majesty will have the goodness to tell us 
 
 once more what you claim, and we shall report to the Signiory. 
 
 THE KING : So be it ! Give me all your attention ; I shall 
 
 not repeat my words a third time, and if you are fractious, you 
 
 shall smart for it. 
 
 DE PIENNES: Well spoken! 
 
 THE KING : I wish you to take back your prince, Messer 
 
 Piero de' Medici. 
 
 Applause from the French. 
 CAPPONI : I am listening. 
 
 THE KING: Will you take him back? 
 
 CAPPONI: I am listening, and when we know what the 
 
 point at issue is, we shall answer. 
 
 THE KING : You do not appear resolved to submit. 
 
 CAPPONI : You will see that by results. For the moment, 
 
 we are listening to Your Majesty, so that we may know what 
 
 your wishes are. 
 
 THE KING : I say, then, that I desire first of all that Messer 
 
 27
 
 THE RENAISSANCE 
 
 Piero be restored ; secondly, that all the Signiory be hence- 
 forth of my choosing. 
 CAPPONI: That is what you wish? 
 THE KING : Yes, I wish that. 
 CAPPONI : Well, as for us, we do not wish it. 
 THE KING: You do not? 
 CAPPONI : No, we do not. 
 
 THE KING: Body of Christ! You are bold indeed! 
 CAPPONI : At this moment we must be bold. 
 THE KING (to one of his officers) : Give me the treaty which 
 these men are about to sign immediately. Here, gentlemen, 
 sit down at these tables ; here is ink, here are pens, don't be 
 obstreperous, my patience is near an end. Sign, sign, sign ! 
 CAPPONI (snatching the treaty from its bearer's hands, 
 tears it in two) : That is how the Florentines behave towards 
 tyrants ! 
 
 THE KING (beside himself): Let the trumpets blow! 
 CAPPONI : And we'll set the bells ringing! 
 
 Exit with his colleagues. 
 
 CAPTAIN TERRIDE (rushes into the room) : Orders, sire! 
 
 The crowd in the square is enormous, we are going to be 
 
 attacked ! Your Swiss troops wanted to seize the Borgo 
 
 d'Ogni Santi, they were roughly handled and repulsed. 
 
 What are your commands? 
 
 THE KING : Call back Messer Capponi as quickly as 
 
 possible. 
 
 The King walks in agitation up and down the room ; M. de Bourdillon 
 comes and wliispers to him ; silence ; cries and shouts are heard 
 from the mob in the square. 
 
 Enter the Florentine deputies. 
 
 THE KING (taking Capponi's hand) : Oh Capon, wicked 
 
 Capon, you are playing us a scurvy trick here ! 
 
 CAPPONI : I am Your Majesty's servant, and ready to serve 
 
 you in all that is reasonable. 
 
 THE KING: My servant! 
 
 CAPPONI : The most loyal of servants. 
 
 38
 
 SAVONAROLA 
 
 THE KING : Very well, seeing that you refuse my offers, 
 
 which were all for your good, make a proposal yourself. 
 
 CAPPONI : You are a great king, you have a knightly and 
 
 generous spirit, we ask you to add to the glorious titles of your 
 
 predecessors the no less splendid title of restorer and protector 
 
 of Florentine liberties. 
 
 THE KING : I am willing. 
 
 CAPPONI : We offer you, as token of our gratitude, a 
 
 gratuity of a hundred and twenty thousand golden florins. 
 
 THE KING: I accept; and what then? 
 
 CAPPONI : What then? Your magnanimity will restore us 
 
 our fortresses ; you will give us back Pisa, and it will be settled 
 
 that Piero de' Medici shall not come within two hundred 
 
 miles of our walls. 
 
 THE KING : So be it ! Now that we are good friends, I 
 
 will stay with you. 
 
 CAPPONI : No, sire. A Republic cannot without anxiety see 
 
 so many foreign troops in its midst. Your Majesty will depart 
 
 with your troops and leave us in our independence. 
 
 THE KING : Upon my life, Messer Piero, you adopt a 
 
 strange tone ! Am I a lackey, to be dismissed like this ? Do 
 
 you think me the basest of poltroons ? You take too great 
 
 advantage of my clemency ! I have a sword at my side, I will 
 
 draw it if I am given cause for anger. No, assuredly I shall 
 
 not go! By the body of Christ, I shall stay as long as I 
 
 please, do you mark me ? If I have to stay in your buildings 
 
 when they are ground to dust by my cannon! Oh, you 
 
 fancied Who is this monk ? 
 
 Enter Sa/onarola, 
 CAPPONI : Sire, this is Era Girolamo. 
 
 THE KING : We don't need his cassock. I know you, 
 Brother, you are nothing but a hypocrite, a revolutionary, a 
 
 madman. Out you go, or I'll 
 
 FRA GIROLAMO : You will do nothing so long as God, my 
 Master, shields me with His right hand. I hear that you do 
 
 29
 
 THE RENAISSANCE 
 
 not wish to go ? You think once more to crush this unhappy 
 
 city beneath your horses' hoofs? I tell )'ou this 
 
 THE KING: Put him out! 
 
 CAPPONI : Have a care, sire! Wrath and rebellion are 
 raging in Florence. If you lay a hand on Fra Girolamo, you 
 will lay a hand on our love of our country. Believe me, believe 
 me ! Listen to him instead of insulting him, otherwise the 
 stones themselves will rise up against you ! You do not know 
 the meaning of a nation in frenzy ! 
 THE KING : What would you have, monk? 
 SAVONAROLA : I would recall you to your true self. You 
 have no concern with Florence ; it is Naples that you require — 
 Naples and the sea ; and beyond, that Imperial Crown for 
 which you are destined by Providence, the overthrow of the 
 Turks, the destruction of the infidel and the proud name of 
 Supreme Head, not of petty Florence, but of all Christendom ! 
 Risk not, risk not, sire, for a paltry fit of wrath, the loss of the 
 rank which God reserves for you, and the glorious treasures 
 which He heaps on your head ! Go where your unparalleled 
 destiny calls you ! Rob not of its liberties a poor little country 
 that loves you ; do not, like David, take away a poor man's 
 ewe lamb, when flocks, vast and splendid, fall to your share! 
 Beware of that ! It is you who, with an all-powerful hand, 
 must reform the Church as a whole ! Leave petty affairs, 
 busy yourself with great matters, and do not act so that you 
 become one day a Saul, the spurned of God ! 
 THE KING : This man speaks as if he were certain of what 
 he is saying. Are you sure, shall I be Emperor of the East ? 
 SAVONAROLA: Who was it that four years ago foretold 
 that you would descend upon us and be irresistible ? Who 
 revealed the fall of the Aragonese and your entry into Rome ? 
 THE KING : Yes, I shall enter Rome ; you speak true. 
 SAVONAROLA: Go, then, sire, and lose no time. 
 
 Enter an officer 
 
 OFFICER: If the Florentine magistrates do not intervene
 
 SAVONAROLA 
 
 at once, we shall be shut up in this palace. The streets are 
 
 filled with armed citizens, mad with evil passion. 
 
 CAPPONI (to his colleagues) : With the King's order, let us 
 
 come and prevent a terrible disaster. 
 
 DE BOURDILLON: Sire, I think we shall have to yield; 
 
 we really have no place in this town. We shall take our 
 
 revenge later on. 
 
 THE KING: You think so? 
 
 SAVONAROLA (at the King's ear): Beware, sire, the 
 
 heavenly troops of angels are coming down against you from 
 
 on high ! 
 
 THE KING (to Capponi) : Will you hold to your terms? 
 
 CAPPONT : The money shall be paid to you this instant. 
 
 TPIE KING (to his retinue) : To horse, gentlemen ! Our love 
 
 of Florence is distracting us from our affairs. This very 
 
 evening we shall be on the road to Naples. M. de Piennes, 
 
 you will command the vanguard, and the skirmishers must 
 
 leave immediately. 
 
 FLORENTINES: Long live the King! 
 
 A gate of the city. — Assemblage of the people, 
 
 A CITIZEN : At last, we see no more than the tail-end of 
 their stragglers ! They have gone, those accursed French ! 
 May the devil keep them to himself! If it be not Fra 
 Girolamo who delivers us from them, who is it, pray? 
 A TAILOR: He spoke up stoutly to the King and gave him 
 a piece of his mind. 
 
 A LOCKSMITH : He said it all to him just as I say " good- 
 morning" to you, and the poor devil was mortally afraid. 
 A MASON : Fra Girolamo is a prophet of God ! 
 THE CROWD : If anyone doubts it, we'll rip his guts out ! 
 Kill him, kill the villainous hound ! Long live Girolamo ! 
 Long live the prophet of God ! 
 
 31
 
 THE REiNAlSSANCE 
 
 Near the Venetian frontier. — A camp of six thousand Venetian adventurers. 
 A wide plain, fertile, covered with trees, vines and wheat ; on the 
 horizon, villages ; a river flows through the midst, and the soldiers' 
 tents line its banks. On the slope of the river-bank, a wooden booth, 
 witli green festoons, where drinks are sold. Ortlerlies pass, leading 
 their horses to the drinking-trough; men-at-arms, archers, cross-bow- 
 men, halberdiers, pikesmen, peasant men and women, courtesans, 
 beggars ; some walking, others quarrelling ; many are seated before tlie 
 tavern, chatting, laughing, playing at dice and cards. 
 
 A MAN-AT-ARMS : Hurrah for love ! I am leaving the 
 company of Alessandro del Tiaro, and entering the service of 
 II Scariotto. To the devil with my first captain, the skinflint ! 
 You die of hunger in his troop ! 
 
 A CROSS-BOWMAN : I know him ! I have served under 
 him ! The brute has nothing but rough words for the soldier ! 
 A TRUMPETER: True. Now, Battista di Valmontone— 
 there's an honest condottiere ! 
 
 A PEASANT (cap in hand) : Most noble signors, I am a 
 poor man. 
 
 A PIKE SM AN : It v^^ould be better if you were rich and could 
 wager two good ducats with me on the throw of the dice. 
 PEASANT : Pardon me, most noble signor pikesman, I swear 
 it to you by the Madonna and the Child ! I am a very poor 
 man, reduced to the most v/oful pitch of distress, and I have 
 also just lost my last cow, which two honourable light horse- 
 men have carried off from me. 
 
 A DRUMMER : I know that man's face. He wanders about 
 all the camps — he has always lost his last cow ; it's his 
 profession. 
 
 MAN-AT-ARMS : How much do you earn at this, taking one 
 year with another? 
 
 The peasant goes off, putting on his cap again. 
 
 A CROSS-BOWMAN : They say that the soldier robs the 
 native ; I tell you that in the long run, with their inns and 
 their damaged wares, their gaming-houses and brothels, their 
 everlasting pleas and claims, it's the natives who strip the poor 
 soldier of his last shirt and make him die on the straw. 
 A TRU^IPETER : My word, you're right! But who is this 
 
 32
 
 SAVONAROLA 
 
 coming to us all in velvet, silk and lace, a feather in his cap, 
 his nose in the air, his hand on his hip, stiff as a poker ? , Egad, 
 what a roystering blade ! And it has only three fair hairs on 
 its lip and is no more than eighteen ! 
 
 NEWCOMER: Noble warriors, I salute you and am burning 
 with desire to make your acquaintance. 
 
 MAN-AT-AR^IS : We shall willingly make yours when you 
 have told us where you come from. 
 
 NEWCOMER : I have nothing to conceal. I am an 
 Ordelaffe of Forli, cousin of Signor Antonio, and, in conse- 
 quence, a gentleman, which most of you are very far from 
 being. As a lover of glory, consumed with the loftiest 
 ambitions, I come to enrol myself in my kinsman's troops, and 
 I request your friendship in exchange for mine. 
 CROSS-BOWMAN : If I had a ftne enough coat to my back 
 I should turn merchant or priest ; but from mere lightness of 
 heart, I certainly should not think of wedding the halberd, 
 hunger, thirst, cold, heat and sleepless nights. 
 NEWCOMER : My good friend, you were no doubt begotten 
 by some rustic clod, and the baseness of }-our aspirations is 
 quite natural. As for me, I feel myself to be of the race of 
 falcons ; I love the open air, noise, shouting ; neither rain nor 
 storm frighten me, and if the Sforzas and so many others 
 have become princes, I don't see why I should not have 
 the same good fortune. 
 
 PIKESMAN : Pox ! what a brave lad ! Have you a doubloon 
 in your pocket ? A sequin ? . . . A coin of any sort ? Let's 
 have a round of cards, and then I'll take you to Don Agostino, 
 of Campo Fregoso, who's a better man than your cousin. 
 NEWCOMER: You're jesting, you old dog! I have fifty 
 German florins in my pocket. Three rounds of basset, eh ? 
 DRUMMER: Tliere's no doubt he's an honest fellow! 
 Cards, cards ! 
 
 A GIRL (to her companion): They are going to fleece him. 
 It doesn't matter. Let us not lose sight of this pigeon. Wc 
 will help him to-morrow to spend the price of his enlistment. 
 
 G 2 33
 
 THE RENAISSANCE 
 
 HER COiMPANION : Beware of him. He has a wicked eye 
 and a deft hand. His knife doesn't stick very fast to its 
 sheath, I'll warrant. 
 
 On the border of the camp, in the luidst of a tine garden full of Uowers and 
 planted with cypresses, a Uttle palace built in the latest style, with 
 foUage, arcades, double rows of columns, statues, a flat roof and a 
 loggia borne on terra-cotla figures of satyrs. — A hall elegantly painted 
 and furnished, coffers inlaid with ivory and mother-of-pearl, ebony 
 cupboards with statuettes, Venetian glasses, great divans. — Near 
 one of the windows, turned so as to receive the best light, a picture 
 set upon an easel. — Signor Deifobo dell' Anguillara, captain-general 
 of the free-lances ; Captain Don Sigisniondo di BrandoUno ; the Nea- 
 politan poet Cariteo. 
 
 ANGUILLARA: Now, Signor Cariteo, you who a great 
 
 connoisseur, a great virtuoso in matters of art, what do you 
 
 think of this picture? 
 
 CARITEO : It is by Barbarelli, if I am not mistaken! 
 
 ANGUILLARA: Good shot! It's by Giorgione, and one 
 
 of his best, on my life ! But I don't wish to influence you, . . . 
 
 give your candid opinion ! 
 
 CARITEO : It is a splendid painting! 
 
 ANGUILLARA : I am very glad you think so. This treasure 
 
 has come this very moment, and they have just unpacked it. 
 
 CARITEO: Marvellous! Marv^ellous, I tell you! The 
 
 fascination of colour could go no further! What is more, 
 
 there is, as it were, a charming reflection of the manner of 
 
 da Vinci. Then, to come to essentials, what originality ! 
 
 What sincerity! What fire! There's a man for you, that 
 
 Giorgione — one of the glories of our age! 
 
 BRANDOLINO: All the same, I prefer the Florentine 
 
 painters to the Venetian ; their design is far more severe, and 
 
 there is a masculine touch about their work that delights me. 
 
 CARITEO : Believe me, Giorgione and Bellini are divine 
 
 beings ! Am I allowed to observe here that my lord Deifobo 
 
 did not wish the artist to go and contemplate in heaven the 
 
 incomparable original of this Juno? . . . He showed her to 
 
 him on earth. 
 
 34
 
 SAVONAROLA 
 
 ANGUILLARA (smiling) : You're a tell-tale, and that's a 
 crime which the ladies do not forgive. . . . Speaking seriously, 
 you recognise the likeness ? 
 
 CARITEO : Yes, I do, although the genius of the painter is 
 far from equal to the unimaginable perfections of the model. 
 ANGUILLARA : To be sure, the model is not bad. 
 BRANDOLINO : Signor Deifobo is lucky in every respect 
 CAPTAIN BARTOLOAIMEO FALCIERA (on the thres- 
 hold) : May I speak to you, my Lord ? 
 
 ANGUILLARA: What do you want? I am busy, captain. 
 Still, come in. What is it ? 
 
 FALCIERA: On the accusation of some wretched peasants, 
 one of my best cavaliers has been arrested by the provosts, 
 and rumour has it that you have ordered him to be hanged. 
 ANGUILLARA : I know all about it. Your cavalier shall be 
 hanged. I am sorry on your account, but he shall be hanged. 
 FALCIERA : But consider, my lord, the losses you are 
 causing me. For four years I have been shaping this man, 
 paying all his expenses ; he is a stout fellow and a skilled man- 
 at-arms ; of course I have made him advances, and he owes 
 ma not less than fifteen ducats. I shall lose them. 
 ANGUILLARA : It is very annoying, I admit ; but I will 
 not have the country folk ill-treated, and he who does so is 
 hanged. This is my rule, and I shall not depart from it. That 
 idiot of yours goes quietly roasting the right leg of a villager 
 from the neighbourhood, and promises him as much for his 
 left leg, if he does not hand over his money. (Laughter.) 
 It's the greatest nonsense on earth ! Are we in Germany, or 
 France, or even at Naples? In that case it would be 
 very different, I could wink at it out of regard for you, 
 and what is more, it would not be worth while to take 
 umbrage. But, devil take it! We are in Italy, and if 
 the adventurers treat labouring men in this fashion, v^^e shall 
 soon be exposed to famine, and they'll fall upon us as if we 
 were wild beasts. I dislike these evil practices — they must be 
 
 3.';
 
 THE RENAISSANCE 
 
 given up. Wo ply our trade ; let us do so quietl)' and without 
 
 molesting others who ply theirs. Your man shall be hanged. 
 
 FALCIERA: My luck is out! At our last brush with the 
 
 Venetians, I had one of my dragoons down, and he died of it. 
 
 ANGUILLARA : Did the enemy take the liberty of killing 
 
 him, by any chance ? 
 
 FALCIERA: Ye gods, no! The lads of the other side, on 
 
 the contra r}', helped us to pick up our corpse : they were the 
 
 troops of Captain Ercole Bentivoglio. The poor devil simply 
 
 had an apoplectic stroke caused by the heat and the weight of 
 
 his armour. 
 
 ANGUILLARA: It can't be helped; but console yourself, 
 
 Captain Falciera. From time to time we must endure the 
 
 blows of adversity, and Seneca would tell you so in fmer 
 
 language than I. Sit down all the same and take a glass of 
 
 this light wine of Friuli, which is really not at all bad. 
 
 FALCIERA (with a sigh): To your health, noble Signor! 
 
 Enter Messer Vincenzo Quirini, \'enetian senator, richly dressed in 
 a robe of red brocade with great green and yellow stripes, a golden 
 chain about his neck, and in his hands his biretta of black velvet 
 trimmed with a string of big pearls ; a handsome face, very 
 swarthy, short black hair, curly black beard, earrings set with 
 rubies. 
 
 QUIRINI (to Anguillara) : What a pleasure it is to see you! 
 God guard you, my illustrious friend ! Allow me to embrace 
 you! 
 
 ANGUILLARA (running to him and pressing him to his 
 heart) : What ! is it you ? Ah ! Signor Vincenzo ! What 
 felicity . . . my noble, my illustrious comrade in arms ! 
 QUIRINI : With all my heart I salute Signor Cariteo and the 
 most excellent gentlemen whom I see. To be brief, the most 
 serene Signiory sends me to you as envoy. We should be 
 glad to know if you would enter our pay. 
 ANGUILLARA: My engagement with the Aragonese 
 expires in a month. Hov.- much do you offer me ? 
 QUIRINI : Twelve thousand ducats a month, ready money. 
 ANGUILLAR.^: We shall not come to terms at that figure. 
 
 3"^
 
 SAVONAROLA 
 
 I have forly thousand at this moment, and I have still better 
 offers from Signer Sforza and from the French. Don 
 Francesco Sanseverino came in person to convey them to me. 
 Your position is this : if you want me, pay what I demand ; if 
 you do not, I shall go elsewhere. Meanwhile, pray be seated. 
 QUIRINI: What a charming picture! . . . Juno embracing 
 Jupiter. . . . Admirable ! . . . A Giorgione, plainly ! He 
 alone is capable of such a masterpiece. But, wait a minute. 
 ... I fancy it is the portrait of . . . Congratulations, Signer 
 Jupiter ! . . . Well, my friend, if you came to us, I for my 
 part should be extremely glad ; but your interests before 
 everything — that is a matter of course. We shall always find 
 condottieri, doubtless less renowned, but more accommodating. 
 ANGUILLARA : At the price you name, you will not get 
 any captain of note ; neither the Cardinal di 'Capua, nor 
 Gattamelata the IVIagnificent, nor the Colleoni, nor the 
 Piccinino, nor dal Verme, but fighting men of an inferior stamp. 
 But as you please ! Remember, however, that cheap wares are 
 the ruin of their purchaser. I had already ten steel bombards ; 
 I have just bought six more, and they were delivered to me 
 yesterday. Two are the invention of young Michael Angelo 
 Buonarotti. They shoot stones eight times as big as your 
 head, and with a range of perhaps four hundred paces ! I am 
 not exaggerating. 
 
 BRANDOLINO : It is absolutely true, I saw the tests and 
 was terrified. 
 
 ANGUILLARA : No companies possess artillery that can be 
 compared with mine ; for I have only spoken of bombards, and 
 I have a host of culverins, cannon and squibs, worked by 
 Germans who cost me each sixteen florins a month, exclusive 
 of perquisites ; but let us omit these details — I have no wish 
 to dazzle you with them. I have two thousand men-at-arms 
 thoroughly trained and fully equipped, a thousand admirable 
 Albanian mercenaries, and four thousand foot, picked infantry- 
 men all. It seems to me that in asking for sixteen thousand 
 ducats I am not asking too much.
 
 THE RENAISSANCE 
 
 OUIRINI: Certainly . . . certainly . . . and we should even 
 
 give }'0u the sum }-ou desire without too much hesitation, were 
 
 it not that slanderous tongues tax you with never letting your 
 
 troops fight, for fear of damaging them. 
 
 ANGUILLARA (emphatically): My view, like that of all 
 
 genuine soldiers, is to win battles and decide campaigns by 
 
 manoeuvring. I have no wish to massacre men unnecessarily. 
 
 Such a principle is as clear as cr}stal ! What folly, v^'hat savage 
 
 cruelty to let poor devils of soldiers be killed or wounded for 
 
 the mere pleasure of hitting at a venture ! Good enough for 
 
 Swiss, Frenchmen, Spaniards . . . barbarians all ! We are 
 
 Italians ! 
 
 OUIRINI : Unfortunately these barbarians attack with might 
 
 and main, and at that game they are bound to end by winning 
 
 the day. 
 
 ANGUILLARA : As long as I live, I shall conduct war 
 
 according to rules. 
 
 QUIRINI : What think you of our discussion, most illustrious 
 
 Signor poet, you who eternally portray us the god Mars raging 
 
 amid the bleeding battalions? 
 
 CARITEO : Ever}' age has its fashions, and poets generally 
 
 imagine what does not fit in with real life. 
 
 ANGUILLARA : An excellent answer ! Besides, dear 
 
 Signor Vincenzo, ask your Alviane, who seems wedded to the 
 
 most serene Republic, since he serves no other power ; he will 
 
 tell youi whether he cares to sacrifice his men without reason. 
 
 All the same, there's an honest fellow for you ! 
 
 QUIRINI : We refuse him neither honour nor money ; we 
 
 have given him the town and territory of Pordenone. . . . 
 
 ANGUILLARA : He has made a paradise of it. You see 
 
 none there but artists, men of letters, people of talent ; his 
 
 academy is famed far and wide. Put me in a position to lead 
 
 as refined and exalted a life, and I will serve you as well as he. 
 
 QUIRINI : You would promise to stand firm when occasion 
 
 demanded it, even if it should cost you some lives ? 
 
 38
 
 SAVONAROLA 
 
 ANGUILLARA: Let us be completely frank! . . . Against 
 other condottieri, never ! It would be fine, honourable, loyal, 
 to inflict losses on a comrade who might the next day over- 
 throw my troops and with whom I might hereafter find myself 
 under the same flag under fresh enlistments! Never, I tell 
 you! But barbarians who show no consideration, I will 
 attack with all my heart, and you will not refuse to indemnify 
 me, so much for each man slain, so much for each man 
 wounded, so much for each horse, taking into account loss of 
 baggage. . . . Does that suit you ? 
 
 QUIRINI : We are beginning to understand each other. 
 ANGUILLARA : Then we can draw up the agreement. That 
 will be to-morrow morning, if you please, and for the moment, 
 will you sup with us ? 
 
 BRANDOLINI : I notify that La Morella is here. 
 QUIRINI: Really. 
 
 ANGUILLARA : Bravo ! How the fire leaps to his cheeks! 
 QUIRINI : But your camp, my dear friend, is at once an 
 Athens and an Amathus* ! 
 
 BRANDOLINI : Moreover we have musicians of most 
 uncommon merit, and that incomparable dancer Gian Pagolo. 
 And Signor Cariteo and Serafino Aquilino are going to read 
 to us their latest poems. 
 ANGUILLARA: Come, to table! 
 
 QUIRINI : One word more, I beg! If we manage to agree 
 as to the engagement, and you enter the service of the 
 Republic, your troops will not harry the peasantry overmuch ? 
 ANGUILLARA : I keep strict discipline, you may rely on 
 that. Ask the Captain here, Messer Bartolommeo Falciera, 
 what he thinks of my discipline. Lie has just had a taste of it. 
 QUIRINI : We make a great point of that ; it is worth gold. 
 ANGUILLARA: Enough of business for to-day — let us 
 think now only of amusement. Come to supper ! 
 
 • A town in ancient Cyprus devoted to the worship of Venus. — Tr. 
 
 39
 
 THE RENAISSANCE 
 
 VENICE. 
 
 A chamber in the Dvike's palace. — The three State Inquisitors sitting. — 
 A table covered with letters and papers. 
 
 FIRST INQUISITOR (^letter in his hands) : This is the news. 
 The French, after their insolent triumph at Rome and Naples, 
 have left the latter city in a state of utmost disorder. No 
 reason or restraint or foresight ! The Aragonese are chasing 
 them ; the Papal troops are harassing them. They go by full 
 day's marches without stopping, and are striving to reach and 
 cross the Apennines. 
 
 SECOND INQUISITOR : It was decided yesterday that we 
 should abandon neutrality. Has the order to attack gone 
 forth ? Is our army in good condition for fighting ? 
 THIRD INQUISITOR: Here are the last reports of the 
 most illustrious Provveditori, and of our General, the Marquis 
 of Mantua ; then the Senator, Messer Vincenzo Quirini, 
 announces to us that he has come to terms with the Count 
 deir Anguillara. Thus we have forty thousand men, and {he 
 French are at most seven thousand. 
 
 SECOND INQUISITOR: If Fra Girolamo Savonarola 
 harboured a little wisdom in his rhetorical head, it would not 
 be hard for him to dig before the enemy such a trench as 
 they could not cross ; but instead of thinking of affairs, he 
 dreams of moral reform ! 
 
 FIRST INQUISITOR: I have received a note from the 
 head of the arsenal at Padua. The last consignments of 
 stores for our troops have left. Nothing is wanting to the 
 general equipment. The provisions are abundant. 
 SECOND INQUISITOR: We can have every hope. It is 
 now important to think wliat we shall do after an almost certain 
 
 40
 
 SAVONAROLA 
 
 victor}'. Shall we restore to our ally, the Duke of Milan, those 
 fortresses of his which we occupy ? 
 
 FIRST INQUISITOR: Let us not even think of it. No 
 THIRD INQUISITOR: It is here that the help of the 
 Florentines would be precious to us. 
 
 profitable alliance has ever been made with a popular govern- 
 ment. Let us reckon on none but ourselves, and let us be 
 resolved beforehand to restore nothing to Ludovico. Do you 
 not think it would be well to advise the illustrious Provveditori 
 of our resolutions ? 
 
 THIRD INQUISITOR: Assuredly. 
 
 SECOND INQUISITOR: Naturally I incline to your 
 opinion. We shall inform the most serene Prince and the 
 Ten of the Council's opinion. Let us turn to other matters. 
 
 FLORENCE. 
 
 Signer Vespuccio's house. — Vespuccio, Marsilio Ficino, translator of Plato ; 
 the painter Baccio della Porta, Francesco Valori, Niccolo Machiavelli. 
 
 VESPUCCIO : The French have managed things so badly 
 that they are now driven out of Naples, threatened so 
 dangerously in the Romagna that M. d'Aubigny is forced to 
 evacuate that province, and the Duke of Milan has found no 
 difficulty in raising troops against them— he who first called 
 them in. 
 
 VALORI : All to the good of our cause ! The French, if 
 secure at Najjles, would have wished to show us their resent- 
 ment at the way in which Messer Gino Capponi gave them 
 their dismissal. Now that they are beaten, these doubtful 
 friends will be more amenable ; they will give us back Pisa, 
 which hitherto ihcv have always refused to do. 
 
 41
 
 THE RENAISSANCE 
 
 MArHIAVELLI : Whether they do so or no, I should not 
 care to predict anything-, for their King is a feather-brain, and 
 his inspirations come to him from every wind that blows. But 
 I am not satisfied witli our position at home. 
 VALORI : Why so, pray, Messer Niccolo? The government 
 of the people is well-established ; the results of the last elec- 
 tions were admirable ; our magistrates are men of firmness 
 and moderation, and, in spite of the seven years it has lasted, 
 Fra Girolamo's reputation with our populace seems all the 
 younger — it has all the savour and all the credit of novelty. 
 I consider that things are going as well as they can. 
 VESPUCCIO : And they are bound to go well, if only because 
 we no longer have the Medici. I am ready to face every con- 
 ceivable misfortune save that of seeing their family re-establish 
 its detestable influence. 
 
 VALORI : There can be no question about that. 
 MACHIAVELLI : I only wish I could share your opinion, 
 but I do not look on affairs in so favourable a light. We 
 want a Republic that is democratic and stable, where every- 
 one works and enjoys a well-balanced liberty. To obtain such 
 a result, I agree with Signor Vespuccio ; we do not need the 
 influence of those powerful families which weigh down one 
 side of the scales and make it sink too low. On this score 
 I, above all, reject the Medici. Yet it seems to me that our 
 government works on springs a trifle too stiff, hard and taut, 
 which will lead to troublesome explosions. 
 VESPUCCIO: Why? Because Piero's creatures are roughly 
 handled ? Where is the harm ? Nay, it is a necessity ; they 
 do rightly in punishing these folk, so as to show that it is not 
 well to follow their example. You hold that Fra Girolamo's 
 partisans carry their zeal too far ? True, perhaps ; their ways 
 of preaching virtue and causing it to be practised are not always 
 courteous ; but, deuce take it ! you cannot make omelettes 
 
 42
 
 SAVONAROLA 
 
 without breaking eggs. Fra Girolamo himself beheves a 
 httle too seriously in what he says, and between you and 
 me, a smile comes to my lips rather often when I see him 
 vehemently declaim against some human weakness or other 
 which is not worth all the uproar he makes. But what do you 
 expect .' We have need of him ; if the masses of Florence 
 and the heated enthusiasts did not imagine that the good 
 Frate was opening the gates of paradise and reforming the 
 world, do you suppose that the mere love of good government 
 would keep them on our side ? More than one of them would 
 care but little for the welfare we are securing him, and would 
 infinitely prefer the idleness of a vicious hanger-on of the 
 Medici to the wise and well-ordered life of a respectable 
 citizen. 
 
 VALORI : I have a higher opinion of our fellow-citizens, 
 Messer Vespuccio, and I take it for granted that the greater 
 part of mankind are virtuous by nature, and willing to follow 
 the right path when it is pointed out. 
 
 FICINO : For my part, if I am allowed to state my view, I 
 am deeply moved and affected by the universal effort which 
 raises a whole people towards the enchanted spheres of the 
 Good and the Beautiful. What can be more admirable than to 
 see all the noble passions leagued against the evil ones, and 
 the churches always full, while the taverns are empty! 
 MACHIAVELLI : I am like you, that is to say, I observe 
 with extreme interest the debates of the Councils, while at 
 the same time the excellent administrative measures give me 
 the impression of an activity well directed in theory. Flow- 
 ever, I do not know whether this situation can last. 
 VESPUCCIO : Why, pray, do you feel these doubts? 
 MACHIAVELLI : There is too much outward calm and too 
 little inner repose. Those who are satisfied are satisfied 
 either too passionately, like Signor Vespuccio, or too systemati- 
 cally, like Signor Valori. 
 
 43
 
 THE RENAISSANCE 
 
 \'ESPUCCIO : For myself, as is well known, I hate the 
 Medici, and the moment that their happiness declines mine is 
 in the ascendant ; nothing could be more natural. 
 VALORI : I assure you, Signor Niccolo, that, taking every- 
 thing into account, and guarding against the exaggeration of 
 one's desires, there are good grounds for satisfaction. 
 MACHIAVELLI : I would rather you had no need to prove 
 the fact to yourself. What is certain is that under their mask 
 the parties opposed to our settlement are more exasperated 
 than ever. The Arrabbiati, for the last few weeks, have even 
 openly manifested an impudence which gives me food for 
 reflection ; the Palleschi are almost on the point of avowing 
 their intention of bringing back the heirs of Lorenzo the 
 Magnificent ; the Compagnacci raise their heads and, in the 
 open street, utter their coarse insults against Era Girolamo. I 
 notice that many let them have their say and even laugh at 
 their sallies, though disapproving of them all the while. As 
 for the Tepidi, we know for certain that they are making 
 recruits among those who are wearied by a renunciation of 
 every pleasure — somewhat too rigorous a discipline for the 
 man of average temperament. Finally, the neighbouring 
 governments, the Milanese, the Sienese, and others, are 
 frightened by the exorcisms of our saintly preacher. He is 
 charged with wishing to despoil the rich for the benefit of the 
 poor, and with being an arch-demagogue. Rome is a party 
 to the game, and multiplies its admonitions. Only yesterday 
 there came one, and Fra Girolamo is forbidden to continue 
 preaching. 
 
 VESPUCCIO : It is a most feeble prohibition, and Fra 
 Girolamo will disregard it entirely. What are your conclusions ? 
 MACHIAVELLI : We ought, perhaps, to demand less per- 
 fection from the Florentines, and proceed to govern them 
 not as we might wish, but as we can. 
 
 44
 
 SAVONAROLA 
 
 DELLA PORTA : That is not my view. The important 
 
 thing is to maintain a good sound doctrine ; those unwilHng 
 
 to submit to it will be compelled. However, a new generation, 
 
 which will have the proper sentiments, is gradually growing 
 
 up, and the future holds excellent prospects. It is of the 
 
 future that we must think. 
 
 FICINO : You argue like a true philosopher. I am in entire 
 
 agreement with Signor Baccio. 
 
 VESPUCCIO : It is all the more necessary to keep things 
 
 as they are, because we are thus safe in treating the Medici 
 
 and their adherents without remorse, if that rabble raise their 
 
 heads ever so httle. 
 
 VALORI : Perhaps, too, there would be drawbacks in 
 
 appearing less zealous than the masses. 
 
 MACHIAVELLI : I begin to be no longer so assured of our 
 
 final success. A straw fire is a fine thing, it flares up ; but 
 
 if we turn our heads a moment and look again, it is out. 
 
 A Hellenist's house. — Study. — A bust of Socrates in green bronze. Small 
 tables laden with books, mostly bound in parchment ; a quantity of 
 open folios on the big table ; manuscripts, papers stained with ink 
 and covered with a dchcate, cramped handwriting ; a large leaden 
 inkstand, pens with bristly ends. — The Hellenist is in an armchair 
 with carved oak back. He holds an open volume before him, on the 
 table. His two elbows are placed on either side ; his head rests on 
 his hands ; he reads attentively and in complete absorption. 
 
 MAIDSERVANT (entering) : Signor Doctor! . . . the hour 
 of the sermon! Don't you hear the bells? ... If you don't 
 want to go to church, say so! I have already told you four 
 times ! Arc you deaf ? Ho, Signor Doctor ! 
 HELLENIST : What is it, child? 
 
 45
 
 THE RENAISSANCE 
 
 MAIDSERVANT: The sermon! the sermon! the sermon! 
 Era Girolamo is preaching at Santa Maria del Fiore! All the 
 Fathers of San Marco will be there ! And the Signiory ! and 
 the guilds I and everybody ! The sermon ! Do you under- 
 stand ? 
 
 HELLENIST : Oh, the sermon, true — there is a sermon. . . 
 I see no drawback in going to a sermon. 
 MAIDSERVANT: No drawback? What do you mean? 
 You're making game of me ! If you don't come to the sermon, 
 you can boil your soup yourself. I shall certainly not stay 
 with an unbeliever. 
 
 HELLENIST: You would be quite right, my girl! You're 
 a good girl! I am glad to see such feelings in you. Go! I 
 shall put on my maroon gown and follow you. 
 MAIDSERVANT : Don't lose too much time ; don't begm 
 musing as usual ; you won't find a place. . . . Wait a minute ! 
 Here are your Horae ! 
 HELLENIST : I tell you I shall be there before you! 
 
 Exit maidservant. 
 
 Hm! Interrupted in the study of this difficult passage to 
 go and hear the trash with which they regale the ears of the 
 mob ! The sense of this most important phrase depends 
 entirely on the syllable on which we put the accent ! . . . The 
 antepenultimate ! . . . Yes, the antepenultimate, I quite 
 understand, but then . . . we'll see ; I have to go and stupefy 
 myself with this Savonarola's rubbish ! . . . What slavery ! 
 Oh, the dullards ! Oh, the fanatics ! When shall we be 
 delivered from them, ye immortal gods. Muses and 
 Nymphs ? . . . But I must make haste, so as not to incur the 
 risk of persecution. It's a wonder already that the police 
 have not paid me a visit ! When will this tyranny end .-* 
 
 46
 
 SAVONAROLA 
 
 THE APENXINES. 
 
 A wild landscape ; moss-covered rocks, pines stripped and flung at random ; 
 an enormous plain at the foot of the heights ; the Taro meandering 
 through the plain ; the village of Fomovo in the distance. — French 
 detachments are arrayed in battle-order on the lowest slopes of the 
 mountain ; every moment there pass ordnance companies, bands of 
 Albanian mercenaries, Gascons, Germans, Swiss ; drivers lead pieces 
 of artillery and carriages laden with baggage. On the right, at some 
 distance, a Venetian outpost, composed of Dalmatian infantry and 
 some Itahan men-at-arms, their breastplates gleaming in the sun ; 
 most have their visors lowered, and all stand, with lance in rest, ready 
 for attack. — On a hillock forming an elevated plateau, King Charles 
 VIII. is half lying down amid trusses of straw ; he is surrounded by 
 numerous courtiers and captains ; among them are to be distinguished 
 Phihppe de Commines, Lord d'Argenton ; M. Etienne de Vesc, 
 Seneschal of Beaucaire ; 'SI. de Bourdillon, M. de Bonneval, M. de 
 Piennes. 
 
 THE KING : I have promised the Pisans my protection — I 
 shall not go back on my word and hand these people over to 
 the Florentines. I don't want to hear any more about it! 
 Besides, I came to Italy in order to prove myself chivalrous 
 and please my lady, and not to write, read or sign musty 
 papers ! No more talk of negotiations, please ! I shall attack 
 the enemy within an hour! 
 
 DE COMMINES : It would be better to temporise and hsten 
 to reason. If we do not induce Savonarola and the Florentines 
 to aid us, we run a great risk of never getting away from 
 here. 
 
 THE KING : I tell you I have performed exploits more 
 brilliant than those of my forbears ! I have conquered Italy ! 
 I have triumphed at Rome and at Naples before the eyes of 
 the world ! Everywhere I have planted my gibbets and my 
 judges ; I have proclaimed my world-wide sovereignity, and 
 that only a few days ago. If I now go back to France, it 
 is merely because I have been betrayed ! Let these wretched 
 Federals insult me, and, by my blood and bones! they'll be 
 playing into my hands ! 
 
 DE COMMINES : I implore Your Majesty to reflect that, 
 after all, to speak the plain truth, we are beating a retreat as fast 
 as we can. We shall be lucky if the retreat is not turned into 
 
 H 
 
 47
 
 THE RENAISSANCE 
 
 a rout, for that is what faces us at the moment. Remember 
 
 that the enemy outnumber us by four to one ; one need only 
 
 open one's eyes to see that ! 1 therefore think it essential 
 
 to listen to Savonarola's proposals and to restore Pisa to the 
 
 Florentines, as in any case we have pledged our word to do. 
 
 THE KING : I shall listen to nothing ! Your Florentines are 
 
 cowards, cheats, scoundrels. I'll grind them to powder! 
 
 DE COIMMINES : We are not in a position to threaten. 
 
 THE KING: You are always afraid of everything! 
 
 DE COMMINES : We might at least be prudent. Before us is 
 
 the army of the Venetians and of that same Duke of Milan 
 
 who invited us here ; behind us the troops of the Pope, and 
 
 the Aragonese in pursuit ; we are much in need of someone 
 
 who will help us. 
 
 THE KING: Our swords will suffice! My fleet is certain 
 
 to have re-taken Genoa by now. 
 
 DE COMMINES : I regret to inform Your Majesty that the 
 
 fleet has just been defeated at Rapallo. A great number of 
 
 galleons, galleasses, galleys, store-ships and frigates were 
 
 destroyed or taken ; the remainder fled, it is not known where. 
 
 THE KING : We shall not be beaten at Fornovo, I give you 
 
 my word. Order the artillery to advance ! Here is Seigneur 
 
 de Gie. 
 
 MARSHAL DE GIE (on horseback, in armour, sword in 
 
 hand, with officers of his staff) : I salute Your Majesty and 
 
 come to take my orders. 
 
 THE KING: What is the enemy doing? 
 
 MARSHAL : Seeing themselves so strong and us so weak, 
 
 they are marching in fine order. They are known to possess 
 
 two thousand five hundred fully-equipped lancers, two 
 
 thousand Albanian mercenaries and sufficient infantrymen to 
 
 amount to sixteen thousand men. 
 
 THE KING : Monseigneur de Gie, you are a doughty knight! 
 
 I rely upon you. In fighting I shall try to be of some use ; in 
 
 commanding I am useless ; give orders, take your dispositions 
 
 at your own good pleasure. I shall be the first to obey. 
 
 48
 
 SAVONAROLA 
 
 MARSHAL : We shall do our best. 
 THE KING : Ho ! Squires, my arms ! 
 
 The squires fasten on the I-Cing's helmet and make certain that the 
 difierent parts of his armour are properly fixed ; his armoured 
 charger is brought. He leaps into the saddle. To the knights, 
 captains, and soldiers surrounding him : — 
 
 Go, gentlemen, to your places, and let every man do his best ! 
 
 He gallops off with his suite. 
 
 DE COMiMLXES : A deal of honour and no brains ! What 
 
 think you of our position, Monseigneur de Gie ? 
 
 MARSHAL : In the moment of action I think of striking 
 
 hard — nothing else matters. At the gallop, gentlemen ! 
 
 Exit with his suite. 
 
 DE COMMINES : If the late king, from his place in blessed 
 
 paradise, can see the muddle made by his successor, he must 
 
 be sorely distressed. It is all over with us. That spoilt child 
 
 will be a prisoner this evening, and so shall I : what a sum of 
 
 head-money I shall have to spend to pay the ransom ! But I 
 
 hear the arch-madman speaking to his men-at-arms. What 
 
 can he be saying to them? . . . He has not been instructed 
 
 in letters. . . . He is, as usual, very incoherent in his speech. 
 
 . . . The wind is blowing from that direction. ... I can catch 
 
 some phrases. . . . 
 
 THE KING (in the distance) : My brave and daring knights, 
 
 I should never have undertaken this expedition . . . without 
 
 my reliance on your valour and prowess. ... Be assured that 
 
 it is as easy for us to win the battle as to begin it, or easier. . . . 
 
 Remember that our forefathers went all over the world . . . 
 
 gained great spoils and triumphs . . . think only of fighting 
 
 valiantly . . . and if you prefer ... to retire in flight, say 
 
 so in good time. . . . 
 
 DE COMMINES: There's superb braggadocio, worthy of the 
 
 terrible Firebrace ! We shall have to pay a trifle too dearly 
 
 for this shouting before the world is much older. Oh, gentle 
 
 and merciful Lord Jesus, have pity on us ! 
 
 H 2 
 
 49
 
 THE RENAISSANCE 
 
 THE BATTLE. 
 
 The French troops have just charged. The King, sword in hand, raises 
 his visor ; his forehead streams with sweat, his eyes shine Uke 
 hghtnings. Mis horse is panting. The lances wave hke corn in a 
 licld. and the gonfalons tlame and undulate. Banners of every hue 
 are Hying, displaying the colours of the escutcheons ; trumpet and 
 clarion blasts, rumbling of drums and tabors ; crios in the plain, war- 
 cries, cries of rage and pain ; clouds of dust rise from every quarter ; 
 a dull noise of the discharge of cannon ; here and there are seen the 
 dead, the wounded, in heaps, in rows, fallen at random. 
 
 BOURDILLON (saluting the King with his sword): Your 
 
 Majesty is doing wonders ! 
 
 THE KING : Speak to me frankly, Bourdillon, as to your 
 
 bosom friend. Have I borne myself well ? 
 
 BOURDILLON : By the saints! better than Amadis! 
 
 THE KING : A grand thing is war! My heart is exalted to 
 
 the heavens ! Forward ! See ! The mellay is furious on the 
 
 left ! Forward, knights, let us charge ! 
 
 He once more lowers liis visor, brandishes his sword and goes off with 
 the crowd, which cries : " Long live the King ! Saint Denis I 
 France ! " 
 
 ANOTHER PART OF THE BATTLEFIELD. 
 The Swiss in deep formation. 
 
 CAPTAIN RUTTIMANN OF LUCERNE: Ho, my 
 
 children, look at the Gascons ! They've done their work ! 
 
 The Albanians are in headlong flight ! If you don't hurry up, 
 
 there'll be no plunder : your comrades will have taken the pick ! 
 
 SOLDIERS : It's true, it's true, forward! 
 
 CAPTAIN : Lower arms ! Charge ! Hard ! 
 
 The Swiss fling themselves with fierce halberd thrusts on a squadron 
 of Milanese men-at-arms, which is broken in an instant and takes 
 to flight ; slaughter, shouts, drums, trumpets. 
 
 "50
 
 SAVONAROLA 
 
 ON THE ALLIES' SIDE. 
 An eminence. — The Marquis of Mantua, general of the Venetian armj'^ ; 
 captains of free-lances and Albanian mercenaries, the two Provveditori, 
 nobles of their suite. — In the plain, the various Milanese and Venetian 
 regiments begin to waver. 
 
 FIRST PROVVEDITORE : But, my Lord Marquis, I don't 
 understand what it all means ! The most serene Signiory has 
 given the men their pay to the uttermost farthing ! You have 
 had all that you asked for ! You want for nothmg . . . pro- 
 visions, guns, ammunition. . . . Why don't the troops hold 
 their ground ? 
 
 MARQUIS: I am giving orders; I have no time to answer you. 
 He speaks to several officers, who go off rapidly in different directions. 
 The artillery comes up. 
 
 SECOND PROVVEDITORE: It is intolerable! I shall 
 
 make a report ! It seems to me that the cross-bowmen are 
 
 taking to flight ! 
 
 FIRST PROVVEDITORE: The situation is extremely 
 
 serious. 
 
 MARQUIS: Our centre is certainly behaving badly. 
 
 SECOND PROVVEDITORE: My lord Marquis, we have a 
 
 right to question you, and it is your duty to answer ! 
 
 MARQUIS : Don't you consider that the Milanese are giving 
 
 us poor support ? I do not know what their General Gayazzo is 
 
 thinking of. 
 
 FIRST PROVVEDITORE: Have him arrested! 
 
 SECOND PROVVEDITORE: Reflect, for God's sake, 
 
 reflect, my noble colleague ! Such a case is not provided 
 
 for in our instructions. Your proposal is very daring! 
 
 MARQUIS : By St. IMark ! What I feared is coming to pass ! 
 
 The Albanians are disbanding to loot the baggage! Our 
 
 infantry are no longer covered on their right! They are 
 
 crushed by the cavalry ! , . . They fly ! 
 
 THE TWO PROVVEDITORI: All is lost? 
 
 MARQUIS: Faith, almost! Don't stay there, gentlemen! 
 
 Tlie Gascons are coming up at a gallop ! Let us rally our men ! 
 The French bugles sound a charge ; the Battle of Fornovo is lost for 
 the Venetians and Milanese. 
 
 51
 
 THE RENAISSANCE 
 
 FLORENCE. 
 
 Sandro Botticelli's studio. — An immense hall of great height. — A crowd of 
 artists in picturesque and here and there rather disorderly costume ; 
 several occupied on large canvases arc perched on scaffoldings ; 
 others arc finishing pictures or sketching them on easels. — Sandro 
 Botticclh, Luca Signorelh, Domenico Ghirlandaio, and Fra Benedetto, 
 miniature painter ; he wears the habit of a Dominican and bends over 
 a missal placed on a small table ; he is illuminating it, taking minute 
 quantities of colours from bowls that he has around. II Cronaca, 
 architect. 
 
 SANDRO (in a plaintive tone) : This is my last day as a lay- 
 man, and this canvas will be my last work ; henceforth, I shall 
 only think of lamenting my sins. 
 
 FRA BARTOLOMMEO DI SAN MARCO: You will do 
 well, and we shall do well to follow your example. Salvation 
 IS worth more than talent, and the palm of the elect outweighs 
 the crown of genius. Amen ! 
 ARTISTS: Amen! Amen! 
 
 SIGNORELLI : My children, 1 think you are going too far. 
 There are good points about the holy doctrine of Fra Girolamo. 
 But to dress like the poor, as many of you affect, to renounce 
 all the pleasures of life, to groan from morning till evening, 
 and above all, to return to the dry forms and angular designs 
 of the old masters — that is not worshipping God in heart and 
 brain, and I do not see that it is of much use. 
 IL CRONACA : The Good is absolute, and admits of no 
 division. 
 
 SIGNORELLI : The Good is infinite ; it admits of no 
 narrowness. 
 
 Enter the sculptor Torrigiani, magnificently dressed, his biretta low 
 down over his eyes. He slams the door. 
 
 TORRIGIANI : May the devil confound you, snuffling 
 hypocrites that you are ! I'll smash in the face of the first 
 man who prates to me of that humbug Fra Girolamo! 
 BOTTICELLI : You will be damned, Torrigiani! 
 TORRIGIANI : And pray, why? I am a better Christian than 
 you ! Idiot ! He's a pretty prophet for you ! A flatterer 
 of the mob! A phrase-monger! A frantic hypocrite! 
 
 52
 
 SAVONAROLA 
 
 Reform! Virtue! Morals! ... By Bacchus, do you think 
 the dehghts of this world are made to be trampled underfoot ? 
 Do you think that beautiful women are created so as to go and 
 rot alive in closed convents ? Are warm wines to be poured 
 into the mud, and are the antique masterpieces that are being 
 dug up every day to return into the earth where the lessons 
 they teach us have been buried and stifled for so long ? Am 
 I to go with your monk and burn the new books, so as to 
 quench with their cinders the renascent flame of the intellect ? 
 By heaven, no ! I cry out to you, I shout to you : you are 
 idiots, apes of unwholesome perfection, monsters of absurdity, 
 and I am leaving Florence this very evening, so as to see and 
 hear no more of it all. 
 
 IL CRONACA: For my part, I honour as my father, yes, 
 far more than my father, the venerable, the sublime, the 
 incomparable, the divine Fra Girolamo! If he is ever 
 attacked, I shall defend him even unto death, and those who 
 insult him are brutes ! All you can do is to roll your great 
 hectoring eyes at me ! I shan't let my face be flattened like 
 little Buonarotti! And if you have the misfortune to come 
 near me, I shall stick my stiletto right in your breast, vile slave 
 of the Medici that you are I 
 
 TORRIGIANI : When any of you has uttered that big word, 
 he thinks he has uttered the crowning insult! Wipe your 
 mouth ! It is still stained from the pap that Lorenzo the 
 Magnificent crammed you with! 
 
 BOTTICELLI : Say what you please, Florence has none the 
 less become the kingdom of God. Jesus holds the sceptre ; 
 the most Holy Virgin counsels us through the voice of 
 Girolamo ; the rich feed the poor, and there is nothing finer 
 than that. 
 
 TORRIGIANI : And you consider it a fine thing, too, to burn 
 good pictures and to begin once more, as you did fifty years 
 ago, painting women like spindles, without breasts or bellies? 
 You think it very grand to be in rags and to weep from 
 
 53
 
 rilE RENAISSANCE 
 
 morning till night like a rainspout, without anyone having an 
 idea why ? 
 
 ERA BARTOEOiMMEO: As for you, with your brave show 
 of velvet and embroideries, your plumes and your gilded 
 poniard and your rings, you insult the poverty of your brothers ! 
 TORRIGIANI: Of my brothers ... of my brothers? And 
 have you all, rabble that you are, the impudence to style your- 
 selves my brothers? Wait a little, until you know how to 
 design a torso and to grasp and render a foreshortening as 1 
 do, before you pose as my cousins even ! There'll be some 
 time to wait ! My brothers are dead ! They were the artists 
 of ancient Rome ! 
 
 DOMENICO GHIRLANDAIO: Learn how to chisel us 
 heavenly Madonnas, pure, chaste and severe, and we shall be 
 able to admire you ! 
 
 TORRIGIANI : May heaven crush you! . . . What are these 
 shouts ? 
 
 He runs towards the door, 
 IL CRONACA : Go— to your death ! They are the children 
 of the city, who, massed in sacred bands, proclaim the King 
 Jesus, tear the clothes of people dressed like you, and beat 
 and arrest the evil-minded so as to escort them to gaol. 
 Go ! go ! 
 
 TORRIGIANI : Those packs of mad curs won't touch me 
 without my stabbing a dozen of them ! Good-bye ! I'll leave 
 this lunatic asylum ! I will not come back until we are free 
 to portray Mars and Venus ! Art, look you, poor tatter- 
 demalions that you are, is the sole virtue, the sole greatness, 
 the sole truth ! There is nothing that finds more favour in 
 the sight of God ! Your portion is falsehood, ignorance, 
 pedantry, baseness ! Mine is refulgent genius ! Long life to 
 Art ! Long life to light ! Down with darkness ! I'll go and 
 enlist in the Spanish troops, and wage a war to the death 
 against you ! 
 
 BOTTICELLI : Yesterday you were all for driving the 
 barbarians from Italy. You have found the way ! 
 
 54
 
 SAVONAROLA 
 
 TORRIGIANI : We'll exterminate the French first and then 
 the Aragonese ! . . . Good-bye . . . vermin ! 
 A PAINTER (g-liding down rapidly from a scaffolding) : His 
 insolence is too much ! . . . There ! There's one for you ! 
 
 Hurls his knife at him, the knife misses its adm and sticks into the 
 wall. 
 
 TORRIGIANI (going out): A poor shot! I'll pay you out 
 for that, if I have to wait twenty years. 
 
 The interior of the church of Santa Reparata. — A vast, densely-packed 
 crowd. All the altars at the sides are hidden in flowers ; the candles 
 and Ughts glitter ; the statues of saints are dressed in their finest robes 
 of silk, velvet and brocade, and loaded with jewels ; the smell of 
 incense fills the building ; newcomers arrive every moment and make 
 the crowd surge ; children, schoolboys, young men are perched on the 
 window-sills and altar .screens ; many cUng to the friezes of the 
 columns ; the Signiory occupies the pews facing the pulpit. Profound 
 silence. 
 
 FRA GIROLAMO (in the pulpit): Florence! Florence! 
 God has not spared thee His warnings ! He does not deny 
 them to thee ! He loves thee as He loves His Church. But 
 truth is gloomy ; hearken to her ! Thy life is spent in bed, 
 in gossip, in idle conversations, in infamous orgies, in nameless 
 debaucheries ! Thy life, Florence, is the life of swine ! 
 
 Tremors in the congregation. 
 
 Thou answerest me : " Brother, thou sparest me not ! " I shall 
 not spare thee at all ! What right hast thou to dread reproofs 
 if thou hast no fear of punishments? Did I predict them? 
 Answer! Answer! . . . Did I, or did I not let thee know 
 what was threatening? This poor brother who is nothing, 
 who is nothing worth, who by himself knows nothing, 
 has he not been inspired by God and by Jesus our 
 King to deliver thee from the Medici and snatch 
 thee from the claws of the French? . . . And what 
 has happened? I last thou forgotten already? . . . The 
 Medici eat the bread of Venice, and the French. . . the 
 
 55
 
 THE RENAISSANCE 
 
 French, only too happy to have been able, against all likeli- 
 hood, to scrape through with a victory at Fornovo, have fled, 
 panting and humbled, to the very depths of their country, 
 and there they remain. . . . Fear not ! They will return no 
 
 more ! 
 
 Profound emotion. 
 
 Therefore, however small a gleam of reason thou mayest have 
 left, thou wilt remember that I always told thee it would be 
 thus, that my words have never proved vain, and thou wilt 
 believe me this time when I say to thee : Government by the 
 people is the best for thee! God has granted it to thee by 
 my hand! Keep it! Suffer no one to assail it; he who 
 assails it is insulting God, and is guilty of impiety ; he is insult- 
 ing Jesus our King, he is guilty of treachery, of high treason ; 
 wilt thou pardon such a wretch, wallowing in crimes so 
 
 heinous ? 
 
 Cries of rage. 
 
 My lords of the Eight, I tell you that such scoundrels — those 
 who disturb the public peace and call themselves as before 
 White or Grey — must be punished ! Do not hesitate ! Ten 
 florins fine! If they repeat the crime, four lashes! If they 
 persist, the dungeon for life! And now, Florence, feed thy 
 poor — they are limbs of Jesus our King! It is not meet that 
 the people go hungry when the rich are gorged. Henceforth 
 wheat will cost no more than a shilling the bushel for those 
 
 who cannot pay more. 
 
 Sensation. 
 
 When everyone has enough to eat his fill, the work is not 
 yet begun ; all the main part still remains to do. You will 
 answer me : " Brother, you are insatiable ! We have the govern- 
 ment of God, we have the charity of God, we have." . . . You 
 have legions of vices, growing rank in your souls! All hell 
 holds revel there, you know it only too well, and not one of 
 you is better than another! . . . .Perhaps you will make me 
 excuses for the soldiers, coarse folk ! for the merchants, minds 
 
 56
 
 A SAVONAROLA SERMON 
 
 To fact page 56
 
 SAVONAROLA 
 
 corrupted by gain ! for the young men, empty heads ! for the 
 women, fooHsh creatures! Very well. . . . Will you find 
 excuses also for the simoniacal, libidinous, adulterous, drunken, 
 thieving priests who, from the See of St. Peter down to the 
 humblest confessional of the humblest parish, draw you alter 
 them on their road to perdition ? No more of these afflictions ! 
 of these abominations ! of these Babylonian enormities ! 
 Sweep them away! sweep them away! otherwise, Florence, 
 thou art lost ! I swear to thee that thou art lost ! The cup of 
 patience is drained ! It has not a drop left ! The sword of 
 vengeance is upon thee! Ah! hapless one! ... It is 
 lowered! it strikes! 
 
 Cries of terror 
 
 You answer : " Brother, what do you ask for ? " I ask for 
 nothing. It is God who will have no more of frivolous amuse- 
 ments ! Have you not wasted your lives enough ? No more 
 parades where the women try to captivate ! No more balls, 
 they are perdition ! No more taverns, they are brutishness ! 
 No more gaming, it is. . . . Ah ! that makes you uneasy ? 
 You would rather renounce your share of paradise than that 
 shameful practice ? Well, I will be merciful. . . . Gamble, if 
 you must ! but abandon the dice ! Take knucklebones ! 
 Gamble, but never for money ! Gamble for salads, nuts, roots ! 
 Poor creatures, you laugh, and I, I cry to the faithful : — 
 When you see in the streets or the houses misguided persons 
 give themselves up to their passion for games of chance, shrink 
 not from snatching the cards from their hands, and you, my 
 lords of the Eight, arrest them ; imprison them ! . . . The 
 rack! 
 
 The sermon continues. 
 
 5;
 
 THE RENAISSANCE 
 
 IN THE SQUARE. 
 Before the Church. — Groups of children. 
 
 YOUNG BONI (crying and shouting): Oh-h-h! 
 A BOY: What's the matter with you? 
 
 The other children gather round him 
 YOUNG BONI : A big brute has just thumped my head with 
 his fist. It's that man walking away there. 
 SECOND BOY: Why did he hit you? 
 
 YOUNG BONI: Because I wanted to pull off his Venetian 
 lace collar. 
 
 THE CHILDREN: Oh, the beast. Let's run after him! 
 Let's tear him to pieces ! 
 
 THIRD BOY: Don't do anything, he's a monster! It's 
 Torrigiani, the sculptor, a compagnacco ! He loves neither 
 God nor the Holy Virgin ! He's too strong for us ! 
 
 Two girls pass ; a dozen children surround them 
 FIRST BOY : My sisters, in the name of Jesus Christ, King 
 of this city, and of the Virgin Mary, our Queen, I command 
 you to take off those jewels and strip yourselves of all that 
 velvet. 
 
 FIRST GIRL : We'll obey you at once, dear child. Let 
 us go into our house. 
 
 FOURTH BOY: I know them, they're past praying for! 
 We already urged them the day before yesterday to be less 
 immodest ; they's always starting afresh. 
 SECOND GIRL: It takes time to sew new dresses, you 
 must understand, my little friend ! 
 FIFTH BOY: Let's pull off everything! 
 
 The band rushes at the two damsels and tears to piece.'; their finery 
 and their head-dresses. 
 
 SIXTH BOY: Good! two necklaces! earrings! bracelets! 
 chains! Let's give them to the poor! 
 
 Other children run up. 
 FIRST CHILD: What are those women crying for? 
 A BOY OF TWELVE : They are sinners whom we've led 
 back to virtue. And you, where do you come from ? 
 
 58
 
 SAVONAROLA 
 
 THE CHILD: From begging! Fifty ducats! Then we 
 
 despoiled the gamesters ! Now, look here ! Listen ! At the 
 
 corner of the Via Cocomero, I know a house where they keep 
 
 profane books, a chess-board, harps, also a looking-glass, 1 
 
 think, but I am not certain. Come, all of you ! Let us cleanse 
 
 that hell ! 
 
 THE CHILDREN: Come along! 
 
 A CITIZEN: Ho! Nicola! come here, my boy! 
 
 NICOLA: What do you want, father? 
 
 CITIZEN : Go indoors, I have to talk with you. 
 
 NICOLA : I have to serve Jesus and repress sinners ! 
 
 CITIZEN : Accursed brat, will you obey me? 
 
 NICOLA : It is better to obey God than men! Come along, 
 
 lads! 
 
 Bustle in the crowd coming out of church. 
 A CHILD (perched in a tree): Here's the Father! Here's 
 the Father ! 
 
 Under the porch appears Fra Girolamo, surrounded by the Fathers 
 of San Marco, among whom are Fra Silvestre Maruffi, the Padre 
 Buonvicini, the Padre Sacromoro, and other zealots. The crowd 
 salutes them with transports ; men and women kneel and kiss 
 Fra Girolamo's frock, weeping. 
 
 THE CHILDREN: The hymn! The hymn! Chant the 
 hymn ! 
 
 They sing. 
 " Lumen ad revelationem gentium et gloriam plebis tuae 
 Israel ! "* 
 
 Fra Girolamo departs, amid the adoration of tlie crowd. 
 
 A room in the house of Tanai de'Nerli ; his wife, his son. 
 NERLI : In a v.-ord, I am tired of these scenes, and I'll have 
 no more of them. I'll live as I please ; I'll have peace in 
 my house. 
 
 WIFE : So far as I am concerned, I will not bow to the yoke 
 of the demon. 
 NERLI : Whom do you call demon, pray? Me? 
 
 • " A^light to lighten the Gentiles and the glory of thy people, Israel ! " 
 
 59
 
 THE RENAISSANCE 
 
 WIFE : No, not you, but the spirit that possesses you. Why 
 
 keep that horrible book which the Prophet caused to be burnt 
 
 in the open square ? Have you not a copy of that 
 
 " Decameron," since I must name it ? 
 
 NERLl : You're making a lot of din about a book which has 
 
 been in everyone's hands for centuries. 
 
 WIFE : For long ages everyone has been working his own 
 
 damnation, and it is time to stop. 
 
 NERLI : I want peace, and this time I tell you that in all 
 
 seriousness. 
 
 CHILD : Do you see, mamma, he has the book and others 
 
 also which Fra Girolamo has forbidden ! Yes, I know it. Let 
 
 us burn, burn these books ! 
 
 WIFE : Yes, my darling, don't be afraid! I shall not allow 
 
 what I ought not to allow. 
 
 NERLI : This is raving madness, and I insist on your calming 
 
 down, Monna Lisa ; otherwise, I shall take such steps 
 
 WIFE : It is useless to try and browbeat me ; you won't suc- 
 ceed ; in spite of you I'll work out my salvation ! 
 CHILD : Yes, mamma, do work out your salvation ! Work 
 out your salvation, mamma ! 
 WTFE : Yes, dearest! fear not! 
 
 NERLI : This is a house of demoniacs in a city of madmen, 
 and this Florence, which before was only a baggage, is now 
 
 become a lunatic since that cursed monk 
 
 WIFE (beside herself) : Ah ! do not blaspheme Fra Girolamo, 
 
 I implore you ! 
 
 NERLI : I'll send Fra Girolamo to the devil if I please, and 
 
 you, too ! Do you hear ? 
 
 WIFE : And I, you monster, I'll run and denounce you to the 
 
 Eight and demand an exemplary punishment for such 
 
 wickedness. 
 
 CHILD : Yes, mamma! Papa must be punished! 
 
 NERLI : May heaven confound you all! 
 
 60
 
 SAVONAROLA 
 
 ROME. 
 June, 1500. 
 
 The Vatican. — A room in the pontifical apartments. — Alexander VI. ; 
 Lucrezia Borgia, Duchess of BisagUa. She is in deep mourning, 
 seated in an arm-chair, much distraught and her face stained with 
 tears. 
 
 ALEXANDER VL : Yes, it is true. Your brother Cesare 
 is the culprit. He went into the room where your unhappy 
 husband Alfonso lay, with his wounds in bandages ; he 
 strangled him. ... I confess it . . . you would be told any- 
 way . . . you would not take four steps in the city without 
 hearing of it. ... I had rather you learnt it from me, so that 
 we can consider together what ought to be done in such 
 circumstances, which cannot be altered. 
 
 Lucrezia sobs into her handkerchief and wrings her hands. 
 The essential character of all sorrow, however great it may be 
 (and yours is very great, my daughter, and more justified than 
 any other sorrow can be) . . . the character of all sorrow is 
 that it is followed by oblivion. 
 LUCREZIA: Ah! Holy Father! 
 
 ALEXANDER VL : I am speaking to you reasonably. 
 Persons in our station must always be reasonable, otherwise 
 they become meaner than anyone else. Sorrows, the most 
 bitter despairs, all that comes to shock us and rob us of some 
 possession or other, these cruel reverses of fortune, all this 
 appears only in order to be forgotten. A day will come when 
 you yourself will be astonished to find yourself hardly able to 
 recall the features and perhaps the name of this husband, 
 whose loss at present afflicts you with a grief that seems to 
 you intolerable. 
 
 LUCREZIA: To lose him! ... To lose him Hke this! . . . 
 Murdered by my brother! ... at the moment when he was 
 overjoyed at the birth of his son ! . . . What kind of a monster 
 is his murderer? 
 
 ALEXANDER VI. : He is not a monster, my daughter, but 
 a ruler who could not enter his destined sphere but at the 
 
 61
 
 THE RENAISSANCE 
 
 price of the most sustained and sometimes the most pitiless 
 efforts. Listen to me, Lucrezia, and don't raise your hands 
 to Heaven. I do not speak to you cither to justify Don 
 Cesare foohshly or to insult you ; I am trying to awaken in 
 you what 1 know to be clear-cut, true, and powerful sentiments, 
 and to enable you to pass through a crisis in which youth and 
 experience do not admit of your showing yourself in your 
 most heroic light. 
 
 LUCREZIA: 1 am a miserable widow mourning for an 
 innocent husband, slaughtered by the most infamous of 
 traitors ! 
 
 ALEXANDER VI.: What is the use of words so violent? 
 Let us consider, Lucrezia. . . . You know that I love you, 
 from the depths of my heart ? 
 
 LUCREZIA : I know also to what horrible suspicions and 
 accusations the affection of your Holiness exposes my honour ! 
 But I am in despair, and I care about nothing any more in 
 the world ! 
 
 ALEXANDER VI. : People say that I am both your father 
 and your lover ? Lucrezia, let the world, let that mass of 
 grubs, as absurd as they are feeble, imagine the most 
 ridiculous tales about the strong. In their powerlessness to 
 understand the aims of our souls, they see only in them the 
 eccentric ; they cannot analyse the workings and still less 
 perceive the bearing, and they think to discover in the 
 mysterious bosom of this unknown the stupid infamies for 
 which they can hardly find a name. Let these gusts of futility 
 whirl about your head without finding an entrance. Let us 
 speak only of the things that matter. You must shake off 
 this despondency. Your situation requires that ; you must 
 not, and I will not let you, shut yourself up in solitude ; I will 
 not allow you to return to Nepi, where you desire at this 
 moment to bury for ever yourself and your sorrows. That 
 will not do. Nature herself opposes such a step ; you are 
 young, beautiful, energetic, intelligent, active ; you need life, 
 and life needs you. Stay with us. stay in this world to rule 
 
 62
 
 l.LCRi:/.lA li(JK(,ilA 
 
 1o fait page t)2
 
 SAVONAROLA 
 
 it! You say you have lost a husband who was dear to you? 
 I regret, I deplore this as you do, and I would have given 
 much to spare you the pang. Nevertheless, you are Madam 
 Lucrezia Borgia ; your blood is among the noblest known ; 
 you are Duchess of Bisaglia and Sermoneta, Princess of 
 Aragon, perpetual Governor of Spoleto ; you are looked upon 
 as almost the equal of crowned heads ; you were born with 
 the instinct of queening it over the nations, and your mind — 
 I know how elevated it is^will never allow you to withdraw 
 from this task. 
 
 LUCREZIA : Once upon a time, may be, I took pleasure in 
 watching the course of affairs and touching the wires that 
 make them move. . . . That time is past. I have decided to 
 busy myself no more with anything but my son, and, when I 
 have the power, with my vengeance. 
 
 ALEXA5sDER VL : Take care, Lucrezia! Never repeat to 
 anyone but me so dangerous a word. Your brother knows 
 what he wants and wants what he has a right to. It is 
 necessary that his plans should succeed, and if one day he 
 came to think he had been deceived in you, and that you are 
 not really the strong and intelligent woman he claims you to 
 be ; if, in short, he found in you a hindrance and not a help, 
 you would not be more secure against him than were your 
 brother Giovanni and your unfortunate husband whom he 
 stabbed under my very cloak . . . and so many others. . . . 
 LUCREZIA: Don Cesare is the last person to frighten me, 
 and, if he defies you, he will not defy me ! 
 
 ALEXANDER VI. : That is how I love to see you, and now 
 I recognise you ! The little middle-class widow has disap- 
 peared ! It is the Queen, the Sovereign, who speaks! . . . My 
 daughter, you are at this moment as beautiful as Pride ! You 
 are strength itself ! Hence I will speak to you. Don Cesare has 
 never had the least intention of hurting you, and you will 
 understand that if you reflect a little. When, two years ago, 
 we made you leave Giovanni Sforza, and married you to Don 
 Alfonso of Aragon, we obeyed necessity and made an 
 
 I O3
 
 THE RENAISSANCE 
 
 irreproachable match. Although your consort was only the 
 natural son of the King of Naples, we gained through him a 
 mighty ally, and at that moment it was impossible to secure 
 anything better for our ulterior projects. Since then, things 
 have greatly altered. The indomitable energy of Don 
 Cesare, his adroitness, his wealth of resource, the favourable 
 opportunities which he has seized, and from which he has 
 squeezed all the juice, allow us now to enjoy the favour, the 
 close friendship, the affection of the successor of Charles VIII. 
 We have and shall have by this means what the Spanish 
 would never have given us ; and you can imagine how unsuit- 
 able Don Cesare then considered an Aragonese alliance, at 
 the precise moment when we were compelled to become French 
 heart and soul, and with most scrupulous care to avoid giving 
 umbrage to that most foolish, most credulous, most suspicious 
 of princes, Louis XII. 
 
 LUCREZIA : And this was the object for which Don Alfonso 
 was murdered ? 
 
 ALEXANDER VI : This and no other. I admit that there 
 were other ways of going about the business. You could 
 yourself have persuaded the unfortunate Don Alfonso to 
 abandon his father, his family and his country. 
 LUCREZIA (sobbing) : He would have done anything I 
 asked him! 
 
 ALEXANDER VI. : We will not go over that ground again. 
 Don Cesare was wrong in the form ... in the matter he 
 reasoned correctly, and so far from his wishing any ill to you, 
 I shall prove to you that he only thinks of your elevation. 
 LUCREZIA : I dispense him' from that. 
 ALEXANDER VI. : In judging your brother, there is one 
 truth above all that you must take into account, and perhaps 
 such an examination would also be useful in explaining you 
 to yourself. We are not shifty, inconstant Italians ; we are 
 Spaniards and, where violence is concerned, an innate ten- 
 dency impels us to the shortest cut. What our compatriots 
 are doing in the New Indies — the hardness of the Duke of 
 
 64
 
 SAVONAROLA 
 
 Veragua and his companions towards the natives of those 
 countries — we of the House of Borgia, Don Cesare in 
 particular, are doing in Italy. That is why I am inclined to 
 think that, troubling but little about means and restraining 
 ourselves but little in action, we are free from the most oppres- 
 sive bonds which paralyse other men, and we shall thus 
 succeed all the more rapidly in establishing our greatness on 
 firm foundations — the great task to which we must devote our- 
 selves heart and soul. 
 
 LUCREZIA*: I did not ask to marry Don Alfonso. Under 
 pretext of my extreme youth, I was not even consulted in the 
 matter, any more than I was before, when my first marriage 
 was arranged and broken off, or still earlier, on the occasion 
 of my first betrothal. What is the meaning of these words 
 swollen with wind ? Do you imagine that you dazzle me by 
 the tinsel witli»Avhich you have loaded me ? By right of my 
 husband, I am Duchess of Bisaglia . . . but to-morrow the 
 King of Naples can deprive me of this fief, which was a 
 gratuitous gift. Sermoneta you took from the Gaetani and 
 bestowed on me ; someone else will take it back from me to 
 pass it on to newcomers. I am perpetual Governor of Spoleto. 
 But Spoleto belongs to the Church, and when you are dead, 
 what will that perpetuity count for? No, Holy Father, I am 
 nothing but a wretched woman whose family makes her a 
 mere pawn in the game, whose interests are no more con- 
 sidered than her feelings. In such a situation, there remains 
 to me my pride ; you made me leave Nepi, I intend to go back 
 there ; I shall not come away again until obliged to do so by 
 my duties as a mother and an outraged wife. 
 ALEXANDER VI.: Your future is not the one you have 
 just described, but one that I will proceed to unfold to you. 
 You incriminate your kinsfolk ? But consider how solicitous 
 of your welfare they have been. In the times before we rose 
 to power, we bethought ourselves of a nobleman, rich and 
 of good birth and kindred, and we thought he would be a 
 proper match for you. But very soon after, the wind having 
 
 I 2 6$
 
 THE RENAISSANCE 
 
 filled our sails and the ship of our fortunes having taken to 
 the high seas, we at once set you free from this moderate 
 happiness, and took you with us on our own \oyage. At that 
 period it was a great gain to acquire for yuu some sort of a 
 prince ; we sought, we found, we gave you one. Times have 
 changed once more ; the falcons have been turned into eagles ; 
 their prey must be more lordly ; they wish you to have a 
 share ; what suited you once suits you no more ; you are 
 worth something better. What would you say to a sovereign, 
 really sovereign throne ? To a husband belonging to one of 
 the noblest houses in the world — himself handsome, brave, 
 intrepid, one of the best generals in Italy, marked out for the 
 highest destinies, one who loves you to adoration and asks 
 for your hand ? 
 
 LUCREZIA : I do not know of whom you speak, and do not 
 care either. •• 
 
 ALEXANDER VI. : I speak of Don Alfonso d'Este, son and 
 heir of Duke Ercole of Ferrara. I speak of your true great- 
 ness, of your future, of your happiness ; of the future, the 
 happiness, the life of your son. You hear, Lucrezia ? 
 LUCREZIA: At the moment I am incapable of listening to 
 such proposals or to argue on whatever justice they may have. 
 ALEXANDER VI. : That I can well imagine. But you can 
 nevertheless already make up your mind that it is not con- 
 venient for you to return to Nepi. To persuade you the more, 
 r will tell you of a design I have formed in concert with Don 
 Cesare, which will prove to you my affection and your 
 brother's devotion to your true interests. 
 LUCREZIA : I should like to know what you mean. 
 ALEXANDER VI. : Business compels me to leave Rome for 
 some time. You will remain here ; you will take my place. 
 The government will be put in your hands ; you will have the 
 sole right of opening and reading dispatches, of taking reso- 
 lutions and of giving orders. I have commanded my most 
 trusted Cardinals to confer with you whenever you think fit. 
 Thus, Lucrezia, you will rule the Papal States and the world, 
 
 66
 
 SAVONAROLA 
 
 spiritual and temporal. I know that you are worthy of 
 grasping the importance of such a task. Believe me. Give 
 up those tears that are unworthy of you, simply because they 
 are useless. Think of the glory of your house, of the future 
 of our settlements, and remember that all other considerations 
 vanish before so lordly an ambition. Know henceforward that 
 for the kind of persons whom fate summons to dominate 
 others, the ordinary rules of life are reversed, and duty 
 becomes quite different. Good and evil are lifted to another, 
 to a higher region, to a different plane. The virtues that may 
 be applauded in an ordinary woman v,ould m you become 
 vices, merely because they would only be sources of error and 
 ruin. Now the great law of the world is not to do this or that, 
 to avoid one thing and run after another ; it is to live, to 
 enlarge and develop our most active and lofty qualities, in 
 such a way that from any sphere we can always hew ourselves 
 out a way to one that is wider, more airy, more elevated. 
 Never forget that. Walk straight on. Simply do what you 
 please, but only so far as likewise suits your interests. Leave 
 to the small minds, to the rabble of underlings, all slackness 
 and scruple. There is only one consideration worthy of you — 
 the elevation of the House of Borgia and of yourself ; and I 
 hope that in so serious a reflection there is enough to dry your 
 tears and to make you accept that which, being henceforth 
 an accomplished fact, has become indifferent. I leave you, 
 Lucrezia, and call upon you to consider yourself as one who 
 will soon be Duchess of Ferrara and at present represents for 
 the nations the Vicar of God ! 
 
 6;
 
 THE RENAISSANCE 
 
 VENICE. 
 A room in a palace of the Gran Canale. — Hero de'Medici, walking up and 
 down with a troubled air, his hands beside his back ; his brother, the 
 Cardinal Giovanni de'Medici, altcrwards Pope Leo X., now nineteen 
 years ol age ; his cousin Giulio de'iNledici, alterwanis I'ope Clement VII., 
 now Kniyht of St. John and Prior of Capua ; Bernardo Dovisi da 
 Bibbiena, steward of the Cardinal's house antl sometime private 
 secretary to Lorenzo the Magnilicent. 
 
 BIBBIENA: That our aflairs are in a bad way it would be 
 puerile to deny, but I do not think there is any need, Lord 
 Piero, for such despair as yours. 
 
 PIERO : I have made mistakes, terrible mistakes. I ought 
 not to have ceded so much to the French when I tried to turn 
 them aside from Florence. After coming to an understanding 
 with them I ought at least to have called them to my aid before 
 leaving for Bologna, where that miserable Giovanni 
 Bentivoglio, forgetting what he owes to our father's memory, 
 has compelled us to recognise how little he is worth himself, 
 and to take flight here. . . . Ah ! if ever I succeed in raising 
 our fallen fortunes, he shall know, he shall know what 
 vengeance means. But that is not my chief vexation — as I 
 tell you, what trouble me most are my own mistakes. 
 GIOVANNI: Brother, brother, don't fret so! I stayed at 
 Florence after you, and I assure you that there was nothing 
 to be done. Our enemies had so arranged everything and 
 worked upon the minds of the citizens that our dismissal was 
 a foregone conclusion. Luca Corsini, Jacopo de' Nerli, all 
 those envious folk had stirred up even the most easy-going 
 people. In vain I spoke to them, they did not listen to me ; 
 I had to withdraw, I even had stones thrown at me. 
 Savonarola was against me. It was he who persuaded the 
 Dominicans of San Marco to expel me from their convent, 
 where I had at first found refuge. 
 PIERO : A house that we founded. 
 
 GIOVANNI : Be not so distressed, brother. It is highly 
 probable, I repeat, that Fra Girolamo had perverted the minds 
 of the good Fathers, otherwise they would not have acted as 
 they did. It was a dreadful sight, that infuriated mob 
 
 68
 
 SAVONAROLA 
 
 through which I fled disguised as a poor friar ; a crowd of 
 ruffians roaring, shouting, breaking open prison doors and 
 embracing thieves and murderers as they let them out ! 
 BIBBIENA : That is the way in which the populace plays its 
 part in public affairs. 
 
 PIERO : I shall make what I can out of this. But there are 
 worse horrors. You have learnt that our uncle's sons, our 
 cousins, have managed, by stooping to various meannesses, to 
 re-enter the city and recover their property. The more to 
 prove their attachment to their new masters, the wretches have 
 solemnly renounced their name, and bear that of Popolani ; so 
 that to-day I announce to you the existence of a respectable 
 Signer Lorenzo Popolani, and of his bother, worthy of him in 
 all respects, the honourable Signor Giovanni Popolani. What 
 mockery, what misery, what a mass of infamies there is in 
 this world ! 
 
 GIOVANNI : I will make the most of our cousins' defection. 
 They are not friends whom' we shall miss, and, frankly, I am 
 far more affected by the fact that our rebel kinsmen have 
 destroyed the gardens where our father had collected so many 
 statues and pictures, the works of the great masters of every 
 age. The general looting has caused the disappearance of 
 books, medals, and cameos. There were things there that 
 I shall always remember — their loss is irreparable. 
 PIERO: What does that matter? We ourselves are lost! 
 Here we are, condemned to wander endlessly from one place 
 to another, passing from the hands of warm to those of cold 
 friendship and ever on the look-out lest some treacherous ally 
 sell us to our foes. For the time being, the most serene 
 Senate is behaving generously towards us ; but how long will 
 this last? 
 
 BIBBIENA : As long as the Venetians have a hatred of 
 Florence, and that is for ever. No, I say once more, do not 
 despair ! In this world, affairs are in constant oscillation, veering 
 from right to left and from left to right. The interests of Italy 
 form the needle of the balance, and for that reason they change 
 
 69
 
 THE RENAISSANCE 
 
 even more rapidlx- than otlier interests. For my part I am 
 convinced that the Medici will one day return to Florence, and 
 will recover their power and prestige. 
 
 GIOX'ANNI : Indeed 1 think that is probable. France is 
 obeying a new King, this Louis XII., who, 1 am told, is 
 possessed of a thirst for conquest even more than the late 
 Charles VIII.; what he wants is not only Naples, but the 
 Milanese. An understanding may perhaps be arrived at ; 
 besides, Savonarola cannot last for ever. He is beginning to 
 wear out men's patience. The Republicans are not united ; 
 many of our partisans are returning to the city and are not 
 molested there. Why, young Michael Angelo, to quote no other 
 instance, had fled to Bologna, and the Aldobrandini had even 
 procured him work at San Petronio ; none the less, he went 
 back to Florence and is tolerated there. 
 
 GIULIANO : Better still, they accept our money. In 
 accordance with your orders, Signor Piero, I sent some to 
 Tornabuoni. He writes me that the number of his pensioners 
 is on the increase. My Lord Giovanni, will you come and visit 
 Titian's studio ? 
 
 GIOVANNI : With pleasure. I will let you see my new 
 liveries for our gondoliers. 
 
 PIERO : Go and amuse yourselves. I will write some letters 
 with Bibbiena. 
 
 70
 
 SAVONAROLA 
 
 FLORENCE. 
 A shop parlour. — Two merchants at table. 
 
 FIRST MERCHANT : Take another helping of this pastry. 
 Fra Girolamo's Piagnoni can't see us. 
 
 SECOND MERCHANT : You are very kind. I have a weak 
 digestion and dare not take any more. I repeat, England is 
 a country for making fine profits. 
 
 FIRST MERCHANT : In silks, certainly, and still more in 
 wines. Last year I sent four casks of rather poor quality 
 to my agent in London. He made a good profit. I willingly 
 give Englishmen credit. 
 
 SECOND MERCHANT: That's just what I say; they're 
 men of solid worth. 
 
 FIRST MERCHANT: All the more, I prefer the Flemish. 
 There are some really excellent merchants in Antwerp. 
 SECOND MERCHANT: Between ourselves, would it not 
 be better if Fra Girolamo — -whom, I beg you to observe, I 
 venerate in other respects — if Fra Girolamo caused to be 
 handed over to us on easy terms all the beautiful objects he 
 orders to be destroyed ? Those good Flemings would buy 
 them from us. 
 
 FIRST MERCHANT: I agree. The worthy Frate is 
 unapproachable on that point. Besides, you cannot speak 
 to him so freely as you could before. He gets angry at the 
 first word, and insults you. 
 
 SECOND MERCHANT: It must be confessed that 
 incorrigible sinners cause him much heartburning. 
 FIRST MERCHANT: Don't speak of it! I don't know 
 how he resists. Still, he would have done better in keep- 
 ing that fine golden-flowered tapestry ! We should have 
 sold it, and that for ready money. The prophet is preaching 
 this evening at San Nicola. Do you never go and hear him ? 
 SECOND MERCHANT: What do you mean? I make it 
 a sacred duty, and would not for anytliing in the world incur 
 the charge of lukcwarmncss ; for, between ourselves, T" have 
 
 71
 
 TPIE RENAISSANCE 
 
 some very fine things here, and don't want to attract too much 
 
 attention. 
 
 FIRST I^IERCHANT: My case precisely, neighbour. In 
 these sHppcry times one must be war}^ Come! let us be 
 starting. The church will be full. Are you taking a candle? 
 SECOND MERCHANT : I never fail to, it looks well. See, 
 it's a regular ship's mast ! 
 FIRST MERCHANT: Mine is just as good. 
 
 Exeunt, laughing. 
 
 Fra Girolamo's cell. He is lying at full length on his couch, covering 
 his eyes with his crossed arms. Seated on stools are Fra Silvestre 
 Maruffi, Fra Domenico Buonvicini. 
 
 FRA GIROLAMO : My God, my God, why hast thou for- 
 saken me ? 
 
 FRA SILVESTRE : It is you, master, who forsake yourself: 
 we never weary of telling you so. 
 
 FRA DOMENICO: I, too, cannot understand this prostra- 
 tion of your energies. 
 
 FRA GIROLAMO : I am at the end of my strength. May 
 the Lord Jesus summon me back to Him !" 
 
 He hides his face on the pillow and weeps loudly. 
 FRA DOMENICO : What a misfortune to see such a man 
 fallen a prey to such weakness ! 
 
 FRA GIROLAMO (rising to his feet, crosses his arms and 
 looks at his friends) : Do you wish me to admit it ? A burden 
 has been weighing on my heart for more than a year. I must 
 rid myself of the load. Listen to me, then. I fear that I have 
 blundered ! I am like a traveller who, having started for the 
 heavenly Jerusalem, should find himself suddenly, by taking 
 a wrong turning, in the neighbourhood of Flell ! 
 FRA SILVESTRE : But, master, what is that you are in need 
 of now? Have you not succeeded beyond all expectation? 
 Every day Florence takes a new step on the road to perfec- 
 tion; you are the sole master, they believe in none but you, 
 they love none but you, they desire none but you ! The rest 
 
 72
 
 SAVONAROLA 
 
 will come of itself. The Pope threatens, but he dare not act ! 
 
 FRA GIROLAMO : I have blundered, I tell you. I thought 
 
 that the good was as easy to grasp as to perceive. I did not 
 
 suspect that action is usually a traitor to intention. Benefits 
 
 are never accepted, they must be imposed by force. If I 
 
 counsel, they do not listen to me. I must smite. In that 
 
 case, where is moderation ? Where is the mean ? If I utter 
 
 invectives, I am found to have cursed. If I rebuke, I insult ; 
 
 if I strike with the shepherd's crook, it is a sword that I am 
 
 steeping in blood, and I am killing the men whom I seek to 
 
 serve. No, all undergoes a change under my hands, in my 
 
 hands ; honey is changed to gall, softness to fury, firmness 
 
 to ferocity ! Do you think I am blind to what my faithful 
 
 flock are doing ? They are no better than wolves ! 
 
 FRx\ SILVESTRE : They seem a little rough at times, that 
 
 may be ; but in general the results are excellent, and an error 
 
 of detail cannot detract from the merits of the whole ! 
 
 FRA GIROLAMO : I serve the heavenly cause with the 
 
 devil's weapons. 
 
 FRA DOMENICO: King David had Phihstines for his 
 
 bodyguard ! 
 
 FRA GIROLAMO: Oh God! Oh God! I would have 
 
 nothing but purity to surround justice ! Recall me hence ! 
 
 FRA SILVESTRE : And the work, what will become of it 
 
 if you die ? 
 
 FRA GIROLAMO : Come what may, I want to go! 
 
 He throws himself again on his bed* 
 
 73
 
 THE RENAISSANCE 
 
 Night. — A Garden. — A Girl. — A Lover 
 
 THE GIRL : I am so frightened. ... If my brother sus- 
 pected anything! . . . Go awa)', I implore you! 
 LOVER: No! Your brother is running about the streets to 
 insult the Piagnoni. Don't be afraid ? You are afraid ? Well, 
 calm yourself ; 1 will go ! At any rate, do you love me ? 
 GIRL : I think so. ... I don't know. ... I love you just 
 now. . . . Do )'ou wish me to deceive you ? Why attach 
 yourself to me ? I am fickle. ... I do not know myself. I 
 love }'ou, my friend, my dear friend ! To-morrow, I daresay 
 I shan't love you any more. I have always been frank with 
 you. 
 
 LOVER : Words like these are meant to kill me. No 
 matter ! I shall cherish you, adore you, serve you ! I am 
 yours. I want to die for you ! 
 
 GIRL : I am so frightened ! Kiss me . . . here ... on the 
 cheek. . . . Poor Fabrizio ! ... I do love you ... at this 
 moment ! Why so distressed ? Have you not great work to 
 do ? Occupy yourself with the Medici. 
 
 LOVER: I trouble as little about the Medici as about their 
 adversaries. My only task is to love you. Farewell ! Five 
 days from now without seeing you ! 
 
 GIRL : Five days ? it's too much ! Pass this way to-morrow ; 
 I may perhaps be able to let you come upstairs. 
 LOVER: And if I am observed? 
 GIRL : It's all one to me ! 
 
 LOVER : There is nothing in the world so lovely, so attractive, 
 so graceful, so fascinating as you ! 
 GIRL: Farewell! Don't repine. Think a little of me, will 
 
 \'OU ? 
 
 LOVER : Another kiss ! 
 
 GIRL : No, to-morrow ! Give me your hand, that's enough. 
 
 Farewell. 
 
 LOVER: Do you love me? 
 
 GIRL: I don't know. 
 
 74
 
 SAVONAROLA 
 
 LOVER : When you've made ine die of despair, you'll know, 
 perhaps. Farewell ! 
 
 ROME 
 
 The Pope's room. — Alexander VI. ; Cardinal Francesco Piccoloinini ; the 
 
 Milanese envoy. 
 
 CARDINAL : I tell you, Most Holy Father, if )'ou do not 
 make an end of Fra Girolamo, he will make an end of you. 
 THE POPE : You have a grudge against him because he 
 refused you five thousand florins. Do you think I am unaware 
 of your intrigues ? You are all up in arms against this chatter- 
 box. He tells you home truths. Very hard to bear ! He has 
 told me home truths, too ! Do I trouble about them ? Do I 
 make any pretence of being a saint ? I wish to live in peace. 
 Enough of complaints ! I shall not take any further notice. 
 I am old ; I will die quietly, in spite of you ; I will set up my 
 children. Leave me in peace ! 
 
 CARDINAL : But, Holy Father, it is just your peace that is 
 in question. Only listen to Ludovico Sforza's message to you. 
 THE POPE : I don't want to hear anything that wearies me 
 or puts me in a temper. 
 
 ENVOY : These are not words in the air that I am conveying 
 to you. I have facts and proofs. 
 THE POPE : Keep them to yourself. 
 
 ENVOY : Savonarola has written to all the crowned heads ; 
 he asks for a Council and your deposition. 
 CARDINAL : It is the absolute truth, and many princes arc 
 already won over. 
 
 THE POPE : Rumours and calumnies. 
 
 ENVOY : Here is the letter to the King of France ! We 
 intercepted it from a courier. It is signed by Fra Girolamo 
 — here is his seal. 
 
 THE POPE : Blood of the Madonna! The dog, the wretch, 
 the coward, the thief, the scoundrel ! It is true after all ! Ah ! 
 you desire my ruin ! Let my council be called together . . . 
 
 75
 
 THE RENAISSANCE 
 
 lei notice be given to Don Cesare and Donna Lucrezia and 
 . . . Donna Vanozza! This time, it's all over with him! 
 CARDINAL : I told you it would have to come to this. Your 
 briefs sneered at, your orders trampled under foot, your name 
 reviled in the open pulpit every day, every hour! He treats 
 you as he would the most despicable of men. 
 THE POPE : 1 am his master, and he shall know it! I will 
 tear this Giiolamo's soul from his belly, and he will learn what 
 is to be gained by rebelling against me ! 
 
 FLORENCE, 
 A square. — A group of artisans meets a returning crowd. 
 
 A WORKMAN : Hi, you people! The prophet promised to 
 
 pass through the flames of a pyre to confound his slanderers ; 
 
 has he done it ? 
 
 A CITIZEN: He? ... My word, no! 
 
 ANOTHER ARTISAN: What ... he has not? .. . So the 
 
 Franciscans have lied ? 
 
 SECOND CITIZEN : Not at all. Franciscans and Fathers 
 
 of San Marco hurled taunts at each other from a safe distance, 
 
 and neither side, after a day of debates, has ventured to 
 
 risk the fire, as they boasted loudly they would. I have been 
 
 waiting since this morning with many others to see the sight 
 
 My opinion is that we are duped. Era Girolamo is not worth 
 
 much. 
 
 A WEAVER : I begin to think so, too. 
 
 A WOMAN : Much good it did to forbid dancing. I have 
 
 been telling you for some time past, he is nothing but a 
 
 hypocrite ! 
 
 A BAKER : I'm going in to supper; I snap my fingers at all 
 
 the monks in the universe. 
 
 The Palazzo Vecchio. — Council chanaber. — The Gonfalonier ; the Eight. 
 
 THE GONFALONIER: Era Girolamo was altogether 
 wrong in putting himself forward as he has done in this 
 
 ;6
 
 SAVONAROLA 
 
 affair of the pyre. As he was not certaui of himself, he 
 ought not to have placed himself imder the necessity of feebly 
 backing out. He is getting himself into a very difficult posi- 
 tion, and dragging us along with him. 
 
 FIRST PRIOR: And the letters from Rome become more 
 threatening every day! Our spokesman, Domenico Bonsi, 
 does not spare us their recital. It would seem as if thq Pope 
 were determined to make an end of him. What will become 
 of our settlement and of the popular government without Fra 
 Girolamo ? 
 
 SECOND PRIOR: If we had not had him escorted by 
 Captani Giovacchino and by Marcuccio Salviati, the mob, 
 furious as it was at seeing itself deprived of a spectacle that 
 had been delighting its imagination for a fortnight, would have 
 torn him to shreds. 
 
 GONFALONIER : It cannot be denied, noble signors, that 
 Fra Girolamo's popularity is considerably on the wane. The 
 Medici are scattering their money everywhere ; I have certain 
 information on the point. . . . Things cannot last much longer 
 as they are. The Arrabbiati and the Compagnacci run about 
 the streets under arms. Let us come to a decision. Our own 
 safety and that of the commonwealth is at stake. 
 THIRD PRIOR : If possible, let us not compromise ourselves 
 with anyone, with any party. My advice is to send the Frate 
 an order to leave the city. Follow my reasoning carefully. In 
 acting thus, we save the monk's life, and it is as well to point 
 that out to him and to his friends, so that they may have no 
 doubt of it and may not turn against us ; in the second place, 
 we shall satisfy Rome, since we seem to obey its admonitions, 
 and the Frate will thereby cease from his preaching, although 
 we shall have made no decree to that end ; thirdly, we rob 
 the partisans of the Medici of all pretext for raising a riot, 
 seeing that the presumptive cause of the discord will be 
 removed. Do you agree ? 
 
 GONFALONIER: Are we to deliberate on this proposal, 
 gentlemen ?
 
 THE RENAISSANCE 
 
 PRIORS : Certainly, certainly. There are good points about 
 the suggestion. 
 
 Iho country near l-'lorence. — The Arno in the background ; meadows 
 
 and trees. 
 A YOUNG ENGRAVER = Ihis new work of Albrecht Durer 
 1 find very absorbing! I fear that we Italians cannot yet 
 make the most of Finiguerra's invention. Yet it is the glory 
 of the Florentines! I will study the German manner; I will 
 discover its processes, and if I don't do better, or at least quite 
 as well, I shall die of despair. 
 
 FLORENCE. 
 
 The cou\ent of San Marco. — The choir of the church. —A great crowd, 
 wherein most of the men are armed ; monks, hkewise armed ; Fra 
 Girolamo, Fra Silvestre, Fra Sacromoro, Fra Buonvicini, Francesco 
 Valori, Luca degli Albizzi, Vespuccio. 
 
 FRA GIROLAMO: Calm yourselves, my brothers! my 
 
 children ! It is the moment for showing yourselves intrepid ! 
 
 Do not let yourselves be a prey to fear, nothing is in danger! 
 
 FRA SACRO.MORO : Rest assured, my Father! We shall 
 
 all die rather than abandon you. 
 
 FRA GIROLAMO : It is God vv'hom you must serve, not me. 
 
 FRA SILVESTRE : What mean those howls? 
 
 FRA BUONVICINI : The enemy is entering the church. A 
 
 terrible mob ! Brutal faces ! 
 
 LUCA DEGLI ALBIZZI : Don't let us lose a minute. Fra 
 
 Girolamo, give the order to load ! 
 
 FRA GIROLAMO : Can you think of such a thing? In the 
 
 Lord's temple ! 
 
 LUCA DEGLI ALBIZZI : Are you jesting? Is it better to 
 
 be massacred? Let us attack before they attack us, and I 
 
 promise you we shall still be the stronger. 
 
 FRANCESCO VALORI : For mercy's sake, Messer Luca, no 
 
 madness! Restrain yourself! The Medici's supporters will 
 
 not fail to say that we are provoking them. Let us show 
 
 ourselves generous. 
 
 78
 
 SAVONAROLA 
 
 LUCA DEGLI ALBIZZI : Show yourselves blockheads! 
 The chill of cowardice is creeping over you, and you are not 
 sorry to call that disease prudence. Go! go! you are lost! I 
 have no desire to deliver my bones to these wretches, and I am 
 leaving Florence ; let them come to my house, and they will 
 get a shower of arquebusades there ! Farewell ! Let those 
 who have warm blood in their veins be marching ! 
 
 Draws his sword ; exit, surrounded by his friends. 
 SEVERAL VOICES : We follow you! we follow you! 
 
 Discharge of musketry. A man comes up running. 
 THE RUNNER = Fra Girolamo ! Where is Fra Girolamo ? 
 FRA GIROLAMO : Here I am! 
 
 THE RUNNER: The Signiory banish you! the Com- 
 pagnacci bring you the order ! Oh, my God ! my God ! Their 
 one desire is to murder you! They are more than eight 
 hundred ! more than three thousand ! They are running up ! 
 They have just killed two men ! Here they are ! Hide 
 yourself! save yourself! 
 
 FRA GIROLAMO (to the monks): To your cells, brothers! 
 ... If die one must, it is there ! . . . O Florence ! Florence ! 
 
 Great uproar, the women shriek and fly into the chapels. The 
 Compagnacci and the Arrabbiati fire their cross-bows, shout and 
 belabour the crowd. 
 
 A COMPAGNACCO : Be off, you scum ! The Signory con- 
 fiscates all the property of laymen who remain here ! 
 FRANCESCO VALORI (to his officer) : Is this true, sir? 
 OFFICER: Absolutely true! The Eight have no other 
 idea than to restore order, and I advise you to withdraw. 
 VALORI : So you wish to kill Fra Girolamo? 
 THE OFFICER : On the contrary, we wish for peace, and to 
 that end we are separating the combatants. 
 FRA SACROMORO : It's a scandal. 
 
 A COMPAGNACCO: Hold your tongue, fat monk, or I'll 
 rip your guts out! 
 
 FRA GIROLAMO : The crowd is overpowering us. Let us 
 go into the cloisters. 
 
 K 79
 
 TIIR RENAISSANCE 
 
 ERA SACROMORO:Let us ring the bells to warn our 
 
 people. 
 
 VALORI : I entreat you, do nothing of the sort! Be 
 
 moderate ! Be calm ! Be self-restrained ! I'll run and urge 
 
 the Priors to put an end to all this. 
 
 ERA BETONVICINI : Let us defend ourselves! To arms! 
 
 The monks with difficulty drag Fra Girolamo into the convent and 
 close the doors. Fighting in the church. 
 
 A dilapidated, barely furnished room. — Ser Bernardo Nerli ; his wife, a 
 sick child sleeping in a cradle. 
 
 SER BERNARDO : Eight soldi for a will and four soldi for 
 the grant ; that makes twelve soldi. Add seven deniers for 
 the old yellow coat I have just sold, that gives us twelve soldi, 
 seven deniers. 
 
 WIEE : I think the child is less feverish. 
 SER BERNARDO: May heaven hear you, my love! . . . 
 Yes, he is not so red. ... I resume ! . . . Twelve soldi, seven 
 deniers ! Then, too, our neighbour the tailor has promised 
 me a measure of corn for the sonnet which I have to give 
 him this evening, on the occasion of his niece's betrothal. 
 WIEE : It's a piece of great good fortune ; and we still have 
 half the quarter of kid left. 
 
 SER BERNARDO: I think then we may consider ourselves 
 raised above penury. 
 
 WIFE : But I said so yesterday ; I should have no anxiety, if 
 only the little one. were better ! 
 
 SER BERNARDO: Oh, my dearest! . . . May God pre- 
 serve him to us ! 
 
 Arquebusades are heard. 
 When will they have ended their din, those ruffians! Fra 
 Girolamo and his adversaries, I should like to see them in the 
 hottest of hells ! So long as they exist, there will be no means 
 of earning a livelihood ! 
 
 WIFE : Ah, you're right indeed ! Instead of preaching and 
 talking so much, they'd do better to let us work ! 
 
 80
 
 SAVONAROLA 
 
 SER BERNARDO : I'm going to write my sonnet. . . . And 
 
 the child ? 
 
 WIFE : He's better. 
 
 SER BERNARDO : Kiss me ! 
 
 Before the house of Francesco Valori. — Vincenzo Ridolfi, Torrabuoni, a 
 crowd of Compagnacci and Arrabbiati ; they knock with redoubled 
 blows on the door to break it in. 
 
 VALORI'S WIFE (at a window) : My good Signors, I swear 
 
 to you, my husband is not here. Oh, my God ! my God ! 
 
 RIDOLFI: Where is he hiding? Answer, hussy! Where 
 
 is he, the coward? 
 
 THE WIFE : Signor Ridolfi, for pity's sake ! 
 
 TORNABUONI : Knock down that cursed door for me, you 
 
 people ! Will you soon have done ? 
 
 CRIES OF ASSAILANTS: Victory! The place is open! 
 
 Plunder I plunder I 
 
 The door falls ; the crowd rushes into the house. 
 
 RIDOLFI : Take that creature ! 
 
 TORNABUONI : No mercy for the Valori ! Remember the 
 
 Medici ! 
 
 The wife and her child are taken prisoners 
 
 THE WIFE: Mercy! Mercy! My husband is absent, I 
 swear it ! 
 
 RIDOLFI : But I have got you ! On your knees ! wretch, on 
 your knees ! Kill that wolf's whelp ! 
 
 The woman utters fearful cries ; she is seized by the hair and stabbed 
 on her child's body. 
 
 VALORI (running up): What are they doing? My God! 
 
 What are you doing ? My wife ! my nephew ! . . . Ridolfi ! 
 
 murderer ! 
 
 RIDOLFI (piercing him with his sword): Here's for your 
 
 insults! 
 
 Valori falls ; he is killed, and the populace, with shouts, drags his 
 corpse on the pavement. 
 
 K 2 8l
 
 THE RENAISSANCE 
 
 The interior of the convent of San Marco. — The cloisters ; the monk* 
 Fra Girolamo ; the howling mob invades the courtyard. 
 
 FRA GIROLAMO: What do they want? 
 
 FRA BUONVICLMI: To take you! I will not leave your 
 
 side. 
 
 FRA GIROLAMO: But what harm have I done them? 
 
 They loved me yesterday ! No matter ! Resist, my children ! 
 
 FRA SACROMORO: Enough of uTiperilling the convent. 
 
 You are our shepherd ; the good shepherd gives his life for 
 
 his flock. 
 
 FRA GIROLAMO: Yes! you are right. I will go to my 
 
 death. Ungrateful people, what do you want? 
 
 AN OPTIMIST: The Signiory merely asks you to give 
 
 yourself up. We don't intend doing you any harm. 
 
 A hail of stones is thrown at Fra Girolamo. 
 A COMPAGNACCO (striking him with his fist) : Prophesy 
 who is striking you ! 
 ANOTHER: There! Take this kick, too! 
 
 A third twists his fingers ; he utters a cry 
 A WOMAN : Ah, the coward, he's crying I 
 AN ARRABBIATO: Come along! The Eight are asking 
 
 for you I 
 
 FRA GIROLAMO : I'm coming ! Don't injure my brothers ! 
 
 Ah, Florence ! All is over ! 
 
 A room in the Palazzo Vecchio. — The commissaries of the Pope, Romolino, 
 and Father Torriano, general of the Dominicans ; the Gonfalonier 
 Piero Popolesclii. 
 POPOLESCHI: We have done all for the best, and we 
 hope that His Holiness will be satisfied. 
 ROMOLINO : That remains to be seen. 
 POPOLESCHI : We have had Fra Girolamo condemned to 
 the stake and to be hanged afterwards. What more do you 
 want? His two acolytes, Fra Silvestre and Fra Buonvicini, 
 will suffer the same penalty. Not gentle measures ! Finally, 
 the chief Piagnoni are either exiled or fined ; Pagolantonio 
 Soderini is fined three thousand florins, and Ser Niccolo 
 
 82
 
 SAVONAROLA 
 
 Machiavelli, who is as poor as Job, two hundred and fifty. 
 I do not know what more can be expected of us. 
 ROMOLINO : You have taken some time to atone for your 
 errors, Signor Gonfalonier. 
 
 POPOLESCHI: What do you expect? We had to please 
 the people and howl with the wolves. When the wind 
 changed, we were delighted to go in the right direction, and 
 you see what we have done. 
 
 ROMOLINO: It's not so bad. Now, to work! We are 
 charged with examining your way of procedure in Fra 
 Girolamo's trial, but, whatever we find out, we shall make a 
 good fire, because I bear with me the condemnation. Bring 
 in the witnesses. 
 
 The monks of San Marco are brought in. 
 Good-day, good-day, my Fathers. You know what tne culprit 
 has dared. You have seen him at work. Explain yourselves. 
 Is he justly condemned ? I ask the one who has been pointed 
 out to me as the most honest. Father Malatesta Sacromoro, 
 come forward! 
 
 FRA SACROMORO : Monsignore, for seven years we have 
 believed what Fra Girolamo taught. He was our Vicar- 
 General. He abused his' authority over our minds. 
 ROMOLINO : At any rate, you are thoroughly convinced 
 of that, from now on? 
 FRA SACROMORO : Profoundly. 
 
 ROMOLINO : This is a worthy man. So, my friend, you 
 consider the counts of the indictment perfectly authentic. 
 FRA SACROMORO : Certainly, Monsignore. 
 ROMOLINO : In your opinion, it is with reason that Fra 
 Girolamo and his accomplices have been condemned by the 
 justice temporal? 
 
 FRA SACROMORO : I see no objection. 
 ROMOLINO : I commend your candour and the spirit of 
 truth that animates you. Withdraw, my friend ; let the 
 culprits be brought in. 
 
 The soldiers bring Fra Girolamo, Fra Silvestre, and Fra Buonvicini, 
 bound with cords 
 
 83
 
 THE RENAISSANCE 
 
 ROMOLINO : Fra Girolamo, you are aware that your most 
 reverend General and myself represent His Holiness, the Pope, 
 here, and that we are sufficiently cognisant of all your impos- 
 tures. It would avail you nothing to tell us falsehoods. Make 
 any statement you wish in your defence. 
 
 FRA GIROLAIMO : For seven years I have preached in this 
 city. 1 have done my best to establish in it morality and the 
 love of God. I may often have been mistaken. I am only a 
 poor human being, and as such I have erred ; but I have aimed 
 at nothing but good. 
 
 ROMOLINO: You are impudent! You have lied like a 
 devil ! Your own depositions bear witness to that, and it is an 
 excess of insolence to come here and use such language as 
 you do! 
 
 FRA GIROLAMO : My flesh is weak and does not support 
 my soul. I confess it with tears : I have sinned against truth 
 in declaring on the rack what is not true. I am unable to 
 endure torture. But I disavow the words wrenched from me 
 by pain. 
 
 ROMOLINO : Come, come, we are not your dupes! What 
 you confessed is our property ! We believe it ! You arc 
 acting a part now ! 
 
 F"RA BUONVICINI : It is you who are insulting a saint! 
 God will punish you ! 
 
 FRA GIROLAMO : Alas, my toil, my pain, my labour, my 
 desire to do good, have profited nothing! I wished to save 
 the faith ; I have failed ! My illusions are shattered. I have 
 followed will-o'-the-wisps. Better that I should die — I have 
 long yearned for death. 
 
 ROMOLINO: This is past all bearing! Let this obstinate 
 man be put to the torture again, otherwise he will do' nothing 
 
 but contradict us. 
 
 The torturers seize Fra Girolamo. 
 
 84
 
 SAVONAROLA 
 
 On the Palazzo square. — The scaffold. A flying plank-bridge leads from 
 the Ringhiera to the platform of the stake. — A crowd ; a number of 
 children are sharpening sticks with knives. 
 
 A CITIZEN : We have a good hour to wait, beheve me. I 
 know our Governors' way. They don't trouble themselves in 
 the least to gratify us. Oh, that we were still under the eegis 
 of Lorenzo the Alagnificent or his illustrious house ! 
 SECOND CITIZEN : I think we shall have to come back to 
 that some day. 
 
 FIRST WOMAN: Oh, what a pretty child! Is he yours, 
 Monna Teresa? 
 
 SECOND WOMAN : Yes, my dear. He's my eldest. 
 FIRST WOMAN: Kiss me, cherub! Look at his lovely 
 black hair ! What are you doing there with your pretty play- 
 mates ? 
 
 THE CHILD : We are giving our sticks a good sharp point. 
 SECOND CITIZEN : And what for, little monkey? 
 THE CHILD : To prick Fra Girolamo's feet and legs when 
 he comes past on the bridge. We shall stand underneath, and 
 zing! zing! 
 
 Laughter. 
 
 FIRST WOMAN: Little mischiefs, indeed! Little mis- 
 chiefs ! Come and let me kiss you, darling ! Isn't he a 
 pretty child ! 
 
 FIRST CITIZEN : Happy the state where childhood learns 
 early to share in public sentiment ! 
 
 ON THE SCAFFOLD. 
 
 Fra Girolamo, Fra Silvestre, Fra Buonvicini. — Fra Niccolini, confessor to 
 Fra Girolamo. 
 
 FRA NICCOLINI (to Fra Girolamo) : I could not venture to 
 
 speak of resignation to you, Father, who have prayed so much 
 
 for this unhappy people ! 
 
 FRA GIROLAMO: Give me your blessing! 
 
 BUONVICINI : May I suffer far more for the glory of God! 
 
 Why not burn us before hanging us? It would be carrying 
 
 out the letter of our sentence. 
 
 85
 
 THE RENAISSANCE 
 
 ERA GIROLAMO: My friend, my son, forget not that we 
 
 have nothing to do save what is the will of Him Who is in 
 
 the heavens ! 
 
 ERA SILVESTRE : I will address this misguided mob ! 
 
 ERA GIROLAMO: No, Silvestre, if you love me, not a 
 
 syllable ! . . . Poor Elorence ! . . . Poor Italy ! . . . I would 
 
 have given so much to save them ! . . . Why do they make us 
 
 wait like this ? 
 
 CAPTAIN GIOVACCHINO : It's that brute the Bishop of 
 
 Vaison, who, instead of coming to degrade you, as he is 
 
 charged to do, goes on chatting with the commissaries! 
 
 The crowd before the stake and the gibbets. — Populace, monks, citizens, 
 women, cliildren. 
 
 A MAN : He was roundly tortured, the villain ! 
 
 A WOMAN : What did they do to him ? 
 
 A MAN : He received the strappado more than six times. 
 
 That's tough — what? He's broken in every limb. 
 
 Laughter. 
 A CHILD : Well done ! 
 
 A AIERCHANT : You little rascal, they ought to do the same 
 
 to you for having broken the mirrors in my shop a fortnight 
 
 ago. 
 
 THE CHILD : Oh, I was told to break them, and so I broke 
 
 them ! 
 
 AN OLD WOMAN: The child's right! We've all been 
 
 befooled by this brute, who condemned us to fast from one 
 
 year's end to another! 
 
 AN ARTISAN : What fools we were ! ... Ah, he's climbing 
 
 up the ladder! There he is at the top! . . . Aren't they 
 
 going to burn him alive? 
 
 A GIRL : I hope they are. Tell me, signor soldier, isn't he 
 
 to be burnt? 
 
 THE SOLDIER : He'll be hanged first, my pretty lass. 
 
 THE GIRL : Oh, what a pity ! I've come such a long way 
 
 to see the sight ! Thank you, signor soldier. 
 
 86
 
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 o 
 
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 ■J} 
 
 o 
 
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 Pi 
 
 W 
 H 
 
 To /acr pa;ff H6
 
 SAVONAROLA 
 
 THE SOLDIER: At your service, my beauty. You can 
 
 come forward a bit, if you wish. Put yourself in front of me, 
 
 there ! . . . You'll be more comfortable. 
 
 THE GIRL : Quite true — come along, Mariana ! No, please 
 
 don't take hold of my waist like that ! . . . Who are those 
 
 two other men who are going up at Fra Girolamo's side ? 
 
 A LOCKSZ^IITH : What, you don't recognise them ? I never 
 
 missed a single one of their sermons, I assure you, during the 
 
 time I was deceived ! It is Fra Silvestre and Fra Buonvicini ! 
 
 THE GIRL: How pale they are! 
 
 A BUTCHER : Ah, that's because they've been tortured also 
 
 — serve them right ! 
 
 THE GIRL : I implore you, signor soldier, let me go ! . . . 
 
 Tell me, rather, who are those two signors gesticulating on 
 
 the stage. 
 
 THE SOLDIER : They are the Papal commissaries, my 
 
 queen ! . . . Their names are My word, I've forgotten 
 
 their names ! I'd much rather you told me where you live ! 
 AN OLD LADY (with a dog in her arms) : Is it true that the 
 reverend Fra Girolamo was tortured with the pincers ? 
 A CITIZEN : There is every reason to suppose so. At the 
 same time, it may also be that I am mistaken, and am leading 
 you astray, which, as you can believe, I should be very sorry 
 to do. 
 
 THE OLD LADY: I am much obliged to you for your 
 kindness. (The dog barks at the citizen.) Be quiet, my pet. 
 Pardon him, messer ; it's because he doesn't know you. 
 THE CITIZEN : That kind of quadruped usually does behave 
 in that way. I am not offended, madam. 
 
 He moves off. 
 
 ON THE SCAFFOLD. 
 
 The three condemned men, the Bishop of Vaison, Dominican monks, 
 executioners. 
 
 THE BISHOP : Fra Sebastiano, strip this man of the holy 
 habit of your Order! . . . Take off everything! Leave him 
 
 8;
 
 THE RENAISSANCE 
 
 only his shirt ! Is it done ? Good ! . . . And now, Savonarola, 
 
 1 sever )'ou from the Church militant and the Church 
 
 triumphant ! 
 
 SAVONAROLA; That last act is beyond your power! 
 
 THE BISHOP: Have his accomplices been stripped? 
 
 FRA SEBAS TIANO : Yes, Consignor, here they are in their 
 
 shirts, like him. 
 
 THE BISHOP: He shall see them executed. Hangmen, to 
 
 )'Our work ! 
 
 FRA SILVESTRE : /// manits tuas, Domine* 
 
 He is hanged. 
 
 BUONVICINI : My turn, is it not ? Farewell, Fra Girolamo ! 
 SAVONAROLA : Farewell for a moment, you mean. 
 
 Buonvicini is hanged. 
 
 THE BISHOP: And now for you, arch-heretic! 
 
 Savonarola looks at the crowd ; the executioners seize him. 
 
 IN THE SQUARE. 
 A CITIZEN (to his wife): It was rather a fme ceremony — 
 imposing, even! But I think it's going to rain. . . . Let's 
 go home. 
 
 THE WIFE: Yes, my love, let's go home. I'm afraid I 
 might catch cold. 
 
 Messer Niccolo Machiavelli's house. — A room ; Machia^Tlli is sitting at 
 a table covered M'ith piles of books and papers. — It is evening. — 
 TwiUght. 
 
 MACHIAVELLI: Poor Girolamo! ... So they have 
 finished with him ! . . . They tracked him down for years, and 
 at last they have run him to earth . . . surrounded . . . taken 
 . . . killed him ! It was the only possible ending ! . . . The 
 man lived in a dream! . . . He had built up for himself, from 
 his earliest years, a poem of religion, purity, honour, wisdom, 
 uprightness. Because he imagined the realisation of all these 
 good and beautiful fancies to be possible, he took it for 
 
 * Into thy hands, O Lord. — Tr. 
 
 88
 
 SAVONAROLA 
 
 granted, and did not see that the less the world knows of such 
 things, the more it talks about them. Poor Girolamo! 
 Because he was innocent of all excessive passions, neither a 
 gambler, nor a libertine, nor a miser, nor a spendthrift, nor a 
 coxcomb, nor a clown, he thought the human beings around 
 him perfectly capable of ridding themselves of all evil, and it 
 never even entered his head that the greater part of his fellow- 
 citizens, if not almost all . . . yes, my God ! we may as well say 
 all, with a few exceptions . . . are hewn like the idols of the 
 Moabites, with eyes that see not and ears that hear not. There 
 is no risk at all in displaying to them at leisure the whole 
 stock of virtues. They will never understand what it all 
 means, and will end by laughing like boobies. Poor 
 Girolamo ! To suppose that purity is anything but a mere 
 abstraction, a special attribute of some few isolated souls ! . . . 
 And in consequence of this blunder, of this most serious 
 blunder, he tried to establish in our midst the reign of 
 peace, liberty and justice, for which we are paying by civil 
 war, violation of rights, massacres, blood on the pavements of 
 the streets, and your own death, Savonarola, and, what is more, 
 the certain return of the Medici ! This is the result of laying- 
 down false premisses and blinding oneself to the true nature 
 of men. . . . Hapless creatures ! For myself, I have never 
 been more clear-sighted, and I now bid an everlasting fare- 
 well to the illusions b)- whicli I was once spellbound. For a 
 while my combinations of liberty and order led me astray. 
 Piero Soderini had a juster vision. I stand corrected. But 
 henceforth, in the name of heaven ! what must we aim at ? 
 Is our poor Italy condemned to bear for ever the yoke of 
 petty despots and street-corner tyrants ? Is she a defenceless 
 prey to the attacks of pitiless foreigners ? Can one not 
 conceive for her, without being guilty of foolish idealism, 
 some higher fate than the shameful orgies in which we 
 are wallowing ? Italy, Italy, mother of so many great men, 
 hearth of so many fires, rallying-point of so many forces ! . . . 
 If among the ruffians who drench us every day with blood there 
 
 89
 
 THE RENAISSANCE 
 
 were only a Sulla, an Octavius — in times of tumult, in epochs 
 of convulsion like ours, such strokes of luck are normal, they 
 are a part of the inevitable ! Now who could be that 
 Mahomet . . . that Tamerlane . . . that robber Saviour? A 
 Sforza? . . . No! . . . they are empty sepulchres ... A 
 Gonzaga! . . . Still less! ... A Malatesta ... A Baglione 
 ... A Bentivoglio ? . . . To lord it over a city by means of a 
 few dozen cut-throats, they have no loftier ideal than that ! . . . 
 To murder, poison, betra)-, rise, fall . . . that is their lot! 
 Always the same game. . . . But in the midst of this insolent 
 and ferocious gang, I mark one nevertheless .... He is a 
 whole head taller than the rest. . . . He has other and higher 
 aims. He is no less perverse ; he wants infinitely more, and 
 that is an enormous advantage ! What a singular and formid- 
 able being! Shrewd and cunning as the dragon, treacherous 
 as the leopard, ambitious as the eagle, he is not afraid of 
 shouting aloud in the face of our terror-stricken intriguers : 
 Aui CcBsar, ant nihil!* I should not be surprised if through 
 all these crimes, and on the bleeding mass of disasters heaped 
 up by the murderous rectitude of Girolamo, we were some day 
 saved by the corrupt cleverness and audacity of Cesare Borgia ! 
 But what a noise ! Oh, it's nothing. . . . It's Monna Marietta, 
 my wife . . , She is scolding the maid. I am going out so 
 as to avoid being scolded myself ; I have other matters to 
 consider. 
 
 END OF THE FIRST PART 
 
 * Either Cesare or nothing. — Tr. 
 90
 
 SECOND PART 
 
 CESARE BORGIA
 
 CESENA. 
 1502. 
 
 The esplanade before the citadel. — Tents ; military booths ; French and 
 Itahan men-at-arms. — Don Michele, captain of adventurers and 
 intimate of Don Cesare Borgia, chatting with Mgr. Burchard, maste r 
 of ceremonies to the Pope. They are walldng up and down, their 
 hands behind their backs. 
 
 DON MICHELE : While our master dictates his dispatches, 
 let us withdraw, and I will inform you of what His Holiness 
 desires to know. 
 
 Mgr. BURCHARD: We may as well stay here. These 
 Frenchmen do not understand a word of what we are saying. 
 DON MICHELE: You are right. We must not look too 
 much as if we were seeking solitude and harbouring mysteries. 
 Mgr. BURCHARD: Don Cesare seems lost, hopelessly lost! 
 His condottieri, leagued against him, have taken his strong- 
 holds one after another ! The Duchy of Urbino is in revolt ; 
 the former prince has been received with acclamations by the 
 very people who so joyfully hailed his departure. In a vv^ord, 
 the worst has befallen you ; you cannot extricate yourself 
 from the toils. Such is our view at Rome. 
 DON MICHELE : You forget a fundamental point. Whence 
 comes our strength ? 
 
 Mgr. BURCHARD : Ah, you will tell me that Alexander VI. 
 is behind you, that you are supported by his hand. But 
 
 consider 
 
 DON MICHELE: One word only! Alexander VI. made 
 
 us a cardinal ; who made us a prince ? 
 
 Mgr. BURCHARD: Louis XII., King of France; but he 
 
 IS withholding his protection from you, turning against you, 
 
 even threatening you, we hear. 
 
 DON MICHELE : You fail to go beneath the surface. Why 
 
 did Louis XII. show us favour? 
 
 Mgr. BURCHARD : Because of the Cardinal d'Amboise. 
 
 DON MICHELE : Admirable ! We promised d'Amboise the 
 
 succession to Alexander ; we are still promising that. Besides, 
 
 93
 
 THE RENAISSANCE 
 
 we are useful people ; our services have some weight, and, to 
 
 go no further, the recent expeditions to the Milanese and to 
 
 Naples are our work. God be praised, we proved at the sack 
 
 of Capua that we were men of energy ! 
 
 Mgr. BURCHARD: The deuce you did! You spared 
 
 nothing. But your happiness has withered like the grass of 
 
 the fields ; see how it is mown down by the very hand that 
 
 sowed the seed. 
 
 DON MICHELE : You are mistaken. I have just come back 
 
 from Milan with my Lord. Our affairs are set in order again ; 
 
 we are in higher favour than ever ; my Lord spoke and acted 
 
 so skilfully that there was no chance of being hard on us for 
 
 our little peccadilloes. 
 
 Mgr. BURCHARD: The Pope will be delighted with this 
 
 news, but it should have come sooner. There is nothing left 
 
 for you to save. While you were quenching the flames on the 
 
 right, they gained ground on the left and consumed everything. 
 
 DON MICHELE : Come, come, Monsignor Burchard, don't 
 
 always look on the seamy side of things like this ! 
 
 Mgr. BURCHARD : Your strongholds taken or in revolt! 
 
 DON MICHELE : Well, we shall re-take them. 
 
 Mgr. BURCHARD : How ? You have no more troops. The 
 
 Orsini, the Duke of Gravina with Pagolo, had hired you out 
 
 their companies ; now they have changed sides and, from that 
 
 very cause, here you are at loggerheads with all their house ! 
 
 DON MICHELE : It's a nuisance. We shall have our work 
 
 cut out. Above all, I regret Vitellozzo VitelH ; he is a great 
 
 warrior I Nor do I console myself more easily ion the defection 
 
 of Oliverotto da Fermo. But all the same, I repeat, nothing 
 
 is lost. 
 
 Mgr. BURCHARD : You are not unaware that the Venetians 
 
 have declared against you? 
 
 DON MICHELE : I know it only too well. 
 
 Mgr. BURCHARD ; The Aragonese are about to attack yoa 
 
 DON MICHELE : That we must expect. 
 
 94
 
 CESARE BORGIA 
 
 tefait page 94
 
 CESARE BORGIA 
 
 Mgr. BURCHARD : You have not a ducat left, and the Holy 
 Father is not in a position to make you any advance. 
 DON MICHELE : We can, however, find ways and means by 
 promises. 
 
 Mgr. BURCHARD: The Florentines will not fail to join 
 forces with your opponents. 
 
 DON MICHELE : There you are mistaken. A secretary of 
 the Signiory has just arrived. When men negotiate, they do 
 not strike. 
 
 Mgr. BURCHARD: Holy Madonna! Have you seen this 
 secretary? 
 
 DON MICHELE .- I received him myself and shook hands 
 with him. He is no phantom created by hope, but really one 
 of our friends, Messer Niccolo Machiavelli. 
 Mgr. BURCHARD : I am delighted to hear it! . . . But in 
 reality, nothing can avail you, I see you are too far gone ! 
 DON MICHELE : Allow me to show you things in a less 
 gloomy light 
 
 Mgr. BURCHARD : You are certainly coolness incarnate, 
 but I doubt whether the Pope considers you infallible. 
 DON MICHELE : If, like you, I only took into account the 
 goodwill of Louis XII., the hundred lances furnished by that 
 worthy Mgr. de Candalle — whom I see over there eating his 
 clove of garlic like the true Gascon he is — the handful of 
 Italian companies that remain to us, the shifty diplomacy of the 
 Florentines and other odds and ends, I should perhaps share 
 your anxiety. But you do not see, no, you do not grasp with 
 both hands, as I do, our anchor of salvation ! 
 Mgr. BURCHARD : And what is that ? 
 DON MICHELE : What is it? . . . The indomitable energy 
 of the Duke of Valentinois. So long as I see him calm, self- 
 possessed, unbending, terrible, I cannot feel the slightest doubt 
 or fear. 
 
 Mgr. BURCHARD : Don Cesare is a mighty brain, I admit 
 He has resources! There is certainly a great range in his 
 astuteness. ... 
 
 L 95
 
 THE RENAISSANCE 
 
 DON MICHELE : Better still, in his fearlessness ! And that 
 is a contagious virtue which he is able to inspire in his friends. 
 AlGR. BURCHARD: A subtle politician he is — the subtlest 
 of the subtle! I grant you the truth of that. But all the 
 same, his affairs arc going badly, so badly that he would 
 perhaps be better advised to take refuge in Rome than to 
 attempt the struggle against fate. That is the proposal I am 
 charged by His Holiness to make. 
 
 DON MICHELE : Mention it to him, and in his smile you 
 will read the meaning of scorn! So long as he stays upright, 
 no shipwreck is possible. But if you trust me, let us end our 
 walk and go in again. The Duke might notice our absence, 
 and he is no lover of asides. 
 
 AlGR. BURCHARD : I think you are right. When he is 
 uneasy, he becomes, like the Pope, suspicious and dangerous 
 even towards his friends. 
 
 In a house of the town. — A room serving as a study. — Don Cesare 
 Borgia, Duke of Valentinois, is seated at a table with dispatches and 
 letters. 
 
 DUKE (loudly) : Admit Signer Machiavelli ! Welcome, 
 
 Messer Niccolo ! What news from Florence ? 
 
 MACHIAVELLI : Nothing but good, my lord. 
 
 DUKE : I am glad to hear it. Are you tired after your 
 
 journey, or would you rather tell me at once the object of your 
 
 mission ? I have pressing business which compels me to lose 
 
 no time. 
 
 MACHIAVELLI : With your Highness' permission, I will 
 
 lay before you the message I am charged to bring. 
 
 DUKE : I will listen. 
 
 MACHIAVELLI: My lord, while you were at Milan with 
 
 Louis XII. . . . 
 
 DUKE : I will tell you beforehand that the kindnesses 
 
 promised me from that quarter vanished like smoke before my 
 
 explanations. 
 
 MACHIAVELLI : Still your Highness had left in your States 
 
 96
 
 CESARE BORGIA 
 
 picked troops to maintain order, and these troops were com- 
 manded by captains of great repute. 
 
 DUKE : It IS important that militar>' power should be 
 entrusted to capable hands. 
 
 MACHIAVELLI : Unfortunately, these hands were more 
 capable than loyal. Urged by the fear of seeing you grow too 
 powerful and become the one man to be dreaded, your military 
 chiefs sent word to our Signiory that they had resolved to 
 turn their arms against you in alliance with Giovanni Benti- 
 voglio of Bologna, Pandolfo of Siena, and other exiled princes. 
 They asked for our alliance, offering to restore to us such terri- 
 tories and such towns as we should be pleased to specify. 
 DUKE : Your presence here, Messer Niccolo, is sufficient 
 proof to me that the wisdom of the Florentines is not ensnared 
 by such clumsy traps. Besides, the goo|d faith of the Orsini 
 and of the house of Vitelli is fairly well-known to you. 
 MACHIAVELLI : I am ordered to assure you, your High- 
 ness, that the Republic is not in the habit of betraying her 
 aUies ; she is filled with respect for the Apostolic See, and 
 you can count upon her fidelity. Besides, she hopes that you 
 will not lend your ear to any proposal from the Venetians. 
 DUKE : That is a delicate point which we will discuss when 
 more at leisure. There is no hurry. But, between ourselves, 
 Messer Niccolo, between ourselves, could anyone show 
 more heedlessness, more braggadocio, steeped in an enor- 
 mous flood of folly, than my condottieri? To attack me — 
 me! . . . And it never even entered their heads that they 
 were offending the Pope, insulting Louis, and bringing 
 down on themselves the Germans, with whom I am on the 
 best possible terms ! It is said again and again that the 
 Aragonese wish me ill. I let it be believed, Machiavelli, I 
 let it be believed ! . . . These wretched rebel hirelings 
 imagined, poor children, that consummate politicians like you 
 Florentines would shut yourselves up with them in the terrible 
 deadlock into which they have ventured, and all to receive a 
 few miserable villages that cannot be kept ! Frankly, it is 
 
 L 2 97
 
 THE RENAISSANCE 
 
 ridiculous to tlie last degree, nothing less! This raising of 
 shields is so impotent that, I confess to you, I never thought 
 for the moment that I was in the slightest peril. 
 MACHIAVELLI : The Signiory has not looked on things 
 in quite the same light as your Highness. It has seen that 
 }'0u are henceforth without troops ; that your captains, in 
 detaching themselves from you, leave you disarmed, totally 
 disarmed ; that your men, who have only belonged to you 
 for a few months, quit you without a pang and even, in some 
 places, with unconcealed joy. You are in the good books of 
 the French ; you tell me so, I believe it, and moreover I have 
 seen troops of their nation hereabouts marching with yours. 
 His Holiness, too, will not fail you, that is quite probable, yet 
 perhaps he will find it all he can do to defend his own self in 
 Rome against the agitations of the Orsini and the Vitelli. You 
 think you are on friendly terms with the Germans and even 
 witli the Aragonese ; that is in any case quite a novelty, and 
 we might have reasons for being of a different opinion. And 
 surely, my lord, suppose that your captains, instead of losing 
 their time in parleys in the Perugian country, in arguing, 
 counter-arguing and talking wildly — if Pagolo, Vitellozzo, 
 Oliverotto, the Gravina, the Petrucchi, the Baglioni and the 
 rest had simply seized your person while you were alone, 
 undefended, off your guard at Imola, it is not easy to see how 
 you would have freed yourself from the imbroglio. This is 
 the view taken at Florence, and this is why it was thought 
 that our help would not be inopportune ; but if the friendship 
 of our noble signors has taken a wrong road here and has 
 troubled itself to no purpose, you will surely excuse the act 
 for the intention. 
 
 DUKE : We will talk with absolute openness ! Nothing could 
 be more acceptable to me than your coming, and you will thank 
 those who sent you on my behalf. At Imola the other day 
 I was not so embarrassed as you appear to imagine. Believe 
 me, I had more than one string to my bow. I possessed not 
 only the means of saving myself, but the certainty of triumph. 
 
 98
 
 CESARE BORGIA 
 
 The situation, however, I will not deny, was in some respects 
 other than I could have wished. From now onwards all has 
 changed The arbiter, the master, is myself! My dear 
 Machiavelli, do you wish a project to come to grief? Then 
 have it carried out by a coalition. All a single individual's 
 concentration of will is only just enough to accomplish that 
 difficult thing, an action. Now they have formed a party to 
 plot against me ; my advantage over them is that I have only 
 myself to decide on my line of defence. Here I am at the 
 head of a strong body of Italian cavalry, which they have given 
 me time to get together, of five hundred French lancers which 
 they have given me time to summon, and, what is far more 
 precious, I have the friendship of the Florentines which they 
 have given time to ripen. You are not rescuing me, cer- 
 tainly, but you are serving me at a most suitable juncture. 
 MACHIAVELLI : The noble Signiory will consider the 
 punishment of the perjurors as well-earned, however severe it 
 may be. 
 
 DUKE : There is no question of anything of that sort. In 
 some cases, clemency is imperative. Not that one can have 
 any scruple about punishing notorious traitors and murderers 
 like Vitellozzo and Oliverotto ; Italy is weltering in blood from 
 their crimes. Nevertheless, my intentions are most concilia- 
 tory. . . . Bautista ! . . . Yes. . . . Conduct the Signor Secretary 
 to my chamberlain. Let him be given good lodging and all 
 that he can desire. Messer Niccolo is my particular friend. 
 BAUTISTA : Yes, your Highness. 
 
 MACHIAVELLI : You overwhelm me with kindness, my 
 lord. 
 DUKE: Farewell. 
 
 DUKE (alone): Those Florentines ! . . . They are most timely 
 in coming to my aid! . . . But if I do not take care, they will 
 soon have twisted their service into a halter to strangle me 
 at the proper place and time. Their sudden friendship is only 
 
 99
 
 THE RENAISSANCE 
 
 the outcome of their hatred towards the Orsini. They con- 
 sider me less soHd and therefore less dangerous than that 
 ancient house. ... A mushroom has no roots and never grows 
 so high as an oak. . . . and they take me for a mushroom ! 
 From this day forth I shall have to distrust Florence more 
 than I ever did ! . . . Flo, Giovan-Maria ! 
 GIOVAN-MARIA: What is your Highness' pleasure? 
 DUKE : Go and see where Don Michele and Mgr. Burchard 
 are. Ask them to come and speak to me. 
 GIOVAN-MARIA: The two gentlemen are awaiting your 
 good pleasure. 
 DUKE : Then let them come in ! 
 
 Enter Don Michele and Mgr. Burchard. 
 Our affairs are going better, but not so well that the danger 
 does not continue to be tremendous. 
 
 AlGR. BURCHARD : The Florentines have sent an envoy to 
 your Highness. Are you assured in that quarter? 
 DUKE : Sufficiently ; and on that foundation we are going to 
 build. You, Burchard, go straight to Bologna ; do not return 
 to Rome to the Holy Father until I send you back. At 
 Bologna, you will find out what might induce Giovanni 
 Bentivoglio to break off from the league. You, Michele, will 
 go to the condottieri, and . . . here are the instructions which 
 I had just written when this Florentine arrived. You will not 
 fail to dazzle their eyes with the new alliance, and you will 
 make all the use you can of this weapon. 
 DON MICHELE : I will do my best, your Flighness. 
 DUKE : Both of you will write to me as soon as you have 
 succeeded in merely gaining a hearing. An adversary who 
 discusses is not resolute. He must be put down sooner or 
 later. Go ! If I weather this storm, the most violent that 
 has ever assailed me, I shall remain master of all the Romagna. 
 DON MICHELE: No, my lord, of all Italy! 
 DUKE : Possibly. I really cannot say which would please 
 me better — to reign over so fair an empire, to drive out every 
 single one of these wretched Gaulish and German barbarians ; 
 
 100
 
 MCCULO MACIIIAN KI.l.l 
 
 to iact page loo
 
 CESARE BORGIA 
 
 or to hang these dukes, princes and podestas of the ancient 
 
 mould. Fools that they are, they have not an inkling of the 
 
 necessities of the new age ! They riddle me with their insults 
 
 as a Spanish bull is riddled by the banderillos ! 
 
 DON MICHELE : All happiness will come to you at one 
 
 stroke, perfect as heavenly bliss ! I kiss your Highness' 
 
 hands. 
 
 Mgr. BURCHARD : And I, too. 
 
 DUKE : Go ! Neither of you spare the couriers ! 
 
 SINIGAGLIA. 
 
 The condottieri's camp. — The tent of the council of war. Around a large 
 table are seated ViteUozzo Vitelh, Oliverotto da Fermo, Signer Pagalo 
 Orsini, the Duke of Gravina, captains of adventurers. 
 
 GRAVINA : Peace! No quarrelling! We have all been 
 right, we have all been wrong, and myself the first. We ought 
 to have taken Cesare when we had him in our power at Imola, 
 and killed him. But to split now would be an even greater 
 blunder. 
 
 PAGOLO (striking the table with his fist) : And I, I tell you 
 that nothing is even compromised ! By God ! we command ten 
 thousand soldiers, and a few sorry French lancers won't 
 frighten a man of my house. 
 
 OLIVEROTTO : I am of your opinion ; I occupy the 
 advanced posts with my company, five hundred horse and a 
 thousand archers. Let the Borgia think of testing me, he'll 
 have a warm welcome! 
 
 VITELLOZZO : These are fine tirades, but the cold truth is 
 that we have done nothing of what we schemed. The 
 Valentinois is alive, and he ought to be rotting at this moment 
 under six feet of earth. But he is not ! We have talked 
 instead of acting, and our enemy is laughing at us. The 
 Bentivoglio, who promised us his aid, turns a deaf ear; 
 Guidubaldo accepts congratulations at Urbino, and does 
 nothing. The Florentines have not even sent us an answer. 
 For my part, I assure you, I prophesy a very black future ! 
 
 lOI
 
 THE RENAISSANCE 
 
 PAGOLO : Shall I be frank ? You weary me vvilh your 
 jeremiads. When free-lances have their cuirass on their back 
 and tlieir sword at their side, such doleful looks are con- 
 temptible. 
 
 VITELLOZZO : All your violence and bragging doe's'not 
 alter the real position in the slightest. When you are hanged, 
 broken on the wheel, or poisoned, much good your rash valour 
 will have done you ! 
 
 GRAVINA : Peace, peace, my friends ! Would it not be better 
 to discuss, in perfect calmness, what had best be done ? 
 VITELLOZZO (rising and walking agitatedly across the 
 room, his hands raised to heaven) : Heavens, how blind men 
 are ! With what an impetus do they rush to their ruin ! What 
 frenzy has seized us, that we throw ourselves in all lightness 
 of heart into so ill-planned an enterprise ? 
 OLIVEROTTO -. Bahl nothing was more reasonable or 
 more necessary. We are in the pay of the Valentinois, true ; 
 but with what object? He is allowed to hold the lands we 
 have conquered, lands that we wish to occupy and to rule. 
 That is the view we have taken. We command our troops ; 
 they need pay, which he supplies. Nothing simpler! But 
 we are the real masters ; I will not suffer him to give himself 
 airs of forgetting that and expect to play the monarch. That's 
 the gist of the matter. 
 
 PAGOLO : I agree. You talk like a bishop, Oliverotto. 
 Money and pleasure for our men, pleasure and money for us, 
 and the whole world may go to the devil ! Captains of free- 
 lances must look for, desire and put up with no other system. 
 OLIVEROTTO : And we have a thousand times had 
 grounds to be angry at seeing this Valentinois aim at his 
 interests and not ours. What ? He wants to govern ? To play 
 the prince, the real prince ? 
 
 VITELLOZZO : It's certain that he cuts his officers' throats 
 when they plunder the peasant for themselves and not for him. 
 PAGOLO : His officers — yes, he is their master ; but he 
 dared to utter the most outrageous threats against me regarding 
 
 1 02
 
 CESARE BORGIA 
 
 the firing of a village! A Cesare Borgia! A man of no 
 account, a low fellow from the gutter, who aims at becoming a 
 petty Sforza! 
 
 GRAVINA : Sforza, at any rate, was a condottiere, if he was 
 not a gentleman. 
 
 OLIVEROTTO : Ah, you are very far out as to Alexander 
 VI.'s bastard! Well, I don't care a fig for what he is or is 
 not. No sceptre, no law ! Our good pleasure, that's enough ! 
 Our best course is not to abandon our plans. 
 VITELLOZZO : And your plans— what are they .? 
 PAGOLO : Our plans, great Heavens ! ... are our plans. 
 To reduce the Valentinois to the position of lackey, nothing 
 less. If he resists, he'll be broken — there are our plans ! 
 VITELLOZZO : Agreed ; but they have failed. You have 
 shown neither decision, nor firmness, nor promptitude. 
 OLIVEROTTO : May the devil choke you ! 
 GRAVINA : I implore you, be calm, be calm ! Let us be in 
 harmony. Come, let us make some resolution, however 
 
 trifling ! 
 
 Enter an Officer. 
 
 THE OFFICER: Your Excellencies, the Captain Don 
 Michele has come from the camp of the Valentinois, He 
 would like to be shown into your presence. 
 PAGOLO: Oh, Michele? Little Michele? He's a worthy 
 fellow ! 
 
 VITELLOZZO : Yes, his master's creature ! 
 GRAVINA : I am curious to know what he can have to say 
 to us. 
 
 VITELLOZZO : If you listen to him, he will worm his way 
 into your confidence, piling falsehoods on falsehoods, as in 
 days of old the Titans mounted to the heavens by heaping 
 Pelion upon Ossa. I am all against admitting him. 
 OLIVEROTTO : I entirely disagree. Bring in Don Michele. 
 Michele enters and embraces the four captains one after the other. 
 DON MICHELE: Greeting, greeting, noble Signors, worthy, 
 
 103
 
 THE RENAISSANCE 
 
 excellent gentlemen. I am delighted to see you all in such 
 fine fettle. 
 
 CAPTAINS : Thanks, Don Michele ! You are in the same 
 case, it seems ? 
 
 DON MICHELE : Oh, much tormented^ I assure you ! Since 
 you and he have appeared no longer to agree, my Lord is 
 very downcast and makes us lead a most melancholy existence. 
 PAGOLO : Plague take your Lord ! He's a man of no faith ! 
 DON AIICHELE: How so, pray? 
 
 PAGOLO : Is it not clear that he wants to play the despot ? 
 When he has made himself one with our aid, we shall have 
 on our hands all the powers of Italy, while our most dangerous 
 adversary will be the very man who, owing everything to 
 us, will make his peace at our expense ? 
 
 DON MICHELE: As I did not come here to dandle you 
 with illusions, nor to reply at random to fancied charges, 
 let us have method in our discussion, I beg you. To begin 
 with you, Signor Pagolo, what is the meaning of your com- 
 plaints? Is not your pay issued regularly, even before it 
 falls due ? 
 
 PAGOLO: I 
 
 DON MICHELE : Pardon me, my good, my worthy Pagolo! 
 You shall soon answer me as you wish, all that you wish and 
 as lengthily as you please ; but first, you must know whom 
 you have to deal with in me ; that is why I have to explain 
 myself. I am a man who is frank, sincere, loyal ; I am 
 simple, I indulge in no fine phrases. I swear it by the 
 genuine love I bear you, and by my eternal salvation, 
 which I hope not to lose ! Why then should I tell you any- 
 thing which is not scrupulously true ? Have confidence in me, 
 all four of you, and let me speak to you from the fulness of 
 ray heart! No, Pagolo, no, my comrade, the Duke has not 
 done you the slightest wrong ; on the contrary, he has 
 favoured and honoured you particularly, and he does the same 
 to the houses of Orsini and Vitelli. Accordingly, what I say 
 in your case, I vouch for equally on behalf of these other 
 
 104
 
 CESARE BORGIA 
 
 captains. So far as the past is concerned, you can make no 
 reproach against my master. 
 
 OLIVEROTTO : I beg a thousand pardons, Michele, but 
 
 DON MICHELE : Patience, patience ! Let me finish ! In 
 
 the past, I repeat, no shadow has crossed your path ; but what 
 
 of the future ? Ah, you fear the future ? You imagine the 
 
 Duke so ambitious to reign alone that he might have occasion 
 
 to ignore your services ? 
 
 GRAVINA : That would not be impossible. 
 
 VITELLOZZO : I, for my part, should not be surprised. 
 
 DON MICHELE : Well, I should be very much surprised if 
 
 he did. Apart from all questions of ingratitude, it would be 
 
 so ridiculous and undiplomatic. . . . Let us consider. The 
 
 Duke is supported by the French } 
 
 OLIVER.OTTO : Supported? It is they who created him 
 
 from the slime, as God created Adam ! 
 
 DON MICHELE : Yes, but what did Adam do ? He at once 
 
 plotted against God, because we never love our creator ; he is 
 
 too humiliating a master. Do you understand that ? 
 
 VITELLOZZO : To defend himself against the French, he 
 
 reckons on the Pope. 
 
 DON MICHELE : And does he also reckon on the 
 
 immortality of the Pope? Will Alexander VI. live for ever? 
 
 Do we guarantee you that ? No ! So, according to you, when 
 
 his Holiness goes down to his grave, we are agreed to go and 
 
 bury ourselves there too ? You are mistaken, we want to live, 
 
 and in order to live and to reign, we reckon on you and 
 
 on no other ! 
 
 PAGOLO : This is something new. 
 
 DON MICHELE : I am, perhaps, too open, and I beg you in 
 
 any case not to repeat my words to the Valentinois. They 
 
 must remain between ourselves. What I tell you is absolutely 
 
 correct We desire and we seek no other friends but you ! 
 
 Because, to reveal to you all that T think, there will assuredly 
 
 come a time when we shall have to break with the Florentines, 
 
 however well we may stand with tliem for the present. 
 
 105
 
 THE RENAISSANCE 
 
 THE FOUR CAPTAINS (all together): What are you 
 saying? You stand well with the Florentines? Are you 
 certain ? 
 
 DON MICHELE : Why, one of their secretaries, Messer 
 Niccolo Machiavelli, is with us at this moment. It is easy to 
 prove it to you, and .... 
 
 PAGOLO : Why do you pause ? Come, Michele, no reticence ! 
 W^e have always been friends ! 
 
 DON MICHELE : No! I must not tell you what I had on 
 the tip of my tongue. I let myself go too far with you. You 
 will not fail to repeat to the Valentinois something of what I 
 say. However little it may be, it will already be too much for 
 my security. No ... let us change our line of discussion. . . . 
 Don't press me, I beg. ... It is my ruin you are compassing. 
 . . . Once more, a hundred times, no ! . . . My friends, T 
 implore you, let us come to an understanding! ... I will 
 relate you one detail .... one only. . . . You swear to mc 
 to be discreet? 
 
 THE FOUR CAPTAINS : On our honour and on all the 
 Gospels ! 
 
 DON MICHELE: God! How wrong I was to let myself 
 go ! . . . From Messer Niccolo we learnt the proposals of 
 alliance you made to the Florentines. They have sent the 
 Valentinois your very letters, and offer money and troops ; 
 they have written to Giovanni Bentivoglio that if he should 
 have the misfortune to keep his word to you, they would 
 at once take action against him. That is what I confide to 
 you. . . . You shall know no more, not if you ask me till 
 to-morrow. Besides, all this is most painful for me ! 
 VITELLOZZO : I don't see what it is that troubles you so. 
 The Bolognese, according to you, are betraying us ; the 
 Florentines are Judases, you have at your heels a whole 
 regiment of men-at-arms ; are you making game of us with 
 your airs and graces? 
 
 DON MICHELE : And in six months, what will become of 
 us ^ There is no doubt that, with so many opponents to 
 
 1 06
 
 CESARE BORGIA 
 
 encounter, you will be crushed in a few days from now. All 
 the cities detest you, and should you turn Spaniards, your 
 roads are cut off. But we ? What will happen to us in the 
 hands of so many protectors? Oh, you did very wrong to 
 rebel ! It is just a case for quoting the fable of Menenius. 
 PAGOLO : Well, the harm is done now. 
 VITELLOZZO : If they had hstened to me! 
 OLIVEROTTO : You are joking, Messer Vitellozzo! You 
 were the most furious of us all. 
 
 VITELLOZZO : I'd have you know that you must not take 
 such a haughty tone with me. You forget yourself. 
 GRAVINA: Gentleness! Harmony! Pray don't let us 
 quarrel ! 
 
 DON MICHELE : Indeed, you have quarrelled quite enough! 
 What is wanted now is agreement. 
 
 VITELLOZZO : The past is past. We should have perhaps 
 done more wisely in keeping quiet ; but there is no greater 
 folly than to let ourselves be hoodwinked. I know Signor 
 Borgia's wheedlings ! I know them ! I know them ! In the 
 whole world he sees neither friends nor enemies, but only 
 puppets, and not one has ever been set in motion by him 
 without being eventually broken. 
 
 DON MICHELE : Perhaps you are right ; in that case, 
 declare war upon him ! On one side, there are the Pope, 
 the King of France, the Florentines ; to-morrow, the 
 Bolognese ; the day after to-morrow, all the cities, all the 
 communes, all the factions, all the lords of the Romagna, 
 including your comrade Petruccio of Siena and even 
 Giampagolo Baglione of Perugia. On the other, I see the 
 houses of Vitelli and Orsini ; moreover, we must remember 
 that the wisest members of the houses are at Rome, under the 
 thumb of the Pope. Perhaps you will succeed. 
 PAGOLO : Only a week ago we beat your troops at 
 Fossombrone. 
 
 DON MICHELE : Well, go on beating us. 
 OLIVEROTTO: Supposing for a moment that we felt 
 
 107
 
 THE RENAISSANCE 
 
 disposed to come to terms, would you have a reasonable 
 proposal to make to us? 1 mean, a proposal which would 
 secure our being sheltered, absolutely, completely sheltered 
 against the rancour of the most rancorous of men ? 
 DON MICHKLE : I cannot imagine what risk you could run, 
 being, as I sec, at the head of your own troops. You have no 
 intention of parting with them, 1 suppose ? 
 GRAVINI: Certauily not! But you have troops also, and 
 if, through misplaced confidence, we let ourselves be taken 
 by surprise. . . . 
 
 DON MICHELE : In that case, I repeat, it is we who should 
 be at the mercy of our foreigners, and I thought I had made 
 you realise how little that was to our liking. Then, too, what 
 you have done has not vexed the Duke so much as you seem 
 to imagine. He did not think himself in great danger ; he 
 clearly perceived that you had spared him at Imola ; besides, 
 he knows of old the hostile feelings of the Florentines towards 
 your families. At bottom, he looks upon your conduct as a 
 sheer piece of folly on the part of honest but imprudent 
 soldiers. You are not obliged, gentlemen, to be profound and 
 far-seeing statesmen. Do you want bigger pay, a brilliant 
 court, gay ceremonies, good cheer ? Then come back to us ; 
 we receive you with open arms. Above all, don't cherish wild 
 notions ; you are not by a long way such culprits as you 
 fear! . . . Now, while you are making up your minds, I 
 confess to you I should like some supper. . . . 
 PAGOLO : I will take you to my quarters, if you like. 
 DON MICHELE : No, no, don't put yourself out for my sake. 
 Continue your deliberations ; anyone will show me the way. 
 GRAVINA : Pagolo can accompany you. We shall have time 
 to speak of all these matters this evening or to-morrow 
 morning. Enough of brain-racking for one sitting. 
 VITELLOZZO : I must admit that my brain is bursting ; I 
 can't stand any more. 
 
 DON MICHET,E : Ah, my dear signers, my friends, my good 
 friends, you will not forget your promises, will you ? You will 
 
 1 08
 
 CESARE BORGIA 
 
 not reveal to the Duke the indiscretions I have been guilty 
 of? I let my tongue run away with me, you know, rather 
 rashly, but without evil intention, Heaven is my witness ! 
 THE FOUR CAPTAINS: Rest assured, we shall tell 
 nothing, old fox ! 
 
 CESENA. 
 
 Cesaxe Borgia's study. — The Duke, several confidential agents, couriers 
 and secretaries. Some are rapidly %vriting dispatches, the others 
 standing up around their master. 
 
 DUKE : No post ? 
 
 A SECRETARY : No, your Highness, not yet. 
 
 DUKE : Let me know as soon as one arrives. We must lose 
 
 no time. Antonio, are you ready ? 
 
 ANTONIO : Yes, your Highness, my horse is at the door. 
 
 DUKE : Go and visit for me the peasants of the Apennine. 
 
 Address yourself, for choice, to the Cerroni, and, among these, 
 
 to the Ravagli families. If the Rinaldi are willing to listen 
 
 to you, you will of course receive them cordially ; but I have 
 
 more hold over the others. In short, don't overlook anyone, 
 
 and make me as many friends as you can. 
 
 ANTONIO : Yes, my lord. 
 
 DUKE : Promise money, promise freedom, promise above all 
 
 vengeance and the sacking of towns which, by not submitting 
 
 at once, would compel me to take them by assault. 
 
 ANTONIO : Yes, my lord. The peasant is very fond of 
 
 sacking towns. 
 
 DUKE : Let him have his way. Take care to coax the barons 
 
 who are popular with the country-folk, and bring over to our 
 
 side as many as you can. 
 
 ANTONIO : I know them all, and if I offer them the prospect 
 
 of overthrowing the free-lances. . . . 
 
 DUKE : Do your best, I give you a free hand. Go. Now 
 
 for you, Alfonso! 
 
 ALFONSO : Here I am, my lord. 
 
 DUKE : Go to Forll. I must win over the Guelphs there, and, 
 
 109
 
 THE RENAISSANCE 
 
 to that <rnd, offer them my protection against the Ghibelhnes. 
 As the latter are the stronger, let us attract to our side those 
 who are most in need of alliance. You will do the same on 
 your way at Facnza and at Ravenna, but just the reverse at 
 Rimini, where the Guelphs dominate. There you will work 
 above all upon the Ghibellines. Now go! You others, have 
 you your instructions? 
 SEVERAL AGENTS: Yes, my lord. 
 THE DUKE : Go then! and succeed! 
 
 Exeunt agents. 
 You, Martino, I will send you to Urbino. This is what you 
 must do to have Guidubaldo killed or banished for me. Listen 
 carefully. 
 
 On the glacis. — The French archers and the men-at-arms play at nine- 
 pins and leap-frog. 
 
 A man-at-arms is walking with two archers, at the same place where 
 Don Michele and Mgr. Burchard were walking. 
 
 MAN-AT-ARMS : I tell you the Eyquem are one of the 
 
 good families of Bordeaux, and when the father bought the 
 
 castle of Montaigne, everyone said : " All the better, it's a 
 
 good stock ! " 
 
 FIRST ARCHER : Yes, but not one of the first of the town. 
 
 The Lestonnac are far more ancient! 
 
 SECOND ARCHER : They may be ancient, but the Colombi 
 
 are still older. That's what I always heard my father say. 
 
 THIRD ARCHER : I have nothing against that. It seems 
 
 that they had mayors and judges of their name in the time of 
 
 the English rule ! 
 
 MAN-AT-ARMS : So I was assured. Those were good 
 
 times, those of the English! The town paid no imposts, 
 
 there was no salt-tax, and wine cost next to nothing. 
 
 SECOND ARCHER : Are you going to turn Englishman 
 
 now? 
 
 MAN-AT-ARMS : So help me God ! I should turn what I 
 
 no
 
 CESARE BORGIA 
 
 please, so long as I was allowed to go back to Milan, where 
 I left a little girl who didn't mind being kissed. 
 THIRD ARCHER : The fact is, there's no fun at all here ; 
 we get hardly any fighting, and it bores one to death to see 
 from morn till night the yellow faces of these beggarly 
 Italians. They are people with no idea of enjoying themselves ! 
 They don't understand a word of French, they don't drink, 
 they don't dance, they have just about as much wit as my 
 horse ! 
 
 SECOND ARCHER : Now then, Jeannot, cheer up, my lad! 
 Here! Here's something to put you in good spirits again! 
 He throws Jeannot's cap to the ground ; the archers and the men-at- 
 arms jostle and fight with loud laughter. 
 
 SINIGAGLIA. 
 
 The free-lances' camp.— The tent of Pagolo Orsini. — Pagolo has just 
 supped with Don JVIichele. — Lackeys clear the table and withdraw. 
 
 DON MICHELE : You are all overheated, and none of you 
 
 sees things as they are. The Duke is not the gentlest man 
 
 on earth, it is true, but neither is he the rashest, and that is 
 
 why he does not care to be hard on you and lose what you 
 
 are worth to him. 
 
 PAGOLO : If we listen to him, we are lost! You will never 
 
 convince me to the contrary. Vitellozzo is not wrong on that 
 
 point. 
 
 DON MICHELE : Vitellozzo is an ass who fancies himself a 
 
 lion, because he uses a knife better than anyone else. It is 
 
 a pretty talent, but not everything. Let us come back to 
 
 business. You think then that the Duke wishes you no good? 
 
 PAGOLO: Yes, I do! 
 
 DON MICHELE : Here is the proof. He sends you this 
 
 chain. 
 
 PAGOLO: The deuce! Rubies and sapphires! a pretty 
 
 setting ! Florentine work ! Was I mistaken .'' 
 
 DON MICHELE : For a soldier you have a cultivated taste. 
 
 PAGOLO : That's just like you, you courtiers ! You imagine 
 
 M III
 
 THE RENAISSANCE 
 
 that no one but yourselves has the right to love the divine 
 Muses anil understand real beauty. If this chain is not the 
 work of Robetta, which would greatly astonish me, I'll wager 
 you my Venus, the most perfect picture of Guido of Bologna, 
 against your glass of Guillaume of Marseilles, that it's from 
 the workshop of Giovanni di Goro ! 
 
 DON MICHELE: The glass is yours, for this chain is 
 actually by Robetta. We know at court how to choose things, 
 you'll admit ! 
 
 PAGOLO : How is Count Castiglione ? 
 DON MICHELE : Still a loyal servant of the Orsini house. 
 PAGOLO : We approve of him for such sentiments. But I'm 
 tired out. A whole day on horseback, visiting the guard- 
 houses ! What a nuisance these misunderstandings are ! Let 
 us go to bed ; what say you ? 
 
 DON MICHELE : What say I ? I'm nearly dropping off! 
 PAGOLO : If you write to the Duke this evening, do not 
 fail to assure his Highness that he has been quite misled as 
 regards me. . . . No, after all, don't tell him anything! . . . 
 I would not have him imagine. . . . 
 
 DON MICHELE : Oh, you big baby! I'll tell him you are 
 his friend, as he is yours. Good-night ! 
 
 112
 
 CESARE BORGIA 
 
 CESENA. 
 The Valentinois' stud}-. — Don Cesare Borgia ; ]Machiavelli ; Bautista. 
 
 BAUTISTA : A dispatch, my lord. 
 
 DUKE : Well, give it me. Messer Niccolo, I do not wish 
 the Signiory of Florence to be ignorant of any detail of my 
 dispute with my condottieri. This is what Don Michele writes. 
 
 He gives the dispatch to Machiavelli, who reads it. 
 
 You see that Pagolo Orsini is on the way to pacify and lead 
 back his comrades. Vitellozzo resists ; still, he will go with 
 the others ... he will come like the others. ... I shall have 
 him there, in my hands, Messer Niccolo, like the others! 
 MACHIAVELLI : I see clearly, your Highness. He will 
 come — they will all come. Every moment their hearts sink 
 lower, and their heads ... oh, their heads are already gone ! 
 I see that they propose that you should join them so as to 
 make war upon us. 
 
 DUKE: They don't know what to invent next! . . . Fore- 
 seeing my refusal, they offer me a fresh combination. 
 MACHIAVELLI: To take Sinigaglia and give it you? 
 DUKE : I shall answer by telling them to summon the place 
 to surrender and that I am coming to their aid, and I will go. 
 MACHIAVELLI : Plave you enough followers to be secure 
 in the hands of these men ? 
 
 DUKE: Enough followers? ... I let them know (for it was 
 they who were afraid) that I was going to dismiss all my 
 troops except M. de Candalle's company and a small number 
 of Italian dragoons. I have kept my word. All left an hour 
 ago. 
 
 MACHIAVELLI: You are going to imperil yourself like 
 this, my Lord ? 
 
 DUKE : There are moments when the safest spot on earth 
 is in front of the lion's jaws ! Some day you will understand 
 that. You are still young. 
 
 M J US
 
 THE RENAISSANCE 
 
 MACHIAVELLl: I am curious to know what an air you 
 will assume towards these traitors. 
 
 DUKE : Nothing but gentleness, Messer Niccolo, nothing but 
 clemency! You smile? 
 
 MACHIAVELLl : I am smiling, your Highness, at the want 
 of agreement between the honey of your words and the fire 
 of your glances. 
 
 DUKE : Politics are great matters, Messer Niccolo, and must 
 not be faced lightly. What is this, Bautista? 
 BAUTISTA : A note, my lord. 
 
 DUKE (reading) : Ah, our game is going well ! The 
 Bentivoglio offers me his friendship and a family alliance. 
 MACHIAVELLl : All the same, Signor Giovanni is not much 
 inclined to domestic affections. 
 
 DUKE : He is a man of action. One night he had a fine 
 skirmish with a pack of opponents: two hundred hounds at 
 a single blow. That cannot fail to bring glory to a )'Oung 
 boar. But these men of the ancient families always betray 
 the degenerate in some point or other. It is not enough to 
 be able to stab or make others stab. The Bentivoglio lacks 
 brains, and has never been able to keep a coherent idea in his 
 head. . . . See, he is breaking away from my free-lances ! 
 MACHIAVELLl : You have made good headway this week. 
 DUKE : Not bad ! Don't let us stop in the middle of the 
 road. Let us march straight, firmly and quickly. They are 
 sounding to horse. We shall start at once for Sinigaglia. 
 MACHIAVELLl (pensively) : It is most probable . . . most 
 probable . . . those men are mad enough to expect you. 
 DUKE : What, expect me ? They'll come to meet me, never 
 doubt! Fate either leads man or drags him. I have fooled 
 them twenty times, deceived them a hundred times. They 
 know how little secondary considerations weigh with me. 
 Yet look at them ! How their reason totters more and more 
 
 114
 
 CESARE BORGIA 
 
 every moment ! The Florentines do not want them. 
 Yesterday morning their friend Guidubaldo took alarm at the 
 fierceness of my challenges, and fled from Urbino. Now the 
 Bentivoglio is turning his back on them, Don Michele is 
 working them ; he makes Gravina dizzy with arguments, 
 Vitellozzo with flatteries, Pagolo with presents, Oliverotto with 
 dark threats and secret promises ; he entangles them all 
 together in a mesh of protestations, and — a miracle, this, but 
 it has occurred before, and will occur again — although these 
 four roysterers know exactly what to make of my advances 
 and my pity, they will come, they will come, I tell you, and 
 run to throw themselves at my feet. Nothing can save them. 
 Heaven and their characters will it so. 
 
 MACHIAVELLI (stroking his chin) : The world is really an 
 interesting study. 
 
 DUKE : Come, we have rambled enough. To horse ! We 
 shall stop at Fano. I suppose it is there that my opponents 
 will come to beg my mercy. 
 MACHIAVELLI : At your orders, my lord. 
 
 115
 
 TITK RENAISSANCE 
 
 SLNIGAGLIA. 
 
 The tent of the Orsini. — Pagolo, Vitellozzo, \itelli. 
 
 VITELLOZZO : The town is taken ; but the castle will not 
 ag^ree to surrender to anyone but the Valentinois in person. 
 Shall I tell you what I think ? 
 PAGOLO: Yes. 
 
 VITELLOZZO : The rogue of a Governor has been insti- 
 gated by the Duke himself to take this step. He has an 
 understanding with the Borgia. 
 
 PAGOLO : You scent trickery everywhere ; perhaps you are 
 right. But what are we to do? Since we have returned to 
 the Borgia's pay, we cannot discuss such matters. 
 VITELLOZZO : The result will be that having stipulated 
 with jMichele that we should remain in our camp and he in his, 
 we shall find ourselves under his claws — for he will certainly 
 come. 
 
 PAGOLO : That is clear. I console myself by reflecting that 
 this critical situation cannot last long. I confess I am anxious ; 
 I would rather know at once what course to take. I hope the 
 Duke has none but good intentions. 
 
 VITELLOZZO: What are the grounds for your hope? 
 PAGOLO : What leads you to think he will quarrel straight 
 away with the four leading condottieri of Italy .-' Our support, 
 our protection is worth gold. Our heads, once cut off, would 
 be worth nothing. Then, we have at our backs those two 
 great, illustrious, powerful houses of the Vitelli and the Orsini, 
 the most splendid in the Romagna, and therefore in the whole 
 world. How many cardinals, bishops and lords are there 
 whom it would do no good to provoke ! 
 
 VITELLOZZO : Once I am murdered it will matter little to 
 me whether the murderer has made a blunder. 
 PAGOLO : Bah, rashness lies in anticipating everything ! Let 
 us swim with the stream : with skill we shall be able to cut 
 across and reach the bank. 
 VITELLOZZO : I can only say that I feel sick at heart. 
 
 ii6
 
 CESARE BORGIA 
 
 PAGOLO : Well, then it is you who will die — not I, who have 
 
 confidence. 
 
 Trumpets. — Enter Gravina, Oliverotto and Don Michele, 
 
 GRAVINA : To horse ! Our squadrons are afoot. 
 PAGOLO: What news? 
 
 GRAVINA : The Duke is coming. His runners are already 
 in sight. 
 
 VITELLOZZO : Michele ! Michele ! You are betraying us, 
 you villain ! 
 
 DON MICHELE : What ? Betraying you ? Explain your- 
 self, sir. Is it I that decides ? 
 
 OLIVEROTTO : He is right. Gravina and I had the call 
 to horse sounded. As the castle will only surrender to the 
 Borgia, that explains why he comes. It is an unforeseen 
 event, that is all. Do you wish to be hemmed in between the 
 enemy and the master? 
 
 VITELLOZZO : I do not know how things stand ; I assure 
 you, I vow to you that we are lost. All my warnings have 
 been unavailing. The Trojans would not believe Cassandra 
 either, nor the jews their prophets. 
 
 OLIVEROTTO: The devil take you! You are speaking 
 to one who is experienced in ambuscades ; was it not I who 
 had my uncle Giovanni Fogliani and his creatures killed while 
 they, poor fools, thought they were quietly sitting down to 
 supper with me ? You will go politely to meet the Valentinois, 
 and I will stay before the town gate with my companies. If 
 anyone shows any sign of laying hands on you, we are by tar 
 the stronger and — we shall see ! 
 
 DON MICHELE : Nothing could be plainer. One must be 
 blind not to see it, and as soon as we consent to such an 
 arrangement, you are bound to realise that we act in good 
 faith. 
 PAGOLO : True. Come ! to horse ! The Duke arrives ! 
 
 it;
 
 THE RENAISSANCE 
 
 The country before Sinigaglia. — At some distance, in the background, the 
 town gate, held by the free-lances' foot-soldiers. Squadrons in 
 battle array, Oliverotto at their head, with his officers. In front, the 
 troop of the Valentinois, inferior in numbers to the companies of the 
 condotticri drawn up on the right ; the Duke, Machiavelli, Seigneur 
 de Candalle, Balthazar Castiglione, Don Michcle, Don Ugo, Marcan- 
 tonio da Fano, Leniolo, Mgr. d'Allegri, and other captains, all on 
 horseback. 
 
 DUKE: Michele! 
 
 DON MICHELE: My lord? 
 
 DUKE : Bring your horse up to mine. Put his head forward. 
 
 Now, hsten ! Here are our free-lances approaching. When 
 
 I have spoken to them, two of you will take each of them . . . 
 
 so as to do them honour . . . you understand ? . . . And you 
 
 will not leave their side. 
 
 DON MICHELE : No, my lord. 
 
 DUKE: What does this mean? Oliverotto has remained 
 
 behind ? 
 
 DON MICHELE : Yes, your Highness. He is over yonder 
 
 at the head of his troops. That was the arrangement they 
 
 made. 
 
 DUKE : Pass behind us, take a detour, rejoin Oliverotto and, 
 
 at all costs, bring him here. At all costs ! You understand 
 
 me and promise to do so ? 
 
 DON MICHELE : But, my lord 
 
 DUKE : You hear me ? . . . You promise me ! Lose no 
 time ; be off at once ! 
 
 Don Michele gallops off. The Captains come up and salute. 
 
 DUKE : Welcome, friends ! Heaven be praised, there are no 
 more misunderstandings between us. I might have some 
 reason to scold you for your follies, but what is there that our 
 affection and — I may confess — our true interests do not 
 forgive ? Your hand, Duke de Gravina ! Greeting, Vitel- 
 lozzo ! Greeting, Pagolo ! Come to my side. I never feel 
 near enough to you. My strength lies in my soldiers' lances. 
 GRAVINA : We have sinned, Monsignor, forgetting what 
 
 Ii8
 
 CESARE BORGIA 
 
 your real feelings were. We shall know how to repair our 
 faults by our ser\'ices. 
 
 DUKE : I have every confidence that you will. (To the 
 courtiers.) Gentlemen, take charge of our guests, and if you 
 value my friendship, try to win theirs. 
 
 The horsemen, notified by Don Michele, surround the three captains ; 
 Don Michele comes up with OUverotto. 
 
 Ah, Signer Oliverotto, where were you staying? 
 
 OLIVEROTTO (a trifle pale) : Monsignor, I was at my post ; 
 
 I should not have wished any treachery on the part of the 
 
 castellans to mar this glorious day. 
 
 DUKE : Those who are frank fear no guile, and I am afraid 
 
 of no man. I have forgotten the past. 
 
 OLIVEROTTO : Thanks, my lord. 
 
 DUKE : As we talk, we are getting on, and here we are, 
 
 I think, at my residence. I have a fine town to thank you 
 
 for, gentlemen. 
 
 GRAVINA : We wish to give you a thousand others far 
 
 finer, my Lord. 
 
 DUKE : You will not lack opportunities to realise that wish. 
 
 Let us dismount and go indoors. 
 
 The Duke, the free-lances and all the retinue dismount. Great 
 crowding and confusion. 
 
 What a noise ! Order, gentlemen ! Do not be in such a hurry ! 
 
 Monseigneur de Candalle, a word with you, please. (Draws 
 
 him aside.) Your men-at-arms are in the saddle ? 
 
 Mgr. de CANDALLE : Yes, my lord. I have received orders 
 
 from Don Michele. 
 
 DUKE : Rejoin them. Attack the free-lances vigorously. 
 
 They will be taken by surprise, and no longer have their 
 
 leaders. The booty is yours. 
 
 Mgr. de CANDALLE : Yes, my lord. 
 
 Exit. 
 THE DUKE (goes upstairs, followed by the four captains, 
 surrounded by his troops on all sides. He enters a lofty room 
 and turns suddenly) : Arrest those traitors and disarm them ! 
 
 119
 
 THE RENAISSANCE 
 
 OLIVEROTTO: Ah, you villain! 
 
 He is knocked do\vn by a blow of the fist. The courtiers and the 
 soldiers hurl themselves on the others and gag them. 
 
 DUKE : Take these men into the next room and keep watch 
 
 over them. ... I want to know what Mgr. de Candalle is 
 
 doing. 
 
 DON MICHELE (a't a window) : The free-lances did not 
 
 await the charge. They are in headlong flight, and the 
 
 French, who have massacred many of them, are disbanding 
 
 and pillaging the houses of the town. 
 
 DUKE : Run and see that a dozen of those savages are 
 
 hanged ! No one shall be allowed to do anything without my 
 
 orders. 
 
 Exit Don Michele hastily. 
 Where is Michelotto ? 
 
 MICHELOTTO (executioner) : Here I am, my lord. 
 
 DUKE: Have you new ropes? 
 
 MICHELOTTO : Quite new ; and my axe, my cutlass and 
 
 my assistants. 
 
 DUKE : Go in there. I will watch you at work. Strangle 
 
 one after the other ! I will look on. 
 
 Michelotto unrolls his ropes from round his waist and goes into the 
 room. 
 
 Come, gentlemen, a little amusement after so much hard work ! 
 
 He opens the door, followed by his retinue ; stampings, terrible 
 shrieks, then silence and laughter. 
 
 The house occupied by the Duke. — A terrace looking out on to the sea ; 
 moonlight. — After supper ; the Duke is half lying down on cushions ; 
 Machiavelh ; Don Michele ; musicians finishing a motet. 
 
 DUKE : I am very fond of this new music. We are in a 
 great century, Messer Niccolo. Everything is being renewed. 
 The other evening I had read to me a passage of Virgil, 
 exceedingly beautiful, like every product of that divine 
 
 1 20
 
 CESARE BORGIA 
 
 intellect, and I noted this phrase : " A majestic order is coming 
 to birth." It seems that it is thus in our present age. How 
 true it is of these days ! The air that has just been performed 
 is tinged with the softest melancholy. Go, my children, I 
 have no further need of your services for this evening. Let 
 them each be given a gold florin. Michele, are you certain 
 that the French looters who attacked Sinigaglia have been 
 hanged ? 
 
 DON MICHELE: Yes, my lord. Perhaps it was a trifle 
 overdone. You said a dozen, and I fear there are more. 
 DUKE : The joke is rather good. And the looting? .... 
 DON MICHELE : Stopped at once, Monsignor. 
 DUKE : That was the chief thing. You will have the men 
 who have been hanged taken down. They will be quartered, 
 and a portion of each will be fixed up in the different streets of 
 the town. It is as well that my subjects should know that I 
 do not allow them to be oppressed. 
 
 DON AIICHELE: They know it already, my lord, and are 
 showering benedictions on your name. 
 
 DUKE : They will have to know it even better, and therefore 
 do as I command. What is more, don't omit to spread the 
 report that my special desire is to destroy the French. Our 
 people cannot be too strongly roused to hate these savages, 
 and their hatred must be mingled with contempt. Go, Michele. 
 
 Exit Don Michele. 
 
 We have just solved our problem, Messer Niccolo. 
 
 MACHIAVELLI : I will make so bold as to offer your 
 
 Highness a single observation. 
 
 DUKE : Speak frankly, by all means. 
 
 MACHIAVELLI : Seeing that you have preferred justice to 
 
 mercy, was there not some risk in executing the two Orsini? 
 
 Their house is powerful. 
 
 DUKE : I had written to Rome. This morning I learnt that 
 
 the Cardinal, the Archbishop of Florence, and Messer Jacopo 
 
 da Santa Croce have been surprised and arrested, as I 
 
 121
 
 THE RENAISSANCE 
 
 recommended to His Holiness. Without this success there 
 would have been some hitch in my progress. 
 MACHIAVELLI : Then .there seems to me no flaw in the 
 scheme. 
 
 DUKE : Observe that it means not four rogoies less in Italy, 
 but the four condottieri who are by far the most formidable ! 
 After them there remains only small fry, such as can be 
 accounted for without much trouble. By means of steel and 
 hemp I have staunched a horrible wound. Some centuries 
 from now men will hardly be able to believe that such a system 
 ever existed. Captains of troops attached to no party, no state, 
 no government — entering and leaving the service of princes 
 at their will — eating up the princes' substance under the pre- 
 text of pay and that of their subjects by every form of caprice ! 
 What an anomaly ! What folly ! And from this source came 
 the Sforza, who took Milan, and after them the Carmagnola, 
 the terror of Venice. Upon my life, I have done you all the 
 most signal service you could possibly demand ! 
 MACHIAVELLI : Beyond all question, my lord, and thanks 
 to you, I, too, can repeat the words of Virgil : Magnus nascitur 
 ordo. And now, by forming militias recruited not from 
 brigands but from' sons of farmers, such as will obey not their 
 captains but their sovereigns, you will complete your task 
 DUKE : Time is needed — time, not to give me a respite, but 
 to allow the intelligence of nations a chance of ripening. How 
 much there is to change ! The great must be curbed, the little 
 kept in their places, money must be procured, and for all 
 these needs certain and appropriate means must be devised. 
 How many varied forms of action become necessary! These 
 are the fruits of the will ; they grow, they develop, they bud, 
 and then they burst. Let us not force the crop too greatly, or 
 it will fail ! Time and patience are required : no slackness, 
 no sleepiness, and no haste ! 
 
 MACHIAVELLI : To put a constraint not on others but on 
 oneself is the virtue of the strong. 
 
 122
 
 CESARE BORGIA 
 
 DUKE : What a glorious night ! Look at the admirable 
 effect produced by the broken light of the moon on those 
 waves moving beneath the vast horizon ! We need here some 
 of our artists and poets to explain all these marvels to our 
 spellbound senses. . . . What can those fires be that climb 
 the mountains in terraces ? Look yonder. 
 MACHIAVELLI : I am inclined to think that they are the 
 scattered camp-fires of the free-lances dispersed by Mgr. de 
 Candalle. 
 
 DUKE : Your judgment is correct. Those poor reptiles are 
 seeking holes where they may hide and escape. 
 MACHLWELLI : Your Highness' crest is a dragon devour- 
 ing serpents. 
 
 DUKE : And they say that I am insincere ? Yes, indeed, a 
 dragon, Messer Niccolo ! I am not, like the.^\Tetched Duke 
 of Milan, a wretched viper swallowing its young. I, I am the 
 hydra of Lerna, a monster if you will, but one that rends and 
 devours monsters, and I will destroy to the very last these 
 gutter-bom princes, these condottieri of base metal who 
 obstruct my path. From the ruins of their nests I will build 
 my eyrie, and a day will come when, from the foot of the Alps 
 to the Straits of Messina, there will be no sway but mine. 
 
 123
 
 THE RENAISSANCE 
 
 FERRARA. 
 
 A loggia in the ducal palace. — Donna Lucreziu Borgia, scaled in a gold- 
 tassoUcd arm-chair is gazing at the country ; near her, leaning against 
 cue of the columns that support the roof, Don Alfonso d'Este, her 
 husband. 
 
 ALFONSO : 1 must confess your brother lias freed himself 
 well from this entanglement. Me approached the Gordian 
 knot at first with caution, he handled it with skill, he seized 
 it with resolution, and he cut it like an Alexander. 
 LUCREZIA: He is now far stronger and safer than ever. 
 Such a crisis stimulates those who pass it successfully. 1 here- 
 fore it seems to me that you had best be on your guard against 
 the Duke of Valentinois. 
 
 ALFONSO : Do you not think, Lucrezia, that he has done 
 all the princes an eminent service ? Henceforth we who hold 
 the sceptre will also alone hold the sword. 
 LUCREZIA: That may be, but I want you to think, above 
 all, of the increase of prestige and power which the Duke of 
 Valentinois has acquired. I ask myself what he will want 
 to do with it 
 
 ALFONSO : Surely he will begin by strengthening his posi- 
 tion in the Romagna, and for some time he will have his hands 
 full with the Venetians and the Aragonese. He will there- 
 fore need our help, and I shall dole out just enough assistance 
 to prevent him from falling, without setting him firmly 
 upright. 
 
 LUCREZIA : I fancy you do not really understand Don 
 Cesare. He is not the man to nibble thus at the grapes of 
 fortune. You may take it for granted that he will make sure 
 of the Romagna in such a way as to spare no one. Before 
 long he will strike a mighty blow, and I am convinced that 
 even at this moment his actual possessions are his least con- 
 sideration. 
 
 ALFONSO: What do you expect him to attempt? How- 
 ever indefatigable he may be, he must take some time to 
 regain his balance. Besides, I have nothing to fear from him, 
 
 124
 
 CESARE BORGIA 
 
 for the simple reason that our mainstay — that is, France — is 
 the same, and I am certain that Louis XII. would not let me be 
 attacked. 
 
 LUCREZIA : I do not say that the Duke of Valentinois is 
 thinking of attacking you, and I do not flatter myself that I can 
 guess what he is thinking of. But, taking things in the lump, 
 and knowing him as I do, I feel certain that he is planning to 
 keep what he holds, not by supporting it, but rather by enlarging 
 it. He will begin by attacking one of his neighbours, I know 
 not which ; but he will crush that neighbour, and I consider 
 that each fresh accession of strength makes him formidable to 
 us, seeing that if Fate herself put the whole world into his 
 hards M. de Valentinois would never say " That is enough." 
 As for Louis XII., he has indeed good reasons for keeping 
 faith with you, and you can do much for or against him ; but 
 his irrepressible weakness for his Minister, M. d'Amboise, and 
 the unhealthy ambition which draws that favourite towards the 
 Papal tiara, the skill that the Duke of Valentinois has shown 
 in persuading him that he has the sole disposal of the Papacy 
 after the death of Alexander VI. — these are reasons more than 
 enough for my brother 'to be all-powerful with the French. 
 You will say they would make a grievous blunder in helping 
 him to grow too strong. But blunders — it seems to me that 
 human affairs are woven of hardly any other stuff. 
 ALFONSO : I am impressed by your arguments. I begin 
 to see, in fact, that Don Cesare's greatness is becoming 
 dangerous. All the same, I cannot guess what kind of pre- 
 cautions I ought to take. To show defiance. . . . 
 LUCREZIA: Would be the worst policy. On the contrary, 
 you are Don Cesare's natural ally, and it is not advisable to 
 appear to forget that. 
 
 ALFONSO : I have just sent one of my officers to congratu- 
 late him on the execution at Sinigaglia. 
 
 LUCREZIA : Suppose you were secretly to advise the 
 Venetians, the Florentines, and even the Aragonesc to be on 
 their guard, seeing that we do not know whom the Duke of 
 
 125
 
 THE RENAISSANCE 
 
 Valentinois will assail next. ... In this way you would 
 strengihea the power of resistance without appearing to do so, 
 and would be domg good service to an enemy who would later 
 on repay you in kind. 
 
 ALFONSO : Vou are riglit— that is the line I shall follow. 
 LUCREZIA: In any case, it cannot do you any harm. I 
 must not forget to read you this amusing letter. 
 ALFONSO: From whom is it? 
 
 LUCREZIA: From your sister, the Duchess of Mantua. You 
 know that young Florentine sculptor, Michael Angelo 
 Buonarotti, of whom they are beginning to talk so much ? 
 ALFONSO : He does admirable work, and I should be very 
 glad to attract him to our court. 
 
 LUCREZIA : Well, this Michael Angelo has made a statue 
 of Eros, so beautiful that Lorenzo the Magnificent advised 
 him to let it pass for an antique. The Cardinal of San Giorgio, 
 who has little knowledge of the line arts. . . . 
 ALFONSO : He's an inveterate fool and ignoramus. 
 LUCREZA: You are hard on him; but in this case he 
 justifies your remarks. He bought the statue. By chance he 
 learnt afterwards that it was modern. You can imagine his 
 discomfiture. He frets and fumes, and in his contempt for a 
 work that has become for him unworthy to be looked at, he 
 wishes to sell it. The Duke of Valentinois gets wind of the 
 affair. You know how exquisite his taste is ; he immediately 
 buys the despised masterpiece and makes a present of it to 
 your sister ; she tells me the story, and is beside herself with 
 joy. 
 
 ALFONSO : Yes, we must certainly have Michael Angelo 
 here. He is young, he is a fine artist, and he will become one 
 of the master-craftsmen of Italy. 
 
 LUCREZIA: I am entirely of your opinion. Besides, our 
 court must surpass all the others, and now that the French are 
 established at Milan, all the men of genius and learning 
 assembled at such expense by Ludovico Sforza are homeless. 
 Would you not be glad to welcome here Antonio Cornazano, 
 
 126
 
 CESARE BORGIA 
 
 who dedicated to me his two poems on the life of the Holy 
 Virgin and of our Lord ? and Giorgio Robustd, of Alessandria, 
 who offered me his poems ? 
 
 ALFONSO : Please have written for me at once the letters 
 of invitation to all these excellent writers. Let them be 
 couched in the most flattering terms ; I will sign them myself. 
 You give me great pleasure in allowing me the hope of adding 
 these great intellects to those we possess already. 
 LUCREZIA : Ah, if we could only take from your sister's 
 court Giovanni Piero Arrivabene and II Spagnolo ! 
 ALFONSO : Certainly, certainly, I should like to do so ; but 
 we are not so poor in merit that we have a right to complain. 
 True, death has lately robbed us of the inimitable, the 
 admirable Boiardo ; but we still have Francesco Cieco, Lelio, 
 the two Strozzi, and that young Ludovico Ariosto, of whom 
 I hear wonders. 
 
 LUCREZIA : He deserves the highest praise, and the Latin 
 epithalamium which he wrote for our wedding is one of the 
 fmest things of our age. 
 
 ALFONSO : I have no doubt of it, as you say so. You 
 certainly have more understanding of poetry and literature 
 than I ; what I know, and what I repeat, is that our Ferrara 
 must not yield to any Italian city in reverence for great 
 talents, and I confess to you that I could wish to hear it said 
 that my court holds them all. 
 
 LUCREZIA : It is an ambition worthy of you, my lord. 
 ALFONSO : Plave a letter written at once to your three 
 scholars ; I will attend to the fresh instructions which have 
 to be sent to Venice, to Florence and to Naples ; then I will 
 visit the workshops where they are making my new artillery. 
 What a pity, Lucrezia, that you do not understand these 
 matters as well as you understand poetry ! I should be glad 
 to discuss them with you.. Do you know that nothing in the 
 world is so interesting as the expositions of mathematicians 
 and engineers? 
 LUCREZIA : I can well believe you, Don Alfonso, but there 
 
 N 12/
 
 THE RENAISSANCE 
 
 IS no need for me to be very clever. It pleases me to hear 
 that you know more of these things than all the other captanis 
 of our tunc. That is enough for my glory, and while you see 
 some culverin cast, 1 will, by your leave, take my walk with 
 my ladies in the gardens we have just planted. 
 ALFONSO : Go, Lucrezia ; I kiss your hand. 
 
 A VILLAGE IN THE ROMAGNA. 
 
 Assembly of the secret societies kuown as Pacifici. — Armed peasants ; 
 two bravos. 
 
 FIRST BRAVO (saluting): Bcati Pacifici! 
 
 LEADER OF THE PEASANTS: You are honest men; 
 
 we thank you for having both come. 
 
 FIRST BRAVO : We should not have cared to miss the 
 
 appointment. You should have a better opinion, most 
 
 illustrious Signors, of our eagerness to offer our services to 
 
 such respectable gentlemen as yourselves. 
 
 LEADER : Thanks for your kind words. So you have been 
 
 sent by his Highness? 
 
 FIRST BRAVO: Yes, Don Cesare Borgia, Duke of 
 
 Romagna, and no other, has dispatched us to you. Here is a 
 
 ring he has delivered to us as token of gratitude. 
 
 LEADER : That is just as we understood. Take seats, 
 
 gentlemen ; you must be tired. 
 
 FIRST BRAVO : It is good to sit down. This cavalier and 
 
 I have just ridden a stage of twenty leagues without stopping, 
 
 and however accustomed one may be to the fatigues of war, 
 
 one can hardly be blamed for being a little stiff in the legs. 
 
 LEADER : You know perhaps for what reason your presence 
 
 here is requested ? 
 
 FIRST BRAVO : The Duke gave us some idea. 
 
 LEADER : Without offence, are you as sure of your comrade 
 
 as of yourself? The affair in question is delicate, and it is 
 
 comforting to know with whom one has to deal. 
 
 FIRST BRAVO : I applaud your prudence. Know that my 
 
 128
 
 CESARE BORGIA 
 
 friend is one of the champions of our age. You might almost 
 
 apply to him the famous jest of Plutarch, in his admirable 
 
 Roman history, when in speaking of an excellent captain he 
 
 said to him : " He would not dare to remain in a room alone 
 
 with a looking-glass, he would be afraid of seeing his own 
 
 reflection." Indeed, when this cavalier dons his martial air, 
 
 me effect is terrifying ! If he speaks but little, it is because he 
 
 is all action. 
 
 LEADER : Now let us come to our business. The task is to 
 
 get rid of Malatesta. 
 
 BRAVO : Nothing easier. 
 
 LEADER : But do you know that he never walks out without 
 
 a long troop of counsellors at his heels ? 
 
 BRAVO : That matters little ! My comrade and I are in the 
 
 habit of surmounting the most thorny difficulties. Only tell 
 
 me what kind of solution you want. 
 
 LEADER : I do not take your meaning. 
 
 BRAVO : Is it enough for you if Signor Malatesta gets what 
 
 we swordsmen call a first notice, which would keep him to his 
 
 bed ... let us say . . . for a month or two ? If you need 
 
 no more to satisfy you, say so. 
 
 LEADER : We would rather make an end of him. 
 
 BRAVO : Admirable ! Carry things through to the end, eh ? 
 
 Perfect ! That point is settled ? Good ! Now we'll come to 
 
 the means. Have you any preference ? How would you like 
 
 your man to be dispatched ? 
 
 LEADER : As quickly and as safely as possible. 
 
 BRAVO : So I understand ; my comrade and I never do things 
 
 by halves. As we have to deal with one who is forewarned 
 
 and on his guard, I make you the following proposal. 
 
 LEADER : What is that implement? 
 
 The spectators crowd round to look. 
 BRAVO : Ah, a little masterpiece ! Yet to outward seeming 
 a table-fork, and nothing more ! See what a pretty fork it is, 
 all in burnished and chiselled silver! Do you not admire this 
 figure placed above the three prongs ? Watch ! I press like 
 
 N 2 129
 
 IHE RMNAISSANCE 
 
 this upon the head . . . tlie feet rise imperceptibly. . . . 
 Look! There is a hollow. Do you sec this hollow? 
 THE PEASANTS : Ay, ay, we do. 
 
 liRAVO : Well, if in this hollow 1 put a preparation, a little 
 powder, some drops of liquid, and if the carver, at the moment of 
 carving the meat for the guest whom I have in view, manages 
 the fork deftly. . . . You understand? . . . The powder or 
 the potion falls on the morsel which the hungry man is to carry 
 to his lips. That is all there is in it, and for fifty ducats or so 
 I shall win for myself the friendship of any servant you choose 
 in the Malatesta household. 
 
 LEADER : An excellent device ; but if this servant, with the 
 work in his hand and the ducats in his pocket, went and told 
 his master all, in the hope of raising another sum, we should 
 get no return for our money. No! We prefer to deal with 
 you alone. 
 
 BRAVO : I only proposed my idea to you because it is really 
 a charming one, and the instrument is still unknown ! One of 
 my best friends is the inventor. You don't want it? Very 
 well ! I will get at him some other way, and as for finding the 
 means, that is my affair. Let me see ! The glass stiletto 
 breaking in the wound would do pretty well. ... I will con- 
 sider ! . . . Do you insist on the whole matter being settled 
 by a fixed date ? 
 
 LEADER : The sooner the better. 
 
 FIRST BRAVO: I understand! . . . Here we are at the 
 fifth of May. My comrade-in-arms and I ought to find our- 
 selves on the 20th of June at Vicenza, where the most serene 
 Signory of Venice honoured us with a mission. Between 
 now and then, your discussion with Signor Malatesta will be 
 over ; you can count upon my word. 
 
 LEADER: Many thanks! Here are a hundred ducats in 
 advance. 
 BRAVO: No matter! . . No matter! . . . It's of no conse- 
 
 130
 
 CESARE BORGIA 
 
 quence ! . . . All for the pleasure of doing you a service. 
 Thanks all the same. W'e kiss your Lordships' hand. 
 
 The Bravos wthdrew. — Enter Romagnese Gentlemen. 
 FIRST GENTLEMAN: Good evening, friends! Already 
 re-united and in agreement? 
 LEADER: We are only awaiting you. 
 
 GENTLEMAN: Well, here we are! Countrymen all, good 
 friends, good neighbours, all Pacifici, leagued to establish and 
 maintain order against the factions and the tyrants, neither 
 Guelphs nor Ghibellines, nor friends of the Malatesta, nor 
 tools of the Baglioni ; but friends to ourselves, to our families, 
 to the public peace ! Well, then, most illustrious signers, let 
 us settle our plans and consider how best to act. 
 A PEASANT : So long as there are towns in the world, there 
 will be burgesses, and with burgesses peace is impossible. I 
 have a cousin who is watchman at one of the gates at Rimini. 
 In an emergency he would not refuse to allow us an entry. 
 Suppose we did a little ransacking in the houses of thil 
 villainous town. 
 A GENTLEMAN : An excellent idea. 
 
 General murmur of approval. 
 LEADER OF THE PEASANTS: Most illustrious signers, 
 let us come to an understanding! With whom we are allied? 
 With the condottieri ? 
 
 THE WHOLE ASSEMBLY: Heaven forbid! 
 LEADER : Then you are allies of the Guelphs, where the 
 lord is Ghibelline, and with the Ghibellines, where the prince 
 is Guelph ? Is that so ? 
 
 Violent murmurs. 
 No more ? In this case, you, true, honest and excellent 
 Pacifici, you give your hands to Don Cesare Borgia ? 
 SEVERAL VOICES: Certainly! 
 
 LEADER: Then don't lay a finger on Rimini! The Duke 
 will have no meddling with his arrangements ; we had better 
 listen to the message he sends us. He now proposes to carry 
 out in Tuscany what he has just finished in the cities of the 
 
 I ^i
 
 THE RENAISSANCE 
 
 Romagna — to destroy the tyrannies of every sort, to humble 
 the great and raise the lowly. Do we follow that lead? 
 THE ASSEMBLY: Yes! yes! Long live the Valentinois! 
 LEADER: Shall we write to the Duke that he can count 
 upon us? 
 
 THE ASSEMBLY: Let us write! Long live the Valen- 
 tinois! Bcati Pacifici! We'll burn Florence! 
 
 MILAN. 
 
 The interior of the cathedral. — High mass is being chanted ; several clerics 
 in tlie choir ; a great crowd in the nave and at the back. 
 
 IN THE CHOIR 
 A CANON (on his knees) : How weak is my heart ! How 
 cold my soul ! Alas ! I have not the power to penetrate deeply 
 nito the ineffable bounties of my God! I would fain raise 
 myself to the Throne of the Almighty ! . . . I would fain lose 
 myself in its rays ! . . . My God ! help me ! My God ! 
 uphold me ! 
 
 He prostrates himself. 
 SECOND CANON: Are you dining with us at the Arch- 
 bishop's ? 
 
 THIRD CANON : I am ! We shall have a most superb trout ! 
 SECOND CANON : It will not be eatable if that idiot of a 
 Fra Lorenzo does not make haste and finish his mass. (To 
 a choir boy.) Here, my child ! 
 CHOIR BOY : Yes, Monsignor. 
 
 SECOND CANON : Go and tell Fra Lorenzo to hurry up. 
 CHOIR BOY (to the officiating priest): The Prior, Dom 
 Paolo, begs you to finish quickly. 
 
 FRA LORENZO : What is he troubling about? I am not 
 dining at the Archbishop's. Attention, fool! Dominus 
 vobisciim! 
 CHORISTERS: Et cum spiritu tuo.'* 
 
 * The Lord be with you . . . And with thy spirit 1 — Tr.
 
 CESARE BORGIA 
 
 IN THE NAVE. 
 A MENDICANT FRIAR: Buy indulgences! indulgences! 
 They are to be had at all prices! Brother Christians, buy 
 indulgences ! 
 A GAILY-DRESSED WOMAN : Heavens, how hot it is! 
 
 Fans herself. 
 
 SECOND WOMAN : It's unbearable! Pass me your bottle 
 
 of smelling-salts, i\Ionna Bianca, I beg you, I have forgotten 
 
 mine! 
 
 THIRD WOMAN: With pleasure— here it is! What a 
 
 false villain that Felipe is ! 
 
 FIRST WOMAN : My dear, he paid me court long enough 
 
 for me to know what to think of him. 
 
 FOURTH WOMAN : That may be, but he's good-looking! 
 
 They're raising the Host ! 
 
 All the women kneel and beat their breasts. 
 
 A MAN (to an old dame in spectacles reading her missal): 
 
 Madam . . . madam . . . will you buy rosaries blessed by the 
 
 Holy Father? 
 
 THE OLD DAME : Leave me in peace! 
 
 THE MAN : Madam . . . will you buy a relic of the great 
 
 St. Ambrose ? A bone from his elbow ! . . . Not dear ! . . . 
 
 And authentic ! . . . 
 
 THE OLD DAME : I tell you to leave me in peace! 
 
 THE MAN: Do you want any fine soap or Spanish gloves? 
 
 THE OLD DAME : If you don't leave me in peace, I'll call 
 
 the beadles ! 
 
 The man goes off. 
 
 AT THE BACK. 
 Two citizens, near a chapel, telling their beads, their caps under their arma. 
 FIRST CITIZEN : Et benedictus fructus ventris tut. . . . 
 That doesn't prevent the rascal's having gone off without 
 paymg for the three dinners he owes me, and may the plague 
 
 133
 
 Till' UI'\.\lSSANCli: 
 
 seize mc il he'll ever pay! . . . Jesus! Avicn! Ave, Maria, 
 
 gKiiUa plena, Doi:itnc. . . . 
 
 SECOND CITIZEN: Qui es in cadis, sanctificetur ! ... I 
 
 told you so fifty times ! How stupid of you to give credit to 
 
 students! Look here, Ser Guglielmo, did I tell you so or did 
 
 Inot? . . . Xomen tmon, adx'enial fi'gninii* . . . Ucuce take 
 
 them, the students! ... If they were to pay, they would no 
 
 longer be students ! 
 
 A CA\'^ALIER (to an old woman) : See, dear Lorenzina, here 
 
 is the note ! 
 
 OLD WOMAN : I tell you once more, it's very difficult ! She 
 
 rebuffed me and threatened to let her mother know ! 
 
 CAVALIER : licrc's another sequin! 
 
 THE OLD WOMAN : I'll try to convince her ... but only 
 
 because of my great affection for you. If I make you a sign, 
 
 stand behind her ; you can speak to her then as much as you 
 
 like. 
 
 CAVALIER: May heaven inspire you, or I shall lose my 
 
 wager. 
 
 The Sanctus begins. 
 TWO MENDICANTS (crying at the top of their voices): 
 For the crusade ! For the crusade ! Give for the crusade I 
 Deliver the Holy Tomb ! For the crusade ! Lords and 
 ladies, take pity on the poor Christians slaughtered every day 
 by the savage Turks ! For the crusade ! 
 
 Three evil-faced boys near a pillar. 
 FIRST BOY: Is it that gentleman, yonder? 
 SECOND BOY : That one with the sunburnt complexion and 
 the little black moustache ? 
 
 THIRD BOY: Yes . . . and the black doublet. 
 SECOND BOY: A ruff round his neck, his right hand in a 
 torn glove . . . the other ungloved ? 
 THIRD BOY : The very man. 
 
 • And blessed the fruit of thy womb . . . Hail, Mary, filled with grace. 
 Lord . . . which art in heaven, hallowed be . . . thy name, thy king- 
 dom come . . . 
 
 1.34
 
 CESARE BORGIA 
 
 SECOND BOY : He's big enough to knock me down if he 
 
 turns round. I will throw m}' stiletto at ten paces and then 
 
 decamp. 
 
 FIRST BOY : If he pursues you, we'll make a feint of passing 
 
 quickly and we'll down him. 
 
 SECOND BOY: Is that sure? 
 
 FIRST BOY : When we tell you, you dolt ! . . . Don't miss ! 
 
 Strike the hip, crossways! It's only a matter of a five-inch 
 
 knife-thrust. We are paid in advance. 
 
 SECOND BOY: Wait a moment till I've ht a candle to 
 
 St. Nicholas. 
 
 FIRST BOY : Be quick and come back. . . . We shall follow 
 
 the gallant in the lane behind the church. You'll be hiding 
 
 in the angle of the wall. 
 
 SECOND BOY : Have no fear — I am certain of my aim. 
 
 He'll keep to his bed for a fortnight ! 
 
 The organ plays — a rocket explodes. 
 THE CROWD : Ah ! great heavens ! all is lost ! The French 
 are slaughtering us! Holy Madonna, all is lost! 
 VOICES IN THE CROWED: No! no! no! Fear nothing! 
 It's only urchins amusing themselves ! Jesus ! my purse is 
 stolen ! Will you leave go of my cloak ? 
 A WOMAN (kneeling in a corner): I thank Thee, God! 
 My poor brother, my poor brother ! He won't die ! Thou 
 hast not willed it so ! Thou dost give him back to me, I owe 
 him to Thee ! All the days of my life I will pray to Thee ! I 
 cannot repay my debt to Thee ! How I love Thee and see 
 Thee in Thy unexampled goodness ! My God, never forget 
 me ! Guard my poor brother whom Thou hast restored to me ! 
 
 She weeps. 
 A NOTARY (to his wife) : Haven't you had enough of your 
 devotions ? If we don't go at once, we shall be stifled by the 
 crowd. Let us get to the door, come ! Make haste ! 
 WIFE : I am tucking up my skirts so as not to be jostled. 
 NOTARY : Say rather that you are trying to make yourself 
 
 '35
 
 THE RENAISSANCE 
 
 noticed! Do you llimk, Aioiina roinponia, that I don't know 
 these tricks? Do you think you can hoodwink me? 
 WIFE : Who dreams of hoodwinking you? Let me just say 
 one more Ave. 
 
 NOTARY : You can say it as you go along. What are you 
 doing now ? 
 
 WIFE: I am going to take some holy water, if I can, but 
 there is a great crowd round it. 
 
 A CAVALIER: Will you permit me, madam, to ofter you 
 some? 
 
 THE LADY: Most willingly, signor. . . . (Very low.) Come 
 at two o'clock. ... lie will be gone out for the day. Come! 
 THE CAVALIER: Where? 
 
 THE WIFE : In the lower room. ... Go away, he's turning 
 round ! 
 
 NOTARY: Come! Shall we be finished to-day or to- 
 morrow ? Who is that gentleman who gave you holy water ? 
 HIS WIFE : I don't know ; I have never seen him before. 
 LACKEYS (pushing back the crowd) : Room ! room ! room 
 for her Grace the Duchess ! 
 
 Everyone goes out of the church ; the organ goes on playing. 
 
 136
 
 CESARE BORGIA 
 
 ROME 
 
 Cardinal Corneto's vineyard. — A room looking out over the gardens, 
 through great windows decked vnth vine-leaves. — Pope Alexander 
 VI. ; Don Cesare Borgia. 
 
 THE POPE : True ! Although the sun has sunk, the heat 
 is still overpowering. Still, I never felt stronger than I do 
 now. The grandeur of your schemes, the daring of your 
 resolutions, give strength to my will. All is turning out as 
 we wish. We are on the verge of a decisive moment, not 
 only for you, Don Cesare, but for all Italy. Our triumph 
 will be hers, for he is a poor statesman whose success profits 
 none but himself, and the arrangement of this world is such 
 that when the wise man sees his designs prosper, the dull 
 mass of petty men reap the advantage. That is what justifies 
 the means. We are about to strike an audacious blow. I 
 do not attempt to hide that, and you know it as well as I do. 
 To-morrow, when it awakes, Rome will learn the names of 
 the cardinals who are to die to-night. I say once more, it 
 is a bold stroke, but it is necessary. We must strike terror 
 into our enemies, and, by a sweeping confiscation of the 
 property which the death of the cardinals will leave open to us, 
 provide for the pressing needs of your Tuscan enterprise. 
 This point gained, we shall be able to dispense for good with 
 the help of France. 
 
 DON CESARE : There will be no one left to cause us 
 anxiety. The ship of our hopes, propelled by its own motion, 
 will sail on even if no wind drives it. For my part, I defy 
 fortune to break the chain with which I have bound her arms. 
 THE POPE : Our guests will soon arrive. ... I fancy I hear 
 them. . . . Ah ! Don Cesare, who of them suspects that he 
 will never leave this room alive? . . . But I see that I have 
 
 not got No, I have not. . . . Strange ! . . . How could 
 
 I have forgotten ? 
 
 DON CESARE: What have you forgotten? 
 
 THE POPE: A mere trifle! . . . But I must not remain 
 
 without it. . . . Call Caraffa ! 
 
 13;
 
 THE RENAISSANCE 
 
 DON CESARE : Here he is in the ante-chamber. . . . Come 
 
 m, Caraffa ; ihc Holy Father wishes to speak to you. 
 
 THE POPE : Caraffa, return quickly to the Vatican. . . . Go 
 
 into my room. . . . Look for and brin^*^ nic that little golden 
 
 box which contains . . . you know ? 
 
 CARAFFA: A consecrated wafer? 
 
 THE POPE: That's it. Go! 
 
 ("AR.AFFA: What, you haven't it on you? 
 
 THE POPE : Well, it was a piece of carelessness — I forgot 
 
 it, just think ! 
 
 CARAFFA: How can one overlook a thing that shelters one 
 
 from every danger ? 
 
 THE POPE : You are quite right. . . . Go and look for my 
 
 box; don't lose a minute, do you hear? I shall not be at 
 
 peace until I have my box in my pocket. 
 
 CARAFFA : I'll run ! Exit. 
 
 THE POPE : Have you taken precautions, Don Cesare, so 
 
 that everything will be carried out without a hitch ? 
 
 DON CESARE : There are six flagons of Spanish wine. 
 
 Your butler, Matteo, put the powder in it under my eyes, 
 
 and I instructed him to serve the mixture only to those whom 
 
 I shall point out to him. Matteo is a man to be trusted. 
 
 THE POPE : No doubt. In any case, I repeat, take every 
 
 precaution. 
 
 DON CESARE (smiling) : Have no fear. 
 
 THE POPE : I like your determined spirit. . . . But how hot 
 
 it is ! Ho, there ! 
 
 A SERVANT : Most Holy Father? 
 
 THE POPE : Tell Matteo to bring us some wine ; I am dying 
 
 of thirst. 
 
 DON CESARE : I too shall be glad to drink, and after that 
 
 we'll have a walk in the shade of the garden while waiting for 
 
 our guests. 
 
 Enter two lackeys bearing on a tray two cups and a flagon of wine. 
 THE POPE : Why does not Matteo come himself when I 
 send for him ? 
 
 138
 
 CESARE BORGIA 
 
 FIRST LACKEY : Most Holy Father, he has gone back to 
 
 town to get some peaches that were required. 
 
 THE POPE : Where did yoii take this wine that you are 
 
 giving us ? 
 
 FIRST LACKEY : From the sideboard, Holy Father. 
 
 DON CESARE (laughing) : Hav^e you any qualms ? 
 
 THE POPE : No ! But it would have been better for Matteo 
 
 to remain here. Your health, Don Cesare ! 
 
 DON CESARE : I thank you, and I drink yours — may your 
 
 life be long, happy and glorious ! 
 
 They drink. 
 
 THE VATICAN. 
 The Pope's bedchamber. 
 
 CARAFFA : To send me on such an errand in such hot 
 weather ! Only Alexander could be capable of such treatment ! 
 His wafer ! His wafer ! Since he was assured that, so long as he 
 had it on him, no misfortune could come to him, he goes mad 
 if ever he lets it out of his sight ! . . . How ridiculous men are ! 
 What risk is he running ? . . . Now, where can that accursed 
 box be ? Probably on the table near the bed. . . . What is 
 this ? . . . Holy Madonna ! . . . What do I see ! ... Oh ! 
 . . . What ails me ? . . . Am I going mad ? . . . My hair 
 stands on end ! . . . My teeth are chattering ! . . . My God ! 
 My God ! I am dymg ! . . . Oh, that I were far away ! . . . I 
 am going mad! . . . It's not possible! . . . The Pope him- 
 self! . . . Here! . . . Oh Jesus! . . . Oh, all the saints! . . . 
 What does it mean ? . . . The Pope Alexander i)'ing on his 
 bed! . . . And I just left him over yonder! . . . He is livid! 
 his face is all black ! . . . He is dead ! dead ! dead ! I must 
 go away ! 
 
 Rushes to the door, slirieking, opens it with dilticulty and falls 
 fainting on the landing, where the servants pick him up. 
 
 li'J
 
 THE RENAISSANCE 
 
 CARDINAL CORNETO'S VINEYARD. 
 
 The dining-room. Statues, pictures, rich tapestries from Flanders, great 
 carved sideboards, mosaic paving. A vast table covered with gold 
 and silver plate ; on a great dish in the centre a roast peacock, dressed 
 in its feathers, the tail spread out : a pyramid of fruits ; great vases 
 tilled with Howers.— Pope Alexander, Don Cesare Borgia ; the Cardinals 
 Castellar, Komolino, Francesco Soderini, Copis, Niccolo di Ficsco, 
 Sprata, Corneto, Iloris, Casanova, Valentino ; chamberlains, butlers, 
 lackeys, pontifical guards on duty at the doors. 
 
 THE POPE (sitting down to table): A fine evening! An 
 evening for merriment, for encounters of wit. I know no 
 pleasure to compare with that of supping in good and 
 brilliant company. 
 
 CARDINAL CORNETO : What happiness, what felicity to 
 celebrate thus with your Holiness the distinguished favour 
 which you have deigned to bestow on us all by raising us to 
 the Cardinalate ! 
 
 THE POPE : It is a very great pleasure to satisfy one's 
 friends and justice at once. 
 
 CARDINAL COPIS (whispering to his neighbour, Cardinal 
 di Fiesco) : Do you not find the Ploly Father strangely pale ? 
 CARDINAL DI FIESCO (whispering): I was just going 
 to draw your attention to the drawn features of the Duke of 
 Valentinois. 
 
 CARDINAL ROMOLINO (whispering to Cardinal Valen- 
 tino) : If I had been able to cry off, I should not have come. 
 I distrust this sort of ceremony. 
 
 THE POPE : Cardinal Romolino, since the affair of the 
 heretic Savonarola, you have never ceased to give us proofs 
 of your notable friendship. You see that I have recognised it. 
 CARDINAL ROMOLINO : Most Holy Father, my devotion 
 to your person has ever been unbounded ! 
 CARDINAL SODERINI (whispering to Cardinal Castellar) : 
 The Pope is indeed livid this evening. What has he in store 
 for us ? I would give much not to be here. 
 CARDINAL CASTELLAR : So would I. It is stifling in this 
 room. 
 DON CESARE BORGIA: I feel unwell. ... I don't know 
 
 140
 
 CESARE BORGIA 
 
 what is the matter with me. ... I must go out. ... I can 
 
 bear it no longer. . . . My head is reehng. . . , What is the 
 
 matter with you, Holy Father? 
 
 THE POPE : I don't know. ... I think. ... Ah, what 
 
 agony ! 
 
 He falls to the ground. The guests rise, dumbfounded. Don Cesare 
 Borgia tries to walk a few steps, then rolls on the floor. 
 Confusion. 
 
 THE POPE (to the butler who raises him) : Listen . . . listen. 
 ... Go away, all of you ! Where did they take the wine that 
 was given me a little while ago ? 
 
 BUTLER: It was one of the bottles put aside by His High- 
 ness the Duke. 
 THE POPE : In that case, my son and I ... are lost ! 
 
 He faints. 
 DON MICHELE (entering brusquely): I hear that Plis 
 Highness is ill ? 
 
 Goes to the Duke. 
 Speak to me, my lord. 
 
 THE DUKE : Come close to me. . . . 
 
 Don Michele kneels beside him. 
 I am poisoned. ... So is the Pope. . . . Have us carried to 
 the Vatican. . . . Call out all my troops. . . . Seize the Fort 
 of St. Angelo ! . . . Save the treasure ! ... If we are attacked, 
 defend us like a tiger ! defend me ! 
 
 He loses consciousness. 
 CARDINAL CORNETO : My lords, the Holy Father is very 
 ill. We must consider the Church . . . the public peace ! . . . 
 I am returning to Rome. 
 
 ALL THE CARDINALS : Let us not separate ! We'll go 
 with you — to your house. We must decide what had best be 
 done. 
 
 Exeunt the Cardinals. 
 DON MICHELE (to the servants and soldiers): Take the 
 first litters you can find ! Quick ! to the Vatican ! . . . The 
 first man that stumbles I'll strike dead ! 
 
 141
 
 lllli RENAISSANCE 
 
 THE PUBLIC SQUARE. 
 
 Great concourse of citizens, women, children, boatmen, porters, vagabonds. 
 — Shouts, tumult. Barricades are being raised at the street corners. 
 
 CROWD: He is dead! The devil take his soul. . . . 
 Alexander's soul ! Hell is afraid of him ! The monster ! 
 He wanted to poison all the cardinals ! He has poisoned 
 himself! He did not forget his son! It's well done I Are 
 they dead ? They are dead ! No ! Yes ! They are to be 
 buried this evening ! The Valentinois is not dead ! I tell 
 )'Ou he is ! Let us dig them up ! To the Tiber ! To the 
 Tiber ! To the Tiber with their carcasses I No holy ground 
 for the anti-Christ ! 
 
 A FRESH TROOP (runnmg up) : To arms ! The Borgia's 
 men are breaking into the houses ! To the barricades ! We'll 
 defend ourselves ! 
 
 Trumpets, drums, arquebusades 
 
 A MAN (exasperated) : The Orsini are looting the friends of 
 the Borgia ! A troop of them has just been massacred ! 
 THE CROWD : Bravo ! Fire, sack, blood ! 
 
 Rumbling of cannon 
 What's that ? 
 
 CRIES FROAl ANOTHER END OF THE SQUARE: 
 The Fort of St. Angelo is firing on the Orsini ! To arms ! 
 Against the Borgia and the Barons ! The Spaniards and the 
 Colonna will come in and make havoc everywhere I 
 A VOICE : Here are the French ! They are giving no quarter I 
 CROWD : To the barricades ! Defend yourselves ! To the 
 river with the Pope ! 
 
 A company of soldiers charges the populace 
 
 CROWD: Save yourselves! The devil take the hindmost! 
 
 Firing from both sides, many killed and wounded ; the populace flies, 
 forms up again in the street and shoots again; a mel6e. The 
 cannon continues to roar. 
 
 I4J
 
 CESARE BORGIA 
 
 AN ORSINI PALACE. 
 
 Fabio Orsini, the Count de Petigliano, Bartolommeo Alviane, other Orsini, 
 all armed. 
 
 FABIO : Michele has just set fire to our house on Monte 
 
 Giordano. 
 
 PETIGLIANO : Never mind that, my brothers and cousins ! 
 
 His master will pay for all the damage together. Two 
 
 hundred cuirassiers, a thousand arbalestiers, cross-bowmen and 
 
 pikesmen, these are our forces. Let us act without delay. 
 
 Prospero Colonna has come in with Aragonese troops. True, 
 
 he wants to kill the Valentinois, but while on the way, he'll 
 
 attack us also, have no doubt. We have against us the Borgia, 
 
 the Colonna, the cardinals, the populace, the Spaniards. . , . 
 
 Let us steal a march on our enemies ! 
 
 ALVIANE : The Valentinois offers to restore our towns if 
 
 we give him quarter for a few days. I am inclined to accept, 
 
 in spite of the burning of our house, which we will avenge 
 
 later on. 
 
 AN ORSINI: No! Let us crush the Borgia and come to 
 
 terms with the rest! 
 
 FABIO : With the Colonna, it's impossible, and with the 
 
 populace, never ! No union with the mob ! 
 
 PETIGLIANO: Let us treat with the Borgia. He is lost! 
 
 A few days' respite will not save him. All the Romagna has 
 
 risen as it is. If united with him, we shall make the Cardinals 
 
 tremble — that is the important point for the moment. Is that 
 
 agreed? 
 
 THE ORSINI: It is agreed! 
 
 PETIGLIANO: To arms, then! Let us go down into the 
 
 streets ! 
 
 Puts on his casque ; all go out, with clinking of armour and spurs. 
 
 o 143
 
 THE RENAISSANCE 
 
 CARDINAL COKNETU'S HOUSE. 
 
 A large paintcil chamber. — Gathering of the Cardinals ; officers ot all kinds, 
 secretaries, monks. 
 
 CARDINAL COPIS: I am not yet myself again! Those 
 monsters designcil to poison us, and their deed recoiled on 
 themselves. 
 
 CARDINAL DI FIESCO: Wc are assured that Cesare is 
 not dead. He had himself kept for an hour in iced water, 
 where his bitter agonies caused him terrible convulsions. They 
 say also that the physicians opened the entrails of two live 
 mules and plunged him right into that horrible tomb, hoping 
 tiiat he would reco\er his strength. 
 
 CARDINAL CAS TELLAR : I do not think that Michele 
 would show so much violence if he did not reckon on his 
 master's recovery. 
 
 CARDINAL CORNETO: Still, Alexander is dead, right 
 enough ! It's horrible ! Some porters put him in his coffin ! 
 They kicked his body to pieces ; it was swollen by the 
 poison and falling into shreds. The soldiers mocked at the 
 priests who wished to pray. It is monstrous ! 
 CARDINAL SODERINI : My lords, my lords, we are not 
 here to argue, but rather to save this ill-starred city. All the 
 demons who possessed Alexander seem to have escaped from 
 his corpse only to assail us the more easily. Murder, pillage, 
 arson, crimes, outrages, nothing is wanting ! And we who, at 
 this moment, represent the sole lawful authority, do we come 
 to no decision ? Are we to spend our time in talking, 
 shivering and weeping ? Come, what are your orders ! I call 
 on you to show your intelligence, harden your hearts ! Let a 
 manly resolution spring from your heads like an armed 
 Minerva ! Give us an aegis to cover the city and the world ! 
 CARDINAL VALENTINO : We must raise troops at once 
 and oppose them to the factions ! 
 
 CARDINAL CASANOVA : I second that proposal, and if 
 the Sacred College will depute the task to me, I undertake to 
 
 144
 
 CESARE BORGIA 
 
 obtain a prompt result. There are many captains present in 
 
 Rome who will accept my terms. 
 
 ALL : Well spoken ! Act accordingly ! 
 
 CARDINAL CASANOVA : I hasten to perform my mission. 
 
 Count upon my zeal ! 
 
 Exit with his followers. 
 
 CARDINAL ROMOLINO: Let us mimediately summon 
 the ambassadors. If not, the Colonna will come to an agree- 
 ment with Spain, and the Orsini with France ; the Venetians 
 will begin intriguing in the Romagna, and the Florentines will 
 prepare unsurmountable difficulties with the populace. In 
 calling at once upon the Christian princes to uphold our 
 authority — the only lawful one, for we are the future Conclave 
 — we render them incapable of doing us harm. Besides, the 
 Emperor will be on our side. 
 
 Universal assent. 
 CARDINAL VALENTINO : In the hurry of events, I fore- 
 saw the opinion of our venerable brother, and I made the 
 ambassadors promise to present themselves here. I am told 
 that they are awaiting your good pleasure. 
 ALL : Let them come in ! Let them come in ! 
 
 Enter the ambassadors of France, Spain, the Empire, Venice, Florence, 
 Milan, the Swiss Leagues. — Great tinimlt under the windows. — 
 Arquebusades continue. The cannon oi the Vatican and of Fort 
 St. Angelo are heard. 
 
 CARDINAL CORNETO : Welcome, my Lords Ambassadors. 
 
 The Church of Christ has need of its children. We summon 
 
 you in order to claim the support due from the Christian 
 
 princes to their Holy Mother. We are at a crisis. What is 
 
 your reply? 
 
 FRENCH AMBASSADOR : My Lords Cardinals, before all, 
 
 my duty compels me to enter a solemn protest against an 
 
 outrage. 
 
 CARDINALS: An outrage? On our part? 
 
 SPANISH AMBASSADOR : I will see the truth vindicated. 
 
 FRENCH AMBASSADOR: If I were here in a private 
 
 capacity, Your Grace would not use such n phrase twice But 
 
 O 2 ,45
 
 THE RENAISSANCE 
 
 my master's honour takes precedence of mine. Listen to what 
 has just happened ; I cannot disguise my indignation. 
 CARDINAL CORN El O : My Lord Ambassador, the city is 
 burning, sedition is rife ; could we not Hsten to your complaints 
 at a more seasonable moment ? 
 
 FRENCH AMBASSADOR: If I am not given a hearing, I 
 will go. I arrived at the door of this palate before the Lord 
 Ambassador of Spain. His noblemen threw themselves upon 
 mine, and while they were drawing swords, the Ambassador 
 passed in front of me and came in first. That is my plaint ! 
 Well, my Lords, has a Prince of Aragon the right to precede 
 the Most Christian King? When there is a question of 
 approaching you, shall the eldest son of the Church come after 
 the others ? I demand at once a full reparation. 
 
 Enter the Cardinals Giuliano della Rovere and Piccolomini. 
 THE EMPEROR'S AMBASSADOR: It is at any rate 
 strange that, when I am hete, other crowns should claim 
 precedence. 
 
 FRENCH AMBASSADOR (heatedly) : How do you mean, 
 sir ? 
 
 SPANISH AMBASSADOR (putting his hand to his sword) : 
 I know but one way of speaking and one of replying. 
 CARDINAL DELLA ROVERE: So, gentlemen, this is 
 what you have to say to the Sacred College ? At the moment 
 when tlie Holy City is becoming the prey of the riotous ; when 
 from this spot you hear the firing of cannon, arquebusades, 
 blasphemies, and when through these windows, yes, through 
 these windows the fires of the incendiaries appear before our 
 outraged eyes — instead of coming to our aid, you display to 
 us the unhappy rivalries caused by your vanity! By the 
 wounds and the death of Jesus my Saviour, you are making 
 mock of us, my Lord Ambassador of France. 
 FRENCH AMBASSADOR: My Lord Giuhano della 
 Rovere, I cannot allow you to use such a tone, and there is no 
 red hat that shall cheat me of an insolent adversary ! 
 CARDINAL DELLA ROVERE (walking straight towards 
 
 146
 
 H 
 
 H 
 
 D 
 
 ' — i 
 O 
 
 'Si 
 
 to fact page 146
 
 CESARE BORGIA 
 
 him) : Read this letter, read this order and lower your fore- 
 head ! Lower it, sir, lower it, lower still — and obey ! Our 
 venerable brother, the Cardinal d'Amboise, the revered 
 minister of the King, your master, writes you this! You 
 recognise the sign and seal ? Well, read ! He orders you to 
 put French troops at the Conclave's disposal, and the Conclave 
 orders you to make them quit the town. 
 
 FRENCH AMBASSADOR : My Lord Cardmal, it is no less 
 true that. . . . 
 
 CARDINAL DELLA ROVERE (whispering to him) : You 
 shall have complete reparation at a more opportune moment. 
 FRENCH AMBASSADOR: Every difficulty is smoothed 
 over. Our French companies will leave the city, as you will 
 have it so. I will add, however, that the Duke of Valentinois 
 offers to uphold your authority. 
 SEVERAL CARDINALS : Then he is not dead? 
 CARDINAL PICCOLOMINI: He is very ill, but to all 
 appearances he is master of his body as he has always been 
 master of others' will. I am not in favour of accepting his 
 proposals. 
 
 CARDINAL COPIS : Take care ! he has become reconciled 
 with the Orsini. We must not show a hostile front to that 
 powerful family, which is asking if it may assist us. 
 FRENCH AMBASSADOR: I should advise you not to 
 quarrel with the Duke of Valentinois. He is a man of subtle 
 intellect ; he holds the strongest positions ; his artillery is 
 numerous, and his coffers are full to overflowing with money. 
 SPANISH AMBASSADOR : If an arrangement is come to 
 with the Duke of Valentinois, I demand, in the name of the 
 Catholic King, that our troops and our allies be also admitted, 
 among others, Don Prospero Colonna and all the men of his 
 house. 
 
 FRENCH AMBASSADOR : That will be opening the door 
 to anarchy ! 
 
 SPANISH AMBASSADOR: Anarchy, it seems to me, is 
 even better represented by you l]i;in by us. 
 
 14;
 
 THK RENAISSANCE 
 
 CARDINAL. DELLA ROVERE : This is the decision of the 
 
 Sacred College. The Conclave is to meet as soon as possible 
 
 in order to fill the vacancy to the throne. Never v^'as there 
 
 more reason to wish for the salutary presence of a Sovereign 
 
 Pontiff than at this terrible crisis, when bodies and souls arc 
 
 equally in peril ! It is not proper that so august an assembly 
 
 should be held arnid the clash of arms. No, gentlemen, no! 
 
 It is not right, it shall not be ! French, Aragonese, Colonna, 
 
 Orsini, all who have sword in hand shall go : the Duke of 
 
 \'alentinois shall go like the rest. None but Papal troops 
 
 shall remain here ! 
 
 FRENCH AMBASSADOR: My Lord Cardinal, I can hardly 
 
 believe that the King, my master, will approve of such 
 
 measures. 
 
 CARDINAL DELLA ROVERE : My heart is still uplifted 
 
 by the noble sentiments just expressed to me by our venerable 
 
 brother the Cardinal d'Amboise. " Cardinal della Rovere," 
 
 said this truly great man to me, "I should be ashamed if I, 
 
 a prince of the Roman Church, gave the slightest sign of 
 
 intending to force the hand of the Conclave ; the Conclave 
 
 must be free in its choice. The army of the Most Christian 
 
 King will depart from the walls of Rome." Those were the 
 
 very words of this admirable minister. You will show him 
 
 your recognition, my Lords, of this magnanimity, and I doubt 
 
 not that the Holy Ghost will dictate to you what you must 
 
 do in order to reward all his virtues. 
 
 The French and Venetian ambassadors look at each other in amaze- 
 ment. 
 
 CARDINALS: There's no doubt this is a masterstroke! 
 
 CARDINAL CASANOVA (aside to Cardinal Romolino): 
 
 What a cunning move is this of Giuliano's ! Thus we are rid 
 
 of the French Pope I 
 
 CARDINAL ROMOLINO (aside)-. I was afraid before 
 
 that we could not avoid him. Are you minded to vote for 
 
 Giuliano ? 
 
 148
 
 CESARE BORGIA 
 
 CARDINAL CASANOVA: Never! He is too crafty and 
 too hard. What we need is an insignificant creature. 
 CARDINAL ROMOLINO : What say you to old Piccolo- 
 mini? 
 
 CARDINAL CASANOVA : Not a bad notion. We will talk 
 it over afterwards. Let us listen to what they are saying. 
 CARDINAL DELLA ROVERE : A secretary of the Briefs 
 is about to go to the Duke of Valentinois to induce him to 
 retire ; and you, my Lord Ambassador of Spain, what do you 
 decide ? 
 
 SPANISH AMBASSADOR: Seeing that the King, my 
 master, yields to none in respect for the Conclave, so soon as 
 the French leave the city our troops and our allies will like- 
 wise depart. 
 
 CARDINAL DELLA ROVERE : Pray thank the King on 
 our behalf. (Aside to the French Ambassador.) Write at 
 once to His Holiness. ... I beg your pardon, I mean the 
 Most Reverend Cardinal d'Amboise . . . that, thanks to his 
 well-advised moderation, his election to the Papal Throne is 
 a foregone conclusion. 
 
 FRENCH AMBASSADOR : I do not know what to ifiake of 
 all this. 
 
 M9
 
 THE RENAISSANCE 
 
 THE VATICAN. 
 
 A room with closed curtains. — Don Ccsare Borgia lying down, thin and 
 worn ; Don Rlichclc. 
 
 DON CESARE : Come nearer ... I cannot speak loud . . . 
 
 W'liat have )'ou done ? 
 
 DON MICIIELE: W'e remain masters, completely masters 
 
 of the quarter. Your men are firm and loyal. I compromised 
 
 them by the looting of some houses. They know that if they 
 
 disband they will be wiped out. 
 
 DON CESARE : Hell, what pain I am in ! 
 
 DON MICHELE : The Cardinals send you word to leave 
 
 the city within three days. The French are gone. 
 
 DON CESARE :, Then the Cardinal d'Amboise gives up the 
 
 idea of being Pope ? 
 
 DON MICHELE : Giuliano della Rovere has persuaded him 
 
 that he would be Pope with greater glory by leaving the 
 
 Conclave full liberty. 
 
 DON CESARE : I had forgotten that among the French the 
 
 show of glory eclipses the reality. 
 
 DON MICHELE: You will see— Giuliano will get himself 
 
 elected. 
 
 DON CESARE : I doubt it. They are too afraid of his 
 
 talents and of his ferocity. I have no means of maintaining 
 
 myself here. Let us yield with a good grace, while we can 
 
 still negotiate. We will ask the Cardinals to let me go off with 
 
 my artillery, my troops, my money-chests, and under the 
 
 guarantee that I shall not be attacked. 
 
 DON MICHELE : A poor outlook ! 
 
 DON CESARE : If I were up, I should act differently. At 
 
 this moment, my only aim is to gain time. 
 
 DON MICHELE : Then you will not lose courage? 
 
 DON CESARE BORGIA : So long as I breathe, the world is 
 
 mine ! I have my foot on its neck ! 
 
 150
 
 CESARE BORGIA 
 
 FLORENCE. 
 
 The convent and hospital de Tintori, at Sant' Onofrio. — A great workshop ; 
 marbles, some sketched out, others finished, others still unworked in 
 the rough ; benches, stools. — Michael Angelo Buonarotti, busUy 
 working at a vast cartoon. — Knocking at the door. — Michael Angelo 
 goes to look through a wicket, makes the key turn in the lock and 
 opens. 
 
 MICHx\EL ANGELO : As it is you, come in. 
 FRANCESCO GRANACCI : I have been at the Palazzo ; 
 your gloty is complete. 
 
 MICHAEL ANGELO (applying himself again to his work) : 
 Tell me how things are going. 
 
 He kisses him. 
 GR.A.NACCI : Your glory is at its height, I tell you ! All the 
 masters who are at Florence are crowding around your work 
 in amazement. Ah, the cartoon of the War of Pisa is an 
 immortal work — no one disputes it ! People never weary of 
 examining this miracle, and those who are copying it discover 
 in it a thousand beauties which ordinary admirers will never 
 suspect. 
 
 MICHAEL ANGELO: I did my best. 
 GRANACCI: But you'll do )'et greater things! ... It is 
 hardly believable, but I believe it. 
 
 MICHAEL ANGELO : I shall do what the holy goodness of 
 my Creator has given me the power to do. As I have worked 
 up to this day, so I shall go on. If the cartoon has gained the 
 approval it deserves, I rejoice from the depths of my soul ; 
 but if I were never to execute anything better, I would gladly 
 die, for I have much more to say! Who are the masters 
 whom you saw before my drawing, and who praised it? 
 GRANACCI : First came da Vinci with all his pupils. He 
 went into endless raptures. 
 
 MICHAEL ANGELO : He is the most insincere man I know, 
 and in the matter of loquacious politeness he has nothing to 
 learn. All his words are honey-sweet . . . like his painting. 
 Messer Lionardo has a soul that is subtle, but not frank or 
 
 151
 
 THE RENAISSANCE 
 
 strong. . . . He detests me, and I return the compliment. 
 Nevertheless, he is a groat painter. Who came next? 
 GRANACCI : Ridolfo Ghirlandaio. 
 
 MICHAEL ANGELO: Ah, he is a friend! Heaven bless 
 him, he's a worthy son of his father! I have to thank 
 Domenico for many kind services. May heaven forsake me 
 if ever 1 forget that ! 
 
 GRANACCI : Then I saw in the crowd Baccio Bandinelli, 
 le Beruguetta, Andrea del Sarto. . . . 
 
 MICHAEL ANGELO (raising his head) : What did Andrea 
 say? 
 
 GRANACCI : Oh, Andrea ... as he heard some ignora- 
 muses declare that a foreshortening was too stiff or a nose 
 too long, he looked at them coldly, took a stool, sat down, 
 and, putting a cartoon before him, began to copy. 
 
 Michael Angelo bites his lip, crosses himself, and goes on working. 
 GRANACCI : Well, that is what Sanzio did also. 
 MICHAEL ANGELO : That Raphael . . . that boy . . . 
 he is not a child of God ! I am not very fond of him, Granacci. 
 . . . Still, I should not care to say ... in truth, what he is 
 driving at ; I do not wish .... never mind ! I will not speak 
 
 evil of him! 
 
 Returns to his work. 
 
 GRANACCI : For my part, I shall begin from to-morrow to 
 
 follow the example of Andrea del Sarto, and of him whom 
 
 you call the boy. I sliall not be satisfied until I have finished 
 
 a complete copy of the masterpiece. 
 
 MICHAEL ANGELO : You must also invent something on 
 
 your own account. 
 
 GRANACCI : Oh, I — as in the past, 1 shall do decorations 
 
 for festivals ; that is my lot ; I have no genius, I know quite 
 
 well. I love Beauty — that is all — and I am better fitted to be 
 
 a lover than a painter. 
 
 MICHAEL ANGELO (heatedly): They are all the same! 
 
 What cringing dogs men are ! If you must be a slave at all 
 
 costs, find at least a worthier form of slavery ; but when some 
 
 152
 
 CESARE BORGIA 
 
 wretched woman has lied to you, betrayed you, sold you and 
 finally thrown you into a corner, with your heart bleeding. . . . 
 By heaven ! You make me feel ashamed ! 
 GRANACCI : It would only need love's kisses to make all that 
 worth while a second time. 
 
 MICHAEL ANGELO : If you love me, no more of such talk, 
 you know I cannot endure it ! 
 
 GRANACCI : But, seriously, what would you have me try my 
 hand on ? I stand rooted before your pictures — before your 
 Pieta, for instance ! Why, I remain dumbfounded ; you have 
 thoughts that I shall never have ; you see clearly, you gaze at 
 what for me will be eternally veiled ; you imagine what I could 
 never dream of, and I feel myself so puny, so weak, so power- 
 less by the side of all that you can conceive and produce, that 
 discouragement wins the day, and I no longer have the heart 
 to attempt anything. 
 
 MICHAEL ANGELO : Are you jealous of me ? 
 GRANACCI • Not in the least. 
 
 MICHAEL ANGELO : There lies the trouble. What ! you, an 
 artist, you stand before another's work and admire it, and are 
 not jealous ? You do not beat your breast with rage, you do 
 not curse the day when this enemy discovered and appro- 
 priated what is yours ? You are an artist, and so lukewarm a 
 devotee of the Muse that you see her bestow her favours on 
 someone else without going mad with rage and indignation ? 
 What honey, what milk, what insipid sugared cordial runs 
 in your veins instead of blood ? Do you not know that it is 
 by frenzy, rage, indignation, violence that men climb up to 
 heaven ? You may well smile ! I do not tell you to run after 
 me with a stiletto in your hand, but I could fmd it possible for 
 you to loathe me, and I should love you all the more for it. 
 Stiffen yourself, become a man ; I will teach }ou all I know, 
 I will show you what I can. Come, Granacci, form for yourself 
 some fiery resolve! Sit down there! Work! Nothing 
 
 153
 
 THE RENAISSANCE 
 
 but work and the intoxication of creating can give life savour. 
 In itself, life is worth nothing! 
 
 GRANACCI : I will do what you wish, save that I will not be 
 jealous of you. I should be a laughing-stock even to myself. 
 Have you heard the news ? 
 
 MICHAEL ANGELO : I take no interest in news. 
 GRANACCI : A new Pope has been elected, the Piccolomini. 
 His name now is Pius III. 
 
 MICHAEL ANGELO: Since he is Pope, he must be 
 respected. 
 
 GRANACCI : They say that Cesare Borgia. . . . 
 MICHAEL ANGELO : I care nothing for the Borgia, or the 
 Sforza, or anyone. I am an artist, and can see in the world 
 nothing but my work, and above all, the Holy Faith. I for- 
 bear to enquire why the Lord God (blessed be His name !) has 
 put into the world so many princes, captains, and podestas who 
 devour one another. They should have no other occupation 
 than to perform virtuous acts, to punish vice and to protect 
 the arts. What they do is the very reverse. . . . God ought 
 to suppress them. It is true, however, that we should then 
 fall into the hands of the populace, the foulest beast that ever 
 crawled the ground. Have you ever knowni a man of no birth 
 to become a good artist ? 
 GRANACCI : I never considered the point. 
 MICPIAEL ANGELO : If my family were not sprung from 
 the Counts of Canossa, I should not be what I am. I wish 
 these upstarts could be forbidden, on pain of death, ever to 
 dare to touch a chisel or a chalk. Believe me, the world is 
 horrible. The mere thought of its baseness is galling beyond 
 endurance. . . . The day is waning ; the light grows to6 
 dim for work. Let us walk by the riverside, and then we 
 will spend the evening in reading Dante. 
 
 154
 
 CESARE BORGIA 
 
 NAPLES. 
 
 The Viceroy's Palace. — A room richly decorated with paintings and 
 gildings. — Before a table, covered with gold-tasselled red velvet, 
 and seated in armchairs of brocade with carved backs, the Viceroy 
 Don Gonsalvo de Cordova and Don Cesare Borgia, facing each other. 
 They shake hands. 
 
 DON CESARE : I place every confidence in your Excellency. 
 DON GONSALVO : It is not misplaced. 
 DON CESARE : You are a great captain, the glory of this 
 age. The honour of your name is a warranty for my safety. 
 DON GONSALVO : You do me justice. 
 DON CESARE : Of late I have seen nothing but flagrant 
 infamy. 1 had consented to give up to the Cardinals of 
 the Conclave the Vatican and Fort St. Angelo, the keys to 
 my mastery of Rome, and I thereby showed so striking a 
 moderation as cannot be impugned even by my enemies. Yes, 
 Don Gonsalvo, if I have left Rome, it was of my own free will. 
 After this generous act, the promises made to me were not 
 kept. Besides, the Cardinal d'Amboise has behaved like a 
 fool in removing his army before the fine phrases of Giuliano 
 della Rovere. The della Rovere did not fail to secure the 
 election of Piccolomini, who only lived twenty-two days longer, 
 and then he took the tiara himself. In this ambitious, violent, 
 false, perfidious and rapacious Julius II. }Ou and I have a 
 most implacable foe. Through his intrigues, my subjects in 
 the Romagna have risen in revolt. Moreover, the Venetians 
 have taken my greatest stronghold; the fortune of war has 
 deserted me ; I have been imprisoned and set at liberty. The 
 French behaved disgracefully towards me. I have served 
 them too long and too well. To-day I am yours, I work for 
 you and the King, your master, and you may reckon on me as 
 I reckon on you. Have I the right? 
 
 DON GONSALVO: I implore your Highness to be con- 
 vinced of that. Besides, you have my word, Don Cesare. 
 DON CESARE : This assurance is most welcome and 
 consoles me for all my misadventures. Once more, I ask 
 
 155
 
 THE RENAISSANCE 
 
 for nothing but to serve you well, and since you entrust me 
 
 with troops to act in Tuscany on behalf of the Medici, you 
 
 must not doubt that I am applying myself to the task with 
 
 all my might, taking account henceforth of no interests but 
 
 those of the Catholic King. 
 
 DON GONSALVO : I am extremely indebted to you for 
 
 )'Our trouble. 
 
 DON CESARE : My intention is to embark this very day on 
 
 His Majesty's galleys, which are in the harbour, and I take my 
 
 leave of you. 
 
 DON GONSALVO : God be with you, your Highness, and 
 
 may His Almighty Power guide you ! 
 
 DON CESARE : I again thank your Excellency for having 
 
 been a friend to me in my hour of tribulation. 
 
 They rise, 
 
 I beg you, Don Gonsalvo, to esteem me as your most devoted 
 
 servant. 
 
 DON GONSALVO (embracing him): It is an honour that 
 
 touches me deeply. 
 
 DON CESiVRE: May Heaven preserve your Excellency! 
 
 The ante-chamber of the Viceroy's room. At the moment when Don 
 Cesare comes out from Don Gonsalvo's room, the courtiers, officers 
 and apparitors rise and take off their hats. 
 
 DON NUNEZ CAMPEIO (Captain of the Viceroy's body- 
 guard, to Don Cesare) : Monsignor, I arrest you in His 
 Majesty's name ! 
 
 DON CESARE (recoiling a few steps): What means this? 
 ... I am the Viceroy's friend ! I have his word ! 
 DON NUNEZ CAMPEIO: Here is his order. Read! 
 DON CESARE (examining the parchment) : It is black 
 treachery ! 
 
 DON NUNEZ CAMPEIO : You should be a good judge of 
 that. Your sword ! 
 
 156
 
 CESARE BORGIA 
 
 DON CESARE (casting his eyes round and seeing nothing 
 
 but Spaniards) : Never did man commit such an outrage ! . . . 
 
 DON NUNEZ CAMPEIO: Except— you, at Sinigagha. 
 
 Your sword, I sa}', your Highness ! or will it have to be 
 
 taken from you ? 
 
 Don Cesare throws his sword violently to the ground ; it is picked up. 
 The Duke is led away by soldiers. 
 
 A COURTIER (to a person dressed in black writing busily 
 on his knees) : What are you doing there, Signor Sannazaro ? 
 Can this scene have put you in a poetic vein ? 
 SANNAZARO : In considering this great criminal, I sud- 
 denly recalled his motto : Aut Ccssar aiit nihil, and I have 
 composed this distich. 
 THE COURTIERS: Show it us! 
 SANNAZARO (reading) : 
 
 Omnia vincebas, sperabas omnia, Caesar ; 
 Omnia deficiunt, incipis esse nihil.* 
 
 THE COURTIERS : Charming ! What wit ! 
 
 Cesare, to gain all, conquer all you thought : 
 
 Now all is failing : you are henceforth naught." — ^Tr. 
 
 .•)/
 
 THE RENAISSANCE 
 
 ROME. 
 
 The Palazzo Borgia. — Doua Maria Ilcnriqucz, widow of Giovanni Borgia, 
 Duke of Gandia ; her daughter Dona Isabella Borgia ; a Dominican. 
 
 DOMINICAN : Yes, your Grace, and at once the Viceroy, 
 Don Gonsalvo de Cordova, put him on board His Majesty's 
 galleys and sent him to Spain, where we are assured that, if he 
 is not put to death, he will be condemned to a lifelong 
 imprisonment. 
 
 Dl'CIIESS: May God pardon him , . . pardon his crimes! 
 There are few in the unhappy nature of man with which he 
 is not soiled. ... 1 have never known in him either a hesita- 
 tion about wrongdoing or a temptation to repent. He has 
 never, until this hour, grasped the sole virtue of Hell — the 
 certainty that God will win the day. Alas ! Father I ask 
 you . . . before entering the cloister, you knew something 
 of life. . . . It is no plebeian blood that runs in your veins. . . . 
 I ask you. . . . What is a family like ours doing in the world ? 
 It soils it ! Our house issued from crime, has been carried on 
 by crime, wallowed in crime, borne away by the most furious, 
 the frothiest, the muddiest waves of crime, and behold it now 
 cast down ! Where is our insolent prosperity ? Nowhere ! 
 All in ruin ! No more clarions, no more triumphs, no more 
 curses. . . . We have become a sight for tlie mob ; is our 
 example an edifying one ? 
 
 DOMINICAN : Yes, Madam, although otherwise than you 
 imagine. 
 
 DONA ISABELLA BORGIA: You, Madam, and you, 
 Father, let me explain my feelings to you. True, I am but 
 sixteen, and I ought to listen to you without saying a word, in 
 suitable humility ; but I must submit to you what I feel 
 to-day, when we have begun to approach the most dire possi- 
 bilities. My uncle, Don Cesare, murdered my father. . . . 
 What else he did I do not clearly know, and I have no wish 
 to learn. It is enough for me to behold under a mournful 
 shadow a red and funereal halo which seems to emanate from 
 our name. I know not how, and yet I wish to explain to you 
 
 158
 
 CESARE BORGIA 
 
 the feeling inspired in me by this sight. . . . This sight, I tell 
 you and fully believe it, the impression I get from this sight, 
 my mother's ceaseless tears, all these trouble me less perhaps 
 than it should. My reason urges me to be profoundly 
 sad, but I am not. The only effect upon me of these miseries 
 is to detach me completely, though without hatred or scorn 
 or irritation, from this world, where such things arc done and 
 where the aspect of punishment and the continual experience 
 of victories gained by evil cannot arrest that evil and make it 
 reflect I do not hate the world ! It does not frighten me ; 
 it is nothing to me ! I do not touch it at any point ; I do not 
 know if it surrounds me ; but it has no power over me ; and 
 when I think of it, I receive a sort of impression of pure joy, 
 because I understand that I have nothing in common with what 
 it loves or desires. 
 
 DUCHESS : Yet all the same, we are among the worst 
 children of this evil world ; our flesh belongs to it and is at 
 every moment pierced by its thorns. 
 
 DOMINICAN : Thus from the same objects you both derive 
 widely different moral nutrition. As for you, Madam, the 
 blows of villainy have fallen on you and left the indelible traces 
 of fear and pain. You, Dona Isabella, have heard stories, but 
 in yourself you have not felt the pang. Only the echo of 
 villainy has reached you. This is how the deeds of men, in 
 their weakness, seize merely upon a narrow circle ; they last 
 but the time of a lightning flash, leaving behind a vibration 
 which gradually grows weaker and disappears. Their ravages 
 gain little ground, and what remains after them .... what 
 remains is .... do you know? . . . The eternal splendour 
 of life ! This light, there is no Satanic excess that can ever 
 succeed in extinguishing it ! Behold you both, one downcast 
 in renunciation, the other joyous in detachment, both in a word, 
 marching equally towards the unchangeable region of the good 
 and the true. 
 
 DUCHESS: We, we two. Father? You forget from what 
 an awful cavern we came ! 
 
 P 159
 
 THE RENAISSANCE 
 
 DOMINICAN: That is Uic most wonderful mystery in the 
 universe and the very hub of its existence. The electuary is 
 an extract of the viper's venom, and from soil compounded of 
 lilth)' substances the rarest blooms raise their exquisite petals ! 
 For me, for all this people of Rome which, for so many years, 
 has gazed on you, do you not think that your mere presence 
 is a benefaction ? In feeling such different impressions pro- 
 duced by the name that you bear, do you mistake the intention 
 of Providence? And when men exclaim with rage and 
 horror : " Cesare Borgia ! " is it a matter of indifference that 
 they add with tenderness, with the tears of love in their eyes : 
 " Maria and Isabella Borgia " ? Ah, Madam, ah, my daughter, 
 there is no lack of fools who, seeing Alexander VI. crowned 
 with the tiara and Savonarola dragged to execution, cry out 
 that there is no God ! If I were to answer them, when I look 
 upon you, " No ! but there exists no evil," would my reasoning 
 not be worth as much as theirs ? There is evil, there is good, 
 and good gains the upper hand ; it makes less noise, it does 
 not strut or make parade or howl or strain itself in order to 
 mvade the first ranks, but it is present, it acts, and it will be 
 the hand which in the last resort will bless the work of the 
 Seven Days ! 
 
 DONA ISABELLA (kneeling before her mother): Don't 
 weep, Madam ! I implore you, don't shake your head ! The 
 Padre speaks true ! It grieves me to see you suffer so ! Yet 
 ... I confess ... I have heaven in my heart ! . . . God is 
 so great ! . . . Believe me ! . . . Evil ... it is so trifling a 
 thing ! 
 
 DUCHESS (wiping her eyes) : We must pray for this unhappy 
 
 man, and in his name will give bountiful alms. 
 
 DONA ISABELLA (kissing her mother, and undoing her 
 
 necklace) : I'll give all my jewels. 
 
 DOMINICAN: Give them, my daughter. What I see 
 
 outweighs all the misdeeds of the criminal. 
 
 j6q
 
 CESARE BORGIA 
 
 IN SPAIN. 
 
 VlANA. 
 
 The Navanese troops besiege the city. — It is night ; snow and rain. — At 
 the angle of the trench, towards the Plaza, a sentry ; the sky is so 
 dark that he is scarcely visible. — An ensign, with some soldiers, 
 relieving the watches. 
 
 ENSIGN: Is it finished? 
 
 A CORPORAL : One sentry still remains. There he is, 
 
 yonder. 
 
 ENSIGN: A devil of a night! I can see nothing. It's as 
 
 cold as sin. Forward! 
 
 SENTRY : Who goes there ? 
 
 ENSIGN: Navarrese! . . . Halt! . . . The countersign! 
 
 . . . Sant' lago! 
 
 SENTINEL: And Pampeluna! You don't recognise me, 
 
 Don Michele? 
 
 ENSIGN: That voice! ... Is it possible? . . . Corporal, 
 
 bring the lantern ! . . . So it is you, Monsignor? 
 
 SENTRY: I am Cesare Borgia. 
 
 ENSIGN: How low we are fallen! . . . And I your superior 
 
 officer! . . . What a misfortune! 
 
 SENTRY : So long as we live, we advance and we may climb 
 
 up again ! 
 
 ENSIGN : You are not discouraged? 
 
 SENTRY: No — enraged! . . . They opened my prison, 
 
 thinking me harmless. How wrong they are ! . . . France 
 
 forsook me and stripped me. . . . Italy boasts in the belief 
 
 I am dead ! . . . Ah, holy vengeance ! 
 
 ENSIGN : For myself, I don't think of vengeance. I ask no 
 
 more than to earn my bread and to eat it without making 
 
 a noise. Do likewise. Believe me, we are beaten! 
 
 SENTRY: Faint heart! So long as I have breath in my 
 
 body, it is a breath of hatred and of appetite. 
 
 ENSIGN : Much good may it do you! You will break your 
 
 last teeth. . . . Meanwhile, I am relieving you ; come and 
 
 p 2 i6i
 
 THE RENAISSANCE 
 
 warm yourself. Here's daybreak ; the enemy is recommencing 
 
 to fire upon us. 
 
 A shot from a falconet from a bastion strikes the sentry full in the 
 body. 
 
 Blood of Christ ! There he is down ! . . Don Cesare ! . . , 
 
 He is dead ! . . . Crushed in the mud hke a worm, he, the 
 
 proudest of fields! ... A thousand million devils! . . . We 
 
 won't slay here. . . . Let us go and warm ourselves ! 
 
 The ensign and his soldiers depart ; camp-followers seize the sentinel's 
 bod}', strip it naked and throw it into a ditch. 
 
 END OF THE SECOND PART 
 
 162
 
 THIRD PART 
 
 JULIUS 11.
 
 JULIUS II. 
 
 ROME. 
 
 1503. 
 
 A room in the Vatican. — Julius II. ; II Bramante. 
 
 JULIUS 11. : You are only an artist ; but I who comprehend 
 all the energy that is needed in the soul in order to create 
 beings of stone and endow them with the breath of life, I 
 will speak to you as to my equal. 
 
 IL BRAMANTE : I, too, Holy Father, understand the work 
 of which you are thinking. 
 
 JULIUS II. : You realise the difficulty of restoring order in 
 the midst of the ruins that have accumulated in Italy through 
 centuries of savagery and the abominations of my predecessor. 
 This wretched country is more soiled than the stables that 
 required a Hercules. Amid the crumbling stones, the 
 brambles, the poisonous grasses, serpents and toads bask in 
 com.fort and puff themselves out, and nevertheless, Bramante, 
 these ruins, these impure undergrowths, are the hallowed 
 remains of a magnificent past ! I wish to transmute them 
 into a paradise as fair as that of Holy Scripture. 
 IL BRAMANTE : Such a work would cover its author with 
 glory. 
 
 JULIUS II. : But you and I are old. It is late to accom- 
 plish the task. Our time is limited — we are forced to make 
 haste. We must think out our designs at one burst, realise 
 them at a stroke, without hesitating, without waiting, and 
 with these hands that we have, hands that old age will soon 
 make palsied. Let us create as much and as quickly as 
 possible, stable and good and strong things, crushing the evil 
 things that need stamping out. Aid me with all your heart 
 and with all your power. 
 
 IL BRAMANTE : I devote myself to it heart and soul. May 
 heaven chastise me if I regret my toil ! 
 
 JULIUS II. : While I exterminate what remains of the petty 
 tyrants of the Romagna and establish for ever the power of 
 the Holy .See, yes, while I lose no opportunity, I swear to you, 
 of uprooting the barbarians from our midst, of repulsing the 
 
 165
 
 THE RENAISSANCE 
 
 Spaniards as well as the French, the Germans as well as the 
 Swiss, and that with fire, sword, excommunication and all the 
 thunders of the anathemas. ... I shall spare neither violence 
 nor scruples ! For, mark me well, my son ! There are certain 
 ages when scruples are good for the confessional and frankly 
 criminal elsewhere, since virtue only consists in success. . . . 
 While, I tell }ou, I spare nothing, I charge you, Bramante, 
 to act in such a way that the hre of the spirit becomes a 
 pile so flaming that the ignorance and coarseness of former 
 ages is consumed therein. The flame must blaze up so high 
 that posterity will perceive it like a beacon that may guide 
 it for ever. 
 
 IL BRAMANTE : A world overflows from your head into 
 mine. Your ideas cry out to me : Work, Bramante ! 
 JULIUS II.: Obey them, and as I have not sent for you to 
 lose time in digressions, listen to my projects. The Vatican is 
 too small ! It is not a palace worthy of the Sovereign Pontiff 
 of the Christians, of this successor of the Apostle who opens 
 and shuts the gates of worlds. I need a lodging fitted to 
 strike the nations with amazement and awe. So you will 
 build me here two long and sumptuous galleries which will 
 cross the width of the valley and will lead to the Belvidere. 
 You will muster there all the beauties, all the elegances, all 
 the inventions of your art, and you will also put there all 
 its audacities. Do not fear to do too much ! Regret no 
 expense. Remember, and never lose sight of this — that 
 your imagination, however potent it might be, could never 
 figure but as a dwarf by the side of the greatness of my will. 
 IL BRAMANTE : I shall try to exalt myself as best I can. 
 It will be a long and painful task. 
 
 JULIUS II. : Painful ? I care not for that. Long ? I forbid 
 it. You will begin at once, you will work day and night. 
 You will give yourself no respite or peace until I tell you, 
 " Stop ! "—and I shall not tell you that ! Before I die I wish 
 to see myself what I am carrying out. When you sleep, when 
 you eat, you are robbing me! Listen again. Rome is dis- 
 
 i66
 
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 POI'E JULIUS II.
 
 JULIUS II. 
 
 figured by a number of dark and unhealthy alleys. You will 
 have them swept away. In their place, and in whatever style 
 you please, you will design a long, broad and magnificent 
 avenue. You will line it with palaces and sumptuous 
 buildings. 
 
 IL BRAMANTE : Let me at least begin with the Vatican 
 galleries ; as to the rest we shall see. You alarm me. 
 JULIUS II.: Coward! Once more I tell you, I am old, 
 I cannot wait. Everything must be done in a hurry. Is it my 
 fault if men, events, the slowness of success, the embarrassment 
 of set-backs, the interminable series of barren days, months, 
 and years that litter human life have barred my way so long ? 
 Had I come sooner into my own, I should, perhaps, listen to 
 your reasons, and yet .... no ! I should carry out more ! 
 You will at once execute what I order you — it is nothing. Now 
 here is the real task I impose on you. 
 
 IL BRAMANTE : What! Holy Father, is there yet more? 
 JULIUS II. : I have to do with your works and not with your 
 tremors. At the same time as I, yes, I, this Giuliano della 
 Rovere, who am speaking to you, make the papacy weigh so 
 heavily on the shoulders of kings and carry it so high that 
 the inheritance of St. Peter is worth in this world as much as 
 that of Israel in the other — you will found here the outward 
 sign of this supremacy. It is you, Bramante, who will build a 
 temple acceptable for Holy Church ! The old basilica, like 
 the old Vatican, is no longer worthy of us. Pull down, destroy, 
 break, tear away, and show me, in place of what you will have 
 effaced, all that you have the power to invent. 
 IL BRAMANTE • I shall surround myself with the greatest 
 artists of Italy. If only Michael Angelo were to come back! 
 But he is too afraid of you after his insult towards you ! 
 JULIUS II. : Of his own free will or perforce he will come 
 back, I swear it to you. I will not have the Sistine remain 
 unfinished. 
 
 IL BRAMANTE: In any case, I have Raphael of Urbino, 
 and it the Buonarotti should prove obstinate. . . . 
 
 167
 
 THE RENAISSANCE 
 
 JULIUS II. : I should prove obstinate also, and your Raphael 
 would not replace him for mc. Go now, make haste, to the 
 work ! I have other business. The Venetians and the French 
 are at loggerheads. Now, go ! 
 
 VENICE. 
 
 The crowd fills the streets and the churches. — Firing of artillery in the 
 distance. — The Senate Hall ; from the windows is seen the Piazza 
 San Marco crowded with people. — The Senators form groups as they 
 await the session, and discourse with gravity. 
 
 GIOVANNI CONTARINI (to those surrounding him) : The 
 situation is this : the battle of Agnadello lost, six thousand 
 men left on the field, the Alviane grievously wounded, and 
 all our provinces on terra firma vying with one another in 
 cowardice. 
 
 PIERO BEMBO : Nothing could be truer. But citizens and 
 peasants, when one is reduced to trusting in them, have never 
 defended their unhappy country in any other way. 
 GIOVANNI CONTARINI: Agreed; so I make them no 
 reproach, and only consider facts. Caravaggio, Bergamo, 
 Cremona have surrendered of their own accord. Brescia did 
 better. In order to give a pledge to the French, the inhabi- 
 tants surprised the garrison and opened their gates. In brief, 
 what took us centuries to join together and to govern, all 
 crumbled away in a single day. 
 
 NAN I : Perhaps we must take into account the fearful 
 cruelties in which the French indulged. The nations were 
 terror-stricken. 
 
 MARCO CONTARINI : Even were the conquerors kind- 
 hearted, the result would have been the same. Our States 
 in Italy lost ; the Emperor entering Friuli and turning every- 
 thing upside down ; the Pope's army threatening us from 
 Ravenna ; the Gonzaga master of Lunato and of Asola ; the 
 
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 JULIUS II. 
 
 Duke of Ferrara in the Polesina and the French themselves 
 
 under our eyes at Fusino, turning their cannon upon us. . . . 
 
 You hear them ! . . . Whatever words we may use, here are 
 
 the facts. 
 
 NANI : Since the war of Chioggia so great a peril has never 
 
 struck the Republic. 
 
 BEMBO : What is worse, we are not as good as our fathers. 
 
 They shov/ed themselves indomitable, and I fear that we are 
 
 losing our heads. 
 
 GIOVANNI CONTARINI : I am not of your opinion. The 
 
 Ten have the necessary calm. What is that noise on the 
 
 staircase ? 
 
 NANI : It is the procurator, Paolo Barbo, being brought in an 
 
 armchair. 
 
 PIERO BEMBO : It is ten years since he appeared in the 
 
 Senate ; he is bent with age and half paralytic. 
 
 GIOVANNI CONTARINI: He foresaw your suspicions, 
 
 Messer Bembo, and proves by his coming that the patricians 
 
 of Venice, in the presence of the French, are what their 
 
 ancestors, the Senators of Rome, were in the presence of the 
 
 Gauls. 
 
 NANI: Here is the most serene Prince and the Signiory. 
 
 Let us take our places, gentlemen. 
 
 169
 
 THE RENAISSANCE 
 
 ON THE PIAZZA SAN MARCO. 
 A MERCHANT (stopping a Senator as he passes): ivly 
 lord, may I speak to you ? 
 
 SENAruR: Be quick, Mcsser Antonio. I am afraid I shall 
 be late for the session. 
 
 MERCHANT: My lord, the merchants of the Rialto learnt 
 tliat the most serene Senate has offered the Republic the 
 fortunes of all its members ; they do the ScUiie with theirs. 
 Let our chests be fetched away ; they are full, and we give 
 them with all our hearts. 
 
 SENz\TOR : I thank you, Signer Antonio, and the Signiory 
 will be informed of your offers. For the present, I advise you 
 to go home and induce your friends to do likewise. Idle curiosity 
 and useless agitation must be left to the lower classes. 
 Honest burghers should never cease from their business, what- 
 ever may happen. To stand in the piazzas is disorder, and 
 disorder is the very extreme of evil. 
 
 CITIZEN : You are right, my lord. Come, Messer Girolamo, 
 and you, my nephew, let us go home. The care of saving the 
 State belongs to wiser heads. 
 
 Exeunt. The Senator enters the Palazzo. 
 A CONSTABLE (masked, to a group of fishermen and boat- 
 men) : Go to the arsenal, all of you ! Men are being enlisted 
 there for the navy. 
 
 A SAILOR: We should like to know what the illustrious 
 Senate is going to decide. 
 
 CONSTABLE : It has already been decided that you will be 
 whipped if you rema'in playing the vagabond like this instead 
 of helping your country. Come, my lads, enough of gossip- 
 ing. Be off ! 
 THE CROWD : Long live St. Mark! 
 
 A barque arrives, swiftly rowed, and comes alongside of the steps of 
 the landing-stage. The provveditore Andrea Gritti and several 
 men-at-arms land. At this moment the Senate is coming out. 
 
 GIOVANNI CONTARINI: What! you, Andrea? How 
 did you manage to pass the French lines .' 
 
 170
 
 JULIUS II. 
 
 GRITTI : I had to pass them, 
 
 BEMBO : What news ? 
 
 GRITTI: Excellent! You build mills, I see cisterns being 
 
 hollowed out ; the wheat is plentiful ; the sluices of the canals 
 
 are raised. If the danger is great, the resolution is no less ; 
 
 God is with our country ! 
 
 NANI : The Senate is about to congratulate your general for 
 
 not having despaired of fortune. 
 
 GRITTI : A just and wise measure. The Count of Petigliano 
 
 did all he could at Agnadello, and his defeated troops are 
 
 already rallied. We shall hold our ground as long as we can. 
 
 CONTARIXI : The Ten are sitting. They have just sent 
 
 ambassadors to the Pope, praying him to abandon the league. 
 
 What are the French doing at Fusino ! 
 
 GRITTI: Mere fooleries. They amuse themselves by 
 
 firing at the Campanile, knowing that their bullets will never 
 
 get half-way. They call that insulting us. 
 
 CONTARINI : Come, come ! The country won't die ! To 
 
 see you ahve and erect, honest Gritti, and to shake your hand 
 
 after the perils that have spared you of late, that is indeed 
 
 a mark of divine protection. 
 
 GRITTI (with tears in his eyes) : Long live St. Mark ! 
 
 He goes into the Palazzo with his suite. The senators depart. 
 
 i;i
 
 THE RENAISSANCE 
 
 BOLOGNA. 
 
 The Pope's room. — Julius II. ; cardinals, bishops, chamberlains, officers 
 of the Swiss and Italian Guards. 
 
 JULIUS II. (he is seated in an armchair, holding in his 
 hands a stick which he raps on the ground whenever his dis- 
 course grows heated) : Ah ! how happy I feel here ! Now the 
 Bolognese are brought back to reason ! Let them try to kick 
 once more, and the needle will enter their flesh a little more 
 deeply! Henceforth, they belong to the Church. Let them 
 try not to forget that. You will convey them my words. . . . 
 Now, call in Michael Angelo Buonarotti. . . . Ah, here you 
 are ! ... At last ! ... It is well ! . . . Had I not threatened 
 to go and look for you myself at Florence, you would not have 
 come back. 
 
 MICHAEL ANGELO : Most Holy Father, I thought that 
 you had no need of me. 
 
 JULIUS II.: Oh, you thought so? ... I should be glad to 
 know what gave you that idea. Explain yourself freely, 
 without any fear. I fancy you are not afraid of me. 
 MICHAEL ANGELO .- I am afraid of you. Holy Father, but 
 the truth is the truth. 
 
 JULIUS II. : Oh, you are afraid of me? Well, act as if it 
 were of no consequence. Whatever put it into your head to 
 fly from Rome, when )'ou know quite well that I wished you 
 to stay there ? 
 
 MICHAEL ANGELO : Holy Father, while I was working 
 at th» same time at the Sistine frescoes and at your statues, 
 and when I had just finished the Moses of which your Holiness 
 seemed to approve. . . . 
 
 JULIUS II. : Oh, I seemed to you to approve of your Moses ? 
 ... I seemed to you. . . . Ah, I seemed to you. . . . But go 
 on . . . never mind! 
 
 MICHAEL ANGELO: I asked for marbles; I got them. 
 It was necessary to pay the sailors, and while they were 
 landing the blocks at Ripa, I came to ask your Holiness for 
 the money required. 
 
 172
 
 JULIUS II. 
 
 JULIUS II.: I was busy with my affairs in the Romagna! 
 
 They are settled, and I shall not let go of what I hold. All the 
 
 world must know that ; the least that can be expected is that 
 
 the interests of the Church should come before . . . But, no — 
 
 never mind, again ! Explain yourself. 
 
 MICHAEL ANGELO: Holy Father, you are angry; I 
 
 prefer to say nothing. 
 
 JULIUS II.: It is somewhat strange that when I order you 
 
 to speak, you make me repeat myself twice. 
 
 MICHAEL ANGELO : Well then, since I am compelled, I 
 
 will say that you did not receive me. I paid for your marbles 
 
 out of my own pocket, and I had but little money. 
 
 JULIUS II. : Am I responsible for your foolish extravagance, 
 
 sir ? 
 
 MICHAEL ANGELO : I drink water and eat bread. My 
 
 clothes are not worth ten crowns. You take me for your 
 
 Raphael 
 
 JULIUS II. : I take you for . . . No matter! no matter! . . . 
 
 Go on! 
 
 MICHAEL ANGELO : I returned even three times. At the 
 
 third, a lackey insolently told me that I might as well be 
 
 patient, seeing that he had the order never to admit me. 
 
 When he was asked if he knew to whom he was speaking, 
 
 he answered : I know very well ; but I obey His Holiness. 
 
 JULIUS II.: And then, what did you answer? Let me see! 
 
 Some repartee must have come to your tongue ! You are not 
 
 as patient as sometimes even . . . But ... no ! Well, what 
 
 did you answer? 
 
 MICHAEL ANGELO : Well, I answered .... 
 
 JULIUS II.: You answered: "When the Pope has need of 
 
 me, he will know that I have gone elsewhere." 
 
 MICHAEL ANGELO : That is true. 
 
 JULIUS II. : Oh, it is true? Go on. 
 
 MICHAEL ANGELO : I have nothing to add. You know 
 
 the circumstances as well as I do. I at once sold my furniture 
 
 to the Jews and left for Florence. 
 
 x;3
 
 THE RENAISSANCE 
 
 JULIUS II.: Well, and what did I do then? For, so far as 
 
 I know, I am not accustomed to put up with disrespect. I 
 
 must have done something. 
 
 MICHAEL ANGELO: I cannot understand what pleasure 
 
 your Holiness finds in torturing me thus. You know better 
 
 than I do what you did. 
 
 JULIUS II.: Will you finish? 
 
 MICHAEL ANGELO: Since you drive me to it— this is 
 
 what you did. You sent me five couriers, one after another, 
 
 ordering m'e to return without delay under penalty of disgrace ; 
 
 but I am not minded to be treated as a man of so little worth. 
 
 I begged you to look for another sculptor. 
 
 JULIUS II. : It is true that he pushed audacity so far as to 
 
 send me a message in these very terms. But continue. 
 
 MICHAEL ANGELO : Messer Piero Soderini notified me 
 
 that the Signiory had received three briefs ordering me to 
 
 return to Rome under pain of excommunication. Hence I 
 
 had to go — I went, and here I am. 
 
 JULIUS II. : So that you did not come back of your own 
 
 free will ? And some gossips go telling everywhere, into the 
 
 bargain, that you wanted to kill me by throwing rafters on my 
 
 head from the top of your scaffolding on the Sistine, where 
 
 I had entered in spite of you! I ask you now what prince 
 
 is so soft, so easygoing, so stupid that he will suffer such 
 
 outrages without taking vengeance. 
 
 A moment's silence. 
 
 A BISHOP : Holy Father, your Holiness will deign to take 
 
 pity on this poor man. He knows not what he is doing. Such 
 
 people have little understanding and are entirely ignorant 
 
 outside their art. 
 
 JULIUS II. (rising in fury and beating the bishop with his 
 
 staff) : Tactless fool ! Pedant ! Idiot ! Why do you permit 
 
 yourself to insult my artist ? Did / insult him, eh ? Let 
 
 this wretch, this ass, this blockhead, go home ! And you, 
 
 174
 
 JULIUS II. 
 
 Michael Angelo, come here — come nearer — come ! On your 
 knees. . . . Here is my blessing. . . . Kiss the ring of the 
 Fisherman ! Be not vexed, my son, go and work. I will give 
 you all the money I can. Make m.e many beautiful things ! 
 You are indeed a creative god. Go, my son — never think 
 again of leaving me. You are the glory of the Pope and of 
 Italy. 
 
 Michael Angelo rises, crosses himself bows and goes out, 
 
 A CHAMBERLAIN : The Venetian Ambassadors have come 
 back for the third time since this morning. They entreat your 
 Holiness to receive them. 
 
 JULIUS 11. : They are bold! Do they not know that I 
 refused ? 
 
 CHAMBERLAIN: They had express orders, Holy Father! 
 JULIUS II. : These Venetians ! Italians but not of Italy, 
 Christians against their will ! They wished to wrest the 
 Romagna from me and forced me in spite of myself to join 
 hands with the French ! Behold them now, reduced to the 
 last extremity ; what do they want now ? 
 A VENETIAN CARDINAL (aside to the Pope): Holy 
 Father, the Ambassadors are charged with ever)'- possible sub- 
 mission. These are the points which you demanded and 
 which they grant : public penitence for having offended you, 
 abandonment of the benefices depending on the State. . . . 
 We cede you Ferrara, and the right of sailing in the Adriatic 
 without having to pay tolls. 
 
 JULIUS II. (aside): These are good dispositions. Bring 
 in your deputies. If wc can come to an understanding, not 
 only shall I give up the alliance with the French, but you will 
 help me to rid Italy of them. 
 CARDINAL : Yes, Holy Father. 
 
 JULIUS II. : Let the Ambassadors come to fmd me to-night. 
 I refuse to receive them in public. It is not yet time. 
 
 1/5
 
 THE RENAISSANCE 
 
 HOME. 
 
 A garden, cypresses, banks of rose-trees ; a marble bench ami J grasses and 
 llowers ; behind the bench an antique statue of Venus. — Kaphael, a lady. 
 
 LAUY : 1 love you more than you think, and in another way. 
 RAPHAEL : 1 beheve that you love me well. If 1 requite it 
 to you, or rather if I give you love and your heart only retlects 
 to me, in charming flashes, like a faithful mirror, the tenderness 
 that I shower upon you, is that not enough ? 
 LiVDV : Raphael, you do not understand me. I love you 
 for my own part, and so entirely that I am amazed how little 
 you understand it. 
 
 RAPHAEL: My dear love, why do you speak thus? 
 LADY : It grieves me that a soul like yours should fail to see 
 the really precious favours heaped upon it, and linger over what 
 is less worthy of itself and of me. Why would you not allow 
 me this pride of believing that my affection is worth more 
 than my beauty? 
 
 RAPHAEL : I think it is, more than you can desire. Am I 
 of a mind so base as to remark m you nothing but the hre 
 of your great splendid eyes, the soft roundness and brilliance 
 of your cheeks, the half-open pomegranate of your lips and 
 the suppleness of that incomparable figure ? Do not believe 
 it ! I understand also, and at least as well, how noble and 
 generous is your soul, and to what a point rises that intellect, 
 so justly compared by more than one poet to the bold flight 
 of the bird which bears Jupiter into the bosom of the 
 Empyrean. If I had to paint a noble Sibyl, it is you that I 
 should choose ; the divine laurel wreathed about your brows 
 would never have pressed a worthier brow ! Who does not 
 recognise in you the brilliant pupil of the most sublime 
 philosopher — yes, the daughter of Plato ? Have you not been 
 seen, before an assembly of sages in transports of admiration 
 and pleasure, the day when you commented on the " Pha^do " 
 with an eloquence worthy of the orators of Athens and of 
 Rome ? Oh, most beautiful, most learned, most inspired, and 
 
 1/6
 
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 KAI I".\i;i.l'; SANTI (IsAI'IlAKL) 
 
 To fact pa^e 176
 
 JULIUS II. 
 
 at the same time most seductive of women, why do you think 
 that I misunderstand you? 
 
 LADY : 1 am not what you say ; I am she who loves Raphael 
 and is perhaps loved by him in return. 
 RAPHAEL : Perhaps ? 
 
 LADY : No glory could be greater than that. Is it not natural 
 that I should think sometimes that this Raphael, at this 
 moment on the plane of eternal happiness, seated at my feet 
 on this grass that sparkles like emeralds, his arm on my knee, 
 his fine hair, his charming head so tenderly pressed between 
 my hands which . . . you feel, do you not ? . . . tremble with 
 a thrill of the deepest felicity — yes, if I think sometimes that 
 this Raphael, perceiving and esteeming too much in me the 
 element that cannot endure, does not think enough of my 
 undying devotion ! Look at me . . . look at me closely . . . 
 yes . . . look at me thus. . . . What do you find, what do you 
 see in the sincerity of my eyes, save the ceaseless expression 
 of my passion for your triumphs, your glory, the enhancement 
 of your genius ? 
 
 RAPHAEL : Heaven forbid that I should not understand ! 
 Frivolous attachments, my beloved, inconstant desires, 
 passing caprices are the beams of a sun that will soon set. 
 They give little warmth or light, but brighten charmingly the 
 ordmary stages of existence. He who enjoys them is not 
 wrong. They are like fruits, bunches of grapes, clusters of 
 cherries, green and luscious figs, hanging from the end of a 
 bough under the gleaming foliage. The joyous passer-by 
 would be wrong not to taste of them if he can take them, and 
 not to gaze at them with longing if he cannot reach. Yet do 
 not imagine that I devote myself to searching long for the 
 innumerable gifts displayed everywhere before the transitory 
 appetite of the birds of heaven ! My folly, or rather my 
 weakness of heart, is not great enough for that. 
 LADY : That is well said, Raphael. I feared that this was 
 not your opinion. 
 RAPHAEL : You do not know me well, if you suspected me 
 
 Q 2 i;;
 
 THE RENAISSANCE 
 
 of such a narrowness of imagination and of heart. Suffer me 
 to be a child that laughs and laughs. . . . 
 LADY: Like a brook that, as it runs over the pebbles, casts 
 before the echoes the pearls of its laugher. Who would blame 
 you ? Is it I that would blame you, dear child ? 
 RAPHAEL : But I know, too, what a gulf divides pleasure 
 from happiness, and when the angel of pure devotion comes 
 and sits m his white dress, on the broken stone of the tomb 
 whence he made life leap forth, I do not ask him, " Who are 
 you ? " for I feel in in)self the power of that which he has 
 done. Common imaginations, dull wits believe, perhaps, when 
 they should not believe, and doubt when they have no right 
 to doubt. They take the small for the great, the great for 
 the formless and . . . You! Never think for that I mis- 
 understand you ! Do not imagine that the nobleness of your 
 nature is a light invisible to me, that my eyes are blind. I 
 know what you are, I feel your worth, I accept what you give 
 me and I weigh fairly all the good that comes to me there- 
 from. ... It is your lover, your true lover who speaks to 
 you . . . but also your friend ! My soul ! It is your com- 
 panion — what more can I say — it is your equal ! He hears 
 his equal speaking and listens to her advice as it deserves. 
 LADY : My eyes are filled with tears . . . but such sweet 
 tears ! I know not how to thank you for it ! How have I 
 been so good that heaven has given you to me? By what 
 have I deserved this ? In truth, I know not. 
 RAPHAEL: Nor I either — I know not by what good works 
 I have been empowered to buy you, my treasure ; but why 
 look for causes ? Are we less happy because we do not know 
 our happiness ? 
 
 LADY : You said so just now. I am a daughter of Plato, 
 and I take delight in searching the origins of heavenly things. 
 RAPHAEL : Flowers are better than seeds, and fruits than 
 flowers. 
 
 LADY : You are the man of that which has blossomed, of 
 that which is ripe, of that which can be seen, tasted and 
 
 178
 
 JULIUS II. 
 
 relished. You do not feel inclined to take a lyre to pieces to 
 find in its sonorous interior the precise spot where the sound 
 is formed. 
 
 RAPHAEL : That is true. Heaven did not assign me that 
 task. Still, do not accuse me of despising all that lies beneath 
 the surface. When science helps to develop life itself, I give 
 It its full due. But I am not greatly prone to those obscure 
 studies that aim at tracking down secrets which it is, after 
 all, not very expedient to unravel. In reality, I love what is 
 touched and bathed by the light of the sun — the rest has for 
 me a secondary importance. 
 
 LADY : Yes, in that adored head reigns light, dazzling and 
 omnipresent. Truth can be seen there without difficulty, and 
 error finds no place for its shadows. 
 
 RAPHAEL : You are mistaken. I have never spontaneously, 
 by myself, alone, recognised what had to be found. Someone 
 always showed me my way, and it is only when a strange hand 
 has stripped the images, that I must contemplate, of the clothes 
 which hide them from me, that I catch sight of them, and 
 from that moment I see them clearly. 
 LADY : What do you mean ? 
 
 RAPHAEL : Had I not gone out one day from Perugino's 
 workshop, never to return. I should never in my life have 
 understood anything but what he showed me. When I was 
 at Florence, the sight of Masaccio revealed to me what I should 
 never have seen but for that master ; it was still nothing. I did 
 not really forsake the swaddling-clothes of infancy until I came 
 to the studio of Baccio d'Agnolo, living all the day with the 
 great artists, Andrea Sansovino, Filippino Lippi, Benedetto 
 da Majano, il Cronaca, Francesco Granacci, hearing from each 
 what he knew, wliat he was (so to speal^") discovering at every 
 hour, in the world of his dreams, whether he were sculptor, 
 painter or architect. When I was thus prepared and had 
 detached and shaken off the wrappings of early childhood 
 and my limbs became free, it was then, and then only, that I 
 was able to understand the lessons offered by the great 
 
 179
 
 THE RENAISSANCE 
 
 Lionardo to me, to each of us, to all future ages. You see: I 
 am not myself the fountain-head whence flows the stream of 
 my art, and without reckoning tiie examples of antiquity, many 
 others have served as a rule, a guide, a source for what you call 
 my genius. 
 
 LADY : Well ! you are not like Pallas Athene, that sprang 
 fully-armed from the brain of a god. You are hardly yet a 
 man ; the beauty of your face still keeps many of those 
 almost feminine contours, the flowers of adolescence. No one 
 could be surprised if you first had to listen to the opinions of 
 your precursors and behold and estimate their discoveries. But 
 now you know all. Achilles has no need of the lessons of the 
 Centaur, nor my Alexander of the admonitions of Aristotle. 
 What was placed in your hands has borne fruit ; you know 
 more than Perugino, more than Masaccio, more than Lionardo, 
 more than all the rest together, and you are only beginning 
 life. The whole world will learn from you, and you will learn 
 nothing from anyone. 
 
 RAPHAEL : You are wrong once more. I shall always 
 learn, and from the whole world. Do you wish me to confess 
 to you in what respect I consider myself perhaps happier than 
 my forerunners ? In this : each of them remained shut up in 
 a circle. He knew the artists of his city, and had no other 
 company. He believed, like you, that native talent has no 
 limits and is enough for attaining any result. Nothing is more 
 untrue. I shall be great, I who am your Raphael, because I 
 learn everywhere and from all ; I never cease from investi- 
 gating. It is of little moment to me to rummage under the 
 roots of the fruit-tree — that all possess — but I want the tree 
 and I want the fruits, and that is why, beloved, I am T. . . . 
 LADY : You are grace, you are charm, you are everything. . . , 
 RAPHAEL : No, I repeat, I am not everything. I am reason, 
 perhaps. I am moderation. I am good judgment. I am, ii 
 you will, wisdom and enlightened taste ; but I am not depth, 
 and above all I am not sublimity. 
 LADY : Who, then, is both these last ? 
 
 180
 
 JULIUS II. 
 
 RAPHAEL : Michael Angelo. 
 
 LADY : Alichael Angelo ? That sombre, gloomy, narrow, 
 obscure, tortured soul ? . . . You cannot think so, Raphael ! 
 To compare such a man to yourself ! He resembles a demon 
 of darkness, while you are the image of the archangel whose 
 name you bear. What whim of modesty has taken hold of 
 you now ? 
 
 RAPHAEL : If I could dive down into that melancholic soul, 
 I should bring up many smoke-grimed secrets from which he 
 can fashion gleaming gold. Vulcan, too, was a deformed god, 
 covered with soot, living in the ruddy slag of his Lemnian 
 smithy. Yet none of the gods that walked the azure ways, 
 neither Phoebus of the sun nor Mercury the flute-player, were 
 ever as mighty craftsmen as he ! 
 
 LADY : No ! You are wrong ! There is nothing in common 
 between the overflowing life that is poured from your nature 
 into your works, a lovable and inspiring force, and the savage 
 brutality of him whom you seem to envy. 
 RAPHAEL : Had I not copied as his pupil, as the most 
 attentive and humble of pupils, the inimitable cartoon of Pisa ; 
 had not my uncle Bramante, in letting me secretly into the 
 Sistine chapel, given me the inestimable happiness of gazing 
 on the creations of this all-powerful artist, I should not be 
 what I am, I could not even dream of what I might achieve. 
 Why do you lower your head? I shall execute greater and 
 nobler things than he, although he is a greater inventor than 
 I. He discovers, he knows how to discover ; but it is not 
 granted him to separate silver from lead, or a thousand stains 
 of rust from the purity of his thought. As for me, beloved, 
 perhaps I am not the equal of him, the Jehovah of a world ; I 
 have taken from all parts and from every hand ; what is mine 
 has belonged to others. But llirn, I have enlarged, uplifted, 
 illuminated everything! I am one who sets in order ! I have 
 not trifled with copying one, stealing from another, meanly 
 adjusting the shreds and patches secretly borrowed from 
 everyone, which everyone had the right to reclaim later on. 
 
 i8i
 
 THE RENAISSANCE 
 
 • 
 
 No ! I melted all together, and from these dissimilar elements 
 I created a force at a single bound. It is from matter that is 
 compact and really my own that I am preparing, henceforth, 
 to compose my works, ever adding to it ; this matter is mixed 
 according to my own views, coloured as it suits me, hard at 
 the exact point that I wish ; and it is thus that I shall rear 
 monuments on which I will imprint my seal and my right, 
 which none will dispute. You see, I praise myself in order to 
 re-assure you and to please you. But I show you my mind as 
 God has made it, and not as in the distorted image called up 
 by passionate love. I do not magnify myself nor yet make 
 myself smaller. And I have, above Michael Angelo and the 
 rest, a prerogative of which you do not speak to me, and which 
 alone is worth more than all that they possess. 
 LADY : I know it, I see it, I feel it ! 
 RAPHAEL : And what is it, pray? Is it so manifest? 
 LADY : Ah, how manifest! How it sparkles in your glances, 
 how it is discernible in your face, in that god-like grace that 
 animates your every movement ! Your prerogative, my 
 Raphael, is to be happy ! You are happy ! Happiness spread 
 her rose-coloured veil above your mother's bed at the moment 
 of your birth. From' your first step, from your first smile, you 
 were beloved. It seems as if the years that, in linked chain, 
 form your life, have known no season but spring. You have 
 thought, you have meditated, you have worked, you always 
 work ; but what is trouble for others is always transmuted for 
 you into easy pleasure. You do not know what it is to work 
 against the grain. You have been loved, I said. You are 
 loved ! The great, princes, popes, most honoured ladies, adore 
 Raphael ; if old, they treasure him like a cherished son, and, 
 if in the bloom' of youth, they do as I do — they idolise him! 
 I am not astonished to see you express candour, virtue, inno- 
 cence, and charm so well. . . . Evil has been forbidden to 
 come near you, and as you have never known anything but 
 love, how could you be other than what you are ? Farewell 
 
 182
 
 JULIUS II. 
 
 .... farewell, my friend ; farewell, my lover. . . . Farewell, 
 
 my idol. 
 
 RAPHAEL : You are going already ? 
 
 LADY : Already ? Yes, it is already .... it is too 
 
 soon ! . . . Nevertheless, I have been here since this morning ; 
 
 the sun is going down, and the gold of its rays seems to be 
 
 drowned in the gleaming purple of its dying fires. Besides, I 
 
 hear voices at the end of the garden. Your friends are coming 
 
 to look for you. I would not have them meet me. 
 
 RAPHAEL : Stay a moment, my adored one ; I wish to tell 
 
 them to wait for me in my house. Do not go yet, I implore 
 
 you! . . . You have made me talk of ever}-thing, but what 
 
 have we said of ourselves ? 
 
 LADY : Oh, that we know well enough. Farewell. ... I 
 
 see La Bianchina! She makes me a sign. My litter has long 
 
 been in the lane. How rash we are ! 
 
 RAPHAEL : How cruel you are! 
 
 LADY : You are ungrateful, Raphael. 
 
 RAPHAEL : Till to-morrow, then ? Flere ? ... at your 
 
 house? On the Tiber bridge? . . . Where? 
 
 LADY : No ! . . . to-morrow. . . . What's to be done ? . . . 
 
 Well, let us risk something! Come at ten o'clock in the 
 
 morning, at the Holy Apostles ; I shall go there to hear the 
 
 Mass, and I shall be alone in the church with La Bianchina. 
 
 Farewell ! 
 
 RAPHAEL : Farewell I I worship you ! 
 
 Exit Beatrice. 
 
 FRANCESCO PENNI (IL FATTORE) : Master, here is 
 the Bramantc ! He is coming in great haste to speak to you. 
 RAPHAEL : Bring me a cartoon and some chalks. Where 
 are my pupils ? 
 
 IL FATTORE : Several in the two studios ; most of them 
 in the Vatican ; some are executing v.hat you ordered on the 
 frescoes of the hall of the Segnatura, others arc going forward 
 with the sketches of the Heliodorus. Several, also, have left 
 
 183
 
 THE RENAISSANCE 
 
 early, and are working at Signer Agostino Chigi's at the 
 pictures of Psyche. 
 
 RAPHAEL : Let them all be sent word that I shall be there 
 soon ! I shall go to my workshops, to the Vatican, and to 
 Signor Chigi's. Give me the chalks. 
 
 He begins the portrait of Beatrice d'Este. 
 IL BRAMANTE : Good-day, nephew. The Pope wishes to 
 speak to you. He considers that the work does not advance. 
 You will have a severe lecture to face if you are not careful. 
 RAPHAEL : Before anything else, I shall hnish this sketch. 
 I have it in my head ! It shall not escape me. So sit down, 
 uncle . . . here in the shade of these rose-laurels. Here is 
 a shelter made for you. A lemonade for Signor Bramante ! 
 IL BRAMANTE : The fact is that I am dead-tired. This 
 life, at my age, is unbearable. 
 
 RAPHAEL : The life is admirable for you as well as for me. 
 If it shook us less, how all would wither in our souls !' 
 IL BRAMANTE : You are perhaps right as regards certain 
 moments ; but there are others when one can stand no more. 
 Julius II. is an appalling master ; his exactingness is on a par 
 with his genius. 
 
 RAPHAEL : He does not spare us ; but is he indulgent to 
 himself.? Assuredly not. That is something to keep us in 
 a good temper. Here is a sketch of which I need not be 
 ashamed, I think. It wells up in my soul and runs on like 
 a live thing under the pencil! ... As for the Pope, as for 
 myself, I do my best. What has he to complain of? The 
 hall of the Holy Signatory is almost finished ; what is left 
 will soon be done. The picture of Theology, as I composed 
 it in accordance with the ideas of Count Castiglione and 
 Signor Ludovico Ariosto, is finished. I shall let that of 
 philosophy rest a while, because I have acquired a taste for 
 the Mass of Bolsena, and the composition is of such importance 
 to me that I shall not rest until I have brought it to a good 
 
 184
 
 JULIUS II. 
 
 issue. I cannot go faster ; the Holy Father has no right to 
 complain ; we are making him beautiful things. 
 IL BRAMANTE : That is just what irritates him, and, when 
 I told him, he grew angry and swore that it was because he 
 knew it that he wished to draw out of us all that we are capable 
 of. He complains of you, he complains of Michael Angelo, 
 of Sansovmo, of Sebastiano del Piombo, of all the artists he 
 has brought to Rome, of me, of the whole universe. He looks 
 on human beings as nothing but tortoises ; the terrestrial 
 globe does not turn rapidly enough on its axis, and every- 
 where, over all, and for everyone, he would fain double and 
 treble the movement. Meanwhile, take care ; his peculiar 
 taste inclines him towards the Buonarotti. I should not like 
 him, under pretext of negligence on your part, to withdraw 
 you from work to give it to that man of darkness. 
 Rx\PHAEL : Uncle, I tell you again, we do what we can. 
 But here are some friends who condescend to visit us. Call 
 the servants. Ho ! lemonade there, fruits, cakes ! seats ! seats ! 
 everywhere ! 
 
 Richly dressed servants bring armchairs, chairs, settees ; others offer 
 refreshments of every sort. Enter Signor di Bibbiena, Agostino 
 and Sigismondo Chigi^ the architects Baccio Pintelli and 
 Baldassare Peruzzi ; Giacomo Sansecondo, the musician ; 
 Tibaldeo, the poet ; Marc-Antonio Raimondi, the engraver, 
 and others. 
 
 AGO.STINO CIIIGI : Well, master, always at work! What 
 
 a charming face ! 
 
 RAPHAEL : Most reverend signor, magnificent signors, my 
 
 noble friends, welcome ! All gay, fresh, and happy ! Pray 
 
 take your places ! Do you allow me to continue what I have 
 
 begun ? I must finish to-day, and I hardly have time, because 
 
 His Holiness is asking for me. 
 
 BIBBIENA: Go on, master. The moments that would be 
 
 taken from you would be an odious theft from posterity, as 
 
 from our own loftiest pleasures. 
 
 TIBALDEO: Is it true that His Holiness is so delighted 
 
 185
 
 THE RENAISSANCE 
 
 with your picture of Heliodorus that, unhkely though it sounds, 
 
 he wishes to contemplate himself in the midst of that great 
 
 court of justice and that powerful tumult of ancient days? 
 
 RAPHAEL : Very true. I did the cartoon last night. Bring 
 
 it, Francesco. You will go and see it and tell me your opinion. 
 
 AGOSTINO CHIGI: The potentate who, humbling the 
 
 smaller princes to the dust, plans the union of Italy under the 
 
 crook of St. Peter and our deliverance for ever from the foreign 
 
 spoilers, this potentate, our Pope, cannot but have been glad 
 
 when he received from your hand, Raphael, the spectacle of 
 
 the impious driven from the temple by the fiery sword of the 
 
 angel of the Lord ! He himself is that angel ! 
 
 BIBBIENA : Ah, here are the cartoons ! 
 
 Servants place the cartoons on the easels under the Fattore's 
 direction. 
 
 SIGISMONDO CHIGI : The hkeness of the Pope is striking. 
 
 SANSECONDO: That is his proud and overbearing mien 
 
 before his foes ! 
 
 PERUZZI : You recognise yourself there, Marc-Antonio ? It 
 
 is you who are one of the porters of the pontifical chair ? 
 
 MARC-ANTONIO: I am not the only one thus honoured 
 
 by Raphael. Have you seen my companion ? 
 
 TIBALDEO : Per Dio ! Is it not Signor Giovanni Pietro de' 
 
 Foliari of Cremona ? 
 
 BACCIO PINTELLI: What! the Secretary of the 
 
 Memorials ? 
 
 RAIMONDI : No other. The poor man is at the summit of 
 
 his happiness and goes telling the tale all over the city. 
 
 BIBBIENA: He is right. You have done for him, master, 
 
 what God refused us all ; you made him immortal. 
 
 IL BRAMANTE : Take these cartoons with you to the 
 
 Vatican. This will be the true means of soothing the Pope. 
 
 Are you getting on with your sketch ? It is nearly time to 
 
 go ; the sun is setting. 
 
 RAPHAEL : I am ready. Fattore, I beg you, my lad, have 
 
 this dear head taken to my bedroom. I shall work at it this 
 
 1 86
 
 JULIUS 11. 
 
 evening when I come in. My blue velvet mantle ! my biretta 
 
 with ropes of pearls ! Bid a dozen of my men come with me ! 
 
 You will accompany us ! Signer Bibbiena, all of you, my 
 
 friends, stay and amuse yourselves. The house is lilce its 
 
 master, it belongs to you. Signor Agostino, I shall come to 
 
 your house v.-hen I leave the Vatican. And I shall see what 
 
 my pupils are doing. 
 
 AGOSTINO CHIGI : I shall run to welcome ycu. I also 
 
 have to speak to you of the work on my chapel at Santa IMaria 
 
 della Pace. When will you begin it ? 
 
 RAPHAEL : Next week without fail. You do not forget, 
 
 Messer, that to-da}- is St. Anne's Day ? We are supping with 
 
 our worthy German Johannes Goricius. 
 
 AGOSTINO CHIGI : The Signora Imperia is bound to be 
 
 there. There is thus no reason to fear that Signor Bibbiena 
 
 will fail to appear. 
 
 BIBBIENA: Certainly not; I think that the same may be 
 
 said of you. The Imperia has a magnet in her eyes to draw 
 
 the hearts of men. 
 
 Enter a pupil of II Bramante. 
 
 PUPIL : Maestro, hasten to the Vatican. A misfortune has 
 
 happened. 
 
 IL BRAMANTE : Blood of Christ ! what do you mean ? 
 
 PUPIL : The wall of the new gallery of the Belvedere has just 
 
 had a crack all its length, and threatens ruin. 
 
 IL BRA^IANTE : How could it be otherwise? The Pope is 
 
 pressing so hard! We have to work day and night, and 
 
 scarcely know what we are doing! 
 
 RAPHAEL : My tale is the same. The ill-fitted plasters 
 
 come ofE with the paintings, or being badly prepared, spoil 
 
 the colours. Good-bye, sirs ; I will come with you, uncle. 
 
 BIBBIENA AND THE OTHERS: Till lliis evening then, 
 
 at the house of Goricius. 
 
 RAPHAEL (to II Bramante, coming out of the garden): 
 
 187
 
 THE RENAISSANCE 
 
 Before all, take me once more, as you pass, to the Sistine. I 
 
 must go in there. Michael Angelo has achieved miracles ; I 
 
 must understand them, so as not to be behindhand. What a 
 
 wizard ! What a master is this Buonarotti ! 
 
 IE BRAMANTE : So far as portents are concerned, the 
 
 greatest that he has shown me is certainly this — that he has 
 
 made the Pope so pliant as to show him more consideration 
 
 than he would to God the Father ! 
 
 RAPHAEE : We have no cause for complaint cither, uncle. 
 
 We have no lack of work. 
 
 IE BRAMANTE : No one has. Julius II. has not enough 
 
 arms, legs, hearts, and heads to employ for what he wishes to 
 
 carry out. Nevertheless, Michael Angelo remains the 
 
 favourite. Remember that! 
 
 RAPHAEE (laughing) : Go and repair )-our cracks ! Come, 
 
 uncle, and you others, follow us ! 
 
 Exit, his arm under Bramante's, surrounded by his pupils and his 
 serving-men. 
 
 iS8
 
 JULIUS II. 
 
 BEFORE BOLOGNA. 
 
 The French camp. — A group of of&cers ; the bivouac fires are being Ughted ; 
 a party of men-at-arms remain in the saddle ; others have dismounted 
 to tighten the horses' girths ; some are eating snacks with their fingers. 
 The fines of infantry are under arms. — BattaUons are marching to 
 reach their posts ; they are completing the investment of the town. 
 Midnight. The sky is dark and moonless. — The Grand Master of 
 Chaumont, Governor of the Milanese, in full armour, his helmet on 
 his head ; Annibale Bentivogho, Lord of Bologna, and his brother 
 Hermes Bentivogho, similarly armed ; Ives d'Alegre, French captain. 
 
 THE GRAND MASTER (to an officer): Have my orders 
 
 been carried out ? 
 
 OFFICER: Yes, my lord; the town is invested. Not a rat 
 
 can go in or out without our permission. 
 
 GRAND MASTER: Excellent. Let the light horse beat 
 
 up the country. Let everyone remain under arms. 
 
 OFFICER : Yes, my Lord. 
 
 GRAND MASTER : Ah, that old Julius— that old fox ! We 
 
 hold him, the traitor ! We shall catch him, and may the plague 
 
 strike me dead if we do not reduce him to beg for mercy. 
 
 ANNIBALE BENTIVOGLIO: He does not deserve it. 
 
 Remember how he betrayed your very reverend brother the 
 
 Cardmal d'Amboise. He alone prevented him from becoming 
 
 Pope. 
 
 GRAND MASTER : Do you think that I do not know that, 
 
 and that I am in a mood to forgive him? 
 
 ANNIBALE BENTIVOGLIO: And from me he stole 
 
 Bologna, where he has not a single friend. 
 
 D'ALEGRE: Not a single friend.' That is saying too much, 
 
 Signer Annibale. In your Italian cities, everyone has a friend 
 
 and a comrade to help him in case of need. 
 
 ANNIBALE BENTIVOGLIO : I tell you that the populace 
 
 is going to open the gates to us when it knows we are here. 
 
 GRAND MASTER : So much the better. The King will be 
 
 very glad, and so will The Duke of Ferrara. The least that 
 
 can happen to Julius II. is to be deposed as his predecessor 
 
 would have been if he had not died. Certainly, he was no 
 
 worse than the present anti-Christ.
 
 THE RENAISSANCE 
 
 ANNIBALE BENTIVOGLIO : He was better. The present 
 
 Pope dreams of nothing but the spohation and massacre of all 
 
 the princes. 
 
 GRAND MASTER: I am thinking- it over ; but we must give 
 
 the horses a little rest and let the men eat. (To an officer.) 
 
 Give the order to dismount. The troops arc to fall out after 
 
 the sentries have been posted. Has Captain Molard arrived ? 
 
 OFFICER: Fie is coming in a moment. Flis companies are 
 
 broken with fatigue. 
 
 GRAND MASTER : They are honest fellows ; let them have 
 
 wine served them. You come in good time, Captain Molard. 
 
 Many thanks for such promptitude. 
 
 CAPTAIN MOLARD : I have done my duty, my lord. 
 
 GRAND MASTER: You know that we hold our Master 
 
 Reynard. 
 
 ANNIBALE BENTIVOGLIO : We are going to cut his tail. 
 
 HERMES BENTIVOGLIO : Or his throat. 
 
 GRAND MASTER: What news do you bring from Ferrara? 
 
 CAPTAIN MOLARD : Here is Monsignor de Bayard, who 
 
 will give you some. 
 
 GRAND MASTER: Good evening, Captain Bayard, welcome. 
 
 BAYARD : Commend you to God, my lord, most devoutly. 
 
 Here are some who are better men than I, the Baron da Conti, 
 
 the Baron de Fontrailles, and the worthy Captain Mercurio 
 
 with his two thousand Albanians. 
 
 ANNIBALE BENTIVOGLIO : Is it true that he ripped up 
 
 his first cousin so well ? 
 
 BAYARD : He had him cut to pieces with all his men, and 
 
 the heads were carried on the lance points. It was cruel, 
 
 and I dislike, these savageries. 
 
 D'ALEGRE : It is not war, but butchery. 
 
 ANNIBALE BENTIVOGLIO : It is vengeance. When one 
 
 risks one's own skin, one has every right over those of others. 
 
 BAYARD : I am too humble a person to argue with so great 
 
 190
 
 JULIUS II. 
 
 a lord as you. For his part, Captain Mercurio is brave, no 
 doubt. All the same, I had the looters, who stifled the poor 
 inhabitants of Vicenza in a cavern, put to death without mercy ; 
 and everywhere that marauders come under my hand I propose 
 to do the same to them. But are we here to tell stories ? 
 GRAND MASTER: Not altogether. We reckon that 
 to-morrow morning the people of Bologna will have delivered 
 up the Pope to me. Signor Annibale has promised. 
 ANNIBALE BENTIVOGLIO: And I promise you that 
 King Louis is about to be relieved of his excommunication, 
 and the Duke of Ferrara, I and my friends also. 
 OFFICER : A guard reports that Count Giovanni Francesco 
 Pico presents himself from the Pope to speak to Monsignor. 
 GRAND MASTER: Ah! so our arrival is known, and the 
 Holy Father wishes to avoid the eagerness of his people to 
 fly at him ! Bring in the Count ; I shall listen to what he has 
 to say. 
 
 191
 
 THE RENAISSANCE 
 
 IN BOLOGNA. 
 
 A room in the palace where tlie Pope Uves. — Julius II., ill, hall lying down 
 in au armchair, surrounded by cushions which ho upsets every minute 
 and wliich the servants pick up. Cardinal Rcgino, Legate of Bologna. 
 
 CARDINAL : You inusL uoL Icl yourself be taken by those 
 villainous French. 
 
 POPE : I shall not let myself be taken. It is I who shall take 
 and strangle and stamp upon my enemies. You may count 
 upon that. Give me to drink ! 
 
 A chamberlain brings him a glass of gruel. 
 
 Ball ! it's as bitter as gall. ... A glass of wine ! 
 CHAMBERLAIN: Holy Father, the physicians have 
 expressly forbidden wine. 
 
 POPE : What time did the couriers go to send my messages 
 to the Venetians and the Spaniards .'' 
 
 CARDINAL : Four hours ago, at the first news that come to 
 us of the march of the French. 
 
 POPE : The point is that our allies should be here in time. 
 Have a letter written to the Bishop of Sion bidding him hasten 
 his negotiations with the Swiss. Let as many of these bar- 
 barians as can be scraped together be thrown into the Milanese 
 territory. The more harm they do to Louis XII. 's troops, the 
 nearer will be our deliverance. 
 
 CARDINAL : The Swiss are honest numskulls ; I reckon on 
 them completely. Devoted to the Church, obedient when 
 
 they are well paid 
 
 THE POPE : Bandits like the rest ! Has not Count Giovanni 
 Francesco yet returned ? 
 
 CARDINAL : Not yet. He has a skilful tongue. 
 POPE : He does not need much subtlety to hoodwink 
 Louis XII. That booby would fain pass for a man of sub- 
 stance, because he is coarse, jovial, and weak of head as of 
 heart. As prince, he betrayed his King ; as husband he made 
 his first wife, who was a saint, as unhappy as possible ; at 
 present, he obeys a second, who is a sheer termagant, and as 
 for killing and plundering, there is no one who does that 
 
 192
 
 JULIUS II. 
 
 more lightly than he, always with a great laugh, and they say 
 of him: "What a jolly fellow!" Poor Italy, poor Italy, to 
 be trampled on by such men! But the scandal will not last. 
 An end must be made of the princelings and of those iniquitous 
 republics, Florence, Siena, and Lucca ; thus, we make use of 
 the Aragonese, the French, the Germans, whoever comes to 
 hajid , but finally the day will dawn when the Holy Church, 
 master of all, will shut up these wretches under a double key 
 in the wastes which heaven has assigned as their country. 
 CARDINAL : The fact is that your Holiness has prepared 
 everything marvellously well : Henry VIII. let loose upon the 
 coasts of France ; Ferdinand threatening the Pyrenees. 
 JULIUS II. : And all the time I am treating with Louis. 
 While I smite and harass him, I play with him and let him 
 think that we can come to an understanding ; with one hand I 
 excommunicate him — him and his allies, the ruffians ! and with 
 the other I caress him I ... I shall destroy him ! 
 CARDINAL : And here are fifteen thousand Swiss going to 
 arrive. 
 
 JULIUS II. : And my nephew, Marc-Antonio Colonna, has 
 got together an army ; I have raised another for my Francesco 
 Maria d'Urbino. . . . All is going fairly well. . . . Yes, but if 
 presently the French take me by surprise, it will be an accident 
 that might spoil our game completely! I came here a trifle 
 hot-headedly. 
 
 CARDINAL : A little imprudently, perhaps. 
 JULIUS II. : Where is the time to be prudent? I must act 
 quickly in order to accomplish much. If I am not to count 
 upon my good luck, it were as well not to interfere with any- 
 thing. Go and see if the Count is not coming back. 
 
 R 2 193
 
 THE RENAISSANCE 
 
 BEFORE BOLOGNA. 
 
 A winter night, dark and cold ; day is beginning to dawn. — A peasant's 
 house ; I'rencli troops encamped around. Great bustle of patrols of 
 infantry and ca\ airy ; pickets and sentries everywhere. The town 
 is invested. T,ij^lits are seen in the higher stories of some houses 
 that commantl the rampart. — Near a big lire, a table between them, 
 the Grand Master of Chaumont and Count Giovanni Francesco Pico. 
 
 COUNT : Well Monsignor, I will admit what you say. 
 The Holy Father did not show himself so faithful as he 
 should have done to the League of Cambray. There are 
 many points to object to, but of them we will not speak. 
 The Holy Father, I agree, abandoned the Most Christian 
 
 King after the battle of Agnadello ; he 
 
 GRAND MASTER : He made an alliance with our worst 
 
 enemies, the Venetians ; he tore them from our hands when 
 
 we, thinking them half-dead, were about to deliver a final 
 
 blow ; he detached the Emperor from our side ; he is stirring 
 
 up the Swiss to attack us ; in short, he does us all the mischief 
 
 that he can. He shall be chastised ! And, by the death of 
 
 Christ, let him give himself up with' out so much chaffering. 
 
 COUNT : How should he do otherwise ? . . . When you have 
 
 him, what will you do with him? 
 
 GRAND MASTER : A strong prison ! Do you think there 
 
 are none such? and, later on, he'll be deposed, as he richly 
 
 deserves ! 
 
 COUNT: You are hard. The Pope in prison? What will 
 
 Christendom say and do? And you, Monsignor, the hero of 
 
 this fine scandal, will you take upon yourself to give the 
 
 Queen, whose piety is so well-known, the absolutions that the 
 
 humblest priest will refuse her ? 
 
 GRAND MASTER: The devil! Do you think you are 
 
 frightening me ? 
 
 COUNT : I only wish to open your eyes. What would you 
 
 say if I brought you a Pope who, instead of being an 
 
 embarrassing prisoner, proved a devoted friend ? 
 
 GRAND MASTER : You take me for a fool. Your devoted 
 
 194
 
 JULIUS 11. 
 
 friend — who robbed my brother of the tiara ! Do you think 
 that is one of those actions that one forgives ? 
 COUNT: True, but I only wanted to remind you of this 
 axiom: that when you wish to serve both your master and 
 yourself equally well, you nearly always go wrong. I offer 
 you an understanding, I declare to }'ou that we can reach one 
 to your very great advantage. You refuse, very well ; but 
 observe that you refuse. 
 
 GRAND MASTER : I refuse nothing. I only say, and I 
 repeat, that one cannot place the slightest confidence in you. 
 . . . Ah, if you were a different sort of people ! . . . then . . . 
 COUNT : Listen, for example, to what I should propose to 
 you. . . . Withdrawal of the ban of exconmiunication against 
 you and your allies. . . . Alfonso d'Este once more recognised 
 as Duke of Ferrara, and restored to his post of Gonfalonier of 
 the Holy Church. . . . Would not that be a good start ? We 
 should abandon the Venetians. . . . You yourself would 
 receive a hundred thousand crowns. . . . Would an under- 
 standing be possible upon such terms? 
 
 GRAND MASTER: One must remember that you are 
 notorious rogues . . . otherwise, do you imagine that for the 
 
 small pleasure of giving myself such trouble, I should 
 
 COUNT : I make you the formal proposal in the Holy 
 
 Father's name ! 
 
 GRAND MASTER : Have you plenary powers? 
 
 COUNT : Here they are. 
 
 GRAND MASTER : That would not be enough for me. 
 
 COUNT : Body of Bacchus! you are hard to deal with. 
 
 GRAND ]\IASTER : I also require the re-instatemcnt of 
 
 Signor Annibale Bentivoglio in his town of Bologna, and a 
 
 clause that the Pope shall renounce the Romagna. 
 
 COUNT : I frankly confess to you that on these matters I 
 
 have no instructions, and it is probable that the Holy Father 
 
 will not wish to have them broached. 
 
 GRAND MASTER : You arc joking! If he refuses, I close 
 
 195
 
 THE RENAISSANCE 
 
 my fist. Is he not caught ? Has he the liberty of saying " yes " 
 or "no" ? 
 
 COUNT : Perhaps we shall submit to every possible hard- 
 ship ; but I do not think that His Holiness will renounce either 
 Bologna or the Romagna. 
 
 GRAND MASTER: Then, to-morrow at dawn, I shall break 
 in your doors and put my hand on your man. 
 COUNT : You are really decided ? 
 
 GRAND MASTER: If you knew me better, you would 
 disp)ense with that question. 
 
 COUNT : In that case, and in the presence of force, I yield 
 GRAND MASTER (laughing) : You do well. . . . Believe 
 me, and now that we are friends, your master will at once 
 open me the doors. I am eager to embrace him. 
 COUNT : But in that case he would be your prisoner under 
 another name. 
 
 GRAND MASTER (laughing) : Take it as you will ; I shall 
 not abate that condition. 
 
 COUNT : We are in a serious dilemma I am going to report 
 your words to the Holy Father. He w^ill decide. . . . 
 GRAND MASTER: Offer him my respects as from a 
 submissive son of the Church. 
 
 COUNT : Now come, Monsigneur de Chaumont, could you 
 not be less hard ? 
 
 GRAND MASTER: I am only taking precautions. Your 
 master will recognise my intentions as better than he thought. 
 You said three hundred thousand crowns of gold ? 
 COUNT : I said two hundred. 
 
 GRAND :.IASTER : It will be three hundred, if you please. 
 When will you return ? 
 COUNT : Give me until midnight. 
 
 GRAND MASTER : Impossible! You shall have two hours 
 — not a minute more. We have already lost a deal of time in 
 talking. 
 COUNT: My lord, my lord, I entreat you. . . We will 
 
 196
 
 JULIUS 11. 
 
 give the three hundred thousand crowns! but do not bring 
 rakings-up of personal animosities into this affair ! 
 GRAND MASTER : Just now, you threatened me indirectly 
 with the Queen. . . . You shall see if I am intimidated ! . . . 
 Come, Count, take heart of grace ! I'll grant you all the time 
 you ask for, and two hours more into the bargain. Am I such 
 a fiend ? 
 
 COUNT: Thanks. The Holy Father will appreciate what 
 he owes you. None the less we are in a horrible position. 
 GRAND MASTER: Come, come, don't be downcast. Our 
 alliance is well worth that of Venice. You lose the Romagna 
 by it, but who knows if you will not gain something else? 
 You must not shake your head with that despondent look. 
 Farewell ; always remain cheerful. 
 
 COUNT : Farewell, my Lord. I shall keep the appointment. 
 
 Exit. 
 
 GRAND MASTER (alone) : At bottom, he was not altogether 
 wrong. Madam Arme is not tender in the matter of affections, 
 and moreover, after my brother's death, my position is less 
 secure. . . . True, the King is furious with the Pope and 
 wishes to crush him at all costs. . . . Three hundred thousand 
 golden crowns are an excellent thing to have, especially when 
 the result is of a sort to satisfy the King and not annoy the 
 Queen. . . . Julius will try to overreach me . . . but ... it 
 is not lil<ely that I shall let myself be bamboozled by these 
 
 false-tongued Italians. ... I know them, thank God, and 
 
 D'ALEGRE : You had the intention of visiting the posts, 
 
 Monsignor. 
 
 GRAND MASTER : I was just going to send for you. Come ! 
 
 197
 
 THE RENAISSANCE 
 
 Near a bivouac fire. — Captain Bayard, the bastard du Fay, standard- 
 bearer cf his artillery company ; Captain Molard, Captain Sucker, 
 leaders of Trench and German nu iceuaries ; Captain Jacob Zemberg, 
 commander of tlie Swiss. A rough table is drawn up near the fire 
 and loaded with hams, sausages, chickens, bottles and cups of pewter, 
 tin, horn, or wood. The guests are seated on benches and stools, 
 which have been snatched from the huts. Around the table, a wind- 
 screen constnicted by the soldiers by means of cloaks piled on poles. 
 Pinewood torches burning at the end of long stakes planted in the 
 earth. The ofiicers are supping, waited on by pages and lackeys. 
 
 SUCKER : In war, I think nothing but valour of consequence. 
 For the rest I care but httle. 
 
 BAYARD: In that, my friend, you do not show yourself 
 particularly wise. I think valour of consequence, but discre- 
 tion just as much, because with discretion we have discipline, 
 of which too little has been seen in our armies up to the present. 
 CAPTAIN MOLARD: When one of my men plays the 
 devil, I play the Satan, and he does not come back. Believe 
 me, Monseigneur de Sucker, we should abandon the old savage 
 methods of plundering, burning and massacring. These are 
 follies which ruin their authors. I am of Mgr. de Bayard's 
 opinion. 
 
 BAYARD : Here is a fine-looking joint, .and it comes very 
 useful after so long a ride as that of to-day. Since Mgr. de 
 Molard is willing to approve my little bit of wisdom, I will 
 tell you that since my entering on the Italian wars, that is 
 since 1494, or something like seventeen years, I have seen 
 many notable changes. 
 
 DU FAY: I have not long borne your standard, my Lord, 
 yet I, too, have seen changes. 
 
 BAYARD : When we came with King Charles, of victorious 
 memory, we were like good peasants, marching from our 
 villages, clumsy, badly drilled ; and the Italians made fun of 
 us as we to-day make fun of our Landsknechts, who appear 
 rustic to us, if I may say so without offence to you, Monsieur 
 Sucker. 
 
 SUCKER : In Germany we have greater scholars than yours ! 
 The Italians, who raise their heads so high, are not ashamed 
 
 198
 
 JULIUS II. 
 
 to apply to us for architects. We built them their Cathedral 
 of Milan, and our painters, such as Albrecht Diirer, give them 
 lessons. 
 
 BAYARD : So you see how right I am in saying that there 
 have been many novelties in the last few years. At the time 
 of the battle of Fornovo, you would never have heard, at a 
 bivouac, a captain of Landsknechts boasting of architects and 
 painters! They thought then of nothing but wine, women, 
 plunder, and pictures and statues were only fit to be hacked 
 to pieces. 
 
 DU FAY : It's true ! To-day, we regard those who do so as 
 savages and brutes ; they are only the newcomers from France. 
 At the end of six months' stay, one begins to take pleasure 
 in these beautiful things, and to become refined. 
 BAYARD : There is another point ; in those days, not for 
 gold or silver could you have persuaded a man-at-arms to 
 fight. Now I know none braver than Signor Alviane, Signor 
 Andrea Gritti, and many others. . . . 
 
 CAPTAIN MOLARD : And Pope Julius II. 
 
 Laughter, 
 
 BAYARD : True. ... I should like to see the day when 
 
 there'll be fighting only among men of war, and no more 
 
 harrying of these poor townsmen and countryfolk ; they can 
 
 no longer endure the strifes of princes. 
 
 ZEMBERG : There's a terrible draught coming through these 
 
 cloaks! My feet are frozen! Scoundrels, can't you arrange 
 
 that construction a trifle better? I'll punch your heads, you 
 
 rapscallions. 
 
 Enter the Grand Master of Chaumont, Yves d'AKgre, officers, men- 
 at-arms. 
 
 GRAND MASTER -. Good-evening and good-morning, 
 
 captains ! Have you a finger of wine to give me ? Thanks, 
 
 Monseigncur de Bayard ! To your health, gentlemen ! 
 
 BAYARD: To yours, my lord, and may heaven grant what 
 
 your noble heart desires ! 
 
 All drink. 
 199
 
 THE RENAISSANCE 
 
 GRAND MASTER : The Pope did not try to fly from your 
 
 side? 
 
 BAYARD : If he does not escape from yours, be assured that 
 
 he won't from mine. Laughter. 
 
 IN BOLOGNA. 
 A street near San Petronio. — j\Ioriiing ; crowd of people, artisans 
 merchants, nobles, soldiers. 
 
 BUTCHER : If it only needs a push to turn the Pope out, 
 give it him ! Long live the Bentivoglio ! 
 CROWD: Long live the Bentivoglio! Long live Bologna! 
 Liberty I 
 
 Enter Francia and his pupils. Francesco Caccianimici, Amico 
 Aspertino, painters. 
 
 Long live the school of Bologna! Down with the Romans! 
 
 A BAKER : Master Francia, what do you say to all this ? 
 
 FRANCIA : I say that Michael Angelo is an insolent fellow, 
 
 and his master is no better than he. Long live the Bentivoglio ! 
 
 CROWD : Long live Bologna! 
 
 CACCIANIMICI: Yes, my children! Long live Bologna! 
 
 Is this beautiful city less worthy of being free than Florence, 
 
 than Lucca and so many other cities ? 
 
 CROWD : No ! no ! Long live Bologna! and the Bentivoglio! 
 
 AMICO ASPERTINO : Everyone in his own home ! A free 
 
 city ! No subjection ! 
 
 CROWD: Liberty! Liberty! Long live the Bentivoglio! 
 
 BAKER : We need a prince who spends our money and his 
 
 in our city, and not elsewhere! Who builds churches and 
 
 palaces for us, and not for the Romans ! Long live Bologna ! 
 
 CROWD: Long live the Bentivoglio! Liberty! liberty! 
 
 To the palace ! Down with the Pope ! 
 
 ASPERTINO : Let us go and break the statue of Michael 
 
 Angelo ! What say you ! 
 
 CROWD : Down with the statue ! 
 
 CACCIANIMICI: Yes! let us go! 
 
 All the crowd follows him, uttering loud shouts. 
 
 200
 
 JULIUS II. 
 
 THE PALACE. 
 
 Julius II., in his armchair, stick in hand ; the Cardinal of Pa via, the Cardinal 
 Regino, the Bishop of Gurck, Michael Angelo, the Count Giovanni 
 Francesco Pico. 
 
 JULIUS II. : This insurrection is still raging ? They're still 
 
 shouting ? Are you mad, Regino ? Have I not already given 
 
 orders ? 
 
 REGINO : Holy Father, the Swiss charged twice and were 
 
 repulsed. 
 
 JULIUS II.: Cavalry and two bombards! Run! If the 
 
 noise lasts, I shall go myself. 
 
 Exit Cardinal Regino. 
 
 He is a little weak, poor man. Count Pico, )'ou will return to 
 
 M. de Chaumont, although it J5 not yet time to give him an 
 
 answer. 
 
 COUNT: Yes, Holy Father. 
 
 JULIUS II. : You will tell him that I consent to everything, 
 
 not being in a position to discuss anything, and that 
 
 in proof of my good faith, I beg him to send me the 
 
 treaty in the form and spirit that he will understand. You 
 
 will be careful to complain against every article and to prolong 
 
 the whole interview. Then you will bring me the treaty to 
 
 sign. In this way we have till this evening before us, and 
 
 even till to-morrow morning, if we wish 
 
 COUNT (aside) : Does your Holiness know where the 
 
 Spaniards are ... or the Venetians ? 
 
 JULIUS II. : They will both arrive about half-past one. 
 
 Wheedle your Grand i\Iaster, detain him ; try and see that he 
 
 does not go. I shall have the pleasure of surprising him in 
 
 my turn, enveloping him, pressing him, and they'll see what 
 
 I shall do with this ultramontane scoundrel who dares to lay 
 
 his base hand on the shoulder of the Vicar of Christ ! . . . Go, 
 
 my child ! 
 
 Count Pico kneels ; the Pope blesses him brusquely. 
 Come, now, Michael Angelo, where arc your designs for 
 fortresses ? 
 
 201
 
 THE RENAISSANCE 
 
 MICHAEL ANGELO: Here they are, Holy Father. 
 POPE : Go to the spot, trace me the foundations immediately, 
 and begin work. I also need mines, and from to-day you will 
 see to the installalion of the cannon foundries of which you 
 showed me the plan. 
 
 MICHAEL ANGELO: If I play the engineer and the 
 founder, 1 cannot play the sculptor and the painter. You will 
 complain very soon that the works of the Sistine and the 
 statues of your tomb are not advancing. 
 
 JULIUS II. (striking his stick on the ground): Certainly, 1 
 shall complain, and I have only too good reason to complain. 
 Idlers that you are ! Instead of wearying me with your remarks 
 you should already have finished your task ! Go ! 
 
 Exit Michael Angelo. 
 
 Cardinal of Pavia, did you not just tell me that the Emperor 
 desired to be Pope in my place, and took the title of Pontifex 
 Maximus ? 
 
 CARDINAL OF PAVIA: Yes, Holy Father; Louis XII. 
 put this folly into his ear. 
 
 JULIUS II. : It is an impertinence. I command the secre- 
 taries of the briefs henceforth to entitle me " Ca?sar." I am 
 universal Em.pcror by right as representing God on earth. 
 
 A discharge of artillery is heard. 
 
 Good ! Here are the Bolognese getting my grapeshot in their 
 
 legs. 
 
 Several prelates and bishops approach and make a profound obeisance. 
 
 What do you want ? 
 
 A BISHOP : Your Holiness' person is in terrible danger. The 
 French, the people, all are threatening you. Is it not a time 
 for prudence and moderation ? I am impelled to use such 
 language to you, Holy Father, by our venerable brethen here 
 present. . . . Consider how your health is seriously affected, 
 and how besides, we are defenceless old men, and if we must 
 submit to the outrages of the soldiery or those of the rebel 
 
 populace 
 
 JULIUS II.: What does this imbecile want? What means 
 
 202
 
 JULIUS II. 
 
 all this verbiage ? . . . Call m)- bearers ; I want to be hoisted 
 to the top of the cathedral so as to see what is passing in the 
 country. But no . . . wait . . . Cardinal of Pavia, give me 
 your arm. . . . You here, Captain, approach. . . . Your arm ! 
 Oh, I can walk ! Come ! 
 
 ROME. 
 
 At the house of Janus Corycius of Luxemburg^. — A large room with a 
 ceiUng painted vdth. a mythological subject ; frescoes on the walls ; 
 mosaic pavements ; great vases full of flowers, the windows open out 
 upon a garden, and, in the background, one sees the houses of a 
 quarter of the town embowered in trees. — Agostino Chigi and his 
 brother Sigismondo Chigi, priest ; il Bramante ; Bernardo da Bibbiena; 
 rimperia ; Raphael ; the clironologer Bartolomraeo Turini da Pescia ; 
 Giacomo Sansecondo, the musician ; other guests. — .\11 the company 
 is spread in groups over the vast room, some standing, laughing and 
 talking, others sitting on arm-chairs, folding seats or cusliions. 
 
 IL BRAMANTE (to Raphael) : Leave Madam Imperia for 
 a moment, and listen to what I have to say to you of Michael 
 Angelo. 
 
 RAPHAEL : Let me amuse myself for a moment. I am dead 
 with fatigue and dulled with work. If Michael Angelo 
 intrigues against me, you play the devil against him — so we 
 are quits. 
 
 IL BRAMANTE : I think that your lightness of heart is at 
 least equal to your talent. ]\Iichael Angelo says everywhere 
 that what you know you have learnt from him. 
 RAPHAEL : True, he taught me something : but I do not 
 think he lends countenance to the folly you attribute to him. 
 He is a man of fierce temper, but not a knave. After all, he 
 is at Bologna with the Pope ; let us leave him in peace. He 
 offered incredible insults to Master Francia, my friend, who 
 cannot pardon them. 
 
 IL BRAMANTE: Unhappily, the Buonarotti is all-powerful 
 with the Holy Father, and as he does not miss a single occa- 
 sion of damaging you, there will come a day when .... 
 RAPHAEL (impatiently) : There will come a day when, by 
 
 203
 
 THE RENAISSANCE 
 
 virtue of setting us one against the other, llie best friends of 
 
 each of us will have turned us to deadly enemies. That would 
 
 be disgraceful, and I shall resist it so far as I can. 
 
 IL BRAMANTE -. I could have wished them at least to give 
 
 you half the ceiling of the Sistine to do. But Micliael Angelo 
 
 gets ever)'thing ! 
 
 RAPHAEL : Have you no more to say to me? 
 
 IL BRAMANTE : Go and amuse yourself, as you have na 
 
 blood in your veins. 
 
 RAPHAEL : I cannot be angry with anyone, especially with 
 
 a man I admire. Have I not more work than strength to 
 
 accomplish it ? 
 
 JANUS CORYCIUS : Master Raphael, have you seen the 
 
 group of the Most Holy Virgin and Saint Anne executed for 
 
 me by Master Andrea Sansovino, in the Church of St. 
 
 Augustine ? 
 
 RAPHAEL : I admired it to-day myself ; it is one of the 
 
 finest works of our time. I do not forget that you want from 
 
 me a portrait in that same church. 
 
 JANUS CORYCIUS : I entreat you, Master Raphael, reahse 
 
 your fine promises ; when will you begin ? 
 
 RAPHAEL : Listen ! I will do a sibyl with a laurel-wreath 
 
 about her head. Does that satisfy you ? 
 
 JANUS CORYCIUS : Yes, but will it be a young or an old 
 
 sibyl ? 
 
 BIBBIENA : Note, dear Raphael, that Signor Corycius has 
 
 a passion for beauty. 
 
 RAPHAEL : My sibyl is the most lovable being that Nature 
 
 has created, or the mind can conceive. . . . But here is the 
 
 very reverend Cardinal Giovanni de' Medici. 
 
 Enter the Cardinal. He embraces Raphael. 
 
 CARDINAL : I love you as if you were the child of my loins, 
 and so well that I am almost jealous of your friendship for the 
 Signor da Bibbiena. 
 
 BIBBIENA : Monsignor Raphael loves so many things and so 
 many people, and has a heart so richly endowed with every 
 
 204
 
 JULIUS 11. 
 
 eiifectionate impulse tliat there is no need to dispute his 
 
 friendship. 
 
 SIGISMONDO CHIGI: For my part, I ask him at this 
 
 moment the right to thank him for having placed in his picture 
 
 of the Theology the figure of the great, the sainted, the 
 
 venerable martyr, Fra Girolamo Savonarola. A day will come 
 
 when all the world will do justice to this great man, and I 
 
 bless Master Raphael for having been one of the first to prepare 
 
 his triumph. 
 
 RAPHAEL : This merit does not belong to me. It belongs 
 
 entirely to Signor Count Balthazar Castiglione and my other 
 
 guide, Ludovico Ariosto ; both gave me advice on the saints 
 
 and wise doctors whom I should introduce into my compositiort 
 
 IMPERIA : Most reverend Signor Cardinal, have you only 
 
 eyes to-day for Signor Raphael ? 
 
 CARDINAL : Ah, Madam, how sorry I am. I have such bad 
 
 eyes, in fact ! I had not yet caught sight of you. 
 
 IMPERIA : Do not put yourself out, IMonsignor ; only, do 
 
 not prevent Giacomo from singing. You see, he is tuning his 
 
 lute. 
 
 CARDINAL : Will you not allow me, cruel that you are, to 
 
 sit at least a minute next to you ? 
 
 IMPERIA : Ah, Monsignor, you think only of statues, of 
 
 pictures, and of books. 
 
 CARDINAL : And never of the living Aphrodite ? 
 
 They talk in a low voice. Sansecondo begins to sing. Enter 
 Michael Angelo. 
 
 JANUS CORYCIUS = Welcome, Signor Buonarotti. 
 MICHAEL ANGELO : Do not put )'ourself out. My mission 
 once fulfilled, I shall retire. I salute the most reverend 
 Cardinal. Good evening. Master Raphael. The Holy 
 Father sends me from Bologna expressly notifying Mgr. da 
 Bibbiena to be in readiness to rejoin him instantly. . . . He 
 said instantly, without losing a second. 
 CARDINAL : What has happened, then ? 
 
 205
 
 THE RENAISSANCE 
 
 MICHAEL ANGELO: The French and the Bentivoglio 
 
 surprised us at Bologna. . . . 
 
 ALL : Great God ! The Pope is a prisoner. 
 
 MICHAEL ANGELO: He trilled with the French, he 
 
 cruslicd the Bolognese. The Venetians and the Spaniards 
 
 had time to liurry to our aid ; the French fled to Milan. 
 
 My Lord Bibbiena, are you coming! I must return, without 
 
 wasting an hour, to direct the siege of La Mirandola. 
 
 THE CHRONOLOGER BARTOLOMMEO TURIN!: 
 
 The Pope is not coming back here ? 
 
 MICHAEL ANGELO : After La Mirandola, we shall take 
 
 Fenara ; then, we shall see. Let us go. 
 
 JANUS CORYCIUS : What a man the Pope is— at his age ! 
 
 AGOSTINI CHIGI : He! He has no age; he is purely an 
 
 inextinguishable fire of energy. From this fire come whirls 
 
 of flame, of sparks and of smoke. 
 
 CARDINAL : And volcanic explosions ! I pity the poor city 
 
 of La Mirandola and the unhappy Countess Francesca 
 
 Trivulzio. She will be put outside with her children, like a 
 
 beggar. Go, my Lord Bibbiena, the Pope does not care to 
 
 wait. 
 
 BIBBIENA: I follow you, Master Michael Angelo. Good 
 
 evening, Raphael, my boy ; enjoy yourself ! 
 
 RAPHAEL : I shall do my best. Good-evening, Master 
 
 Buonarotti ; give me your hand. 
 
 MICHAEL ANGELO: When I return! Good evening, 
 
 Monsignor and gentlemen. 
 
 Exeunt he and Bibbiena. 
 
 IMPERIA : What a disagreeable man ! 
 
 JANUS CORYCIUS: Let us begin merrymaking! Supper 
 
 is ready. 
 
 206
 
 JULIUS U. 
 
 LA MIRANDOLA. 
 
 A room in the castle. The Countess Francesca Trivulzio, her children, 
 her waiting-women, officers of the garrison ; an envoy from the Duke 
 of Urbino, commander of the troops of the Church. 
 
 COUNTESS : I have given my answer, Sir. I shall not 
 restore my city to the Holy Father. It is the patrimony of 
 my children. I stand up for their rights and for justice. 
 ENVOY : Madam, Mgr. the Duke of Urbino has good artillery 
 and more troops than you. If you compel him to make an 
 assault, he will not answer for the consequences. 
 COUNTESS : I am the daughter of Gian Giacomo Trivulzio ; 
 my blood is not chilled by threats. You have my last word. 
 Return to your master. 
 ENVOY: Madam, deign to consider. . . . 
 COUNTESS : Show this captain out. 
 
 MILAN. 
 
 The Ducal palace. — Gaston de Foix, Duke of Nemours, captain-general 
 of the French troops in Italy ; the Grand Master of Chaumont, 
 Governor of the Milanese ; the Seigneur de Clermont-Montoison, 
 commander of the Fieuch auxiliaries given to the Duke of Ferrara ; 
 the Prince of Anhalt, general of the Emperor's troops ; Louis de 
 Brezc, grand seneschal of Normandy, commander of the gentlemen 
 of the King's household ; the Captains Ives d'Alogre, Bonnet, 
 Maugiron ; the bastard of Cleves and other officers. Council of war. 
 
 GASTON DE FOIX: My Lords and Captains, it is the 
 desire of the King not to drag matters out. He intends to 
 put an end to the enterprises of Pope Julius II. This so-called 
 Pontiff, harsher to Christian princes than if he were the Turk, 
 wants to despoil everyone of his property and enrich himself 
 
 s 20;
 
 THE RENAISSANCE 
 
 at the expense of all. Nefariously allied to the Spaniards, 
 who are treachery itself, and to the Venetians, who might 
 be named the fathers of lies, this self-styled Holy Father does 
 not conceal his desire of sending us back across the Alps, 
 by robbing us of the Milanese. He wishes to take all, to 
 keep all. In this laudable design, arousing the Turk against 
 the Emperor and the English against us, he causes the 
 Atlantic coast and the plains of Hungar)' to be ravaged at 
 once. Hitherto we have done our best to temporise, and have 
 opposed all these tornadoes by patience and gentleness. Pro- 
 ceeding b}' the way of reason, we assembled a council, few 
 in numbers, it is true, but composed of doctors most worthy 
 of trust. Julius II. did not scruple to raise the populace of 
 Pisa against this holy assembly, which we had to transfer 
 hither so as to make it secure. Henceforth, it is palpable that 
 only a v>'ar to the knife can satisfy the spite of the Pope. 
 Accordingly, I repeat, we shall no longer spare anything, and 
 the King desires that results should come speedily. That is 
 why I have called you together. So be pleased to inform me, 
 my Lords and Captains, whether your troops are prepared 
 to take the field, and what you think of the situation we are in. 
 D'ALEGRE : Since so many Seigneurs more notable than I 
 do not breathe a word, I embolden myself to show you 
 again that if you intend to fight, it must be done well, stoutly, 
 vigorously, without losing a minute, for the enemy you have 
 in mind is one who has kept and will keep your hands full. 
 When Mgr. the Grand Master failed to take him at Bologna, 
 the next day he was in the field like a needy adventurer of 
 twenty. Captain Bayard set off on his track to surprise him ; 
 he did not succeed, and Julius II., with his own hands, helped 
 to raise the drawbridge of the castle of San Felice, which 
 preserved him from our doughty knight. Now, this terrible 
 
 208
 
 JULIUS II. 
 
 adversar}'' must be in person before La Mirandola. His nephew, 
 the Duke of Urbino, has taken La Concordia ; the Spaniards 
 with the Viceroy Don Rairaondo of Cardona and an admirable 
 infantry are advancing against us ; the Venetians threaten 
 Brescia and, as they have powerful accomplices there, I believe 
 they wiU take it. Finally, the Swiss are gathering up there, 
 on the mountains above our heads, and the Pope, with money 
 as a lever, will roll them down on us. So let us make haste, 
 and if we wish to save Ferrara, let us take Bologna. 
 DE BREZE : You argue to the point, Captain d'Alegre ; but 
 Bologna is not easy to take. The Cardinal Regino has been 
 replaced by the Cardinal of Pavia ; he is a soldier who will 
 not let himself be captured. Besides, the Duke of Urbino is 
 m a position to give us trouble, for the Spaniards have time 
 to come to his aid. In that case it would be necessary to 
 raise the siege. 
 
 D'ALEGRE : Bologna has revolt flaming in its entrails, and 
 if we merely look like making an assault, the citizens will at 
 once open us the gates ; the Cardinal will have to fly and gain 
 the open country. 
 
 GASTON DE FOIX : Gentlemen, I am of the same opinion 
 33 Captain d'Alegre, and I ask you to be ready four days 
 from now. 
 
 S 2 209
 
 THE RENAISSANCE 
 
 BEFORE LA MIRANDOLA. 
 
 The breach. — The ditches arc frozen. The men-at-arms and the pontifical 
 troops imder arms ; two batteries arc still aiming to enlarge the entry. 
 Julius II., the Duke of Urbino, the Cardinals Raphael Riario, del 
 Carrctto, Galeotto della Rovcre, Francesco Romolino and Ludovico 
 Borgia ; Captain Gian Paolo Baglione ; secretaries, chamberlains, 
 Swiss guards ; the Pope and all the members of his suite, clad in furs 
 and hooded cloaks ; severe cold. 
 
 JULIUS II.: Well! is it over? 
 
 DUKE OF URBINO : The town has capitulated. One of 
 
 the walled-up doors is to be broken in, so as to give a passage 
 
 to your Holiness. 
 
 JULIUS II. : No ! I shall enter by the breach. Where is the 
 
 Countess Francesca ? 
 
 DUKE : She awaits your Holiness in the castle. 
 
 JULIUS II. : She may retire where she will. Let us advance. 
 
 This eveiiing we shall start for Ferrara. 
 
 Enter a messenger. 
 
 MESSENGER : Holy Father, Bologna is in the hands of the 
 French. 
 
 JULIUS II.: The Cardinal has surrendered the place? 
 MESSENGER : The populace has risen and opened the 
 gates. 
 
 JULIUS II. : So you left an insufficient garrison, Francesco 
 Maria ? 
 
 DUKE OF URBINO : Most Holy Father, I obeyed your 
 orders. 
 
 JULIUS II. : That means that, in your opinion, the Cardinal 
 of Pavia, that Alidosio in whom I have every confidence, is a 
 fool, a coward, or a traitor ? Answer .-' 
 
 DUKE OF URBINO : It seems to me that if someone must 
 be wrong, it's he rather than I. 
 
 THE POPE : I will clear up this matter. ... I feel very 
 strongly upon it ... , you may believe that, and no con- 
 sideration will stay my righteous anger. Where is Michael 
 Angelo ? 
 
 210
 
 JULIUS 11. 
 
 MICHAEL ANGELO : Here, Holy Father. 
 THE POPE : Give orders promptly for the defences of the 
 Piazza to be repaired and put in a proper state. Do the work 
 which we discussed, and return to Rome with all speed to 
 proceed with my tomb. When I see what I see and suffer 
 what I suffer, I feel the desire to be in it already. My cup of 
 sorrow is full ! 
 
 ROME. 
 
 A studio of small dimensions. — Carved furniture, fine purple stuffs, blue, 
 gold, silver ; an antique statue of Pallas ; a bust of Psyche ; vases 
 filled with flowers, whose scent refreshes and perfumes the room. — 
 Raphael before his easel working at the portrait of Monna Beatrice 
 da Ferrara. 
 
 RAPHAEL : It is not often that I find myself alone .... 
 alone .... for a long time .... able to think and feel as 
 I please .... not subjected to the weight of any immediate 
 idea that orders me about and treats me like a slave. . . . No ! 
 to-day, I am my own master, my sole companion. ... I enjoy 
 at my own sweet will, and with nothing to dispute it, every 
 whiff of delight that comes to me from that pleasure of soli- 
 tude, so penetrating, so lively that the irritated senses cannot 
 bear it long. Man's imagination is so weak ! He constantly 
 needs external aid to support himself in the air, and when this 
 help is too rare, and is not ceaselessly renewed, then the poor 
 bird falls, wearied out, and no longer moves. What a misfor- 
 tune! .... for it feels itself far more living in those short 
 moments where it suffices to itself ! It is at such moments that 
 I have conceived the most beautiful things I can create. Yes, 
 it is then that I have come closer to the Creator who made me 
 
 211
 
 THE RENAISSANCE 
 
 what I am, to the heavenly objects that I can express, to the still 
 more divine tenderness that I can feel. . . . Nature is deep ; 
 but the soul that penetrates her is a flame, joyous and bright ! 
 In vain do all the calamities of earth and hell weigh on man, 
 weigh on us above all, us Italians, harassed by the barbarians, 
 tlie princes, the republics, the factions and so many varied kinds 
 of criminals. Joy, life, fertility exalt us ; we swim, we artists, in 
 an Olympian empyrean. And the scholars, the poets, the men 
 of letters, the antiquaries, the painters, the sculptors, the archi- 
 tects, the engravers, the intaglio workers, the illuminators, all 
 that from some form or style has become capable of expressing 
 a thought, a shade of thought, an infinitesimal atom of an idea, 
 all is at work, toils, will not be disturbed, heaps effects upon 
 effects, and weathers all these storms with the light of genius 
 on its brow, a smile on its lips, and its work in its hand ! Who 
 gives us such a value, such a virtue, this power which was 
 never seen before ? Athens only knew the Greek inventions, 
 an admirable architecture, an incomparable sculpture, but 
 painting that was a slave to its glorious sister, and sciences 
 limited where poetry was not. That was her destiny ! As to 
 us, what higher riches are showered on us, and how far wider 
 an arena is open to our efforts ! Do not we possess what 
 antiquity possessed, and also what our fathers learnt by them- 
 selves ? We are able to portray, as did Polycletus and Zeuxis, 
 the gods of pagan times, but also the saints of heavenly Jeru- 
 salem — the philosophers, but also the schoolmen. . . . Well, 
 we shall be fit for anything, we shall attain anything, and the 
 universe, transmuted by our hands, will be re-fashioned ; we 
 shall have succeeded in expelling, if not evil, at any rate its 
 most hideous forms. Is not my sentiment true ? Could the 
 passion that transports me lead me astray ? What would then 
 be the use of feeling it ? Why should heaven, from which it 
 undoubtedly issues, send it me, if it is to remain barren ? . . . 
 
 212
 
 JULIUS II. 
 
 How this portrait assumes reality .... it is like my Beatrice ! 
 . . . how the blood courses through this adored face ! . . . 
 
 He turns, and sees Beatrice on the threshold. 
 
 Ah, here you are yourself! Here you are, my dearest! My 
 light, my star! 
 
 BEATRICE : Work, Raphael, my Raphael! That is how I 
 love vou best! 
 
 RAVENNA. 
 
 A room in the palace. — Julius II., the Cardinal Riario ; Lionardo da 
 Bibbiena, secretaries. The Pope is dictating dispatches. 
 
 Enter Matthias Scheiner, Cardinal of Sion. 
 
 JULIUS II. : Body of Christ I I gave orders not to be inter- 
 rupted. You, seal this letter, and see that the post sets off 
 at once for England. What is doing, Matthias ? 
 CARDINAL MATTHIAS SCHEINER: A misfortune! 
 JULIUS II.: What misfortune? 
 
 CARDINAL SCHEINER: The Cardinal of Pavia was 
 coming here to justify himself before your Holiness for having 
 lost Bologna. 
 
 JULIUS II. : If I have lost Bologna, I shall recover it. He 
 may have been weak ; I do not believe him to be a traitor. 
 Let him come ! 
 CARDINAL SCHEINER : My lord, the Duke of Urbino, 
 
 fearing that the Cardinal will put the blame on him 
 
 JULIUS II.: No such falsehoods! Am I a preposterous 
 dotard who can be hoodwinked by all and sundry? ... Is 
 Francesco Maria making game of me? Bid the Cardinal 
 make haste. I will listen to him, and if the Duke of Urbino 
 
 213
 
 THE RENAISSANCE 
 
 has done wrong, he shall be punished. . . . Well, what does 
 
 this mean ? . . . Why this silence ? . . . Will you speak ? . . . 
 
 Go and fetch me Alidosio. 
 
 CARDINAL OF SION : The Duke of Urbino has just met 
 
 him in the street, in front of the palace ; he went to him. . . . 
 
 JULIUS II. : Good ! He insulted him. He is a featherbrain. 
 
 1 shall see to that. . . . 
 
 CARDINAL OF SION : No^ Most Holy Father . . . he . . . 
 
 JULIUS 11. : By all the saints ! Would he dare to strike him ? 
 Raise his hand against a prince of the Holy Roman Church ? 
 . . . You will not say ? . . . He did not strike him, surely ? . . . 
 CARDINAL OF SION : Most Holy Father ! . . . 
 JULIUS XL: Blood of the Madonna! Speak! . . . 
 CARDINAL OF SION : He . . . he stabbed him ! 
 JULIUS II. : Stabbed him. . . . Impossible . . . it . . . 
 CARDINAL OF SION : He stabbed him, and the Cardinal 
 of Pavia is there below, killed on the spot, and the crowd 
 around him. ... I saw them on the point of carrying away 
 the corpse. 
 
 Julius II. collapses and falls back into his chair. He covers his eyes 
 .... then raises his head, looks around him, and says in a dull 
 voice : — 
 
 Go, all of you ! . . . Yes, all. . . . No ! . . . Remain here . . . 
 you . . . Matthias! 
 
 All depart except the Cardinal of Sion. 
 JULIUS II. : I have had much good fortune in my hfe. . . . 
 I have suffered much misery . . . many mishaps . . . many 
 great disasters . . . and yet, hitherto, I had never felt the 
 disgust of shame, of humiliation, of meanness. ... I had never 
 felt anything break within me ! And it is my own nephew, 
 my nearest in flesh, in blood, in personality, in will, in soul ; 
 
 214
 
 JULIUS II. 
 
 it is this part of myself that has inflicted upon me a degrada- 
 tion. . . . And yet I . . . yes, my friend . . . you have dealt 
 me a terrible blow. ... I feel weak, Matthias. ... I have no 
 more strength. ... I do not know what is coming over me. . . 
 CARDINAL OF SION : God uses our nearest and dearest 
 to visit us with the sorest afflictions. 
 
 JULIUS II. : This is hardly to be borne. It might at any 
 rate have happened at some other moment, for, to-day, you 
 know how our edifice is cracking at every point. I aim only 
 at the highest glory of the Papacy, as you are well aware, 
 Matthias. I wield a great power, it is true. But I aim at much 
 more than I attain. I am consumed by desires beyond the bounds 
 of possibility. . . . That is what I am. ... I realise now : all 
 is crumbling and perishing. ... I stumble at every step. 
 Obstacles of every kind multiply beneath my feet Wicked- 
 ness, meanness, arrogance, all the vices of hell intermingle and 
 are welded together ; they form an inextricable network, that 
 enmeshes me, stifles me, and, as a final blow, behold now how 
 mad and bloody frenzy issues from the neighbourhood of my 
 loins, issues from my very blood' to block my path ! You 
 realise that henceforth I am dishonoured. You realise it ? . . . 
 You see it? You confess it? . . . You, a brutal and callous 
 Swiss ! . . . My enemies rely on that self-styled Council, that 
 ridiculous assembly of wretched puppets ! That Santa Croce ! 
 . . . They already accuse me of being a drunkard . . . 
 because I am old, because my face is reddened by work and 
 my hands tremble at times, although the weight of my will 
 is still too heavy for their thick skulls. . . . And that Louis 
 of France, a clodhopper, a vulgar peasant, will say that I cut 
 Cardinals' throats after the fashion of the simoniacal poisoner 
 who was swept before me from the See of the Apostles ! . . . 
 What am I to do? My ruin is already accomplished. ... I 
 
 215
 
 THE RENAISSANCE 
 
 might as well lie on the ground and abandon all to the villainy 
 of my foes ! 
 
 CARDINAL OF SION : It is a great misfortmie. ... But 
 when one has some energy one can recover from any blow. 
 JULIUS II.: Give me a glass of wine . . . there, in that 
 pantry. . . . (He drinks.) Never matter! . . . The blow is 
 hard. . . . Alidosio surrendered Bologna, it is true . . . still, 
 he was a good servant. . . . And my nephew . . . my nephew ! 
 . . . The wretch is no more anything to me ! My nephew ! A 
 scorpion that rears his head against me ! What earthly con- 
 sideration would prevent me from crushing him? . . . No! 
 no ! no ! I shall make a terrible example ! If the crime 
 terrifies, the punishment will terrify still more ! Nothing like 
 it will have been seen since the condemnation of Brutus' sons, 
 and we shall see what they say of it ! 
 
 CARDINAL OF SION : I think you would not be wrong. 
 Still, consider. . . . 
 
 JULIUS II. : All shall perish, save myself and the interests 
 of the Church. . . . Listen ! I am going back to Rome at 
 once ; there, an inexorable tribunal will be formed. The 
 Duchy of Urbino will be re-united to the Church domains 
 The assassin . . . shall be arrested . . . enchained . . . 
 dragged into the prison of the Holy Office! He shall not 
 come out alive ! Write to the Cardinals that I order them to 
 come to the Consistory. 
 
 CARDINAL OF SION: I will do so. 
 
 JULIUS II. : Make a note of this : A Council, a real Council, 
 is summoned without delay to the Vatican, in order to aggra- 
 vate and re-aggravate the excommunications launched against 
 Louie of France, Alphonso of Este and their supporters. 
 Have you written that ? 
 
 216
 
 JULIUS II. 
 
 CARDINAL OF SION: Yes. 
 
 JULIUS II. : Write further : The siege of Ferrara must be 
 pressed ! Write to Marc Antonio Colonna, to the Venetians, 
 to the Swiss, that my will is unshakable. I have money: 
 tell them so ! . . . We must also make an end of the govern- 
 ment of Florence and its imbecile head, Soderini! Make a 
 note of that. . . . Good. . . . The Cardinal Giovanni de' 
 Medici will lead the Church army on this occasion. . . . V.'e 
 shall have on our side the partisans of his house. . . . But 
 .... mark me well .... I do not intend that, once th« 
 Signiory is overthrown, Lorenzo's heirs should regain power. 
 . . . They shall be put off with fair words. . . . Florence and 
 Tuscany must belong to the Church. . . . You will tell 
 Bibbiena to come to an understanding with me on that subject. 
 CARDINAL OF SION : I have written, Most Holy Father. 
 
 JULIUS II.: I feel better. Ho, some one! 
 
 Enter a chamberlain. 
 
 Have my litter prepared and everything made ready. We 
 leave for Rome this evening. Order my secretaries in. 
 There's work to be done ! 
 
 217
 
 THE RENAISSANCE 
 
 BRESCIA. 
 
 The town has been taken by the French and sacked. Troops of soldiers, 
 nien-at-arms, Landskncchts, adventurers, sword in hand, furious with 
 rage, crowd the streets ; some of the houses are burning ; doors are broken 
 in ; women are dragged by their hair on the pavement ; massacre every- 
 where. The trumpets and the drums sound and beat to the muster ; 
 no soldier heeds them ; almost all are drunk. The uproar, the shouting 
 and shrieking, the arquebus discharges are ceaseless. — Gziston de Foix, 
 Captiun liirigoye, Captain RIoIard, sword in hand ; Captains Bonnet, 
 Maugiron, de Cleves ; all helmeted and much heated. 
 
 CAPTAIN IMOLARD: Mgr. de Bayard has just been 
 
 severely wounded ! 
 
 GASTON DE FOIX: That's unfortunate! ... Is he dead? 
 
 CAPTAIN HIRIGOYE : Nearly! I saw him stretched out 
 
 on four pikes, and he was carried into a house. 
 
 A MAN-AT-ARMS (coming up at a gallop): My Lord, 
 
 Captain d'Alegre sends word to you that he has cut off some 
 
 Venetians dragoons in the town. They were trying to escape 
 
 by the Santo-Nazaro gate. We beat them back on the Piazza ; 
 
 being surrounded, they surrendered. We hold them prisoners. 
 
 ALL THE CAPTAINS : Bravo ! A fine capture ! 
 
 GASTON DE FOIX : Have you any prisoners of note ? 
 
 MAN-AT-ARMS : We hold the provveditore Andrea Gritti, 
 
 Contarini, the podesta Giustiniani, some captains of the 
 
 Republic, and Count Avogadro. 
 
 CAPTAIN MOLARD: Excellent! The damned author of 
 
 the revolt of Brescia, the man to whom we owe this bloody 
 
 day! 
 
 GASTON DE FOIX: Tell Seigneur d'Alegre that Count 
 
 Avogadro is to be instantly beheaded in the open square, and 
 
 his body cut into as many pieces as there are quarters in the 
 
 town. 
 
 CAPTAIN MAUGIRON : Admirable justice ! Every quarter 
 
 shall have its portion! Ah, the double traitor! That's his 
 
 worthy reward ! 
 
 CAPTAIN HIRIGOYE : My Lord, I can no longer hold in 
 
 my Gascons ! If means are not found for putting an end to 
 
 218
 
 JULIUS II. 
 
 the pillage, it will be all over with my companies ; I defy 
 anyone to rally them ! 
 
 Captain Jacob d'Empser comes up at a run. 
 
 CAPTAIN JACOB : My Lord, my Lord, I can no longer 
 
 hold in my Landsknechts ! They are fighting with the 
 
 Gascons ! 
 
 CAPTAIN HIRIGOYE : Head of God ! Sir Jacob, you shall 
 
 answer to me for it — I care as little for your skin. . . . 
 
 GASTON DE FOIX: Are you mad. Captain Hirigoye? 
 
 Challenging one of your comrades ? Are you making game 
 
 of us? 
 
 CAPTAIN JACOB: The truth is, we must separate these 
 
 rascals, otherwise they will destroy each other. 
 
 GASTON DE FOIX : Captain IMaugiron, take fifty cuirassiers 
 
 of my company, and hammer at the Gascons and Landsknechts 
 
 until they let go. Kill all who keep on fighting ! 
 
 CAPTAIN JACOB : I'll go also, to try and smooth matters 
 
 over. 
 
 CAPTAIN HIRIGOYE : Head of St. Antonine ! Belly of 
 
 St Quenet ! Ah, a thousand million scoundrels ! My Gascons 
 
 are devouring everything ! Let us come and see what is 
 
 doing, my dear Captain Jacob ! 
 
 They go out hastily ; the fifty men at arms gallop off. 
 A COMPANY SERGEANT: Reinforcements, my Lord! 
 Captain Jacquin sends me to inform you that from the house- 
 tops they are killing the free-lances with stones and scalding 
 them with boiling pitch. 
 
 GASTON DE FOIX: Aly Lord of Cleves. go to the spot 
 with your infantrymen. 
 
 BASTARD OF CLEVES: I don't know where they are! 
 There are not ten of them together. I'll run there myself. 
 GASTON DE FOIX: Dragoons! follow me! 
 
 He goes with the rest of his artillery company ; a shower of tiles, furniture, 
 beams fall on them from the housetops. 
 
 219
 
 THE RENAISSANCE 
 
 A CONVENT. 
 The church full of women and children ; cries of terror 
 
 LANDSKNECHTS : Loot! Loot! The women are ours! 
 
 Massacre and violation. 
 
 THE INTERIOR OF A HOUSE. 
 
 Captain Bayard wounded, Ij-ing on the floor. Soldiers of Captain Molard's 
 company who have brought him ; a squire of the captain ; his valet, 
 the Bastaxd of Cordon ; the lady of the house, her two daughters in 
 tears, all three on their knees. 
 
 BAYARD : Have no fear ! Do not weep ! Madame and 
 
 you, mesdemoiselles, I vouch for your safely. You shall not 
 
 suffer the least scratch. Comrades, go and keep watch at 
 
 the door ! Tell those who wish to enter that I am here. The 
 
 house is mine. Quick ! 
 
 LADY : Ah, my Lord, save our lives ! Save our honour ! 
 
 We will pay a great ransom ! 
 
 BAYARD : I did not become a dragoon to make money. 
 
 Rest assured. I am losing blood! Have me put on a bed! 
 
 Comrades, I will give you the equivalent of your share of 
 
 booty I 
 
 SOLDIERS and SQUIRES : Thanks, many thanks, Captain, 
 we will not desert you ! No one shall enter here ! 
 WOMEN : Glory be to God, we are saved ! 
 BAYARD : Have no fear. ... Ah, Holy Blessed Virgin, what 
 agony ! 
 
 He faints. 
 
 220
 
 JULIUS II. 
 
 FLORENCE. 
 
 The Palazzo Ruccellai. — A room. — The Gonfalonier Piero Soderini, Niccol6 
 Valori, Niccol5 Machiavelli, Agostino Capponi, Palla Ruccellai. 
 
 MACHIAVELLI : I do not know if what I tell you preserves 
 its clearness as it passes from my lips, but nothing seems more 
 manifest. The State is lost ; we are on the brink of a revo- 
 lution. 
 
 PALLA RUCCELLAI : I think so, too, and cannot under- 
 stand it at all. One can only impute it to the perversity of 
 public opinion. Florence possesses all the liberties. 
 MACHIAVELLI : She does not feel that this is a great boon 
 to her. 
 
 AGOSTINO CAPPONI: We have the republic of our 
 fathers. 
 
 MACHIAVELLI: The children have acquired different 
 habits. 
 
 PIERO SODERINI : Do me the justice to admit that in my 
 method of government I try to satisfy all interests. Yes, 
 indeed I do. 
 
 MACHIAVELLI : But you awaken no enthusiasm. So long 
 as Era Girolamo led us, our population interested itself in 
 something, it was excited, animated, inflamed, and in such a 
 state men are capable of sacrifice. To-day, lethargy is 
 universal. I wish I were mistaken, but I admit to you, my 
 friends, I fear that the time of the Medici has come back. 
 CAPPONI : Then if we are to have new Tarquins, let us take 
 measures to fmd new Brutuses. 
 MACHIAVELLI : We must do nothing rash. 
 SODERINI: The march of events drives us on. The 
 Congress of Mantua, which the Pope has raised against us . . . 
 my God ! what harm that man does us ! 
 NICCOLO VALORI: I thought him ruined after the 
 infamous deed of his nephew ; but he pardoned the murderer, 
 and no one thinks any more of the matter. I thought him ruined 
 
 221
 
 THE RENAISSANCE 
 
 after the battle of Ravenna — but that imbecile of a Frenchman, 
 Gaston de Foix, wins it and then goes and gets killed, so 
 that his victory is worse for his side than a defeat! 1 thought 
 him ruined before the Council of Milan — but he discredits that 
 council, musters another, and retakes Bologna, no one knows 
 how ! He has his foot on the Duke of Ferrara's neck and is 
 going to dethrone him, while the French, triumphant yester- 
 day, abandon us and fly home, because this accursed Pope, 
 from the depths of his calamities, rises like Satan from the 
 depths of the abyss, and hurls upon them thunderbolts of awful 
 potency ! Behold the Swiss rolling in furious torrents on the 
 Milanese. Finally, so far as we are concerned, it is not enough 
 that we have just lost the protection of Louis XII., but the 
 routed soldiers of that miserable king must needs let their 
 prisoner of Ravenna, Giovanni de' Medici, escape ! And now 
 Julius II. sends him to us at the head of the Papal army. The 
 situation is becoming intolerable ! 
 
 MACHIAVELLI : Juhus II. 's plans are more to be dreaded 
 than those of the late Duke of Valentinois. 
 RUCCELLAI: How so, pray? 
 
 MACHIAVELLI : The Borgia worked only for himself ; his 
 work would, in any case, have ended with his life, for he had 
 no children. But the Pope works for the Church, and, at the 
 very least, he will bequeath traditions most perilous to the 
 independence of the Italian States. 
 
 VALORI : It is deplorable to think that the majority of our 
 fellow-citizens imagine that with the government of the 
 Medici, trade will be better. Moreover, we are beginning to 
 have the artists ranged against us. Their tribe wants festivals, 
 luxury and extravagance. 
 
 CAPPONI : A well-aimed dagger-thrust has often done a 
 great deal of good. 
 
 MACHIAVELLI : Or a great deal of harm. Good evening, 
 gentlemen. I go home feeling very uneasy. 
 
 222
 
 JULIUS II. 
 
 BARBERINO. 
 
 The city in the background. Across country, at the foot of the Apennines, 
 the Spanish army and the Papal troops are on the march towards 
 Florence by the Plain which leads to Prato. — At the head of a company 
 of men-at-arms march Don Raimondo de Cardona, Viceroy of Naples, 
 General of the League ; Cardinal Giovanni de' Medici, Legate of the 
 Holy See in the Romagna and Tuscany ; the Duke of Urbino, 
 Captains Vitelh and Orsini, other officers. 
 
 DUKE OF URBINO : Certainly, most reverend sir, the Holy 
 Father asks for nothing better than to see your family 
 re-instated at Florence and in possession of its rights. But 
 you want to go too fast, you are precipitating matters, and I 
 have express orders to act with prudence and circumspection. 
 CARDINAL GIOVANNI DE' MEDICI : If we proceed as 
 you are doing, all will be lost. The popular party will un- 
 doubtedly be overthrown. The intriguers, the heirs of 
 Savonarola, will disappear, but who will be set up in their 
 place? That is a thing which you cannot say, but which I 
 should like to know. 
 
 DUKE OF URBINO : I could not destroy his Holiness, nor 
 you either, nor anyone. Return to Florence with your 
 kinsfolk, but in a private capacity. 
 
 AN OFFICER (to Don Raimondo): Your Excellency, the 
 Florentines have just reinforced the garrison of Prato with 
 two thousand foot and a hundred lancers, under the command 
 of Luca Savelli. 
 
 DON RALMONDO : I am sorry to hear it. We lack artillery 
 and even provisions. 
 
 DUKE OF URBINO : We must negotiate. I have orders 
 to make terms with the Florentines. If they are willing to 
 send back Sodcrini and admit the Medici on the footing of 
 ordinary citizens, I am ordered to declare myself satisfied, 
 CARDINAL GIOVANNI DE' MEDICI: As there is no 
 way of obtaining better terms, let us send an envoy, and in the 
 meanwhile, let us take a little rest under these trees. 
 
 T 223
 
 THE RENAISSANCE 
 
 DON RAIMONDO : I obey you, my Lord ; let us dismount 
 
 and do as you wish. 
 
 They stop their horses and dismount ; servants stretch a carpet under 
 a tree ; the captains sit down. 
 
 VENICE. 
 
 The Palazzo Gradenigo. Luigi MaUpiero, Leonardo Mocenigo, Luigi 
 Gradenigo. A large room with windows looking out on to tlic lagoon. 
 
 GRADENIGO : Welcome, noble Lords. I was almost 
 expecting the honour of receiving you to-day, since the 
 weather is glorious. 
 
 MOCENIGO : We have come to find you, as we agreed 
 yesterday, so that we can go and make a tour of the studios 
 of our painters. 
 
 MALIPIERO : I will also propose a visit to the printing- 
 press of our friend Manuzio. He has founded a new Greek 
 type, and it is said to be exceedingly beautiful. 
 GRADENIGO : I shall have much pleasure in seeing it. 
 Signor Aldo is a hero of learning. The knowledge accumu- 
 lated in his erudite head would suffice for the glory of a whole 
 regiment of Hellenists and Latinisers. By the way, I have 
 just received a letter from Signor Navagiero. 
 MALIPIERO : Is he still at Pordenone with the valiant and 
 witty Signor Alviane ? 
 
 GRADENIGO : No doubt. He compliments me highly on 
 the society of men of breeding and learning assembled by our 
 Captain-General in this elegant sanctuary of the Muses. 
 MOCENIGO: Is his poem making progress? 
 GRADENIGO : The fine work is nearing completion, and 
 Signor Navagiero has read some of it to his friends, with 
 every mark of applause. But, illustrious Signers, I think my 
 gondola is at the landing-stage, and we must be going. Let 
 us first betake ourselves to Master Titian, then v/e will visit 
 Robusti and the others. 
 
 224
 
 JULIUS II. 
 
 MOCENIGO : At your orders, noble Signor. For my part, 
 I am only too happy to devote so fine a day to the contempla- 
 tion of masterpieces in the company of so exquisite a con- 
 noisseur as your illustrious Excellency. 
 
 FERRARA. 
 
 A room in the Duchess' apartments. Rich Flanders tapestry representing 
 mythological subjects, furniture of carved cbonj-, pictures, statues. — 
 Madam Lucrezia Borgia, Duchess of Ferrara ; Luigi Bembo. 
 
 BEMBO : You are anxious ? 
 
 LUCREZIA (smiling) : Not exactly .... but preoccupied. 
 Why, I resemble pretty closely men's general notion of Italy. 
 When you arrived, I was reading this manuscript open 
 on my knees. It is the first cantos of Ludovico Ariosto's poem. 
 That truly sublime poet sent it me this morning. I was giving 
 rein to an enthusiastic admiration. But at the same time I was 
 thinking that the Duke's affairs were not in so good a 
 state as I should like to see them. Recently, the Pope wanted 
 to assassinate him, and His Holiness only anwers our advances 
 by threats. My husband, I know, is not the man to let himself 
 be browbeaten. Nevertheless, at times I feel anxious, for, as 
 you know well, Luigi, my children's future and the fortunes 
 of our house are at stake ; this is well worth reflection ; and 
 when I see to what a pass the Florentines are brought, I tell 
 myself that the liberty of princes and republics is precarious 
 indeed in face of the most ambitious of Pontiffs. Our turn to 
 fall will come if heaven does not set matters in order. So you 
 see, you who have been my friend all my life, my head is intoxi- 
 cated with poetry, my reason distracted by political cares, my 
 heart anxious for my husband and my children, and my 
 feelings. . . . 
 
 BEMBO: Your feelings? . . . 
 
 LUCREZIA (smiling): My feelings, perhaps, a little dis- 
 traught and going in your direction. ... In slinrt, is not that 
 just like Italy? Poetry, fear, interests .... and love? 
 
 T 2 225
 
 THE RENAISSANCE 
 
 BEMBO : It is well said — and how well you remain mistress 
 of fear, interests and love ! As to poetry, I have not told you 
 enough how admirable is your song of yesterday evening ! I 
 passed the night in reading and re-reading it, in covering it 
 with kisses as a twenty-year-old student would have done. . . . 
 But why did you write in Spanish ? 
 
 LUCREZIA : Spanish is my native tongue, and the sentiment 
 I wished to express is as strong as Spanish passion. What 
 have you done with the lock of hair that accompanied the 
 song? 
 
 BEMBO : It is in a vellum envelope tied with ribbon knots. 
 I cannot believe that ever was shepherd of Theocritus or lover 
 of Amaryllis happier than I ! 
 
 LUCREZIA : Do you know that tlic Florentines have done 
 many foolish things ? The gonfalonier, Soderini, was unable 
 either to make terms or to offer a defence. He has been 
 driven out. The Medici have returned, and are treated as 
 ordinary citizens. 
 
 BEMBO : An unworkable compromise! The result will be 
 either a fresh banishment or a return to supreme power. 
 LUCREZIA : The Pope hopes to take Tuscany for himself. 
 BEMBO : Assuredly. If only the French had been able to 
 hold their own at Milan ! But winning all in a day and losing 
 all in an hour has always been their way ! 
 
 LUCREZIA : They are our allies and our support. At this 
 moment, their misfortune is ours, but, in short (I will tell you 
 in confidence) I could wish that Louis XII. would never come 
 back. For in that case our fellow-countrymen, the Venetians, 
 would be forced to guard against the Holy Father's encroach- 
 ments. They would break with him and unite with Don 
 Alfonso to guarantee the common liberty. That is what I 
 should like to arrange, and the Medici would not be unwilling 
 to enter this combination. 
 
 BEMBO : It seems to me, indeed, full of wisdom and worthy 
 of the head of Pallas whence it issues. Let me think it over, 
 
 226
 
 /// Mif.Wi' i '(infiiid/fA- Vii/i III! 
 
 I.I /■ 
 
 //I'M /: I /-./ 
 
 {•.\i<i)i\.\i. i:i:mi'.u 
 
 to fart page 216
 
 JULIUS II. 
 
 and when I have appreciated its strong points, I can, if you 
 agree, write to Venice. 
 
 LUCREZIA: Why lose time? Sit down at this table. I 
 will explain you my ideas in detail, I will tell you what I know 
 of the secret interests and the inclinations of princes .... 
 and what I guess. . . . We will discuss the matter and in your 
 fine Ciceronian style you will at once draw up a memorandum 
 which we will send to the Signiory of Venice and to Cardinal 
 Giovanni de' Medici. Are you willing? 
 BEMBO (going to the table) : To work for the arbitress of 
 my life — what could I desire better ? 
 
 LUCREZIA : Do you know anything more charming than 
 these verses from the Rolaid ? Read yourself. 
 BEMBO (reading) : " The first inscription that meets our eyes, 
 honours with much praise Lucrezia Borgia, her who owes her 
 beauty and exceeding virtue to the ancient country of her for- 
 bears — Rome." It is the mere truth, but it is well said. Why 
 does my Lord the Cardinal Ippolito affect to treat Ariosto as 
 a dandy? 
 
 LUCREZIA : Because my brother-in-law is an imbecile. Let 
 us set to work, and listen to me carefully. 
 BEMBO : One word more. . . . You do not seem to notice 
 that your idea runs counter to the precepts reiterated for the 
 past twenty years. Savonarola desired the unity of Italy ; 
 your brother, the Duke of Valentinois, preached no other 
 theme, and Pope Julius II. is perhaps, in his way, still more 
 insistent on this score. You, on the contrary, confess that you 
 only aim at continuing the partition. 
 
 LUCREZIA : It is not to the interests of Venice, or Florence, 
 or Naples, or ourselves, that Italy should ever be united under 
 one hand, for that hand could not possibly be ours. So long 
 as it was not realised how far chance ruled human affairs, you, 
 with your schemes of territorial aggrandisement, the Sforza, 
 my brother, and Lorenzo the Magnificent, repeated in turn the 
 same language and wished, for their own profit, to concentrate 
 the Peninsula into one great State. Savonarola himself 
 
 327
 
 THE RENAISSANCE 
 
 dreamed of this for the benefit of his own ideas. Now, we 
 
 know how we stand ; we have all failed. To become beggars, 
 
 prostrate before the Holy Father's feet, is not desirable. 
 
 Henceforth, we shall not talk, believe me, of the greatness of 
 
 the whole, but only of the independence of the parts. As a 
 
 phrase, it sounds quite as well. Write, dear I.uigi, I pray you. 
 
 BEMBO : Your system is new to me, I admit ; it does not 
 
 please me too well. . . . All my life I have professed opposite 
 
 views. 
 
 LUCREZIA (smiling) : Yes, and with great eloquence. What 
 
 conclusion do you draw ? 
 
 BEMBO: But consider! If Italy's forces are to remain 
 
 scattered, there cannot even be a question of expelling the 
 
 barbarians. 
 
 LUCREZIA: Did you seriously hope ever to succeed in that? 
 
 BEMBO : Clearly, I thought . . . 
 
 LUCREZIA : For the last ten years I have never thought 
 
 anything of the kind ... if perhaps I did so in days gone by. 
 
 Besides, you are speaking to a Spaniard, do not forget that ; 
 
 people of my house and rank cannot share all your fancies. 
 
 What is coming over you? Why, you seem quite moved by 
 
 my confidences ! I thought you had some liking for the 
 
 society of barbarians ? 
 
 BEMBO : Do not mock me too far. ... I admit, you have 
 
 given me quite a shock. . . . If we are never to become free, 
 
 we Italians ; if we must always undergo the caprices and the 
 
 outrages of foreigners, unhappy race that we are, what are 
 
 we to utter to heaven in our prayers save cruel reproaches and 
 
 complaints too well justified ? 
 
 LUCREZIA: How ungrateful you are! These invaders of 
 
 your country, do you not gain the mastery of them ? Are you 
 
 not for the whole earth the centre of knowlege, of ideas, of 
 
 philosophies, of great thoughts, and the workshop where the 
 
 Muses have taken up their abode in order to produce their 
 
 228
 
 JULIUS II. 
 
 magical creations ? Is it not from you that the spark of genius 
 which traverses the world and gives it new life arises ? What 
 glory is equal to yours? What power is superior? 
 BEMBO : Agreed ; but he who is a giant in one aspect wishes 
 to be so in all. Do not smile, I bow before your wisdom, and 
 I take up my pen to obey you. I will work with you and for 
 you, and as you desire ; I shall constrain myself to make your 
 plans succeed, because I am devoted to you. Yet, neverthe- 
 less, I also confess that I do not wish to lose the hope of my 
 youth, my life's ideal. I long passionately for an Italy that 
 is compact, strong, dominant in every sphere, and were it 
 even under the rule and for the benefit of the Holy See, I 
 should acquiesce and bless heaven for it After all, what is 
 needed for attaining success ? Only a few years more of life 
 granted to this Julius II., who is very embarrassing, I adr.iit, 
 but in many respects worthy of admiration. . . . You yourself 
 agree to that on occasion. . . . And if luck will have it that 
 France and Germany remain governed by incapable rulers, 
 behold our dream realised. Leave me my hopes. 
 LUCREZIA : You are a grown-up child. I do not quarrel 
 with your illusions, certain as I am that they will never prevent 
 you from serving me well. You love them, but you love me 
 more! . . . Yet reflect that they are follies, and that their 
 realisation would not bring happiness to you or to anyone else. 
 There is nothing great in this world save the love of 
 art, the love of the things in the intellect, the love of 
 those whom one loves, and moreover, when life in its course 
 has raised you to one of those table-lands where the flowers 
 become scarcer and the horizons more stern, perhaps you will 
 still find pleasure in wise reflection on certain eternal matters 
 about which we trouble less in our first youth. . . . But 
 enough ! Let us set to our work, and listen to mc with all 
 attention. 
 
 229
 
 THE RENAISSANCE 
 
 ROME. 
 
 The Vatican. — The Holy Father's bedroom. — Juhus II. in bed. Bernardo 
 da Bibbiena ; Cardinal of Sion ; the datary Lorenzo Pucci. 
 
 JULIUS II. : All is over. ... I am dying .... and I have 
 accomplished nothing of what I have undertaken. 
 BIBBIENA: All is not over, Most Holy Father. Your 
 Holiness has abundant strength left. 
 
 JULIUS II. : No longer enough. I have not finished the 
 Vatican, nor the re-building of Rome, nor my tomb, nor any- 
 thing. . . . My artists will disperse when I am no more 
 
 The Medici are again dominant in Florence, and I am losing 
 
 Tuscany. . . . Maximilian Sforza has recovered Milan. . . . 
 
 The petty disorders are beginning afresh. . . . They will have 
 
 to bring in the French, the Germans, the Swiss, the Spaniards — 
 
 in brief, the greater disorders to crush the less — and to take 
 
 in hand the whole work of reconstruction at fresh expense. . . . 
 
 I am in terrible pain. ... I am dying. . . . 
 
 A PHYSICIAN : Your Holiness must not be so excited. 
 
 JULIUS II. : I have lived in the compass of a narrow circle. 
 
 To check the breaking-up, it was necessary to destroy the 
 
 petty tyrants. . . . To destroy the tyrants, we needed the 
 
 foreigners. . . . With the foreigners, there is no more Italy. 
 
 , . . Do you know that, swarthy-face? 
 
 PHYSICIAN : His Holiness' pulse is growing sensibly 
 
 weaker, and he is wandering. 
 
 JULIUS II. : Here I am in my bed . . . nailed down . . . 
 
 Michael Angelo . . . Raphael. . . . The one is working 
 
 . . . but the other? . . . He is with some woman. . . . And 
 
 the Bramante, what is he doing? . . . Alfonso of Ferrara 
 
 . . . the traitor ! . . . My head's awhirl. ... I am not sure 
 
 of the Venetians. . . . 
 
 BIBBIENA : His Holiness' words are no longer plain. . . . 
 
 PHYSICIAN : It is only a matter of minutes. 
 
 JULIUS II. : Intellect . . . genius . . . hfe . . . savagery . . . 
 
 230
 
 JULIUS II 
 
 nothing that holds together . . . that is the Itahan! . . . 
 What will be the end ? 
 
 CARDINAL OF SION : Give him some drops of cordial. 
 JULIUS II. (rising upright from his bed): Death to the 
 French! Death to Alfonso of Ferrara! Drive them from 
 Italy, from every hole and comer of Italy! 
 
 Falls back on his bed and die«. 
 
 BIBBIENA: The Pope is dead! 
 
 END OF THE THIRD PART 
 
 J3I
 
 FOURTH PART 
 
 LEO X.
 
 LEO X. 
 
 ROME. 
 
 The Sistine Chapel. — Part of it is Uttered with immense scafioldings. On 
 the walls and ceilings are frescoes in the making. Some portions 
 are completed ; in several places the design appears bare, more or less 
 prepared. Michael Angelo, standing ; he works with energy. II 
 Granacci seated a few yards from him on a stool, in the midst of heaps 
 of chalk, colour-pots, joists and utensils of every description. 
 
 GRANACCI : Your reflections are not cheerful, master. 
 MICHAEL AXGELO: That is my view of things. 
 GRiVNACCI : The arts have never been so flourishing ! Never 
 have such beautiful works been brought to light ! How many 
 illustrious, nay, superhuman painters, sculptors, architects ! . . . 
 MICHAEL ANGELO : I know no superhuman men. This 
 language is ridiculous. Do not blaspheme. 
 GRANACCI : Blasphemy, if you will ; I regard you as a demi- 
 god, and others are of my opinion. Do not raise your eye- 
 brows, but let me continue. Every day, almost, we join in 
 festivals the like of which has never before been conceived. 
 Here in Rome, as in Florence, in Venice, in Milan, in Bologna, 
 in Naples, the lofty inventions of the ancients in this kind of 
 magnificence are far surpassed. Of scholars, of poets, of 
 writers there is no lack. New ones are continually arising ; 
 there is Sannazaro, Sadoleto, Bembo, Navagiero, and the 
 inimitable, the sublime Ariosto ; there is Bibbiena with his 
 Calajidrja, and Master Niccolo Machiavelli with his 
 Mandragora. What more can 1 say? Pope Leo X. and his 
 Cardinals appear to my intoxicated imagination as the equals 
 of great Jove and the gods of the Pantheon, and moreover 
 they dwell in an 01)'mpus infinitely more beautiful than that 
 of their mythical precursors — seeing tliat that ancient Olympus 
 was established by old Coelus, a poor god who had no taste 
 and no wit ; whereas to-day, it is we artists who have created 
 the firmament, it is we who embellish it, illuminaling it every 
 hour with glorious tints, making it shine with dazzling stars ; 
 and I assure you that where you set j'our hand, where Master 
 Raphael, Andrea del .Sarto, .Sansovino, Titian, and so many 
 others are working, the achievement is immortal. 
 
 235
 
 THE RENAISSANCE 
 
 MICHAEL ANGELO: You arc a chatterer, Granacci, and a 
 blind one, incapable of realising the meanness of what charms 
 you, and the profound weakness of these men who delight 
 you and who are worth so little. 
 
 GRANACCI : Then prove to me that I am wrong, since you 
 are so resolved to depreciate everything. 
 MICHAEL ANGELO: That will not be difficult. State 
 )'our absurd propositions, and I will answer you. 
 GRANACCI : The Pope is the most enthusiastic patron of 
 art that the world has ever known. You cannot deny that 
 his benefits rain down upon us like an unceasing and most 
 delicious manna. 
 
 MICHAEL ANGELO: Pope Leo X. is not a lover of the 
 arts. He is a lover of luxury, and that is quite a different 
 thing. All that glitters and brings him praise seems to him 
 worthy of his patronage, and his only intention is that the 
 arts shall minister to his vanity. What they express concerns 
 him but little. The first of mortals who practised luxury 
 began, perhaps, to smooth the way by which the arts came 
 into the world ; but the second banished the arts in order to 
 replace them by bombast and falsehood. 
 
 GRANACCI: Ah, dear master, how you love to condemn! 
 The Pope, our great Pope Leo X., how harshly you judge him! 
 Do you, then, prefer the austere spirit of his predecessor .'' 
 MICHAEL ANGELO : Julius II. was the only true prince 
 that my eyes have ever beheld. Lie was not a man for fleshly 
 enjoyment. He conceived nothing but the imposing, and 
 admitted nothing but strength. His sole preoccupation, in all 
 matters, was to create and leave behind him the Church 
 triumphant crushing beneath her sinewy foot the resistance of 
 the impious. Lie aimed at reforming the whole clergy, at 
 driving the barbarians from Italy; if he repressed the revolts 
 of the barons, of the Colonna, the Vitelli, the Orsini, he also 
 saw to it that the city was properly policed, and in his time 
 ... a sight never seen before ! ... no thief or cutpurse dared 
 to risk his villainous face in the streets of Rome ! From his 
 
 236
 
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 I'opE i.i:o x. 
 
 To /Of < pagf a \(> 
 
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 3
 
 LEO X. . 
 
 artists he demanded great monuments, vast frescoes, immense 
 canvases ; he thought only of the gigantic, as befitted so 
 imperious a soul as was his. I have lost everything in losing 
 this noble master; but art, I say, art the heavenly, art that 
 is Venus Urania, and not the licentious Venus of the streets, 
 that art has lost still more ! 
 
 GRANACCI : I cannot see at all what grounds you have for 
 making such peculiar statements. Hardly had the Conclave 
 delivered to Leo X. the keys of St. Peter, than the Pontiff 
 surrounded himself with distinguished writers and poets ; he 
 summoned and chose as secretaries the amiable Sadoleto, of 
 whom I was just speaking, and the elegant Bembo. You he 
 ordered to proceed with the works begun. . . . 
 MICHAEL ANGELO : He tore me away from the tomb of 
 Julius n., my favourite work, at which I laboured with my 
 entire soul, and which will never see the light of day. It will 
 remain there, in my head ... a stillborn child. . . . Do you 
 think that is a trifling vexation? 
 
 GRANACCI : I agree, it is a great misfortune ; but it only 
 proves that, hke all who pay artists, the Pope has his whims. 
 He would rather that you occupied yourself with his glory 
 and pleasure than with the apotheosis of his predecessor, to 
 whom he assuredly bore a very lukewarm affection. . . . But 
 here is a visitor for you. 
 
 MICHAEL ANGELO: Another intruder! . . . I'll send 
 him packing. . . . Messer, whoever you arc, do not trouble 
 to climb this ladder. Beside the fact tliat it is rough and 
 unsteady, I have no time to talk with anyone. 
 MACHIAVELLI (loudly from the back of the chapel) : Most 
 excellent Signor Michael Angelo, will you not allow an old 
 friend, comrade and fellow-citizen to come and embrace you ? 
 MICHAEL ANGELO (looking down from the top of the 
 ladder) : It is Signor Niccolo Machiavclli. . . . Come up, since 
 you are there. You will permit me, I suppose, to go on with 
 
 ^17
 
 THE RENAISSANCE 
 
 my work, and you will spare yourself and me all idle com- 
 plimcnls. 
 
 MACPIIAVELLI : I am not such a fool as to risk any, 
 
 knowing your temper as I do. 
 
 MICHAEL ANGELO: Where do you hail from? 
 
 MACHIAVELLI : From Florence. ... I have come out of 
 
 prison, as you may have learnt. 
 
 GRANACCI : Yes . . . you were entangled in Boscoli's 
 
 conspiracy. . . . 
 
 MACHIAVELLI : That was a most atrocious slander; I am 
 
 a devoted servant of the Medici house. 
 
 MICHAEL ANGELO : Devoted? . . . H'm! . . . Devoted. 
 
 ... I congratulate you . . . there are others to whom you 
 
 have shown devotion. 
 
 MACHIAVELLI (shrugging his shoulders): We have all 
 
 been young once ! I was caught in the snare of Fra Girolamo 
 
 Savonarola's vagaries, as all the world knows. 
 
 MICHAEL ANGELO : Vagaries, if you will— that is what 
 
 they call it when we recommend honour, uprightness and 
 
 chastity. Yet the best thing in your life, Messer Niccolo, will 
 
 prove to have been that error of your youth. 
 
 MACHIAVELLI : Perhaps you are right, perhaps you are 
 
 wrong ; what is certain is that this kind of merit, humanity 
 
 being what it is, could never bring forth anything good for 
 
 myself or for others. 
 
 MICHAEL ANGELO : So you reproach yourself with having 
 
 once sought the good of religion? I have a strong desire to 
 
 nail your portrait in the shape of a grinning devil somewhere 
 
 on this wall. 
 
 MACHIAVELLI : That would be a great honour for me. 
 
 In holy theology we have to believe that the most cunning 
 
 of devils working to-day for the glory of hell were, in their 
 
 beginnings, good little angels seeing no further than the ends 
 
 of their noses. What has corrupted them ? Experience. In 
 
 238
 
 LEO X. 
 
 short, I used to believe, like you, like Granacci,' like so many 
 
 others, in the possibility of living at Florence and at the same 
 
 time keeping honest. It was a great misfortune for me, and I 
 
 thus brewed myself a potion of disgrace from' which, from 
 
 time to time, I have to swallow mouthfuls. That is what I 
 
 have done just lately. Nevertheless, I have finished the third 
 
 act of my Majidragora. 
 
 MICHAEL ANGELO : That will be a fme work, Messer 
 
 Niccolo ; for if you are a poor politician, you are an excellent 
 
 man of letters, and that is some consolatioa 
 
 MACHIAVELLI : A poor politician ? Your verdict seems to 
 
 me severe — but perhaps, taking all in all, you are riglit. What, 
 
 have I meditated so much on history, commented so much on 
 
 Livy, read so much of our Florentine annals and examined 
 
 the governments and characters of all nations, only to recognise 
 
 in the end and confess to myself that I am but a poor 
 
 politician ? 
 
 He sits down on a stool in a corner and remains pensive, his legs and 
 arms crossed, loolung fixedly before him. 
 
 A poor politician ! I have, in fact, occasionally been mistaken, 
 and the worst of all is that when I was right I was unable 
 to inspire confidence in my ideas. I will plead as my excuse 
 that there is no science more conjectural than that oi politics, 
 not one in which forecasts are so liable to be falsified by 
 unforeseen incidents, by the slightest breath of wind. Why, if 
 sureness of vision, resoluteness in execution, genius in manipu- 
 lation were enough to ensure success, the Duke of Valcntinois 
 would undoubtedly have founded an Italian kingdom and 
 determined our future. 
 
 MICHAEL ANGELO : The result would hava been a thing 
 to make God the Father blush. 
 
 MACHIAVELLI: God the Father saw Ilcliogabalus reign, 
 and never blushed at all ; He sees every day the worst rogues 
 and ruffians pass success on frora one to the other, and He is 
 
 U 239
 
 THE RENAISSANCE 
 
 none the less cheerful. The late Julius II., excepting the man 
 I have just mentioned, was surpassed by none in greatness of 
 aspiration and energy of action. 
 MICHAEL ANGELO: True. 
 
 MACIIIAVELLI: The opposition to him consisted solely of 
 fools and madmen (I except the Duke of Ferrara) ; but as it 
 happened, he was old and had to die. 
 MICHAEL ANGELO: We shall never see his like. 
 MACHIAVELLI: No! It remains no less true that the 
 world continues to go round and puts up with what it can find. 
 To-day is the day of glory for fools. Sforza of Milan is not 
 worth a hollow nutshell. Fregoso, at Genoa, is an intriguer 
 of a low order, with treason in his hand, an ear for every 
 rumour, aiming neither high nor low. Francesco Maria of 
 Urbino, a wretched aper of the Duke of Valentinois, gives 
 the dagger-thrust as nimbly as his master, but that is all ; he 
 will totter on his legs until he falls. The Medici of Florence 
 would not last three days if they did not reign at Rome with 
 the Pope. The Venetians live, will live, will be strong, 
 glorious, powerful, but they are not chrysalides destined to 
 take wings strong enough to rise into the atmosphere beyond 
 the middle region. Thus, in point of fact, nothing is left in 
 Italy but three powers : the Pope, the French, and the 
 Spaniards. 
 
 MICHAEL ANGELO : I am very pleased to hear you talk. 
 Well, now expound to us what is your view of each of these 
 powers and whom you consider likely to be left supreme. 
 MACHIAVELLI : I tell you once more, I have learnt to my 
 cost that if astrology is uncertain, politics are scarcely less so. 
 I have no wish to play the prophet. So far as the French are 
 concerned, here they are, for the moment, overthrown, driven 
 out ; with the exception of the citadel of Milan and two or 
 three hamlets, they have lost their footing in Italy. Their 
 new King, M. d'Angouleme, seems more concerned with beating 
 the big drum and amusing himself than with carrying out 
 
 240
 
 LEO X. 
 
 glorious enterprises. Hence I think that Pope Leo X., who 
 detests these French, not only through having been their 
 prisoner at Ravenna, but for many other minor reasons, must 
 regard himself as being rid of them. 
 
 GRANACCI : So much the better ! I am a good Florentine, 
 and abhor these conceited braggarts. They have never been 
 frankly either with the Republicans or with the opposite 
 party. Now what do you think of the Spaniards ? 
 MACHIAVELLI : Their King Charles is quite young ; who 
 knows what he will turn out to be ? He is the son of a hand- 
 some fellow who was somewhat of a nonentity, and of a poor 
 madwoman. A bad omen ! To make matters worse, as he 
 is more of a Fleming than a Castilian, and Burgundian and 
 Austrian to boot, his interests are scattered everywhere. 
 Looking at the sum of his forces, one would think that he 
 was immensely powerful ; but the separate elements do not 
 hold together and are liable to clash. If the possessor of such 
 scraps wishes to guard his interests carefully, he must spend 
 his life in rushing from one place to another. IMoreover, it 
 will not be easy for him always to arrive in time. To go from 
 Valladolid to Bruges, he needs the permission of King Francis. 
 Then, too, there arises another obstacle in the shape of his 
 own ambition, if he has any. When his grandfather, the 
 Emperor ^laximilian, dies, young Charles will, no doubt, 
 aspire to the Imperial crown. You can already see the con- 
 flict ; France, too, turns her gaze to this quarter ; England 
 cherishes" a hope of it ; the Electors have their projects. . . . 
 These people will consume each other ; King Charles, already 
 so occupied with each of the innumerable rooms of his own 
 house, will become the fifth of a band of rivals ; in consequence, 
 he will have only a slight authority in Italy, and from that I 
 conclude that Pope Leo X. will reign there at his will. I do 
 not know whether my calculations deceive me, but they cannot 
 be far wrong. 
 
 U 2 241
 
 THE RENAISSANCE 
 
 MICHAEL ANGELO: But, suppose that, by some chance, 
 Francis I. were a better man than you think, and that Charles, 
 on his side, lacked neither wit nor heart ? 
 MACHIAVELLI : On those two suppositions we can 
 prophesy nothinj:^ further. All will depend on the strength of 
 brain and appetite possessed by these two rulers. The 
 impossible may become an everyday occurrence. ... It is 
 not often that great princes appear. 
 
 GRANACCI : You are right. Nevertheless, in these times, 
 even the weak have strength ; all grows on a large scale, and 
 kings must needs attain greatness more easily than others. 
 MACHIAVELLI: I have met in my life more incapables 
 and more possessors of small wits than I had reason to expect. 
 You will therefore allow me not to reckon too much on the 
 blossoming of merit, and to point out to you that, at this 
 moment, the one who is nearest to gaining ever)'thing is the 
 Pope. 
 
 MICHAEL ANGELO : My opinion of him is not high. 
 MACHIAVELLI : Nor mine, either ; I regard him simply as 
 a respectable aristocrat, of easy manners, taking care of his 
 mind as he takes care of his hands. But, just as with the 
 aforesaid admirable hands he possesses, in his body, a pair of 
 big, prominent, goggling eyes that see nothing (which makes 
 hira resemble Nero — with whom he has also in common the 
 trait of being a lover of all curiosities) ; so in his mind, which 
 is cultivated with such care, one notices defects that deform 
 the whole. He displays exquisite taste in everything, and he 
 has a kind heart. He talks no less valiantly to the vilest 
 buffoons than to Sadoleto or Ariosto ; he orders frescoes and 
 statues and makes Raphael paint pictures, because these are 
 expensive trinkets, and, to achieve more outward glory, the 
 Pope would willingly make a star his plaything ; but rest 
 assured that in his heart of hearts he prefers a hare hunt on 
 his estate at Magliana, or a dainty supper at the Vatican, to 
 
 242
 
 LEO X. 
 
 the contemplation of all your masterpieces. At his suppers, 
 they serve up ball^ of roast hair and straw paste which make 
 the guests grimace, to the exceeding joy of the Sovereign 
 Pontiff, while a vigorous combat of burlesque invective brings 
 to light all the talents of Evangelista Tarasconi and of Aretino. 
 MICHAEL ANGELO : That is almost what I have just said 
 to Granacci. Nothing can be expected from such a man. 
 MACHLWELLI : Pardon me — all things considered, events 
 are beginning to take shape under his hands so well that, 
 without having the enthusiasm of Savonarola, or the resolute 
 ambition of the Duke of Valentinois, or the energy of Julius II., 
 and all the while that he plays his games and blows his soap- 
 bubbles, he will end by giving us a united Italy. He will 
 retake Naples, a fief of the Church, from that unhappy Charles 
 of Spain, who does not know how to keep what he has — and 
 he cannot fail, so easy is the task, to keep the King of 
 England, who is a pedant, a scribbler, and a blind devotee of 
 the Holy See, so close to the side of France, that Francis I. 
 will never dare to leave his country in order to come and 
 meddle with ours. Then Leo will seize the Milanese and keep 
 it, as Julius kept the Romagna. 
 
 MICHAEL ANGELO: In a way that is a rather fine 
 prospect, yet it does not enchant me. 
 
 MACHLWELLI: Nor me either. I know very well why! 
 Italy has never been so brilliant as to-day. However, this 
 brightness is not pure. There is too much vice, too much 
 corruption, and if we fall into the hands of the most corrupt of 
 powers and under the sway of the most grasping of courts that 
 ever existed, Italy will without doubt be delivered from the 
 foreigner and united in one whole ; but, before a few years 
 have elapsed, we shall see her as exhausted morally as 
 physically. The monks and the priests will have enervated 
 her beyond hope of recovery. 
 MICHAEL ANGELO : I believe you; I am a devoted son 
 
 243
 
 THE RENAISSANCE 
 
 of Holy Church ; but so long as the clerics are what they are, 
 I have little wish for them as rulers. In short, we live in a 
 most unhappy age. 
 
 MACHIAVELLI : As unhappy as can be, and I have no 
 hope left in anything. 
 
 GRANACCI : May heaven take pity on you both ! If we 
 may believe you, we are sinking into decadence. Tell me, 
 Messer Niccolo, are you in earnest? Do you hold forth thus 
 before my master and in the Sistine chapel ? Have you ever 
 known a greater age ? Come, Messer Niccolo, you speak 
 without thinking. As for me, I bless heaven every day for 
 having been born at such a time. When I talk to anyone, I 
 sometimes pay no heed to what he answers me — I look at his 
 features and say to myself — there is a character whose name 
 will endure on some page of history ! I scent in the air a per- 
 fume of ambrosia and immortality: I breathe it with all my 
 power. Everywhere I admire, I rejoice, and you, you both 
 come and allege. . . . Away with you! you are men of 
 saturnine minds, of diseased imaginations, ingrates, yes, the 
 worst of ingrates, for you ought to show yourself more thankful 
 towards God for the great things which he has given you, 
 each after his own fashion, the power to do. 
 MACHIAVELLI : I do not know whether I do great things, 
 but what I am quite sure of is that if the most reverend 
 Cardinal da Bibbiena had not this morning put half-a-dozen 
 crowns into my hands, I should not have the wherewithal to 
 dine. I will let this be my last word, and so. Master Michael 
 Angelo and my dear Granacci, I leave you, happy to have seen 
 you and wishing you both continued health. 
 MICHAEL ANGELO : Farewell, friend Messer Niccolo. See 
 that you finish your Mandragora — it is your masterpiece ! 
 
 244
 
 LEO X. 
 
 ON THE PINCIAN HILL. 
 
 In the midst of the groups of planes and cypresses, on the turf, are seen 
 ia the distance gatherings of persons of different conditions, come here 
 to walk and enjoy the beauty of the evening. Citizens, priests, 
 monks, women, young people, children ; some sitting or half lying on 
 carpets ; others walking ; the former eating fruits or cakes, the latter 
 gravely conversing. Bursts of laughter are heard. The weather is 
 glorious, the horizon immense. 
 
 In the midst of several girls and young men, for the most part 
 crowned with flowers and richly attired, a boy of twenty is reading 
 verses. 
 
 BOY: 
 
 Star of my heaven, sorceress divine, 
 
 Thine eyes, where fires by love enkindled play, 
 
 Thy lips, fair fruit to tempt the God of Wine, 
 Thy brow, as pure as is the dawn of day, 
 
 Thy hair, each curling tress of ebon fine. 
 
 Thy foot, thy hand, that draw all eyes their way, 
 
 Thy body, limned so fair that every line 
 
 Had needs been copied by the Grecian's clay, 
 
 Thy childlike glee, thy openness and trust, 
 The charm that's sprinkled like some jewel-dust 
 O'er thy least action, O beloved maid ; 
 
 What worth these treasures — easy 'tis to write them — 
 Before these three words — with a smile to light them — 
 " I love thee ! " — had those words been ever said ? 
 Laughter and applause ; a girl rises, claps her hands and darts towards 
 the poet. 
 
 GIRL : It's for mc, Troile, that you wrote that? For me, for 
 
 me, for me alone? 
 
 BOY: Upon my soul, Giacinta, it is assuredly for you and for 
 
 no other. 
 
 GIRL: Well, come, here is your reward! 
 
 Throws herself into his arms, kisses him, and puts a crown on his head. 
 ANOTHER GIRL : As you, Emilio, cannot address a single 
 verse to me, you will at least have enough wit to tell us a 
 story. Sit down there, and speak — we will listen. 
 
 245
 
 THE RENAISSANCE 
 
 EJMILIO : I hardly know what to tell you. 
 
 ALL (clajiping their hands): Come, no excuses; a story, a 
 
 story ! 
 
 EMILIO : Since there is no way out of it, know that once 
 
 upon a time there lived at Verona an old merchant named 
 
 Ser Jacopo, who had a very young and beautiful wife. His 
 
 neighbour, one of the most gallant knights of the town, had 
 
 formed the habit of looking over the wall, into Ser Jacopo's 
 
 garden, and (The story goes on.) 
 
 Three citizens pass, walking side by side. 
 FIRST CITIZEN : I am perfectly certain of what I say. My 
 son Giulio is but ten years old, and he will certainly be one 
 of the lights of the age. That is Era Filippo's opinion. He 
 does not hide it, and repeats it to all whom he meets. 
 SECOND CITIZEN : My son Tomasso is quitd the equal of 
 your son Giulio, and he is only nine, not a day more ... or 
 rather, yes, eight days more, for he was born on the 14th of 
 June, nine years ago, and we are now at the 22nd. So he is 
 nine years and eight days, and the Padre Roberto exclaims 
 to me every morning: Messer Pompeo, your son will be . . . 
 v/hat do you call it, Messer Annibale ? 
 FIRST CITIZEN : Will be one of the lights of the age! 
 SECOND CITIZEN: That is exactly what the Padre 
 Roberto says to me. 
 
 THIRD CITIZEN : Good friends and neighbours, I congratu- 
 late you heartily. Era Filippo and Padre Roberto must be 
 men of great renown. 
 
 FIRST CITIZEN : Era Filippo has been my wife's confessor, 
 since she began to commit her first sin ! We have every 
 confidence in him. I should like to know if he could be 
 mistaken on such a point ! 
 
 SECOND CITIZEN : With us it is just the same. When I 
 married, the Padre Roberto was already, as it were, master of 
 the house. My wife would not buy an egg without asking his 
 advice, and when she is in a bad temper, which happens fairly 
 often, I don't know what would become of me if this Padre 
 
 246
 
 LOVE SCKNE 
 
 ^0 face page 346
 
 LEO X. 
 
 Roberto were not there to soothe her. So you can imagine 
 that when he says what he says of my son, I can feel assured 
 that it is true. 
 
 FIRST CITIZEN : I realise that you can. As for me, I have 
 two quite ordinary sons ; one is eighteen, the other sixteen. 
 I shall make the first a merchant and the second a lawyer. 
 SECOND CITIZEN : Pardon me, but I entirely disapprove 
 of your course. Padre Roberto would shrug his shoulders if 
 he heard you. 
 
 FIRST CITIZEN : So would Fra Filippo. I am glad that on 
 this point he is at one with Padre Roberto. He would not for 
 the world allow our boy to become a merchant cr a lawyer. 
 The mere idea would send iiim into a towering rage. 
 THIRD CITIZEN : But what, then, are the ideas of your 
 worthy clerics as regards your children ? 
 
 FIRST CITIZEN : Ideas full of wisdom. My son will be 
 a painter. 
 
 SECOND CITIZEN : And mine a sculptor. In our time it 
 is only artists who earn a heap of money as big as themselves, 
 become great personages, and snap their fingers at the world. 
 THIRD CITIZEN : It is true that at this moment the artists 
 are at the top of the tree. It was not so in my young days. 
 They were looked upon as beggars and starvelings. 
 FIRST CITIZEN: Beggars? starvelings? Pray look down 
 there, on the road, at the foot of the hill. 
 THIRD CITIZEN : Well, I am looking. 
 FIRST CITIZEN -. What do you see? 
 SECOND CITIZEN : Ah, yes . . . it's true. . . . Tell us, 
 what do you see ? 
 
 THIRD CITIZEN : I see nothing . . . unless it be two lords 
 mounted on richly-caparisoned horses and followed by serving- 
 men. What is there strange in that? 
 
 FIR.ST CITIZEN: You take those for lords! Wipe the 
 glasses of your spectacles! It is Mnstcr Marc-Antonio 
 Raimondi, engraver, and Master Giulio, one of the pupils of 
 Master Raphael. Neither are of better or worse middle-class 
 
 24;
 
 THE RENAISSANCE 
 
 families than 1, and certainly if their parents had made them 
 merchants or lawyers, they would not cut such a dash. 
 SECOND CITIZEN: Do you know what Master Valeric 
 Belli earns by carving little heads on cameos? And 
 Masters Bridone and Marchetto, singers and guitar players? 
 And Padre Mariano, who at one meal eats four hundred eggs 
 and twenty carp? I tell you, to make one's mark in this 
 world, one nmst be an artist. 
 
 THIRD CITIZEN: Doubtless; but it is not everyone who 
 can devote himself to such a craft ; a certain natural talent 
 is needed, and for my part I frankly confess that if I were 
 compelled to swallow twenty carp at dinner or to build a 
 cathedral, I should be hard put to it, 
 
 FIRST CITIZEN : That is only because you lack practice. 
 Padre Filippo has told me a hundred times that if I had been 
 taught when young I should certainly make as fine statues 
 in marble as Master Buonarotti himself. 
 SECOND CITIZEN : That is perfectly true. My son shall 
 be a sculptor and dine with the Pope. There is no sensible 
 father of a family who does not nowadays look upon things 
 as we do ; my opinion is that the arts are the finest thing in 
 the world, and I am resolved to set old-fashioned prejudices 
 at naught and march with the times. 
 
 Seated under a tree, tvvo Dominicans and an Augustinian monk ; two 
 Cardinals pass, talking and laughing, mounted on two magnificently 
 harnessed mules ; at their side, on a Spanish jenny, a Venetian noble 
 dressed in black velvet ; numerous gentlemen-in-waiting and servants 
 in fine Uveries, 
 
 FIRST DOMINICAN : I do not know these most reverend 
 signers. Do you know their names ? 
 
 AUGUSTINIAN: Really, you do not know Cardinals 
 Sadoleto and Bibbiena? The black-bearded gentleman who 
 accompanies them is Signor Andrea Navagiero, patrician of 
 Venice, no less famous as man of letters than they are them- 
 selves. 
 SECOND DOMINICAN: I am curious to know what 
 
 248
 
 LEO X. 
 
 Sadoleto and Bibbiena have done in the way of pious works 
 to deserve their cardinal's hats. 
 
 AUGUSTINIAN : The first, Father, one must render him 
 this justice, has at least done no great harm. He is a good 
 Latinist ; the roundnesses of his Latin period are admired 
 almost as much as those of Bembo. A good fellow, without 
 malice ; so long as he is allowed to amuse himself, he hurts 
 no one. 
 
 FIRST DOMINICAN: Bibbiena I know from what well- 
 educated people have told me of him. As to his morals there 
 is nothing good to be said. He loves the gay and easy life, 
 and has written the Calandra — a fine comedy, but not the 
 work of a theologian. Pope Julius 11. made this man his 
 confidant ; Pope Leo has always made him his, so that there 
 are hardly any negotiations or affairs of State in which he has 
 not a finger. When he has time to spare, he spends it in the 
 studio of Master Raphael, his great friend, where more 
 scandalous than edifying things are said and done. 
 SECOND DOMINICAN: What arrogance! What pride! 
 What a display of luxuries! Where can they go, these 
 worldings, surrounded by their slaves ? What is their purpose, 
 these proud Babylonian satraps, in the midst of their gay talk 
 and tlieir bursts of laughter? Assuredly, they do not go to 
 chant the offices! 
 
 AUGUSTINIAN : Pardon me, reverend Father, that is pre- 
 cisely what they do. They chant the offices. ... I mean 
 their offices. A brilliant assembly of wits, poets, artists, 
 ladies, prelates and lords is assembling to-day with the banker 
 of Siena, Agostino Chigi ; and there, they are proposing to 
 celebrate a sacrifice to the goddess Venus, with doves, milk, 
 flowers, sonnets, madrigals, strings of Sapphic and Adonic 
 verses in Greek, Latin, and the vulgar tongue, and not one of 
 the customary rites will be accomplished without the authority 
 of some great poet. Signer Gabriele Merino, who has just 
 been made Archbishop of Bari because of the excellence of 
 his voice, will sing the epodcs and play the seven-stringed lyre ; 
 
 24g
 
 THE RENAISSANCE 
 
 Francesco Paolosa, tlie new Archdeacon, will be heard on tlie 
 viol d'araore ; Piero Aaron, Florentine, Knight of St. John and 
 Canon of Rimini, will accompany the tj^oddess's praises on his 
 rebec ; there will be a quantity of flute-i)layers for the concert, 
 and the auditors will be crowned with roses. The altar is in white 
 marble with yellow veins ; Girolamo Santa Croce of Naples, 
 in carving it, lias produced a miracle. The feast that ends the 
 ceremony will be of an abundance and a sumptuousness worthy 
 of the most illustrious epicures of antiquity. Leo X. is to be 
 present at the ceremony, but under a mask. I hope you are 
 now re-assured as to the devoutness of our Cardinals ? 
 FIRST DOMINICAN: How scandalous! It is clear that 
 the ancient paganism, aided by universal degeneration, is again 
 taking hold of us on all sides. One hears of nothing but 
 events similar to those you describe. Here they sacrifice to 
 Apollo, there to Pomona ; at Venice, they have not been 
 ashamed to descend to the god of gardens.* All is over 
 with decency, and I know not what is to become of faith. 
 AUGUSTINIAN: Faith will be hke the star, darkened 
 by rain-clouds, but nevertheless shining in the sky. 
 SECOND DOMINICAN : The eclipse, I fear, will last a long 
 tim^e. Our Father Savonarola wished to fight the scourge, 
 and perished in the attempt. Who will triumph where this 
 great saint found defeat ? 
 
 AUGUSTINIAN -. Perhaps a far lesser saint. We must not 
 be discouraged, we must not give up the struggle. Good should 
 not keep silent in the face of evil. 
 
 FIRST DOMINICAN : Yet it does keep silent. Since the 
 death of our blessed brother, no one raises a voice, and the 
 Antichrist wins the day. 
 
 AUGUSTINIAN : Let him beware ! . . . Come nearer, 
 Fathers, and let us speak low ; I have important news to 
 tell. Come to this bench, apart . . . there . . . now we are 
 all three safe. 
 SECOND DOMINICAN: Before telling us anything, and 
 
 * Priapus. — Tr. 
 250
 
 LEO X. 
 
 before arousing the hopes which you seem to wish to excite in 
 us, pray look at the shameful scene that is being enacted a 
 little way off. Do ycu see, in the grass, those Franciscans 
 fighting with porters and the girls who follow them? If I 
 am not mistaken, we can hear one of these infamous monks 
 celebrating, in rhymes as coarse as himself, the virtues of 
 Montefiascone wine. 
 
 AUGUSTINIAN : Things have become so bad that they 
 must take a turn for the better. Listen to me. 
 SECOND DOMINICAN : My heart is scarcely open to hope. 
 AUGUSTINIAN : We have received singular letters at the 
 convent from our brothers in Germany. 
 FIRST DOMINICAN: What has happened? 
 AUGUSTINIAN : In our house at Wittenberg — a big German 
 city containing a fairly learned University — lives a doctor, a 
 certain Dom Martin Luther, professor of civil law, one of the 
 best-versed men in holy letters known to our age. This great 
 man has just declaimed in public and with admirable courage 
 against the sale of indulgences. What is more, he has so 
 learnedly quoted the texts and so profoundly moved his 
 audiences by the boldness of his language regarding the 
 abuses which we were just now lamenting, that first of all his 
 colleagues, then the people, and (this is indeed important) 
 his Electoral Grace the Duke of Saxony, have placed them- 
 selves under his guidance. That is what I wanted to confide 
 to you. 
 
 FIRST DOMINICAN: And have not the Franciscans, 
 collectors of the profits of indulgences, entered a complaint 
 here? 
 
 AUGUSTINIAN : They have. We naturally supported our 
 brother, and I am assured that the Floly Father, feeling much 
 esteem for Dom Martin's talent, is not inclined to condemn 
 him. I conclude from this that Heaven is spenking to tlic 
 Sovereign Pontiff's heart, and may lead liim to reflection— and 
 these" hopes make mc tremble. 
 FIRST DOMINICAN : May you succeed in your efforts, dear 
 
 251
 
 THE RENAISSANCE 
 
 son of St. Augustine! The closest bonds unite us to you! 
 
 Your glorious father inspired our St. Thomas, and if, after 
 
 the lamentable death of Savonarola, martyred by the brothers 
 
 of St. Francis, we have to see your worthy Luther exposed 
 
 to the malice of these same persecutors, tliink how our hearts 
 
 will suffer in unison with }'Ours ! 
 
 SECOND DOMINICAN : No, Father ! Do not give way to 
 
 discouragement ; even in the midst of the direst storm, God 
 
 supports his Church. Let us hope that the Augustinians will 
 
 achieve the salvation of religion, and let us console ourselves 
 
 for the thought that we have not succeeded ourselves by 
 
 reflecting that at any rate we have tried. 
 
 AUGUSTINIAN : The blood of your martyr will produce 
 
 a rich harvest. 
 
 FIRST DOMINICAN: The Angelus is ringing! 
 
 All the bells of Rome begin to ring ; the numerous groups assembled 
 on the Monte Pincio stop talking ; the women on their knees, the 
 men bare-headed, make the .sign of the cross and recite the 
 angelic Salutation. 
 
 AUGUSTINIAN : Let us pray like this crowd, and, knowing 
 what we must ask of heaven, let us add this brief supplication : 
 " Most Holy Mother of God, see that the reform of the Church 
 be given to us, for, without this remedy, all is over with 
 Christendom ! " 
 
 The three monks kneel and remain absorbed in prayer. 
 
 252
 
 LEO X. 
 
 MILAN. 
 
 The Ducal palace. — A room richly decorated with carved chests, panophes, 
 vases of gold and silver ; seated at a sumptuous table, King Francis I. 
 sups gaily, in the company of his mistress Madame Marie Gaudin, 
 Florimon'd Robertet, Clement Marot, with M. de Piennes, M, de 
 Lautrec, and some other courtiers. Squires, pages in the royal livery, 
 walk from one place to another, offering dishes to the guests and 
 serving drink. 
 
 THE KING : No, the Pope did not expect to see me come so 
 soon! I have swooped down on Italy as rapidly as my pre- 
 decessors ; but they soon went back again, whereas I shall not 
 let myself be turned out. 
 
 DE Lx\UTREC: I drink to the invincible Mars, to the 
 knight of knights ! 
 
 THE KING : Thanks, Lautrec. Besides, the times are 
 changed ; I will not have us French treated any longer as 
 barbarians and know-nothings. Why could not we, as w-ell 
 as the people on this side of the Alps, acquire fine manners, 
 abandon all vulgar ways, and grow used to the study of 
 letters ? 
 
 MAROT : Knowing how to wield a sword and sport with a 
 lance is no reason for playing the part of a brute all one's life ! 
 THE KING : Assuredly not ; but, on my word as a gentle- 
 man ! we shall have a hard task in driving this truth into the 
 thick skulls of our comrades. Except you who are assembled 
 here to-night, and a few others, our French are a pack of clumsy 
 clowns who can learn nothing ! The more ignorant they are, 
 the more highly they value themscKcs. The Count 
 Castiglione said so to mc the other evening, and he was not 
 wrong. 
 
 ROBERTET : He was only too right. Did Your Majesty 
 notice the smile which passed the lips of the Duchess of Ferrara 
 the other day, when you introduced to her that Lord of Picardy, 
 who was so eager to tell her why the St. Maclon of his village 
 church was far more beautiful tlian the masterpiece of Ghiberti 
 that was offered to our admiration ? — " Death of Christ ! " cried 
 the honest soldier as he twirled his moustache, "our St. 
 
 253
 
 THE RENAISSANCE 
 
 Maclon is all painted in colour from head to foot, whereas your 
 statue is only a white stone ! " 
 
 THE KING : I confess, Robertet, that when I heard those 
 words and saw Aladain Eucrezia's look, I felt myself redden 
 up to my eyes. In truth, we are nothing but clods! But I 
 will change all that. I most certainly nitend that France 
 shall become as beautiful as Italy and no less adorned. 
 What has existed up to now in our kingdom we will destroy 
 from top to bottom, and Paris and my other noble cities shall 
 all display to the sun as many beautiful buildings and master- 
 pieces of art as are to be seen on this side of the Alps. Away 
 with our old cathedrals, our castles of ancient time, and 
 all the coarse practices of our forefathers ! If God grants me 
 life, I warrant you we shall not cut less of a figure in the world 
 by our services to Apollo and his nine lovely companions than 
 we have done hitherto by our services to the god of war, and 
 perhaps also the goddess of love. What think you of that, 
 madam ? 
 
 MARIE GAUDIN (in low tones) : Ah, Sire, how well your 
 Majesty can turn charming phrases, and how your words fall 
 into the ear like a delicious morsel for the mind ! 
 THE KING: Flatteress! . . . Who w^as that trim gallant 
 who was seen going into your rooms this morning? 
 MARIE GAUDIN: Tremble, Sire, it was an enemy of the 
 infidel ! 
 
 THE KING : In that case I have nothing to fear. . . . But 
 who was it? 
 
 MARIE GAUDIN: I tell you. ... A Knight of St. John. 
 THE KING : This bold champion finds it more pleasant to 
 visit fair ladies than to go in quest of the Turks. 
 MARIE GAUDIN : You declare sometimes that it is far 
 more dangerous. . . . Who tells you that the cruelty is less ? 
 THE KING : Upon my honour, you puzzle me ! 
 MARIE GAUDIN: Monsieur de Lautrec! . . . Monsieur de 
 Lautrec! . . . The King is jealous. . . . Do you know of 
 whom? 
 
 254
 
 LEO-X. 
 
 THE KING : God condemn me if I am jealous ! 
 
 DE L AUTRE C : One might be so for a less worthy cause. 
 
 MARIE GAUDIN : Yes, the King is jealous of a Knight of 
 
 St John who came to my rooms this morning — and the 
 
 gallant left me two pledges ! 
 
 THE KING : Two pledges ? . . . His heart and . . . 
 
 MARIE GAUDIN : His heart, was, I think, thrown into the 
 
 bargain ; there was no question of it ; and as I am in an 
 
 indiscreet mood, I will confess all to you: the handsome 
 
 messenger came to me not on his own account, but for the 
 
 sake of another. 
 
 THE KING: Of whom? 
 
 MARIE GAUDIN (laughing): Of another, I tell you, 
 
 inquisitive that you are ! Do you think that I want to tell all ? 
 
 DE PIENNES : Behold our lord on tenterhooks. 
 
 THE KING : Devil take me if you speak the truth ! I care 
 
 as httle for the sender as for the envoy ... for the master 
 
 as for the valet. . . . Whoever had an idea of conveying love 
 
 letters through a Knight of St. John ? 
 
 MARIE GAUDIN : I did not tell you that I had received a 
 
 love letter. . . . Yet you guess right, which proves the 
 
 subtlety of your mind. . . . But I have not yet confessed all ! 
 
 , . . V/ait — don't let your wits wander ! . . . look ! 
 
 She puts a case on the table and takes a paper which she waves in 
 the air. 
 
 GUESTS (all at once) : Let us see ! Let us see ! 
 
 THE KING (taking the box) : You will allow me, gentlemen, 
 
 to be the first to look ? I am a trifle interested, I believe, and 
 
 am showing myself indulgent. To begin with, the case is 
 
 charming . . . ivory, carved and inlaid with silver and gold. 
 
 . . . These turquoises and rubies are very fmc. ... A prettily 
 
 chiselled key. . . . Must it be opened? 
 
 MARIE GAUDIN : How timid you arc ! . . . Open, you are 
 
 permitted! 
 
 THE KING: I obey. . . Ah, belly of Mahomet! It's most 
 
 gallant! . . . Yes, it's most gallant, one must admit! Only
 
 THE RENAISSANCE 
 
 Italians would do things in this way and ofTcr presents to 
 ladies in so graceful a fashion ! Look gentlemen — it's the 
 Pope's portrait set in great diamonds. 
 
 MARIE GAUDIN: I admire the portrait, but I am not 
 insensible to the frame either. 
 
 MAROT : Be sure, madam, that His Holiness foresaw that! 
 ROBERTET : What otherwise is the use, pray, of the inspira- 
 tion of the Holy Ghost? 
 
 THE KING : Was this what the Knight of St. John brought? 
 MARIE GAUDIN : Yes, with this letter. . . . You deserve 
 not to have it given you. . . . You did not deign to be 
 impatient even for a moment ! 
 
 THE KING : Is there harm in believing blindly in the loyalty 
 of the loved one ? 
 
 MARIE GAUDIN : I should be a fine sort of a fool if I 
 decked myself in that virtue! There! , . . read! 
 THE KING (opening the letter): "To the noble and 
 illustrious lady, Madame Marie Gaudin . . . our beloved 
 daughter in Christ." ... ah, wait until I have read it first. . . . 
 The Holy Father praises your beauty . . . then your 
 virtue. . . 
 
 MARIE GAUDIN : He might have dispensed with that last 
 point. 
 
 THE KING : Next, he acquaints you with his desire to 
 recover Parma and Piacenza, and begs you to ask me to give 
 them back. ... If you will pardon my saying so, the inter- 
 cession will not be of much use to him. 
 MARIE GAUDIN : I hope it will not ; but the diamonds are 
 beautiful, are they not, Master Clement ? 
 MAROT: Alas, madam, less beautiful than your eyes! 
 THE KING : W^ill you be silent, serpent ? In a word, our 
 poor Pope tries to repair the torn meshes of his net by means 
 of the most charming hands in the world. . . . He knows that 
 these little fingers hold my arms captive. 
 MARIE GAUDIN: Really? The arms that fought so 
 valiantly with the sword, the other day, at Marignano ? 
 
 256
 
 LEO X. 
 
 THE KING : Yes, this mere little finger, which I kiss with 
 your permission, could strike me down more quickly and effec- 
 tively than the halberds of the Swiss, and nevertheless. . . . 
 MARIE GAUDIN : And as my paladin is so courteous, I 
 expect him to confirm what I declared this morning to the 
 envoy of the lioly Father. 
 
 THE KING : What did you declare ? You frighten me. 
 MARIE GAUDIN : I said to the Knight of St. John: "Sir, 
 if the King, in his filial respect for the Church, felt inclined to 
 comply with the Pope's wish and restore him Parma and 
 Piacenza — which his predecessor, King Louis, would never 
 agree to do — and if by chance the King granted me the honour 
 of asking my opinion, I should throw myself at my lord's feet 
 and entreat him never to yield a jot of his kingly rights." . . . 
 And as he was somewhat astonished at the liveliness of my 
 language, I handed him the case and the letter, but he refused 
 to take it back, and took his leave with profound obeisances. 
 GUESTS: Well answered! Bravely done! Long live 
 Madame Marie Gaudin ! 
 
 THE KING (whispers) : To-morrow you shall have the pearls 
 you covet, and I promise to pay for the estate which you are 
 buying in Touraine, 
 
 MARIE GAUDIN : Sire, it is needless. ... I could not love 
 you more dearly ! Have you bought Da Vinci's " Gioconda " ? 
 THE KING: Yes, and at Florence I have bidden Master 
 Andrea del Sarto obtain for me all the masterpieces that 
 come under his ken. The King of Spain, I know, has the 
 same aspirations as I ; but, be sure, my friends, I will not yield 
 to him on this ground any more than on others. After the 
 death of Maximilian — an event that we cannot have long to 
 wait for — Charles will aspire to the Imperial crown ; on my 
 word as a gentleman, it is I who shall have it ! I have taken 
 all the necessary steps. The son of Joanna the Mad also 
 wants to carry matters with a high hand in Italy ; I will twist 
 
 X 2 25;
 
 THE RENAISSANCE 
 
 his anil for him! lie wishes to gain a reputation for hking 
 
 men of learning and deserving their praises ; I shall outstrip 
 
 him in this sphere, and the glory will remain with me. Ha! 
 
 it would be fine to see Salamanca more learned than the 
 
 University of Paris. 
 
 MAROT : I weep for joy ! France has never known such a 
 
 monarch ! Your name, Sire, will be illustrious down to the 
 
 last ages of mankind ! 
 
 THE KING : Ah, my friends, may God hear you and raise 
 
 me above all my rivals ! Glory — yes, I crave for glory I Much 
 
 glory and much joy, much gaiety and much pleasure, and more 
 
 than much of all that adds grace to life ! Splendour, brilliance, 
 
 fame, love — more love than the heart can hold, infinite love, 
 
 high, high above our heads ! 
 
 MARIE GAUDIN : Long live the King ! 
 
 ALL : Long live the King ! 
 
 THE KING : As for His Holiness the Pope, my fair child, 
 
 my dear friends, much good may his advances do him ! The 
 
 days are over when by terrifying the nations he could bend 
 
 their princes. 
 
 ROBERTET : Did we not see your predecessor, King Louis, 
 
 excommunicated' by the late Pope Julius, and none the worse 
 
 for it ? 
 
 THE KING : We did ! None of our subjects grew restive 
 
 No one troubles any more about the Pope. Men know what 
 
 the Papal Court is worth, and how little its priests resemble 
 
 the Apostles. Leo X. demands from Christians neither faith, 
 
 hope, nor charity, but their purses, and I am resolved to check 
 
 his extortions. 
 
 DE LAUTREC : I would rather see money in the pockets 
 
 of the King and his servants than in those of the cardinals. 
 
 ROBERTET : No rational man thinks otherwise. 
 
 MARIE GAUDIN : Nor rational woman either. 
 
 258
 
 LEO X. 
 
 THE KING: Upon my honour! We are quite as good 
 
 at making the florins leap from my people's pockets as are 
 
 the Borgia, the Rovere, or the Aledici ! But do you know 
 
 that the Germans also are beginning to grow quite angry 
 
 with the Papal tax-gatherers? I am curious to know what 
 
 my brother Charles thinks of the rumblings at Wittenberg. 
 
 DE L AUTRE C : Something foolish, if he does not take your 
 
 Majesty's advice. 
 
 THE KING : I should not be sorry to see the Church reduced 
 
 to the modest way of life enjoined by the Gospel. 
 
 MARIE GAUDLN : The Pope ought to give you the beautiful 
 
 things of which he has, after all, no real need. You would give 
 
 us a share, Sire, would you not ? 
 
 THE KING: Upon my honour! I should never keep 
 
 anything for myself. All for }'ou, my beauty, and for my 
 
 friends ! 
 
 MARIE GAUDIN : I only want your heart. To j-our health, 
 
 my Lord ! 
 
 ALL: Long live the King! A thousand years, and more! 
 
 259
 
 THE RENAISSANCE 
 
 ROME. 
 
 A room in the Vatican. — Leo X. seated near a window ; Cardinal da 
 Bibbiena, Cardinal liembo, Cardinal Sadoleto. At the back of the 
 room, near the door, Karl von Maltitz, Saxon nobleman, waiting to 
 be told to come forward. 
 
 LEO X. : I shall attend to this Wittenberg affair myself, and 
 I hope to direct it in such a way as to put an end to the 
 absurdities by which it has been complicated. This Luther, 
 against whom the Franciscans declaim so loudly, is no fool ; he 
 is not an unlettered monk, as most of them are. He has wit, 
 learning and reason. He writes to me in a most polite tone, 
 and I shall support him against the Tetzels, the Ecciuses, and 
 all that troop of ridiculous fanatics. Such men are trying to 
 kindle a fire in Germany. I will not have it ! 
 BIBBIENA : Your Holiness appears to me to take the path 
 of justice and expediency. 
 
 LEO X. : Rest assured of that. There is no religious ques- 
 tion at issue here ; it is purely a formal difficulty. Our people 
 have adopted crooked ways to obtain money, and I shall put 
 our people in the wrong. 
 
 SADOLETO : If your Holiness' predecessors had always 
 acted on such wise principles, we should have no occasion to 
 deplore the lamentable stories of John Huss and Jerome of 
 Prague. 
 
 LEO X. : And, above all, of Savonarola. You may be sure 
 that I shall not allow that to begin again. This Fra Girolamo 
 who, after all, was but an energumen, an enemy of my house, 
 they have succeeded in making a saint through the absurd 
 cruelty with which they treated him. Martin Luther will not 
 obtain from my hand the honour of martyrdom. 
 BEMBO : This good Father writes in an admirable style. 
 LEO X. : I have the greatest distaste for the susceptibilities 
 of the convent and the sacristy. The Pope is a great prince, 
 do not lose sight of that truth ; in a few years the only powers 
 left on earth, beside him, will be the Emperor, the Kings of 
 France and England, and the Turks. The other sovereigns 
 
 260
 
 LEO X. 
 
 will be but rich lords without authority. Thus it is important 
 that the Pope should not guide his conduct by tlie opinions and 
 warnings of monks. Tell Herr von Maltitz to come forward. 
 SADOLETO : Come forward, Herr von Maltitz. His Holiness 
 summons you. 
 
 VON MALTITZ : I am at his Holiness' orders, and crave 
 the honour of kissing his feet. 
 
 LEO X. (making the sign of the Cross over him) : Herr von 
 Maltitz, we are old acquaintances. You have served me well. 
 The captains-general of the Church have brought me such 
 favourable reports of your exploits, your talents, and your 
 loyalty, that in an important affair like the one I have to com- 
 municate to you, I considered it suitable to employ no other 
 devoted servant than yourself. 
 
 VON MALTITZ : Most Holy Father, this moment rewards 
 me beyond all my merits. 
 
 LEO X. : For the commission that I am about to give you I 
 need a warrior and, at the same time, a supple courtier and a 
 scholar. I can find these three personalities in you, and for 
 that I bless my good fortune. 
 
 VON MALTITZ : All that hes in my power is assuredly at 
 your Holiness service. 
 
 LEO X. : You will go on my behalf to your natural Lord, 
 Duke Frederick of Saxony. He is a prince of outstanding 
 wisdom, and I am happy to know that he is respected by all 
 wise monarchs and statesmen. You will tell him that I am 
 pleased to see him grant protection to our dear son in Christ, 
 Martin Luther. This Augustinian monk is a most learned 
 doctor; I do not wish him to be harassed by clumsy and 
 indiscreet persons, such as the inquisitor Tetzel, Eccius, the 
 professor Hoffman and others appear to be. You will beg 
 His Electoral Highness to put you into communication with 
 Dom Martin, to intervene between us and the good Father 
 so that the agreement may easily come about. We must not 
 have evilly disposed persons continuing to injure the reputa- 
 tion of so clever a man by spreading a report that he is falhng 
 
 261
 
 THE RENAISSANCE 
 
 from obedience, which I know him to be quite incapable of 
 doing ; and so as to testify to the august Elector, by 
 irrefragable evidence, all my fatherly affection, you will deliver 
 to His Highness the Golden Rose. I ordered one for him 
 expressly. 
 
 VON M ALTITZ : The Elector, my master, will certainly feel 
 boundless gratitude. 
 
 LEO X. : Do not fail to convince him firmly, and Dom Martin 
 as well, that I have no desire to raise foolish quarrels or acri- 
 monious disputes. The Holy Father has learnt that many 
 abuses have crept into the opinions held with more or less 
 reason by doctors whose orthodoxy is perhaps not altogether 
 above suspicion. Let us settle our differences without noise 
 and in a spirit of mutual charity. 
 
 VON MALTITZ: Probably if we go to work in this way, 
 the difficulties will vanish. Your Holiness breathes upon them 
 so gently that not the slightest irritation can remain. 
 LEO X. : Cardinal Sadoleto, give me the two letters which 
 are on that table. 
 
 SADOLETO : Here they are, Most Holy Father. 
 LEO X. : I hand them over to you, Herr von Maltitz. One is 
 addressed to Herr Georg Spalatin, the other to the worthy 
 Master Degenhard Pfeffinger. Among your Sovereign's 
 counsellors, I know none who deserve so much consideration. 
 VON MALTITZ : They merit such an honour, perhaps, by 
 their respect for the Apostolic See and their devotion to your 
 sacred person. 
 
 LEO X. : I know, I know, Herr von Maltitz. You will beg 
 them, in my name, to be good enough to show the Elector 
 once more the real point at issue. It is essential that neither 
 he nor Dom Martin should be in error about it. True, there 
 has been some abuse in the sale of indulgences, and above all, 
 I should not be surprised if irregularities have crept into the 
 way of procedure. Let me hear of suitable remedies, and I 
 am ready to apply them. The important thing is that the 
 money with which the Apostolic Chamber has neither the 
 
 262
 
 LEO X. 
 
 power nor the will to dispense should reach us as usual. The 
 means are of small moment. 
 
 VON MALTITZ : I cannot imagine that henceforth the 
 Elector intends to inflict any pecuniary loss on the Apostolic 
 Chamber. 
 
 LEO X. : I do not believe so either, and in any case I should 
 not care to admit it, for with this point, I frankly avow to you, 
 serious embarrassment steps in. The more complaisant I am 
 on other questions, the more unbending shall I be found on 
 that score. You have lived long enough at Rome and in my 
 States to know that our revenues and the tolls levied by the 
 Church in Christian lands could not be diminished without 
 involving drawbacks with which I am pledged to avoid 
 burdening the Church. This, then, is how the matter stands. 
 I am prepared to remain conciliatory on all points, provided 
 that the needs of the Apostolic Chamber are satisfied. Good- 
 bye, Herr von Maltitz. 
 VON ^LA.LTITZ : I crave your Holmess' blessing. 
 
 Kneels and kisses the pontifical slipper. 
 
 LEO X. (raising his right hand, makes the sign of the Cross 
 
 over him) : Benedico tc in nomine* ... I will send you some 
 
 excellent Sicilian wine for your dinners on your journey. 
 
 Good-bye, von Maltitz. Cardinal BibBiena, you will come this 
 
 evening to our little concert ? And you, Bembo, shall we not 
 
 hunt to-day? 
 
 BEMBO : I long to. Most Holy Father. 
 
 LEO X. : Follow me then, Nimrod, I hear the battue is 
 
 excellent ; let us lose no time. 
 
 They go out. 
 
 BIBBIENA: My dear von Maltitz, you understand that we 
 do not mind wlicther the money comes by way of indulgences 
 or otherwise ; but remember that in any case we want money 
 and nothing but money, and you must not imagine that we will 
 give up a single doit of that money. 
 
 • I bless thee in the Name. . . . — Tr. 
 
 263
 
 THE RENAISSANCE 
 
 VON MALTITZ : I am somewhat embarrassed, for I feax 
 that the Elector is, hke you, more stubborn on that point than 
 on any other. 
 
 BlBlilENA : In that case, so much the worse. Tell Frederick 
 the Wise not to chafe our hunger ; we shall turn into tigers. 
 VON MALTITZ : My eloquence will do its best. Good-bye, 
 most reverend Signors ; I must finish my preparations so as to 
 start to-morrow morning. I kiss your hands, and commend 
 m}self to your good graces. 
 
 Exit 
 SADOLETO : Suppose he were to fail in his mission? 
 BIBBIENA: He will hardly succeed. For the rest, the 
 ground is cracking beneath our feet 
 
 SADOLETO : And, nevertheless, we are working to raise 
 our edifice to the skies. 
 
 BIBBIENA : It is the foundations that are being sapped. 
 SADOLETO: We strengthen them as best wc can with 
 blocks of silver, great blocks of silver, and every day the need 
 for this material grows more pressing. 
 
 BIBBIENA : And every day it becomes more difhcult to 
 obtain. We use every possible means. The taxes are rising, 
 rising, rising ! Burghers and peasants growl and threaten. 
 They are reduced to beggary, and trade is being crushed and 
 killed. The privileges of the cities are assailed, and through 
 the crevices that we make we put all the fingers of both hands 
 to grasp the little that is there. We sell offices, we sell livings, 
 we sell bishoprics, we sell patriarchates, we sell the cardinal's 
 hat ; every day we invent some ecclesiastical ware for sale. 
 What is there that we do not sell ? We rather light-heartedly 
 made away with Cardinal Petrucci, at the time of the war 
 with Urbino and on account of the conspiracy of Batista 
 Vercelli, and if the Cardinals Sauli and Riario have escaped, 
 you know what their safety costs them ! 
 
 SADOLETO : Yes, them and many others ; money has been 
 coined on the back of the Sacred College by means of these 
 dismal tricks. 
 
 264
 
 LEO X. 
 
 BIBBIENA: You are right. You remember the thirty-four 
 promotions that were made after that afEair, on the pretext of 
 securing faithful sers'ants ? The profit of this financial opera- 
 tion was considerable, but the public conscience can never 
 yet have borne so heavy a burden. If we now turn to consider 
 our foreign policy, it is precisely the same. Grist comes to our 
 mill from annates, Peter's pence, mutations, and these famous 
 indulgences, the cause of the present trouble. In spite of so 
 many toils, so many preoccupations — let us be candid, so 
 much plundering — nothing is enough for us, we do not manage 
 to fill the void, and every day that passes drives us deeper 
 into an abyss of poverty. \Ye must perforce cry piteously for 
 help ; our penury tortures and crushes us ; we know less and 
 less how to get out of it, and — be assured ! we shall end by 
 drawing down upon us a violent protest from outraged 
 Christendom ; we shall be deafened by a universal lo//e !* 
 the governments, big and little, will make us hear this last 
 decree : " You have impoverished us enough, you shall have 
 no more ! " 
 
 SADOLETO : Dear friend, I fully anticipate it. Men are 
 already asking what right we can allege for consuming the 
 world's substance. 
 
 BIBBIENA: Some good arguments can be put forward in 
 our favour. The Church represents intelligence ; the treasures 
 that we absorb serve to foster and strengthen science, art, and 
 other branches of civilisation. 
 
 SADOLETO : They serve likewise — let us admit — to glorify 
 and to fatten indolence, vice, and perversity. 
 BIBBIENA : I admit it ; but every cloth has its seamy side. 
 Every cultivated society is a corrupt society. Must we on that 
 account return to barbarism ? Barbarism, perhaps, is 
 unmoved by the mercenary allurements of beautiful 
 courtesans ; but it disembowels prisoners of war, and smears 
 with blood the hideous faces of its idols. . . . Pardon me if I 
 
 * Remove them I — Tr. 
 
 265
 
 THE RENAISSANCE 
 
 break short our conversation here. I have an appointment at 
 my house with our dear Raphael ; I have something to lecture 
 him about. If you have no pressing business, come with me 
 and add your preaching to mine. What say you ? 
 SADOLETO : With pleasure, my friend ; let us go. 
 
 Bibbicna and Sadolcto walk majestically out of the room and cross 
 the galleries and Papal apartments ; the crowd of servants and 
 soldiers of the Holy Palace opens before them and salutes them 
 respectfully. At the foot of the staircase they fmd their own 
 olhcers, secretaries, train-bearers, chamberlains, gcntlenien and 
 servants of all grades. Two capai-isoned mules are brought 
 forward and the two dignitaries are helped to mount. They 
 enter the streets of Rome ; the escort opens a way for them in 
 the midst of the multitude, which opens and closes again. From 
 time to time one or the other of the two princes of the Church 
 raises his hand and gives the blessing to monks, women, 
 merchants, and poorer folk, who kneel at sight of them. 
 
 BIBBIENA : What a motley assemblage of faces and 
 costumes ! 
 
 SADOLETO : I never weary of the sight. It would stir the 
 idlest imagination. We see here samples of all the nations 
 of the earth. 
 
 BIBBIENA : What a haughty mien those Spaniards have ! 
 They are the dominant race of our age ; and since they have 
 discovered the New Indies, there are no limits to their pride 
 or their rapacity. The lowest among them fancies himself a 
 little king! 
 
 SADOLETO : And there, in the corner, those three 
 Portuguese ! From the expression on their faces, one can 
 see that the conquerors of Goa and Diu are no whit behind 
 their neighbours of the Guadiana in arrogance and presump- 
 tion. But look also at those Frenchmen, their noses in the 
 air, trailing their swords, jesting, and highly pleased with 
 themselves ! 
 
 BIBBIENA: And there, there! those honest Swiss, half 
 drunk, jostling the Germans! 
 
 SADOLETO : Let me in turn point out to you those two 
 Englishmen, cold as statues ; they are stopping to stare con- 
 
 266
 
 LEO X. 
 
 temptuously at a group of Syrians and Greeks. Fortunately, 
 here is Signor Pompeo Frangipani with his men-at-arms ; he 
 pushes the islanders and drives them away. They would not 
 have moved all day. . . . Do you know what thoughts occur 
 to me? 
 
 BIBBIENA : My thoughts are worlds ! My head is awhirl, 
 especially when I look at these long lines of superb palaces, 
 these churches, these three-storied towers, these glorious 
 columns freed by the hand of time from their ruined architraves 
 — all seeming still to proclaim the memories of an inimitable 
 antiquity. \\'hat a frame for so living a picture ! 
 SADOLETO : I ask myself how many years more all these 
 people, of origins so various, will remain attached to the great 
 Mother City, which seems to render them no other service 
 than to take from them what they earn. 
 BIBBIENA: I fear that from now the years will be but 
 months. 
 
 SADOLETO : Heavens ! you are too gloomy a prophet. Can 
 we really be certain that these nations ever consider what is 
 useful and what harmful ? For a long time the Holy Church 
 has been living on their substance ; and custom is a strange 
 yoke. It is enough if a thing exists, for most men to conclude 
 therefrom that it must exist. Besides, as regards religion, 
 what is it that the mob desires? Purity? Truth? ... It 
 has no idea of these. Neither its senses nor its heart feel 
 the slightest need of such things. It requires conventional 
 words, and always much the same medley of more or less 
 foolish superstitions which we have preserved from paganism, 
 and which paganism itself inherited from earlier days. That 
 is what is called religion for the populace, and its thirst for 
 such religion will never be slaked. The real danger lies in 
 some few ideas that continually arise afresh, ideas that are 
 the luxury of a minority — and a minority takes a long time 
 to make a breach in the general folly. 
 BIBBIENA: Then, I beg you, give your blessing to that old 
 
 267
 
 THE RENAISSANCE 
 
 dame on her knees who is presenting to you her two children. 
 SADOLETO : Certainly . . . she has a most respectable 
 face. . . . Give her a ducat. ... I proceed. The men of 
 learning do us a deal of damage with their excessive passion 
 for the pa.'it. 
 
 BIBBIENA: You are right; nevertheless, one must admit 
 that the Fathers' style is pitiable, and as for that of the 
 Decretals, frankly, it fills me with shame. 
 SADOLETO : I do not deny it ; but observe that by this 
 we live. Our property is being spoiled and depreciated. . . . 
 We depreciate it ourselves, you, Bembo, I . . . and the Pope 
 more than any of us. He never is at a loss for a jest, good or 
 ill-humoured, against the monks. All men of wit and taste 
 do the same. I do not say that we are wrong. But how are 
 we to uphold an institution when we declare from morning 
 till night that we do not believe in its sanctity ? 
 BIBBIENA: Do you know of a remedy? 
 SADOLETO : There are diseases that come from tempera- 
 ment. The temperament of the Church is to live by abuses. 
 So many reforms would be needed, and so far-reaching ! I 
 can imagine myself a reformer, consenting to become a carpet- 
 maker like St. Paul, to sup on a raw onion in a dirty tavern ! 
 BIBBIENA (smiling) : You make me shudder. 
 SADOLETO : Consider what Leo X. and each of our 
 reverend colleagues would answer to a proposal that they 
 should do likewise ! Their indignation would, moreover, be 
 shared by all the archbishops, bishops, abbots, priors, and 
 monks of Christendom, as also by the princes, who would 
 suspect me of hypocrisy, fanaticism and demagogy, and 
 perhaps they would not be wrong. Yet I am far from denying 
 that from time to time an attempt at asceticism has its advan- 
 tages. It is no bad thing that some arch-madman or other, 
 looking for spiritual adventures in the recesses of his cell, 
 should diet himself on bread and water and scourge himself 
 as hard as he can. Not only do such frenzies delight the 
 masses by maintaining the tradition of the anchorites of the 
 
 268
 
 LEO X. 
 
 Thebaid, successors of the worthy Corybantes and all the 
 devotees of Isis who have enjoyed lashing themselves ever 
 since the world was created ; but they serve later on as a 
 pretext for building fine churches in porphyry or marble, at 
 the invocation of the holy man, and for executing in his 
 honour admirable paintings, statues of marvellous beauty, and 
 finally for creating wealthy livings for ecclesiastics who have 
 nothing in common with their saint. But of other results I 
 can see none. 
 
 BIBBIENA: Heavens, how mad men are! Live and let 
 live, is there anything better or easier? When the world is 
 so beautiful, when charming objects abound everywhere, when 
 men can make such pleasant and easy use of their time, their 
 minds and their hearts ! 
 
 SADOLETO : And, failing all else, is not curiosity alone 
 enough to make life sweet? What can be more interesting 
 than to watch the course of affairs ? For instance, the wisdom 
 of the Venetians is highly instructive, while the fickleness of 
 the Florentines is full of amusing surprises ! And here are the 
 French, adopting the love of arts like ourselves, and the new 
 Germanic Caesar, Charles V., that young man of whom we yet 
 know nothing, how curious to observe his first steps! . . . 
 Why all these shouts? . . . What an uproar! . . . What are 
 you doing, Ambrosio ? Why do you arrest this man ? 
 OFFICER: Reverend Monsignor, he is a thief! The con- 
 stables are chasing him, and he is trying to escape. . . . We 
 have him I 
 
 SADOLETO : Let him go, poor thief! . . . Go, my son, go, 
 run off and try to mend your ways. ... I was saying. . . . 
 But here we are at your door, and there is Master Raphael. 
 Let us stop. 
 
 RAPHAEL (followed by some pupils and scr\'ants, approaches 
 and hails the two Cardinals) : Most reverend Excellencies, I 
 kiss your feet ! 
 
 269
 
 THE RENAISSANCE 
 
 BIBBIENA: Greeting — I am delighted to see you. 
 SADOLETO : Greeting, dear master, give me your hand. 
 
 The Cardinals dismount, enter the palace, exchange greetings ; 
 Raphael follows them ; the throe, conversing togetlier, go up the 
 great staircase. Their suite stops in an enormous gallery ; they 
 continue and enter a room decorated with pictures and gildings, 
 •with immense door-curtains of Levantine stuffs. 
 
 BIBBIENA : Take a seat, friend, in this armchair. Sit down, 
 Raphael, my son ; sit on this stool ; you come here to be 
 lectured. 
 
 RAPHAEL (smiling) : I suspected as much from the wording 
 of your letter. ... Is it because of my conversation of 
 yesterday with two of your most reverend colleagues .'' 
 BIBBIENA: What did you tell them? 
 
 RAPHAEL : They were before my picture of the Apostles and 
 declared that St. Peter and St. Paul were too red. I answered 
 that they could not be otherwise, when they saw the Church 
 administered as it is. I assure you these two Signers went off 
 without asking for more. 
 
 BIBBIENA (to Sadoleto) : You hear? It is the commentary 
 to our conversation. Now, Raphael, we must come to other 
 matters ... to your interests, my son! Cardinal Sadoleto 
 wishes you well, as I do, and v/e may talk openly before him. 
 RAPHAEL : Both of you are showering benefits upon me, 
 I should be the most ungrateful of men if I did not recognise 
 that. 
 
 BIBBIENA : Since the death of your betrothed, my poor 
 niece, ray dear Maria, I can think of no plan for your settling 
 down. Have you not yourself some scheme to this end? It 
 is time to consider it. You will not always be young, and you 
 have just reached the age of thirty-seven. As for me, I am 
 growing old. I should like to see your future assured and 
 your life unfold itself before you, stable, serene, and calm as it 
 should be, for you to produce freely the masterpieces which 
 we have a right to demand of you, since you are a being 
 unparalleled on this earth. 
 
 2;o
 
 LEO X. 
 
 SADOLETO : You and Michael Angelo may be called, as 
 Horace called the Dioscuri, Lucida sidera* 
 RAPHAEL : I mourned the untimely death of my betrothed, 
 Maria da Bibbiena. I mourn her, poor girl, for her own 
 qualities and also because, being so near akin to you, she 
 would have come to me from you as a bride. Yet I have not 
 concealed from you this — that I never thought of marriage 
 with confidence. It is a blessing that does not attract me. I 
 love freedom. I love to see before my eyes a distance without 
 boundaries ; I love life — and, to unveil the depths of my 
 heart to you, I love to idolatry the memory of another whom 
 I have lost and who alone could have made me change my 
 opinion. 
 
 BIBBIENA: Do not speak of your poor Beatrice ... do not 
 speak of her. . . . This memory tortures you. 
 RAPHAEL : If it tortures me, it dignifies me, too. That 
 adored being has taught me what disinterestedness and good- 
 ness the noblest affection can attain ; from the bosom of death, 
 she still sends me that feeling of heavenly melancholy, a well 
 undefiled that without her I should never have known. Her 
 memory wraps me in a veil of crape whose folds are never 
 heavy and which I should never wish to cast off. The love 
 that joined us burns in me like a lamp lighted from the torches 
 of immortality. To please you, I consented to an alliance 
 which, as you well knov,', was not made by my desire. . . . 
 Heaven did not permit it. . . . Let us talk no more of such 
 a project. 
 
 BIBBIENA: So you intend to remain in the flighty indepen- 
 dence of youth ? I respect your motives, but it is no less true 
 that you consent to remain the man of the unexpected, of 
 adventure, and never to know that maturity of life which alone 
 leads to that public esteem with which genius itself cannot 
 dispense. 
 
 • Shining stars. — Tr. 
 
 Y 2;i
 
 THE RENAISSANCE 
 
 RAPHAEL : What a lofty tone you are adopting, most 
 reverend signor ! and I notice from Monsignor Sadoleto's look 
 that he shares your views. 
 
 SADOLETO : Art, my son. Is one of God's great creations 
 and quite equal, in my opinion, to literature, in dignity and in 
 power. Nevertheless, a settled and well-balanced life brings 
 to its possessor the consolations necessary for the miseries of 
 existence. 
 
 RAPHAEL : It seems to me that this end can be gained 
 without its being needful to take a wife. Disturbance of customs 
 and habits is an abomination to me ; it is a source of sterility 
 for the artist, and the worst form of bondage. But the means 
 of escaping it are no more lacking to me than the desire. I 
 am certainly the wealthiest of artists, and in spite of the rather 
 expensive style that I keep up, which appears to me 
 necessary for the satisfaction of my tastes and the freedom 
 of my spirit, I never cease to pay suitable attention to this 
 phase of my interests. At this moment, in the City of Rome, 
 I own an estate of two thousand ducats, which brings me in 
 an income of fifty gold crowns. The supervision of the work 
 on St. Peter's has been entrusted to me by the Pope since the 
 death of II Bramante ; it affords me an annual salary of three 
 hundred ducats, and I am on the road to obtaining other orders 
 of the same kind shortly. His Holiness, in commanding me 
 to paint a new room in the Vatican, has allotted me twelve 
 hundred ducats for this purpose. A few days ago I was 
 appointed inspector of ancient monuments, an office which 
 assures me large profits, and oil all sides I am asked for 
 pictures, and can name my own price. In such a position, I 
 surround myself at will with loyal and attentive servants, 
 I lead an unrivalled existence, and I have no need to instal 
 m my house a wife and family — bringing more annoyance than 
 pleasure. Enough of this ; you would do well to come and 
 visit the work at St. Peter's with me, and then we will go and 
 take sherbet in my vineyard. 
 SADOLETO: He argues passably well, what say you? 
 
 272
 
 LEO X. 
 
 Indeed, he is a priest like you, though serving a profane god- 
 head, and what I appreciate most in my ecclesiastical duties is 
 the happiness of the celibate's unhappiness. 
 BIBBIENA: Good; I will talk no more of all this. But, 
 Raphael, I should like to see you take more care of your health. 
 You have too much work and too much amusement. I am 
 anxious when I hear of your attacks of fever ; they alarm me 
 greatly, you are wearing yourself out too quickly. 
 RAPHAEL : I never felt so strong or free in my limbs. I 
 have just been present at the excavations of the Campo 
 Vaccino. I stayed three or four hours in the trenches. What 
 a delightful morning it has been ! Now let us go to St. Peter's. 
 BIBBIENA : Well, let us go ! It is at least two days since I 
 saw you last, my dear son, and the time has passed slowly. 
 SADOLETO : Let us make up for it ! I will read you, this 
 evening, when we are well rested, the delicious elegy 
 addressed to the Pope by our friend, Guidus Posthumus 
 Sylvester. It is one of the most striking Latin poems I have 
 ever read : 
 
 Heu ! quam nostra levis, quam non diuturna voluntas 
 Quam iuvat ingratum s:cpe quod ante fuit !* 
 
 and the rest in the same style. It is admirable ! 
 
 • 
 
 Alas! how fickle is our will, how Uttlo lasting, how often that which 
 
 W5 loathed before dehghts us ! — Tr. 
 
 o 
 
 V 2 273
 
 THE RENAISSANCE 
 
 MICHAEL ANGELO'S STUDIO. 
 
 A cold and dark retreat. The night is black. A statue, still almost in 
 the rough, on which falls the light of a little copper lamp, held by 
 Antonio I'rbino, the artist's servant. Michael Angclo is occupied in 
 finishing a sort of cardboard helmet with open peak, arranged so as 
 to serve as a receptacle. 
 
 MICHAEL ANGELO : You see, Urbino ? You said I should 
 
 not succeed ! I have succeeded perfectly. Now, give me the 
 
 lamp. 
 
 URBINO : It will not keep upright in that! It will fall and 
 
 burn your hair. A fine idea of yours ! 
 
 MICHAEL ANGELO : I tell you it will keep upright! Why 
 
 do you refuse to admit that ? 
 
 URBINO : It is not I that refuse to admit it, but the lamp 
 
 that will refuse to keep upright. 
 
 MICHAEL ANGELO: Come, you obstinate creature! give 
 
 me your lamp, and roll this wire firmly round the base . . . 
 
 one more turn. . . . Good ! Now, I put the lamp inside. . . . 
 
 I fasten the wire here. . . . You see ? . . . Ii will stay. 
 
 URBINO : When you move about with that on your head you 
 
 will set fire to the cardboard. 
 
 MICHAEL ANGELO : Not at all! The aperture is wide, 
 
 and the flame has all tiTe room it needs to waver from left to 
 
 right. It's splendid! I shall now be able to work at night, 
 
 with lighting effects on the marble which will give the finest 
 
 results. 
 
 URBINO : It would be far better if you went to bed. You 
 
 always have ideas tliat occur to no one else. 
 
 MICHAEL ANGELO : It is quite convenient to carry. My 
 
 head is perfectly at ease. Pass me the hammer and the flat 
 
 chisel , . . here ... on the wooden box. 
 
 URBINO : I tell you that you would do far better if you went 
 
 to bed instead of working like a wretched hireling. You know 
 
 quite well that Her Excellency the Marchioness does not wish 
 
 you to over-exert yourself. 
 
 MICHAEL ANGELO : Very well, you will go to-morrow to 
 
 274
 
 LEO X. 
 
 ask after her health, and you will tell her Uiat it is my wife 
 who will not let me go to bed. 
 
 URBINO: Your wife? Your wife? What does that mean? 
 MICHAEL ANGELO : She is here, at my side, looking at 
 me with her beautiful great eyes ; she pushes my arm and 
 says to me: "Work, Michael Angelo, work for your glory and 
 mine ! " and she shows me a bit of green leaf that she has in 
 her hand — a laurel. 
 
 URBINO : These phrases of yours will not prevent you from 
 tiring yourself to death. 
 
 MICHAEL ANGELO : I have not been so happy for many 
 a long day. It is a black night, and by the gleam of this 
 little lamp I see a world of ideas. . . . What may the time be ? 
 URBINO : I think it cannot be far from midnight. You had 
 better go to bed. 
 
 MICHAEL ANGELO: It is pouring with rain. One can 
 hear the shower smiting the roofs and falling on the flagstones 
 of the courtyard like a great river. It has been a fearful 
 storm. Lightnings furrow the shimmering blackness of the 
 windowpane. But behind all this stern uproar, what calm ! 
 The distant rumblings of the thunder and its majestic roarings, 
 but no human voice, no false, lying, peevish, imperious or 
 stupidly arrogant voice is raised to vex me ! I can create . . . 
 my spirit is free ... I am happy! ... I am wholly in the 
 power of all that is worth my entire devotion, and the hard 
 bosom of the marble opt;ns . . . the living head begins to 
 appear. . . . White, white, it palpitates beneath the chisel that 
 sets free its features one by one. . . , Out of the material they 
 spring . . . they speak. . . . Urbino! 
 URBINO: Master? 
 
 MICHAEL ANGELO : You are falling asleep on your foot- 
 stool. It is you who would do well to go and seek your bed. 
 URBINO : I cannot. When you sleep, I will sleep — not 
 before. 
 
 MICHAEL ANGELO : Strange obstinacy ! 
 URBINO : True, I am no longer young, and it wearies me 
 
 275
 
 THE RENAISSANCE 
 
 to stay up, but the Marchioness said to me : " When your 
 
 master docs not ^o to rest, do not ^o to rest either, and we 
 
 shall see if he cares to tax the strength of his old servant." 
 
 MICHAEL ANGELO : Give me a few minutes more ; there 
 
 is one thing to be finished. 
 
 URBINO : A few minutes, but not more. The Marchioness 
 
 expressly desires. ... 
 
 MICHAEL ANGELO : Very well then ! . . . Tell me a story 
 
 to keep me awake. 
 
 URBINO: I went to-day to your notary. 
 
 MICHAEL ANGELO : We won't speak of that. 
 
 URBINO : He says that the two girls whom you have dowered 
 
 are quite respectable. 
 
 MICHAEL ANGELO : I am glad, Urbino. I wish them all 
 
 happiness ; they are lovable children, though very ugly. 
 
 URBINO : I also saw your nephew. He came while you 
 
 were out. 
 
 MICHAEL ANGELO : Good. ... If he should happen to 
 
 come back, tell him to leave me in peace and go about his 
 
 business. 
 
 URBINO : He thinks, and that rightly, that his most pressing 
 
 business is to thank you for the three thousand crowns which 
 
 you, who are not rich, have given him. 
 
 MICHAEL ANGELO : He knows that I love him ; he has 
 
 no need to thank me. 
 
 URBINO : Master, the clock strikes ... an hour after 
 
 midnight. . . . 
 
 MICHAEL ANGELO : I have finished ... but I am 
 
 mortally hungry. Have you nothing to eat here ? Look in 
 
 the meal-tub. 
 
 URBINO: I will go and see. . . . Ah! your house is kept on 
 
 a poor footing indeed ! As soon as you have money, it is given 
 
 to the first comer. 
 
 MICHAEL ANGELO : Man needs but little for his body. 
 
 But all his strength is insufficient to elevate his soul. 
 
 2;6
 
 LEO X. 
 
 URBINO : Here's some bread .... a trifle hard .... and 
 a piece of cheese, and even the end of a bottle. . . . 
 MICHAEL ANGELO : Excellent! Bring me all that. 
 
 Takes ofE his cardboard cap, puts the lamp on a bench and eats, 
 standing up, looking at his statue. Loud knocking at the door. 
 
 Who can be coming at this hour? Look through the grill. 
 URBINO : Who is knocking? 
 
 A VOICE : It is I, Antonio Mini. . . . Open, master! ... It 
 is I, your pupil ! I have important news for you 1 
 MICHAEL ANGELO: My pupil, Antonio Mini? Open! 
 Is it bad tidings? 
 
 ANTONIO MINI (entering): Oh, Master, a terrible mis- 
 fortune ! 
 
 MICHAEL ANGELO : What is the matter ? You are quite 
 pale! 
 
 MINI : Raphael is dying ! No doubt he is dead by now. 
 MICHAEL ANGELO : Raphael ! God in heaven ! 
 MINI : I was in his studio with two of his pupils, Timoteo 
 Viti and II Garofalo. It was about three o'clock. A servant 
 came to say that the master was ill. He had had fever since 
 yesterday evening. 
 
 MICHAEL ANGELO: Since yesterday? I am not sur- 
 prised. He was a man of delicate complexion, half woman, 
 half child. He spent too much time at work and far too much 
 at his pleasures. I met him, four days ago, making excava- 
 tions in the Campo Vaccino, and I even remember warning 
 him to beware of digging at this season of the year. You say 
 he is worse ? 
 
 NINI : If he is not dead now, he will not last out till daybreak. 
 He had himself carried into his studio, and I saw him, yes, I 
 saw him, white as a shroud, half-fainting, his eyes fixed on his 
 picture of the Transfiguration. . . . Near the bed, which had 
 been set up for him in a hurry, stood his friends. Cardinals 
 Bibbiena, Sadolcto and Bcmbo, and other Signers whom I do 
 not know. ... At the pillow-side was the Holy Father, 
 crying and wiping his eyes. 
 
 277
 
 THE RENAISSANCE 
 
 MICHAEL ANGELO : Urbino, give me my cap and cloak. 
 
 I must go there! Raphael . . . Raphael . . . dying! My 
 
 God, is it possible? . . . Quick, let us go! 
 
 URBINO: Here, here, master! Give me time to light a 
 
 lantern ; I v^'ill light your way. 
 
 MICHAEL ANGELO : You say there is no help for it ? Are 
 
 you certain? Have the physicians been sent for? What did 
 
 they say ? What did they do ? Let us go ! 
 
 MINI : There was no lack of physicians ; there was the Holy 
 
 Father's, Messer Jacopo of Brescia, then Messer Gaetano 
 
 Marini, and others. All looked very gloomy and shook their 
 
 heads ; their eyes told us that their science could do no more. 
 
 MICHAEL ANGELO : Come, Urbino, are you ready? 
 
 URBINO: Here I am, master! 
 
 MICHAEL ANGELO: Walk in front, quickly! 
 
 They go out into the street, which is very dark ; however, the rain 
 has ceased falling ; the clouds, rapidly rolled upon one another 
 by the wind, are torn asunder and show a part of the orb of the 
 moon, which gives a faint light to the houses and the road. A 
 great noise of footsteps is heard. 
 
 What is this uproar ? 
 
 URBINO : We shall know after turning the corner of the lane ! 
 
 MINI : Forward ! Mind that puddle of water, master ! 
 
 He supports Michael Angelo by the arm. 
 
 Rapidly and confusedly, there passes a numerous company of officers, 
 
 soldiers, servants and torch-bearers, whose torches throw a red light 
 
 on the houses ; in the midst of this procession, the pontifical litter 
 
 with curtains drawn. 
 
 MICHAEL ANGELO (to a chamberlain) : What means this, 
 
 Sir? 
 
 CHAMBERLAIN: It is the Holy Father returning to the 
 
 Vatican. 
 
 MICHAEL ANGELO: Is Raphael . . .? 
 
 A VOICE : Raphael is dead, and Michael Angelo alone 
 
 remains in Italy ! 
 
 The procession passes ; Michael Angelo drops on to a stone bench. The 
 clouds have parted, and the moon shines in a clear sky. 
 
 MICHAEL ANGELO: I remain, it is true ... I alone 
 278
 
 LEO X. 
 
 remain. Last year it was Lionardo . . . now it is Raphael, 
 and all whom we three knew or listened to have long since 
 gone. It is true, I alone remain. There was a time when 
 I should have loved to be the only one, the peerless, the 
 unique, the greatest confidant of the secrets of creative 
 heaven! I imagined that to resemble the sun, in the centre 
 of the universe, without an equal, without a rival, was the most 
 enviable form of happiness. . . . For years I was not fond of 
 Lionardo. ... I railed at Raphael in the bottom of my heart. 
 ... I repeated to myself, so as to convince myself, that I 
 rated them low. . . . Yes, there have been days when you, 
 Michael Angelo, were only a poor creature, of short sight and 
 circumscribed vision, apt to censure and misunderstand all 
 that did not resemble you, and — I tell you, because it is true — 
 all that was quite as good as you and perhaps better ! Now 
 I have what my heart desired. The stars have gone out in 
 heaven, and here I am alone . . . quite alone . . . and stifled 
 in my isolation ! . . . There is still Titian ; he is a great genius, 
 a great brain. . . . There is Andrea del Sarto. . . . There is 
 . . . But, alas! no — great as they are, they are not the peers 
 of Lionardo and of him who lies down there. . . . Ah, 
 Raphael! . . . His beauty, his subtlety, his sweetness, his 
 grace, and, in his talk as in his aspect, what divine honey ! . . . 
 all that I have not, all that I cannot reach ... all that I am 
 not ! ... He whom all loved and who deserved so well to be 
 loved ! . . . My God, my God, what is it that comes over me ? 
 What is stirring within me and drawing tears from eyes that 
 never tried to weep? Of what am I thinking? Yes, a river 
 of grief is rising and rolling within my bosom ; the tears 
 escape from my eyelids, stream down my cheeks, fall upon 
 him whom I always abused and shunned, and who was so much 
 better and more loved of Heaven than I ! She told me so, 
 she . . . Vittoria . . . she always told me so, and I would not 
 agree. . . . But I know it well, at bottom, I felt it, and now 
 
 279
 
 THE RENAISSANCE 
 
 that the thunderbolt of death has passed between him and me, 
 now that I remain liere, my feel in the nmd of the world, while 
 his noble and charminf^ countenance appears to me in the 
 bosom of God, shininj^ with celestial light, I see how insincere 
 and petty I have been ! No . . . no, Titian and the others, 
 however admirable they may be, are not the equals of these 
 two great departed. About them, and about me who remain, 
 the light is waning and receding, the shadows are lengthening. 
 . . . Yes, here I am alone, and the icy breath of the tomb 
 that is opening strikes my face. What will become of the 
 arts ? And we, who have hoped so much, desired so much, 
 imagined so much, worked so much, what have we achieved, 
 what shall we bequeath to them that come after us? Not a 
 quarter of what we should have done. 
 
 Covers his face mth his hands, 
 URBINO : Come, Master, you will take cold. 
 MINI : Give me your arm, and let us go back to your house. 
 MICHAEL ANGELO : Yes ; we must preserve our strength 
 and work as long as we are throttled by the chain of life. 
 
 280
 
 LEO X. 
 
 THE PIAZZA NAVONE. 
 A French gentleman, an English gentleman, a Flemish Franciscan, a cicerone. 
 CICERONE : When I saw you from a distance, I at once 
 said to myself, most excellent Signors, "Here are most im- 
 portant personages, to whom your duty compels you imme- 
 diately to make obeisance and offer your services." 
 FRENCHMAN : I am from Champagne, and my estate of 
 Brandicourt is well known. My friend comes from- London, 
 and we have hired the services of this good Father at joint 
 expense ; he waits on us, brushes our clothes, and takes notes 
 of the observations we make in our travels. 
 CICERONE : I am most happy to have the honour of meeting 
 your illustrious Excellencies. I am a person of some note in 
 this city, and indeed I can well say that I owe this far less to 
 my poor deserts than to the loftiness of my birth and to the 
 credit which my kinsfolk enjoy at the Holy Father's court. I 
 am glad to place at your disposal all that I can ; I will show 
 you Rome in all its most precious details, and will expound its 
 charms to you from point to point. 
 
 ENGLISHMAN : That will be very pleasant ; but perhaps 
 you will expect us to pay you heavily ? 
 
 CICERONE : Magnificent Signors, you shall give me what- 
 ever you think fit. In any case, be assured that I shall feel 
 overwhelmed by your kindness. I only want the honour of 
 doing you service. 
 
 THE ENGLISHMAN: I wish to loiow everything! 
 THE CICERONE : Nothing is easier. 
 
 THE FRENCHMAN : You understand : my friend and I 
 came to Italy with the sole object of saying afterwards, in 
 fine company, " I have seen this and that ! " So it would be 
 very annoying to learn too late that there was something or 
 other wc had not seen. 
 
 THE CICERONE : Have no fear. We will begin at this 
 very moment, if you please. Let us take this road. In 
 passing, I shall bid you admire the Campo Vaccino ; it is the 
 place where the ancient Romans held their assemblies. 
 
 281
 
 THE RENAISSANCE 
 
 ENGLISHMAN : I wish to see it at once! 
 CICERONE : You shall see it at once! There the famous 
 Pompey was murdered. 
 
 FRENCHMAN : Father Jean, write that in your note-book. 
 
 Father Jean writes. 
 
 CICERONE : Next, we shall go and visit the Vatican, where 
 one of my cousins, who stands high in the Holy Father's confi- 
 dence, will take us round for a trifle. 
 
 THE FRENCHMAN: I wish to see the pictures of that 
 painter w4io died the other day and was given so splendid a 
 funeral. . . . What was his name ? 
 CICERONE : You mean Master Raphael. 
 FRENCHMAN: They say he was quite a . . . quite a . . . 
 clever man. I am told that the King himself gave him a 
 commission. 
 
 ENGLISHMAN : Ah, yes, that's a man I should have been 
 glad to have seen. . . . But, after all, since he's dead . . . 
 When we have visited the Vatican, let us go and dine in the 
 tavern where they feed you best. 
 
 CICERONE : Most illustrious Signers, that is my very 
 intention, and I will have a meal served you that will astonish 
 you. 
 
 ENGLISHMAN: Father Jean, you will take a note of the 
 dishes and the way they are prepared. 
 
 FRENCHMAN : Could you not also introduce us to some 
 charming ladies ? 
 
 CICERONE : I have thought of that ! I know two, at this 
 moment, to whom I wall take you this evening, and you will 
 be delighted with them. We will sup at their house ; we will 
 have an instrumental concert, and you will thank me all your 
 lives for the society to which you will be admitted ; for I must 
 ask you to bear in mind that they are ladies of high standing, 
 allied to the most eminent famiHes in Rome. As they are 
 very fond of foreign Signors, I now and then give myself 
 the pleasure of introducing some to them. 
 ENGLISHMAN : Father Jean, you will set down these ladies' 
 
 282
 
 LEO X. 
 
 names in writing, so that we may mention them when we 
 return home. 
 
 CICERONE : Let us set out, if you please, for I see there, 
 
 to the left and right, two horsemen about to come and offer 
 
 themselves to you as guides, and I would not have you fall 
 
 into such evil hands. 
 
 FRENCHMAN : The deuce ! A fine palace! Whose is it? 
 
 CICERONE : It belongs to the Ammirato. 
 
 FRENCHMAN (to the monk) : Father Jean, write down that 
 
 we have seen a palace of Amurath. . . . That is the great 
 
 Turkish Sultan, is it not ? 
 
 CICERONE: Exactly, magnificent Signor! They pass. 
 
 FERRARA. 
 
 Madam Lucrezia's study in the Ducal palace. — Madam Lucrezia is seated 
 by an open wndow which looks on to an inner courtyard. She is 
 dressed in a simple gown of black taffeta, and her sleeves and collar 
 are of muslin with very little embroidery. Her black hair, carefully 
 arranged under her velvet coif, shows some grey and white threads. 
 Her face is grave and calm. Madam Lucrezia reads attentively a 
 little book bound in yellow morocco ; on its back is traced the title — 
 De Imitatione Christi. — After a few minutes she places the open book 
 on the window-sill, walks to a big table, sits down and draws towards 
 her a sheet of paper, and, dipping her pen in the ink, writes the 
 following words : 
 
 To His Most Reverend Excellency, Monsignor the Cardinal Bembo, Rome. 
 
 In using the Latin language, most revered and beloved Signor, I am 
 not, you may be sure, yielding to an empty desire to make parade of my 
 humble knowledge before your eyes. Still less must you think that I 
 would dare to vie in eloquence with the superior genius of one who has 
 revived among us the beautiful style, the noble language, of him who wrote 
 "Of Old Age" and ''Of Duties." Once upon a time, I was perhaps the 
 slave of ideas so absurd ; to-day, I use Latin for the twofold reason — that 
 it is a dignified language, suitable to our years, and that it is dear to you, 
 before whom I always wish to appear in such a light as to receive a warm 
 welcome. 
 
 If I did not immediately answer your letter of the Ides of September 
 last, it is because I have had troubles with which I did not wish to darken 
 your loyal devotion. My Lord the Duke has been ill, so ill as to cause me 
 keen anxiety. He is no longer young, and the accumulation of military 
 hardships and administrative cares is beginning to tell cruelly upon his 
 whole frame. I have spent sad days by his bed of sickness ; now he is 
 better, and I return to you somewhat consoled, with firmer courage, but 
 
 283
 
 THE RENAISSANCE 
 
 certainly not cured. My life has been too long. Too many regrets, too 
 many vexations at much that is past burden my heart. The love of 
 literature, tliat once had such power to delight my leisure hours, has lost 
 its spell ; rcUgion alone keeps me up ; it offers many threats as well as 
 promises. 
 
 These are not emotions that one loves to communicate to a friend so 
 dear as your most reverend Excellency. You have your troubles, you 
 have your anxieties ; I would gladly afford you consolation. Can I do so 
 by wearying you with my own grievances ? I think not, and for this 
 reason I write to you seldom ; but as I am well assured that I am ever 
 present in your memory, you must also believe that the recollection of 
 you flits ceaselessly about every corner of my heart. 
 
 Think of that, and think of it above all at the moments when you can 
 associate me with the service of God. God alone supports me, in God 
 alone is my hope and my desire ; I am amazed that I can ever have looked 
 in any other direction. I tremble before the judgments of Him, Whose 
 rigour I have doubtless only too well deserved. But you have taught me 
 to hope also in His pity, and it seems to me sometimes that my faults, in 
 making me more submissive to the effects of His goodness, serve at least 
 to redouble the ardour of my love for Him. 
 
 Farewell, my friend. Do not fail to thank His Holiness for the 
 affectionate words with which he was recently pleased to honour liis servant, 
 and once more, pray for her whose need of prayer is so great. 
 
 Given at Ferrara, two days before the Kalends of January. 
 
 LUCRETIA BORGIA, 
 
 Duchess of Ferrara. 
 
 284
 
 LEO X. 
 
 BRUGES. 
 
 A panelled chamber in carved oak. On the frieze, the arms of the Belgian 
 provinces, painted and gilded ; above the great chimneypiece, the 
 blazon of the Empire ; against the wall, opposite the stained-glass 
 window, a great painting of the German School representing the Last 
 Judgment. On a table, a Ughted lamp, open dispatches. — Charles V., 
 in an arm-chair before the table, writing. 
 
 A PAGE (entering) : The very reverend Cardinal of Utrecht 
 
 is at your Imperial Majesty's orders. 
 
 CHARLES V. : Let him come in. 
 
 ADRIAN : Caesar has sent for me ? 
 
 CHARLES V. : News has reached me of the sudden death of 
 
 Leo X. I wish to discuss it with you. 
 
 ADRIAN : Leo X. dead ? That was unexpected. He was 
 
 only forty-six. Have you heard the details? 
 
 CHARLES V. : My Ambassadors write me that the Pope 
 
 choked with joy at learning of the capture of Milan and the 
 
 rout of the French by his troops. But here is a secret report 
 
 from the master of the Holy Palace, Paris de Grassis, which 
 
 gives me grounds for believing that he was poisoned. 
 
 ADRIAN : Who can have murdered the Pope, and why? 
 
 CHARLES V. : Did he not have Petrucci put to death and 
 
 confiscate many persons' property ? However that may be, 
 
 Leo X. is dead. Be seated. 
 
 Adrian takes a seat near the table. 
 
 What do you think of this event ? 
 
 ADRIAN : Christendom is in a sad plight. The French are 
 
 beaten ; but they will renew the conflict. 
 
 CHARLES V. : You are right. Francis I. will not be content 
 
 to live in peace. Plis is a turbulent nature ; he has many 
 
 formidable defects and qualities. He wanted the Imperial 
 
 crown. I gained it. He wants Burgundy, he wants 
 
 Flanders ; all that lie wants he would have to wrest from me, 
 
 and with God's aid I will prevent it. 
 
 ADRIAN : These are serious questions, but I confess to you, 
 
 Sire, that at this moment, when I cast my mind's eye on the 
 
 285
 
 THE RENAISSANCE 
 
 now empty See of St. Peter, I am troubled for still more serious 
 reasons. Never was religion in so great a peril. For years 
 it has been travelling towards a precipice — now it is on the 
 brink. 
 
 CHARLES V. : It is on the brink, and the precipice is bottom- 
 less. You are right in saying that this peril is more intense 
 and more formidable than the others, for the whole world, the 
 whole universe, depends on this power. Religion, which is 
 charged with the mastery of heaven and earth ; and if this 
 power totters, all must crumble away beyond hope of redemp- 
 tion. I will not let the edifice crumble. 
 
 ADRIAN : You have already done great things in the 
 handling of religious questions in Germany. 
 CHARLES V. : The dangers from this source are tremendous, 
 and if I had not sharply stopped the chariot which the 
 impetuous horses were whirling along, the evil would be 
 already past all remedy. I will not tolerate heresy! I will 
 not compromise with the worst of rebels, I will not allow a 
 moment's rest or breathing-space to the supporters of these 
 scandalous, poisonous, unpardonable outbreaks ! What ! The 
 faith of Christ is menaced, and who defends it? I — Caesar! 
 As for the Vicar of the Apostles, he finds (I am wrong . . . 
 happily wrong. . . he found, I mean) that Luther writes well ; 
 he amused himself with his letters, he spoke only of gentleness 
 and patience regarding that firebrand ! . . . I am there ! . . . 
 Without me, Hell would triumph ! 
 ADRIAN : God has raised you up to be a Gideon. 
 CHARLES V. : It is strange that neither the Pope nor 
 Francis I. understood where these innovations are leading us. 
 Yet one has only to observe the eagerness of the petty princes 
 to adopt them and of private persons to go mad over them. 
 These damnable doctrines exhale the poison of independence 
 and anarchy. They would support the Electors against me, 
 the vassals against their suzerains, the swarming mob against 
 the burgesses of the towns. The Pope imagined that from 
 
 286
 
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 LEO X. 
 
 leaving everyone the right of frothing at his will, no more harm 
 would result than from letting peasants get drunk on Sunday 
 night. But there comes a moment when the drunkard is ill 
 enough to fall into a delirium, and I see clearly that it is time 
 to throttle licence. . . . The Vv^orld is being filled with the 
 insolent pamphlets of an Ulrich von Hutten, not to mention 
 the rest. Are you of my opinion? 
 
 ADRIAN : Most certainly. Two vices, going hand in hand, 
 are fomenting disorder, the mortal foe of religion and, in 
 consequence, of the world : ecclesiastical perversity and 
 impious tolerance, the sister of loose morals. 
 CHARLES V. : So you share my view that the next Pope 
 would have to break with the worldly habits of previous reigns ? 
 ADRIAN : If he hesitates, we are lost ! Pie will have to be 
 a Pope, not a prince ; a theologian, not a man of letters ; an 
 ascetic, not a voluptuary. Let him live on mouldy bread and 
 coarse herbs, and not on elaborate dishes served on platters 
 of gold ; I would see him use only wooden porringers ! With 
 his beggar's staff he must break the idols of ancient paganism, 
 with which the Holy Palaces are crammed, to the dire scandal 
 of consciences, and, so far from listening with delight to the 
 rounded phrases of the Bembos and the Vidas, he must pack 
 off all that crew to the prisons of the Holy Office and make 
 them taste there the bitterest penitence. Yes, Caesar ; peni- 
 tence, penitence, that alone can save the world ! I mean, save 
 it in this mortal life from the awful convulsions caused by 
 licence, and save it in the immortal life from the avenging 
 flames whose tortures we grow more and more to deserve ! 
 CHARLES V. : An austere and saintly Pope, an Emperor 
 resolved to share his labours and never to falter in the defence 
 and glorification of the Faith, do you think that these two 
 powers, well cemented together, could succeed in saving the 
 world ? 
 
 ADRIAN : There exists here below a sum-total of domina- 
 tion ; it is never greater or smaller, but different periods, 
 
 z 287
 
 THE RENAISSANCE 
 
 different combinations within slates distribute it in many 
 ditlerent ways. What tlie Luthers and their supporters at 
 this moment desire, what the insensate priests of the Papal 
 court tolerate, is the minutest subdivision of this precious 
 force ; it is being frittered away in unworthy hands. But if 
 the Pope and Caesar were in agreement to unite in themselves 
 the whole sovereign authority and to use it solely for the 
 triumph of the Cross, what a sight that would be! What 
 universal happiness! 
 
 CHARLES V. : I am the Caesar, and you are the Pope! 
 ADRIAN : I do not hesitate to say that this would be a great 
 misfortune for me, whose last years are in need of rest. But 
 it would be a blessing for men's souls, for I should spare no 
 effort in the work of salvation. 
 
 CHARLES V. : You have not understood me. Read these 
 dispatches. The Conclave met immediately after the death 
 of Leo X. I presented the truth before the Cardinals' eyes. 
 They saw it. They elected you. The Holy Ghost has 
 descended upon you. You are Pope, I tell you, as I am 
 Emperor. 
 
 ADRIAN (joins his hands and keeps them clasped against 
 his breast. His eyes are closed, and his lips murmur a prayer 
 aloud. A moment's silence) : I am myself again. What event 
 could tax a feeble creature more ? The hand of God is upon 
 me ; let the Lloly Will be ifulfilled. I do not know, my 
 son, whether, in what has occurred, your worldly wisdom has 
 not acted against the freedom of election. This is not the 
 time to look into that. I did not wish or ask for the tiara. 
 With you or in spite of you, God does what he does well. I 
 am a poor man, of humble birth, hidden away hitherto in the 
 squabbles of northern cities ; I have never seen Italy, and I 
 shall enter the Vatican like a ragged vagabond whose presence 
 is deemed an insult to the splendour of a Royal palace. Well, 
 I will insult that splendour! I will smite it hard ! And if it so 
 pleases the master who summons me, I will set up in its place 
 
 288
 
 LEO X, 
 
 the humility aud the Christian frugahty whereof our need is so 
 great ! 
 
 CHARLES V. : Count on me, Holy Father, as on an 
 obedient son. Together, we too are all-powerful for good ; 
 hence we must accomplish all to that end! The armies, the 
 treasures, the intelligence, the thought of Cresar shall work 
 for you. . . . But I must also tell you, for at this moment, with 
 your hand in mine, we have nothing to hide from each other : 
 do not falter, do not draw back, do not fall ! For, as for me, 
 I will always march forward, and if the Church retreats or hesi- 
 tates, I will drag it along in spite of all ! 
 
 END OF THE FOURTH PART 
 
 Z 2 289
 
 FIF'l'H PART 
 
 MICHAEL ANGELO
 
 MICHAEL ANGELO 
 
 BEFORE ROME. 
 
 1527. 
 
 The camp of the Imperial troops. — Three o'clock in the morning. Long 
 hnes of fires indicate the hne of the bivouacs ; the sentinels are afoot ; 
 the companies, the battalions are lying on the ground ; the men are 
 asleep. The silence is broken from time to time ; a musket-fire is 
 heard, or shouts. One tent alone is raised, that of the general, the 
 Constable de Bourbon. A table of coarse wood bearing a tallow 
 candle. The Constable standing in full armour, except his helmet; 
 he walks about in great agitation. Don Fernando D'Avalos, 
 Marquis of Pescara, Spanish commander. 
 
 CONSTABLE : What am I, after alL? . . . What am I for so 
 great a crime, a deed such as future generations will not be 
 able to understand, and less still to pardon! Taking Rome 
 by storm! Taking Rome, dishonouring her, pillaging her, 
 violating her ! Rome ! . . . Only the most savage of bar- 
 barians could have dared to do this ! For them alone, heaven 
 reserved this horror ; and I, am I to begin it afresh ? Yes, am 
 I to couple my name with such infamy? I, the scion of the 
 noblest stock that ever existed ! I, the descendant of kings, 
 of saints, of conquerors, of warriors, am I to emerge from this 
 act dripping with blood and shame ? . . . No, I am not what I 
 describe to you, Marquis! . . . Don't believe a word of such 
 fantastical stuff ! ... 1 1 I am not the Constable de Bourbon 
 at all ; I am a man of straw, insulted in every possible way 
 by Madame de Savoie, by M. de Bonnivet, by the favourites, 
 by the humblest courtier, by the go-betweens, the harlots, and 
 all the rabble that is honoured by the confidence of the King! 
 I have been betrayed, cheated, flouted, robbed, banished ; I 
 wished to take my revenge, and with rage in my heart and a 
 blush on my brow, my honour before me, I woke up one 
 morning in the service of the Emperor. From that moment, 
 under the name of chief or general, I have become less than the 
 lackey of a politician who is mean, crooked, ferocious, ignoble 
 — yes, ignoble! ... I have fallen so low as to be the play- 
 thing of a soldiery dying of famine, which drives mc before it 
 to lead it where it will, throwing on me the responsibility 
 
 293
 
 THE RENAISSANCE 
 
 for its excesses, aiid behind this mob, Caesar sliouts to me : 
 Forward ! . . . Why don't }'0U go forward ? 
 MAROL'IS : h IS true, my Lord. A man so unhappy as you 
 I liave never known. 
 
 CONSTABLE : What could I do? How could I contrive to 
 escape from the vice in which, for years past, I have felt myself 
 caught ! The most convenient way would have been to let 
 myself slip mto the arms of Madame de Savoie and live in her 
 good graces. I sliould have been loaded with favours ; they 
 would have deigned. . . deigned ! ... to pay me for my 
 trouble by granting me for so vile a career the patrimony of my 
 race ! King Francis would have forgiven my merits on 
 the score of my baseness . . . with his creatures, I should have 
 taken part in the spoliations, and have been congratulated. 
 Honour willed it otherwise. . . . Can you imagine. Marquis, 
 what a troublesome beast this Honour is ? Contrary, dis- 
 ordered, quarrelsome, odious to any man of peaceful temper? 
 I should have consented to retire, to stand aside, to live on my 
 estate, to play the country squire, to extinguish, to stifle all 
 the activity and desire for good that I felt within me. ... In 
 short, I was resigning myself to count in my family pedigree as 
 nothing but one of those good idle lords, solely praiseworthy 
 for not having allowed the race to die out. No ! I made a 
 mistake! Fly the court? Not salute, not burn incense, not 
 say "Amen" to the perpetual mass chanted in honour of 
 sacrosanct royalty ? . . . I had the air of a malcontent ! Could 
 I be allowed to rest in peace? I was harassed, threatened, 
 entrapped ; I fled, and in accordance with the present law, 
 I became all at once a monster; and the poor worthy man 
 whom we saw die before our eyes. Marquis, that M. de Bayard, 
 fortunate enough to have received from heaven the signal 
 happiness of a simple and orderly existence, cursed me as he 
 died. By my soul ! I am seized by a temptation to curse in 
 turn Heaven, the angels, and God, who have dragged me to a 
 place where, of my own free will, I should never have been 
 tempted to go! 
 
 294
 
 MICm.l. AMiLLO J;L0X.\I;R< I'll 
 
 To face page ag4
 
 MICHAEL ANGELO 
 
 I^.IARQUIS : Your trials are hard, my Lord. But who can 
 foretell the end ? 
 
 CONSTABLE : I tell you, by the light of many years' experi- 
 ence, there is no such thing as justice ! It is a hollow word, an 
 odious mockery! There are only bloody necessities, the 
 reason for which we cannot imagine ; their source remains 
 eternally hidden. What I see is that good and evil henceforth 
 change their names, their habits and their parts. In our days 
 there are no more princes, no more noblemen, in a word, no 
 more men, for the titles of prince and nobleman only served in 
 former times to denote those who were more of men than the 
 rest. There are masters and flunlceys and dogs that are 
 whipped, and when the flunkeys do not cringe, cringe hmnbly 
 before their masters, they are thrashed like dogs ! That is the 
 state of things now and hereafter in the world ! King Louis XI. 
 invented the method ; it will go on being perfected. 
 MARQUIS : Has Pope Clement subjected himself to the 
 Emperor's will ? Does he not see the danger ? Nothing can 
 save him but complete obedience ! 
 
 CONSTABLE : The Pope has given no sign of life since 
 yesterday. He must have been so terror-stricken that he no 
 longer knows how to plan or to act, or rather he has recourse 
 to the pitiful cunning of those insects which, when threatened, 
 roll themselves up, draw their legs into their body and their 
 head into their neck, and drop without movement, leaving the 
 rest to chance. 
 
 MARQUIS : Chance will give him, mercilessly, the fmishing 
 stroke ; the name of chance is Charles V., and it knows no 
 forgiveness. 
 
 THE CONSTABLE : Tnie, it knows no forgiveness. It will 
 strike ; but I am its knife ; and Caesar will not fail to say that 
 he never intended to do so much harm. The knife will be 
 thrown aside with well-feigned disgust. I shall be disavowed. 
 I was so convinced of this that I wished to resign the com- 
 mand. That was foreseen, and you know whether I am free. 
 THE MARQUIS : Except our Spanish companies, few in 
 
 295
 
 THE RENAISSANCE 
 
 number, it is certain that your Itali.m or German troops con- 
 sist of tlie most thoroughpaced scoundrels ever seen. 
 CONSTABLE : You have just arrived in camp, and you judge 
 them from first sight. I did not know myself, before I had 
 experience, what the Emperor was putting" in my hands. It is 
 a red-hot iron. The Lutheran adventurers, of whom they have 
 succeeded in purging Germany, form the nucleus of my force. 
 It is said that in days gone by the Popes Alexander and 
 Julius II. enlisted Turks ; they must have been lambs as com- 
 pared with my heretics ; for them, to insult or kill a priest is 
 a labour of piety. I go about this unhappy Italy, answering 
 for the deeds and feats of these wretches. 
 MARQUIS : Heaven has endowed Caesar with a profound 
 intellect ; God knows who could succeed in fathoming the dark 
 under-currents of the reasons that make him act. 
 CONSTABLE : I could not, as regards what does not con- 
 cern me. But in my own business I see clearly. Nothing 
 sharpens the wits so much as long oppression and misfortune. 
 I feel, I guess, I foreshadow what is being done to crush me ; 
 I unravel the motives. Cassar treats me as you misuse a horse 
 that does not belong to you. On his Spanish, German, 
 Flemish commanders he does not wish to impose the crushing 
 burdens that break the back and soil the sides of a servant ; 
 but on my back he puts a burden of this sort — on me whom 
 my evil star has given into his hands, and whose life and honour 
 are to him' a matter o'f complete indifference. He must have 
 a crime committed ! Without confiding anything to me, he 
 saddles me with the command of his army, and it was only 
 when I found my tongue, when I looked about me, when I 
 studied my lieutenants and my soldiers that I realised how the 
 former were spies, and the latter the scum of the earth. Yes, 
 Marquis, by the grace of Cassar, I am a brigand captain. That 
 IS the lot and profession of a Constable de Bourbon ; do you 
 think that the Seigneur de Bayard's curse has borne fruit? 
 MARQUIS : Every word of yours wrings my heart. I recog- 
 nise the truth of what you say. Caesar, under the pretence of 
 
 296
 
 MICHAEL ANGELO 
 
 a generosity that is expected of his rank, aimed only, through 
 you, at damaging the royal house of France ; he is lowering 
 and humiliating his rival as much as he can. Yes, my Lord, 
 }'OU have good cause to complain of Heaven. Fate had no 
 right to treat you thus. In leaving your mother-country and 
 your liege lord, you did as I should have done in your place. 
 I know that nowadays this is a principle tending to take 
 root — that a man must undergo everything, injustice, cruelty, 
 insolence ; accept everything with bowed head, when these 
 outrages are inflicted by those who have the power to 
 move the wires of the hollow and ridiculous doll which we call 
 Our Country. She is an idol of wood. She moves her arms 
 and legs, opens and closes her mouth, rolls her eyes wide. Any 
 quack who comes along can set her in motion. They speak 
 for her, since of herself she does not exist. Yet for the benefit 
 of these rascals, and in the name of this artificial machine, they 
 have invented I know not how many fine phrases ; but these 
 are the precepts of slaves, of helots, of wretches who have lost 
 two thirds of their manhood. A man has a right to receive as 
 much as he gives ; if his country and his sovereign claim 
 respect, let them respect themselves ; otherwise, we no longer 
 owe them anything. Your sovereign, your country, have 
 struck you in the face, and you have returned the blow ; 5-00 
 have acted quite rightly, and have by no means deserved the 
 hateful punishment of falling under the dominion of Caesar, 
 and of being carried away by this torrent against the walls of 
 Rome, which you are going to overthrow to your own real 
 sorrow. 
 
 CONSTABLE : It is time for you to go, noble Marquis. The 
 Emperor treats you with a consideration which he no longer 
 thinks due to me. Your orders are precise ; you are to leave 
 the army with your companies and march on Naples this very 
 night 
 
 MARQUIS: My heart bleeds. I would rather stay with you 
 and support your efforts to put some check upon the evil, 
 
 297
 
 THE RENAISSANCE 
 
 CONSTABLE : You cannot, you must not. The Emperor 
 is a generous master to you. Obey him. Good-bye ! 
 MAROUIS : We shall meet af^am. 
 
 CONSTABLE: I do not know. . . . I do not wish it. Good- 
 bye ! When you are with the noble Marchioness, assure her 
 of the respects of her humble servant. 
 
 I\L\ROLTS: Madam Vicloria knows well the {jrealncss of 
 your soul, and I have often seen the tears come to her eyes and 
 flood them' at the recital of your woes. 
 
 CONSTABLE : Good-bye! To the end of my days I shall 
 remember you, noble Fernando d'Avalos. I shall recall your 
 friendship for a disinherited man . . . your peerless courage 
 in the field, the nobility of your soul, greater still than that 
 of your rank. ... I shall remember you, Fernando! . . . 
 Embrace me ! . . . Good-bye ! 
 
 THE MARQUIS: Good-bye, my lord, and may Heaven 
 grow weary of overwhelming you with troubles that you do 
 not deserve ! 
 
 CONSTABLE: No matter! . . . Good-bye. . . . Go! . . . 
 The first streak of dawn must not see you here. Besides, 
 I hear my gaolers, my masters, my officers. . . . They come to 
 impose their will upon me, under pretext of carrying out mine. 
 I would not have a meeting between the purest loyalty and the 
 meanest baseness. . . . Go! 
 
 They shake hands ; the Marquis goes out. 
 Enter Captain Georg von Frundsberg, commander of the Lutheran 
 Landsknechts ; a zealous partisan of the Reformer, a thorough 
 soldier, a great plunderer ; he wears a long white beard, which 
 hangs down on his cuirass ; Captain Alessandro Vitelli, and Piero 
 Maria de' Rossi, commander of the Italian light horse ; Don 
 Antonio de Leyva, commander of the Tercios ; Alarcon and 
 Lannoy, Spanish leaders. 
 
 FRUNDSBERG : We are at your orders, my Lord. If it 
 please you, we will hold a council and decide upon the final 
 measures, so tliat immediately on the break of day, without 
 more ado, the assault may be made. 
 
 CON.STABLE : Take these stools, gentlemen, and be 
 seated. I have an idea to lay before you, 
 
 298
 
 MICHAEL ANGELO 
 
 ANTONIO DE LEYVA: We are listening. 
 CONSTABLE : If all of you, captains, or the majority of you, 
 accept my advice, we will yet send a spokesman to the Pope, 
 at this moment. 
 
 FRUNDSBERG: With what object? We will all go as 
 spokesmen, and when we are in Clement VII. 's presence, and 
 Clement VII. is in ours, we shall come to an agreement more 
 speedily. 
 
 CONSTABLE : I do not believe that the Emperor intends 
 to precipitate matters thus and carry them to an extreme. 
 LANNOY : Certainly you know better than we do, Monsignor, 
 what you think of Caesar's intentions ; but, as for us, I mean 
 myself and my comrades, we have come so as to get pay for our 
 troops ; the men have not been paid these two years past. You 
 promised us the pillage of Milan, then the sack of Florence, 
 and finally that of Bologna. Have you kept your word ? 
 FRUNDSBERG : No, indeed, my lord has not kept his word, 
 and it is time to make an end. The soldier must eat. 
 LANNOY : Thus it is our business to recapture Rome, and I 
 conclude that it is no longer the time to recoup ourselves with 
 words ! Let us march ! 
 
 CONSTABLE : Monsieur de Lannoy, you are mounting the 
 high horse. 
 
 LANNOY : I am frank as a sword ; I honour you profoundly, 
 but I shall do what must be done. 
 
 FRUNDSBERG: And so shall we. Go on, Lannoy; what 
 you say is well said. 
 
 THE OTHER GENERALS: Bravo! Enough of hesitation ! 
 LANNOY : Since I express, as you see, my lord, the opinion 
 of the Council, decide ! I am resolved ! Yes, let us start soon, 
 at break of day — nay, at once, for the day is breaking! . . . 
 It will see me at the head of my companies! Why, I am 
 there already! Do you hear the drums? Do you hear the 
 trumpets and clarions? To the march, my lord! To the 
 assault! If you do not come with us, if you hesitate to put 
 yourself at our head. . . . 
 
 299
 
 THE RENAISSANCE 
 
 CONSTABLE : 1 do not refuse . . . but I say. . . . 
 FRUNDSBERG: I say that you are marching! Forward, 
 my lord ! The Council is over. 1 have conveyed to my men the 
 orders you are going to give us yourself. Let the tent be 
 opened ! To horse ! 
 
 The curtains of the tent are violently parted. The clay dawns ; 
 
 ^ soldiers' cries are heard on all sides ; the troops begin to move ; 
 
 ,, ca\alry, infantry, rush to the walls of Rome. The cannon 
 
 thunders on the left, and terrible shouts are mingled with the 
 
 f?\ '' repeated firing. Disorderly bands surround the tent. 
 
 SOLDIERS : To the assault ! To the assault ! The Constable ! 
 
 Where is he ? Let him hasten ! Forward ! forward ! Mon- 
 
 seigneur ! Monseigneur de Bourbon ! Come ! Death to the 
 
 Pope ! Death to the Cardinals ! To the sack ! To the sack ! 
 
 FRUNDSBERG: Well, my lord, what would you? If you 
 
 tarry, I shall not answ^er for the consequences. 
 
 CONSTABLE : My horse! 
 
 SOLDIERS: Here he is! Mount! mount! Come! Long 
 
 live Bourbon! Death to the Pope! Plunder! plunder! 
 
 The Constable, Georg von Frundsberg, all the captains get into the 
 saddle, and the troops surround tliem and hustle them along. 
 
 FRUNDSBERG (sword in hand) : Valiant comrades! Look 
 
 at my saddle bow ! See these ropes ! They are to bind the 
 
 Pope and his creatures ! 
 
 THE SOLDIERS: Yes! yes! Let us take them! Let us 
 
 hang them ! Death ! sack ! plunder ! 
 
 AN OFFICER (galloping up) : I come from the Porta del 
 
 Popolo! The entry is 'forced ! The artillery has broken down 
 
 everything ; yet the citizens defend themselves, and we need 
 
 reinforcements. 
 
 FRUNDSBERG: Bravo, my lord! Yours is the glory of 
 
 entering first ! 
 
 The generals gallop off , followed by the men-at-arms, the Landsknechts, 
 who utter loud cries and chant a Lutheran psalm. 
 
 SOLDIERS: Sing with us, Constable! sing! 
 
 FRUNDSBERG : Sing, my lord. These fellows will only 
 
 run the faster for it ! 
 
 CONSTABLE: I am no Lutheran! 
 
 300
 
 ( i !■; I< .\ I A \ 1. A \ I ) S 1< X i: C 1 1 T 
 
 lo face plight 300
 
 MICHAEL ANGELO 
 
 FRUNDSBERG : You are our General, aiid should neglect 
 nothing that can lead to success ! Come, let us sing, my lord ! 
 He begins to sing in a voice of thunder, waving his sword, and con- 
 tinues his gallop ; the artillery fire is heard all along the Unes ; 
 the musket fire is mingled with it ; the defenders of Rome reply, 
 but feebly. 
 
 ON THE RAMPARTS, 
 Some Italian cross-bowmen and Swiss, both few in number ; citizens, 
 poorly armed. 
 
 FIRST CITIZEN (after firing his cross-bow) : One man 
 
 down every time ! 
 
 SECOND CITIZEN : Look ! I'll hit that fellow by his side ! 
 
 Shoots. 
 
 THIRD CITIZEN: How few troops we have! Death of 
 Christ ! They want to put us to the sword ! 
 
 There runs up a troop of young men and artists, all armed. 
 IE ROSSO : Fire on that heretic scum! General firing, 
 
 BENVENUTO CELLINI: Zounds! Head and blood of 
 Christ ! Room there, room ! You shall see a shot from my 
 hand ! My cross-bow has never missed. xakes aim and fires. 
 AN ARTIST: Missed! 
 
 CELLINI: You're blind! Look! Now that the smoke is 
 dispersing, just look ! I fired into the midst of that crowd of 
 men in plumes and gilded cuirasses. One of them fell ; I am 
 certain of it. A horse is flying, with saddle empty. 
 A CITIZEN : The Swiss are abandoning us, and the cross- 
 bowmen, too. Why? . . . Ho, my lord officer, if you take 
 away the soldiers, what will become of us ? 
 OFFICER: What you please! The gates arc battered in. 
 The Pope has withdrawn to the Castle of St Angelo. I have 
 orders to rally our men, and I advise you to go to your homes. 
 CELLINI : My word, he's right! There are the Germans at 
 the end of the street. They knock like the deaf! Fly, and 
 devil take the hindmost ! It's no timg for sitting still. 
 
 Leaps down from the wall ; the spectators disperse ; the last are struck 
 by the halberds of the Landsknechts. 
 
 301
 
 THE RENAISSANCE 
 
 IN THE CASTLE OF ST. ANGELO. 
 
 A chamber. — Pope Clement VII., Don Hugo do Moncada, Imperial 
 Ambassador. 
 
 THE POPE (in deep agitation) : It is a crime against the 
 Deity. The Emperor, this time, in daring to assault our 
 person, is attacking God himself. He will answer for it with 
 his hopes of eternal salvation. 
 
 MONCADA: I doubt not, Holy Father, that the Emperor 
 will be sorely grieved when he hears what has been done. It 
 is you who let loose these great disasters, this dreadful 
 catastrophe ; the blame does not rest with him. 
 THE POPE : What, not with him ? Do you dare to deny 
 that at this moment, at this very moment, when we hear the 
 cries of my subjects as they are being butchered, when before 
 you there stands the successor of Peter chased to his last lair 
 like a wild beast — do you dare to deny that the perpetrators of 
 these misdeeds are the soldiers of Caesar ? That these terrible 
 assassins march under his banners ? Is it not your generals 
 who lead them? What do you mean? Are you going to 
 kill me ? 
 
 MONCADA : Ploly Father, on my knees I implore you to be 
 cairn. ... Be calm. . . . You are in no danger whatever 
 ... for the present, at any rate. 
 
 THE POPE : Do you assert that there is any longer more 
 than a single wall between the violation of my person and those 
 tigers thirsting for my blood ? The wall is weak, I know it. 
 . . . My soldiers ? You have counted them ; their number is 
 small. What will you do with me, Senor de Moncada ? 
 MONCADA : We have entreated you to reject the deceptive 
 and worthless alliance with France. We have implored you 
 not to make common cause with the Venetians, the Swiss, the 
 Florentines, that assemblage of States without honour or 
 power, which is being driven on against the unchanging and 
 unconquerable might of the Emperor by Francis I., our 
 prisoner of yesterday, a man of no faith. You have not 
 hstened to us. You support the rebels. And, when our sole 
 
 302 
 
 \
 
 MICHAEL ANGELO 
 
 object is to save religion, to restore peace and to pacify Italy, 
 you, Holy Father, you bolster up disorder and maintain the 
 standard of crime in accordance with the misguided policy of 
 your predecessors ! Surely experience should have taught 
 you the dangers of such a course. 
 
 THE POPE : No! no! no! I have done what any ruler in 
 my place would have attempted. I have desired to preserve 
 the dignity of the Holy See, the liberty of the Christian State. 
 Your Imperial eagle digs its sharp talons into the flanks of a 
 panic-stricken Europe ; it tries to devour all, to swallow all ! 
 ... If Caesar attained his professed aims, no freedom would 
 remain in this world. Have we not seen him encroach with 
 his will even on the pontifical chair, when he set up that 
 phantom Pope, our predecessor, his former tutor, a man of 
 straw, who, fortunately, did not long make a laughing-stock 
 of the first throne in the world ? 
 
 MONCADA : Caesar's aims are for the best, and for nothing 
 else ; he will do the best ! Know, since you seem to have 
 forgotten it, that there exist here below only two lawful powers, 
 charged by God Himself with preserving order : the Pope 
 and the Emperor. The rest is of the devil, or arises only by 
 accident. The Empire and the Papacy are everything, and 
 when one of the two fails in its mission, it falls to the other 
 to unite the two sceptres in one hand and achieve what 
 holy religion demands. Formerly the Suabian Emperors* 
 betrayed their trust ; they wished to estrange the nations from 
 the cradle of Jesus Christ ; the great Popes, Innocent III. and 
 Gregory VII., justly smote them with the powerful crook; 
 since the beginning of this century, and even before then it is 
 the Popes who, in their turn, have strayed from the path ; 
 they are without morals, without will-power, they abandon the 
 faithful, they allow their clergy to browse at will in the 
 pastures of corruption, dissolution, and heresy; they are 
 
 • i.e., The Hohcnstaufcn (i 138-1254). —Tr, 
 
 2 A 303
 
 THE RENAISSANCE 
 
 themselves pagans ! Hence it is Caesar who will draw the 
 sword and renew the work of the Redeemer ! 
 THE POPE : By flooding the city with filth from the 
 Lutheran sink ? 
 
 JMOXCADA : To }'ou, Holy Father, to Leo, your predecessor, 
 we owe the rise and development of that canker in the sides 
 of the Church! Towards the man of Wittenberg you show 
 nothing but complaisance and most disastrous weakness. You 
 allowed the princes of the Empire to become spellbound by 
 that traitor's words, and it is well known that if the matter 
 had rested with you alone, a little money, great God ! a paltry 
 sum to which you limited your desires, would have purchased 
 from you a scandalous compromise with the reformers. 
 THE POPE : You slander the memory of Leo ! 
 MON CADA : He was occupied with nothing but statues, 
 pictures, books, verses, banquets and amusements, and, mark 
 me well ! this reputation will cling to him throughout the ages. 
 Accordingly, Caesar, seeing the P^aith dying on a truckle-bed 
 of oblivion, with no one in her hour of need to take compas- 
 sion on her lips that thirst for pity, Caesar resolved to stay 
 the disorderly career of tlic age and lead men's erring con- 
 sciences back to religion. At the same time, he will bring 
 back under Imperial sway those rebels of all kinds who, since 
 the beginning of the barbarous period, have succeeded, to 
 their ow^n disadvantage, in making themselves free. Caesar is 
 speaking in the name of God. He is Caesar, he has the right. 
 It is necessary to save souls for Heaven and uphold the title of 
 the Roman Emperor. Plere is no question of the caprices of 
 Italy, v,'hich is but one province ; of the license of one, of the 
 whims of another ; but, I tell you once more, of universal salva- 
 tion in this world and the next ; and you, as Pope, first of all, 
 since you have not wished to go with Caesar, you will obey 
 him and bow to his will ! 
 
 POPE : Thus spake those tyrants whose name has become a 
 byword ! I am the head of the Church, and the breath of Hell 
 
 304
 
 MICHAEL ANGELO 
 
 could not overturn me ! I may suffer, my person may vanish, 
 but the Pope never dies. 
 
 MONCADA: We revere the Pope! God forbid that my 
 master should ever lay hand on the vicar of Christ ! We would 
 not touch his slightest privileges ! still less his sanctity. . . . 
 But if I must speak plainly, Holy Father — we whose pure 
 faith is 'well-known throughout the world ; we who are free 
 from the slightest suspicion of heterodoxy — we who are track- 
 ing down everywhere, in Spain, Flanders, the Indies, all the 
 vestiges of rebellion against the Church, and that with a rigour 
 such as you have never shown ; we who put to death without 
 scruple and without fear, at the public stake, all flesh that 
 revolts against tradition ; we, I tell you frankly, shall leave 
 Clement VII. out of the question and shall treat Giulio de' 
 Aledici* with an upright and unswer\^ing strictness ; we shall 
 pursue him' even to the point of deposition, we shall tear the 
 pontifical purple from his shoulders, we shall deport him, we 
 shall imprison him, if we must give up all hope of amending 
 him, of teaching him wisdom! 
 
 THE POPE : And while you, you . . . you give yourself 
 out as an ambassador of peace, dispatched to our person, you 
 dare, in my last, hazardous coign of refuge, to use such words 
 to me ! You have calculated well the pitch of defeat to which 
 you have reduced me. You gaze at me with a confident smile, 
 in the midst of my oppressed people, the ravished Holy City, 
 with its churches on fire, amid the flames and the cries and the 
 blood and despair! And that is what Caesar calls serving 
 the Catholic cause ! 
 
 MONCADA : It is indeed a service to strike down the wolves 
 clad in the desecrated garb of shepherds ! 
 THE POPE : Well, what do you expect of me ? Let me go ! 
 Let me, nay make me, run the gauntlet of your criminal 
 soldiers! Take all, pillage all, triumph, and let me retire to 
 
 • Giulio de' Medici became Pope under the title of Clement VII. 
 Thi point is that he is to be treated as a Medici, his Papal position being 
 /eft out of the reckoning. — Tr. 
 
 2 A 2 305
 
 THE RENAISSANCE 
 
 some spot or other where I am allowed to end in peace the 
 days that you g^rant me ! 
 
 MONCADA : JMy orders are peremptory ; I could not depart 
 from them in the slightest detail. You will remain here, Holy 
 Father, until you submit to our righteous demands. 
 THE POPE: Expound them. What is your desire? 
 MONCADA : The means of ensuring the triumph of reason, 
 of justice, of truth, and of the interests of the Church. 
 THE POPE : These are but phrases. Formulate your re- 
 quirements. Stale expressly what Caesar commands. That 
 which I should not have agreed to yesterday, that which I 
 should have refused two hours ago, I am now perhaps humbled 
 enough to yield ! 
 
 MONCADA : We demand your renunciation of the alliance 
 with the P^rench, the Venetians, the Florentines, the Swiss, and 
 all who are evilly disposed. We demand that you become 
 united to us for good and all, as closely as flesh to bone and 
 as the crook be to the sceptre. 
 
 THE POPE : Ah, unhappy, thrice unhappy Italy! Thy days 
 would then be over! Thy princes, thy republics would be no 
 more than slaves of the Flemings! Was this disgrace the 
 predestined end of thy glorious efforts for more than a century 
 past? But speak, go on — I am listening. 
 MONCADA : You will restore to us Ostia, Civita Vecchia, 
 Civita Castellana, Parma, Piacenza, Modena, all that you still 
 hold ; Imperial garrisons will incline the inhabitants to learn 
 the will of Caesar. In the next place four hundred thousand 
 ducats will be paid us as compensation for the troops employed 
 at this moment in Rome, whom I shall cause to be withdrawn. 
 Finally, we shall occupy the castle of St. Angelo. 
 THE POPE (hiding his head in his hands a moment, then 
 raising it) : I refuse. 
 
 MONCADA : Then I have nothing further to say to you. I 
 will take my leave. But, previously, I should like to be able 
 to inform Caesar that you thoroughly understand the state of 
 
 306
 
 MICHAEL ANGELO 
 
 affairs and the extent of your responsibility. Deign, Holy 
 Father, to consider the turn events are taking. 
 
 He opens a window looking out on the town. 
 Look at your work ! Say if you wish this to go on ! 
 THE POPE : Yes, I will look, I will see your sacrileges — 
 all that you have ordered, arranged, planned and plotted for 
 months past! Yes, I will look! Think not that I am a 
 womanish creature ! I can behold at leisure the display of 
 your villainy! I will not falter — I will not weep! Well, I 
 will look. ... I am looking! There is a man being chased 
 . . . now he is disembowelled by a halberd stroke. . . . Cer- 
 tainly I see I . . . His blood will recoil — on whose head ? . . . 
 Ah, my God! women and children harried by your hireling 
 rabble of unbridled fiends! Ah, what villainy! . . . Let me 
 see ... it is frightful ! . . . Monks . . . beaten . . . bloody. 
 . . . Oh, it is not possible — not possible ! Cardinals, grey- 
 beards clad in purple . . . fettered, struck down, dragged on 
 the pavements, beaten ! . . . No . . . no. ... I can look no 
 more. . . . What a hideous nightmare ! 
 
 Totters and falls into a chair. Don Hugo de Moncada bows and 
 goes out. 
 
 30;
 
 THE RENAISSANCE 
 
 A STREET. 
 Pikcsmen, cross-bowmen, Swiss. 
 
 FIRST PIKES.MAN : We need a man to carry the booty 
 
 home. You are not going to put those coffers on your 
 
 shoulders ? 
 
 A SWISS : It would have been better to spare the boy. He 
 
 would have served us as a beast of burden. 
 
 FIRST CROSS-BOWMAN : It is always a pleasure to lodge 
 
 a bullet in someone's head ; I don't regret my shot. 
 
 SECOND PIKESMAN : Besides, we are avenging our 
 
 general ; since the Romans have killed him, let us kill the 
 
 Romans ! Look — here is a door that is not yet stove in ! 
 
 THE SWISS : We'll break it down! 
 
 The soldiers assail the door with the butts of their cross-bows and 
 halberds. It opens, II Rosso appears. 
 
 SOLDIERS (beating him): What, popinjay, you don't open 
 
 when you are paid a visit? You deserve a lesson! We'll 
 
 sack the house ! 
 
 IE ROSSO : Gentlemen, I have little money — it is yours ! But 
 
 I am a painter, and I beg you not to destroy my drawings and 
 
 my bric-a-brac. 
 
 SECOND CROSS-BOWMAN : You'll see how we rate your 
 
 bnc-a-brac and yourself, too! Strip him naked! It will be 
 
 fine sport to use him as a mule, and he will feel the stick more 
 
 thoroughly ! 
 
 SOLDIERS : Good ! Naked as a worm — and kick him well ! 
 
 XL ROSSO : Gentlemen, I implore you! 
 
 THIRD PIKESMAN : You say you are a painter? 
 
 IE ROSSO : Yes, I am a painter. 
 
 THIRD PIKESMAN : They say it was a painter who killed 
 
 the Constable. We'll serve you in the same way! 
 
 A SWISS : By the devil, no ! It is agreed that he shall carry 
 
 the coffers. We'll kill him afterwards ; but let us loot the 
 
 house at once ! 
 
 308
 
 MICHAEL ANGELO 
 SOLDIERS: Good! 
 
 WTiile one part of the mercenaries tears II Rosso's clothes Irom his 
 back and beats him, the house is ransacked ; the pictures are 
 torn, scraps of drawings fij^ through the windows, with fragments 
 of furniture and tapestry, then the house is set on fire. An 
 officer passes. 
 
 OFFICER : What are you doing- to this man? 
 
 SOLDIERS : Nothing-. He is kind enough to carry for us 
 
 some chests that we have just bought. 
 
 IE ROSSO : Sir, I implore you, rescue me! I am a painter, 
 
 I am II Rosso ! I have just lost all my works ! 
 
 OFFICER : Leave the poor fellow alone, give him back his 
 
 clothes! The Captain, Georg Frundsberg, orders you to 
 
 return to your banners. You hear the trumpets call to the 
 
 standard ? March ! Leave this man, I tell you ! 
 
 A LANDSKNECHT : And / tell you that I know nothing of 
 
 you, do you hear? Are you my captain? No! My 
 
 lieutenant? No! Who tells mc you are not the Pope in 
 
 disguise ? 
 
 SOLDIERS : It's true ! What tale does that fellow come to 
 
 tell us? 
 
 OFFICER : I have the General's orders. . . . 
 
 SOLDIERS: Devil take your Generals, and you, too! Do 
 
 you hear, sir? Be off, or it'll be the worse for you! 
 
 The officer retires. 
 
 A PIKESMAN (to II Rosso): And you, if you complain to 
 anyone, you'll get my dagger full in your chest ; you under- 
 stand, I hope? March, scoundrel! 
 
 The soldiers drag along II Rosso and redouble their blows. 
 
 309
 
 THE RENAISSANCE 
 
 FLORENCE. 
 A public square. 
 
 CELLINI: Well? what's afoot here ? 
 
 SEVERAL \'01CES: We're driving out the Medici again! 
 Long live the liberty of Florence ! 
 
 CELLINI : Now I have come from Rome, and have seen 
 rare sights ! 
 
 THE CROWD : Is the Pope set free? 
 
 CELLINI : He's caught like a rat in a trap. Nothing is 
 allowed to pass in to him at Fort St. Angelo ; and what he 
 and his men have to live on, God in his infinite mercy alone 
 knows. In short, they are dying of hunger, and, all this while, 
 the Imperial troops continue making havoc of everything. 
 THE CROWD : You have seen this with your own eyes? 
 CELLINI : I have just come from the spot. I have seen, on 
 the deserted square, crossed with tottering steps by drunken 
 and disbanded soldiers, heaps of dead to the right and heaps 
 of dead to the left ; a man dying at the corner of this boundary- 
 stone, a woman doubled up, her arms outspread, on that. What 
 I have seen, is church doors battered in ; surplices, stoles, 
 dalmatics, trailing in soiled tatters on the flagstones of the 
 basilicas, or hanging in wretched rags on the spikes of the 
 side chapel railings ; candlesticks broken, altar-lamps ex- 
 tinguished, and the altars themselves overthrown, with frag- 
 ments of glasses, necks of bottles, ham-bones, sordid scraps 
 of the free-lances' feasts ; I have even seen statues broken, 
 the most precious canvases torn by the pikes ; and as to the 
 outrages, the insults, the blows showered on the most 
 illustrious cardinals, archibishops, dataries, protonotaries, 
 they are too many for me to detail. So common a thing is it 
 that when, in the solitude of the crossways, one of these erst- 
 while reverend Signors passes, hustled by some jeering 
 scoundrel of an archer — when there re-echoes the blow of a 
 buffet administered to some venerable cheek, people do not 
 even turn their heads to find out more of the matter. 
 THE CROWD: Shame! shame! We have cursed the 
 
 310
 
 MICHAEL ANGELO 
 
 avarice and the pride of the Papal dignitaries, but was it 
 necessary that so much greatness and secular splendour should 
 be trampled on by feet so vile ? What says Caesar to these 
 abominations? 
 
 CELLINI : Caesar, in his far-off Spanish palace, weeps, they 
 say, and laments over the sorrows of the successor to the 
 Apostles ; he orders prayers to be offered up for the ending of 
 so heinous a scandal ; otherwise, he takes no steps to set a 
 limit to it, and desires to see on his knees even him whose 
 slipper the world reverently kisses. One man alone, amid all 
 this, has upheld the glor>' of Italy and gained a renown that 
 will never die. 
 
 THE CROWD : Of whom do you speak? 
 CELLINI : It is I, I alone who have avenged Rome before- 
 hand for what she is suffering, for with a shot from my 
 infallible cross-bow I killed the Constable de Bourbon, and you 
 know that, with Michael Angelo, I am the greatest artist of 
 my age. Now that you have learnt w'hat my eyes have seen, 
 inform me in your turn of what is happening here. 
 THE CROWD : Florence is free, and unless courage and 
 virtue are reduced to mere words without meaning, we shall 
 never go back to the old bondage ! Savonarola, the Saint, the 
 great, the sublime Prate, has not lived amongst us in vain! 
 His every word has remained a living thing! All his maxims 
 are being revived, and this time no one shall be allowed to 
 blind us! What Savonarola ordered, we are about to carry 
 out, and henceforth the work will not be undone. We know 
 our enemies thoroughly ; a Medici Pope wishes us no good ; 
 but what can he do? Caesar will turn an exasperated face 
 towards us ; but if he looks to the East, he will see the Turks 
 threatening his Imperial possessions ; nearer home the 
 Venetians are overrunning the Romagna ; and if he turns 
 towards the north, he will perceive the French returning, 
 forgetful of their disaster at Pavia and filled with a more 
 burning ardour than they have ever been before. Such are 
 
 311
 
 THE RENAISSANCE 
 
 our friends, such arc our avengers, such are our mainstays! 
 The hberty of Florence will live for ever ! 
 CELLINI: My children, rely upon me! To you I dedicate 
 my sword ; the whole world knows its worth. Moreover, you 
 are no doubt aware of the eagerness with which Francis I. 
 hstens to my advice. Once more I say, rely upon me! 
 Florence is for ever her own mistress ; henceforth no prince 
 or tyrant shall set his foot upon her neck. 
 THE CROWD : Long live Florence! 
 
 AT THE CORNER OF THE STREET. 
 
 Machiavelli, his hands behinil his back, watches the crowd passing and 
 uttering cries of joy. 
 
 MACHIAVELLI : What a noise ! How they bellow ! How 
 they sing! What sparkling eyes ! How that word " liberty " 
 intoxicates them! One would say it was the first time in 
 their lives that they uttered it and exulted in this fashion! 
 The bird lives in the air, the fish in the water, and the mob 
 
 in noise. 
 
 A company passes, dragging in the gutter a scutcheon with the Medici 
 arms, tied to a rope. Drums, trumpets ; the crowd sings and 
 follows Benvenuto CelHni, who waves a flag. 
 
 CELLINI (at the top of his voice) : Long live Florence! 
 
 ALL : Long live Florence ! Death to the Medici ! 
 
 CELLINI : Signor Machiavelli, you are a great citizen — a 
 
 friend of Savonarola ! 
 
 THE CROWED : Long live Savonarola! Long live Machia- 
 
 velh! Long live Cellini! 
 
 CELLINI : Citizens, you are magnificent! Men of Florence, 
 
 you are a great nation ! . . . You are coming with us, 
 
 Machiavelli ? We will carry you shoulder high ! You have 
 
 suffered in the tyrants' prisons ! 
 
 THE CROWD : Yes! yes! Let's carry him' shoulder high! 
 
 In triumph! 
 
 MACHIAVELLI: Friends, I thank you! Indeed, my heart 
 
 overflows v.'ith gratitude ! But I am old ; I am ill ; I no longer 
 
 312
 
 MICHAEL ANGELO 
 
 feel fit for anything, and I beg you to leave me in peace ! Apart 
 
 from that, long live Florence ! Long live liberty — and the 
 
 people — and Signor Cellini !...(! wonder if I have to cry 
 
 " long life " to anything else ?) 
 
 CELLINI : Come, my children, let us set to our work with 
 
 courage, with unflagging energy ! Set fire to the tennis-court 
 
 where the despots took their exercise ! 
 
 THE CROWD : Yes. let us burn the tennis-court! 
 
 MACHIAVELLI : An excellent notion! Go and burn the 
 
 tennis-court ! Without that, liberty could never be established. 
 
 Cellini waves his flag and the whole crowd moves oS, with the same 
 shouts, cries, drumming and trumpeting, and still dragging the 
 scutcheon at a rope's end. 
 
 MACHIAVELLI : It is far wiser to contemplate men as a 
 passive spectator than to mingle in their affairs. I am. not in 
 the least surprised at the strong taste that many have for con- 
 spiracies, seditions and revolts. Of all games of chance, this 
 is incontestably the one that sets the greatest number of 
 faculties in motion. Every moment an unforeseen event ! Men 
 breathe a boundless hope of indefinable things ; they talk, 
 they shout, they bustle, they think of nothing, and they drink, 
 drink, drink without ceasing in a cup of emotions whose 
 savour is constantly changing! Look at Benvenuto, that 
 notable babbler, that braggart without peer! He has not a 
 single virtue ; but he is full of wit ; he is enjoying himself now 
 like a god ; he does not believe a word of what he is bawling, 
 and cares as much for the liberty of Florence as for that of 
 Abyssinia ; but he is enjoying himself, and that is the chief 
 
 thing. 
 
 Enter Michael Angclo. 
 
 MICHAEL ANGELO: You here, Messer Niccolo? I am 
 
 glad indeed to see you ; for years past I have not had this 
 
 pleasure ; you look pale and worn. 
 
 MACHIAVELLI : Old comrade, I am like a shattered 
 
 musical instrument. I have been trodden upon too often. 
 
 Some of the strings still give out notes ; the greater part are 
 
 313
 
 THE RENAISSANCE 
 
 broken ; the rest is out of tune. I reflect with pleasure upon 
 the chance of my soon leaving this mortal covering that fits 
 me so badly. 
 
 MICHAEL ANGELO : I understand your weariness. But 
 let us not speak of such matters ; we should agree too well. 
 What is to become of Italy? Whither is she going? I left 
 Rome so as not to fall into the hands of the Imperial vandals ; 
 I come to Florence, and I find everything upside down, and 
 another of these countless revolutions. The French, who 
 cannot defend the Pope or do anything useful for themselves 
 or for us, have just put Pavia to fire and sword ; everywhere 
 there is butchering, butchering. ... I know that in our young 
 days they butchered in the same way. . . . 
 MACHIAVELLI : With a great difference: then life 
 emerged from death, whereas now what emerges from death is 
 another death. Do you understand ? 
 MICHAEL ANGELO : Yes . . . almost. 
 MACHIAVELLI : W^ell, in the days v»'hen we were young, 
 you and I, the looting, the massacring, the outrages of every 
 kind by no means prevented Italy, likewise young herself, 
 from growing and acquiring fresh charms with fresh strength. 
 It is no longer the same. Do you observe that Italy's history 
 was then made by Italians ? Now it is the French and the 
 Imperials who direct, sow, till and reap. In former times, 
 we summoned the barbarians to our aid ; mistakenly, without 
 a doubt ! but we looked upon them as auxiliaries of whom one 
 day or other, after the overthrow and destruction of our fellow- 
 countryman the enemy, we were sure to be rid. Thus it was 
 that the Sforza, the Pope, the Venetians, called in Kings 
 Charles VIII., Louis XII., and Ferdinand of Aragon in turn. 
 The Duke of Valentinois had no other thought. Adversaries 
 of the most opposite views and ambitions were in agreement 
 on this point, and this is all to their credit. Now, the Pope, 
 the Milanese, the Florentines, the men of Naples are mere 
 puppets, of which Francis I. and Charles V. pull the strings, 
 
 314
 
 MICHAEL ANGELO 
 
 and our valour is nothing but an appendage to the valour of 
 these two great sovereigns. 
 
 MICHAEL ANGELO : We have become provincials, con- 
 quered or soon to be conquered. 
 
 MACHIAVELLI: Worse than that. We are dotards, 
 exhausted by the unmeasured fury of every passion ; rich, to 
 be plundered ; clever, to be made to work ; famous, to be 
 robbed of our glory ; learned, to have our knowledge sucked 
 out and transmitted elsewhere. We are lost souls, and we 
 wallow in something lower than disgrace. 
 MICHAEL ANGELO : Do you remember what you said to 
 me and Francesco Granacci one day in the Sistine Chapel? 
 MACHIAVELLI : I was then arguing from probabilities, 
 and thought the Holy See destined to concentrate all the 
 inheritances in its hands. I uid not guess what sort of a man 
 Charles V. was, or even Francis I. ; the former is the real 
 Pope ! He desires neither reform, nor improvement, nor 
 change. He thinks to keep up the old system, with its outworn 
 merits, its present decrepitude ; and, by trampling underfoot 
 the incapable Pontiff and the powerless Roman Curia, he has 
 resolved to ensure the triumph of this weakness and abase- 
 ment;. But, believe me, Michael Angelo, believe me ; we shall 
 doubtless perish beneath his blows, for he has a strong arm ; 
 but he will perish even as we ; he will stifle neither heresy nor 
 the spirit of revolt, nor their consequences ; not the mightiest 
 will could stem the torrents on the downward course that they 
 have already begun. 
 
 MICHAEL ANGELO : But, look you, as regards Florence, 
 the state of affairs does not justify your words. Once more 
 the Medici have been dismissed, and the city reverts to its 
 ancient repubhcan faith. The memory of Era Girolamo is 
 being re-lit like the holy lamp that burns before the 
 tabernacles. The reformer's teachings are being invoked ; his 
 words are recalled, his precepts are re-established, and to-day 
 the Pope will not come, like Alexander of old, to deal death 
 to our tenets. He has far too much on his own hands ! How 
 
 315
 
 THE RENAISSANCE 
 
 is he to rescue himself? Could we not come lo an under- 
 standing with the Emperor, and look to him for tlie support, so 
 free of risk to hunself, of that past which we are causing to 
 live anew ? 
 
 IMACHIAVELLI : The past never hves anew. The Pope is, 
 indeed, hard pressed by Coesar ; C^sar holds him captive, 
 star\-cs him, scourges him soundly . . . but do you not see 
 why? Because they both serve the same cause, and Caesar 
 finds his companion inefficient and idle. When he has bent 
 hira to his will, he will wish nothing but good to this poor 
 Pontiff ; the poor Pontiff's cause is exactly his own ! He would 
 rather see in his place the iVdrian \T. whom he caused to be 
 elected, an ignorant priest, a fanatic like himself, hungry for 
 despotism in all its forms ; but he no longer has him, and, willy- 
 nilly, he must put up with the Medici. That is why he 
 will one day restore here the kinsmen of Clement VII., and, 
 to prevent their falling again, he will invest them with an 
 authority that Lorenzo the Magnificent never enjoyed ; and 
 then, poor, evil, wicked, ignorant, corrupt, worthless fools that 
 you are, wretched puppets of liberty, you will become the 
 subjects of a lackey prince, and, by that same token, the most 
 humiliated of men. 
 
 MICHAEL ANGELO : You speak harshly, Messer Niccolo ; 
 you are yourself one of the people whom you despise so 
 thoroughly. 
 
 MACHIAVELLI : I shall not be one. Death is at my heels. 
 Death will take me to where there is no further cause to blush. 
 May I never meet a Florentine in the next world ! Listen to 
 them shouting, those wretches, so rich in voice and so poor in 
 brain. See them go past! . . . Their blood courses hotly 
 through their veins, but not one of them has ever entertained 
 a serious idea, has ever sincerely believed in what he was 
 doing. They care for nothing but emotion and idle talk. 
 MICHAEL ANGELO: That is not well spoken, Niccolo. 
 You are ill in body and mind, that excuses you ; but I am sure 
 that for all that you love your country, this Florence, so un- 
 
 316
 
 MICHAEL ANGELO 
 
 happ\' through the fault of her children, yet none the less a 
 great and noble city, crowned with glory, mother of many a 
 hero, mother of deathless artists, she whom her woes to come, 
 if you read the future rightly, should endear to you all the 
 more. 
 
 MACHIAVELLI : I hate these periods, well-turned but void 
 of truth. If it is true that Florence has seen heroes issue from 
 the womb, she is a stepmother ; she has done all she could to 
 crush them ; when she could not, so soon as their worth has 
 been made patent to her eyes, she has harassed them, 
 despoiled them, banished them. . . . Remember Dante and 
 many another. . . . And I, I will tell her, this shameless 
 wanton : " Florence, be accursed in the name of the heroes who 
 have issued from thy womb, whom thou hast devoured like a 
 wild beast ! " I am to love Florence ? I hate her ! And you 
 should do likewise, for more than once she has forced you to 
 fly from her walls ! If you had had only her to take care of 
 you, she would have strangled you with your own genius ! 
 MICHAEL ANGELO: Nevertheless I love her and will 
 ser\-e her. 
 
 MACHIAVELLI : You will gain no more than she does ; 
 but it is also possible that you would not lose much ! You are 
 Michael Angelo ! You love Florence, it is a costly affection ; 
 Florence is not necessary to you. Your place is in Rome, and 
 if Rome continues to fail you, in Venice, in Milan, in Paris. 
 Caesar, for the honour of his States, would open out to you a 
 broad and triumphal path. I tell you, you are Michael Angelo. 
 Amuse yourself here so long as your heart bids you ; you will 
 squander your time, and you would do better to busy yourself 
 with your masterpieces ; but they will say : " How he loved 
 his country ! " It will make a brave show in the pages of your 
 biography ! For myself, I am no artist, whose true country is 
 the whole world ; I am not a scholar who can find honour and 
 livelihood anywhere ; I am a wretched official of the most 
 wretched of States, and I loathe that State, I loathe Florence. 
 
 317
 
 THE RENAISSANCE 
 
 MICHAEL ANGELO : You have been very unhappy, and 
 you have not been treated according to your deserts. 
 MACHIAVELLI : I have a wife and children ; I am of the 
 oldest blood in 1 uscany, as you well know. My ancestry goes 
 far back. . . . There is no bread in my house. 
 MICHAEL ANGELO: True . . . true ... it is a scandal! 
 MACHIAVELLI : I have learnt much ; my youth was buried 
 in books ; I drank in, so to speak, the wisdom of antiquity with 
 my mother's milk, so eager weis I to learn. . . . What have I 
 become.? ... A poor secretary, and nothing more. 
 MICHAEL ANGELO : You have been most hardly used. 
 Master Niccolo, and I realise the bitterness of your heart. 
 MACHIAVELLI -. No, you do not realise it. So long as I 
 was kept in the lowest grades, and saw the goal of my most 
 justifiable hopes recede further and further, I felt my shoulder 
 rubbed at every moment ; I was thrown aside. . . . The first 
 scoundrel who came along, a low fellow, a pack-ass, a man of 
 no talent, no conscience, no birth, was pushed in front of me. 
 All the same, I was overwhelmed with compliments ; the 
 missions I fulfilled were now difficult, now dangerous ; I ful- 
 filled them well, to no one's amazement ; but the stream of 
 flunkeys went on passing, and other flunkeys said to me, " Stay 
 where you are ! " I have stayed there all my life, and I believe 
 that the humiliation, the discouragement, the disgust, the 
 indignation that have gripped every corner of my heart have 
 affected me even more than my poverty. 
 MICHAEL ANGELO : Alas, alas, life is sombre and evil; 
 and when I remember that I too have had to undergo stupidity 
 and impudent ignorance, I understand what you feel. 
 MACHIAVELLI : No, you do not understand. When Fra 
 Girolamo Savonarola came to preach his doctrines, I was a 
 young man ; I loved my fellow-creatures ; I loved my country ; 
 I loved Italy ; I believed in the possibility of reason and 
 virtue. I exhausted all my strength so as to build them a 
 house. What has been the result of my hopes ? Let us not 
 speak of it. As, however, I had still a litUe of credulity 
 
 318
 
 MICHAEL ANGELO 
 
 left, I fancied that an able man like the Duke of Valen- 
 tinois could create a noble kingdom, endow it with wise laws 
 and good ordinances, send the foreigners back to their homes 
 — in short, that there was still something to be desired. The 
 Duke of Valentinois failed. To-day, it is the fashion to regard 
 him as the most frightful of monsters, although, so far as indi- 
 vidual or general cruelties axe concerned, he never dreamed of 
 a tithe of the useless brutalities carried out by Charles V., 
 among others the sack of Rome and the re-establishment of 
 the Inquisition. But the minds of men are so constituted that 
 they need a number of scapegoats to bear the burden of the 
 crimes of a period ; naturally, they do not choose the wolves, 
 who are doing most harm. They take those who can defend 
 themselves least, those whom the dogs have already rent or 
 throttled, because, above all, they are cowards themselves. 
 MICHAEL ANGELO: You are too bitter; it is true that 
 your heart is full of tears. 
 
 MACHIAVELLI: I have no more tears to shed. On 
 the contrary, I am delighted to see how this world of 
 scoundrels, of madmen, of fools, of egoists, who have kept me 
 in the rank of a starveling subaltern, has done so well for itself 
 that the most ignoble bondage will soon be no more on its 
 body than the rag that covers the most hopeless poverty! 
 Glory be to God, I say! they are more to be pitied than I. 
 I am dying, and the Italian world will live, but utterly dis- 
 credited. You are all great men, I mean you and your 
 friends ; but when you have disappeared, as you soon will, 
 there will remain only your imitators, who will imitate you 
 badly ; and then will come the apes, who will transform your 
 heavenward flights into ludicrous gambols ; then it will be all 
 ov^r with your work. . . . Let us go back home. 
 MICHAEL ANGELO : Yes, let us go indoors. I will give 
 you my arm and take you back to your house. Among the 
 great men of whom you speak, you have your place, Niccolo. 
 MACHIAVELLI: Not so! I am only a huckster of ideas, 
 and events prove that I have been but a dreamer. There is a 
 
 2 B 319
 
 THE RENAISSANCE 
 
 great distance between seeing and creating the truth. From 
 ughness itself }'0u make immortal beauty, as it is granted you 
 to mould enchanting forms from the vilest clay; your world 
 may perish, you remain a god and you live. But I ? I have 
 understood what they should try to produce ; I have shown 
 what is desirable. Have they carried out my plans? No! 
 What is left of me ? A poor devil bent double, who is going 
 to vanish, and there's an end of it ! So much the better ! Let 
 us go back home. 
 
 MICHAEL ANGELO : Yes. For my part, I confess to you 
 that, with or without hope, I will serve my country ; I will use 
 all my knowledge to defend it, and if it must succumb, I shall 
 at least have fulfilled a duty, or what seems to me one. 
 MACHIAVELLI : Do not shrink even from' giving your 
 blood ; what you will achieve on this occasion, as on others, 
 will be amply repaid you by posterity. Posterity will say : 
 "That great artist, Michael Angelo, had no need of Florence, 
 and yet he sacrificed this and that for her!" . . . Come! your 
 crowns are ready ; but I, if I were a fool and wished to concern 
 myself with what is being done, I should be used to brush the 
 clothes of the high and mighty personages whom every revo- 
 lution draws up from' its slime, and in the day of defeat they 
 would say to me : " Old fool, how was it that you did not know 
 your associates better .''" They would be right. Good-bye, 
 Michael Angelo, I hope never to see you again in this world. 
 MICHAEL ANGELO (pressing his hand) : Good-bye ! 
 
 Machiavelli enters his house and shuts the door. 
 Poor Niccolo sees only too clearly. It matters little ; I have 
 not my wings tied, it is true ; I can go where I please. Fortune, 
 with all her other cruelties towards me, has at least not sub- 
 jected me to any man's will. I will defend Florence, and if 
 Florence is wrong, I shall yet have satisfied an instinct of my 
 heart. 
 
 320
 
 MICHAEL ANGELO 
 
 PARMA. 
 
 The Franciscan convent. — The cupola of the church ; the father superior ; 
 monks, churchwarden of the Cathedral ; Correggio. 
 
 FATHER SUPERIOR: I have something to say to you, 
 
 Allegri. You will not be angry, I hope ; I only mean to speak 
 
 to you like a father, and with the best intentions. 
 
 CORREGGIO: Be assured of my respect, reverend Father; 
 
 I know that I am open to be blamed on many points. 
 
 THE CHURCHWARDEN: I will speak^o him, all the 
 
 more because my knowledge of painting is profound, and I 
 
 can hardly be imposed upon so far as that goes. 
 
 FATHER SUPERIOR : You are a man of judgment, of 
 
 sound judgment. 
 
 CHURCHWARDEN : Yes, especially in painting ; so I will 
 
 tell you, Messer . . . What is your name ? 
 
 CORREGGIO : Antonio Allegri ; and as I am a native of the 
 
 village of Correggio, some miles from here, and live there, I 
 
 am generally given the name of my place of residence. 
 
 CHURCHWARDEN: You must know then, Messer 
 
 Correggio, that you are no painter. I need no further proof 
 
 than that medley of colours with which you have thought fit 
 
 to adorn the church cupola. 
 
 CORREGGIO : I would drav/ your attention, ]\Iesser .... 
 
 CHURCHWARDEN : I am a judge of painting, and you 
 
 may give up all hope of hoodwinking me ! In )'our painting 
 
 there are arms too short, legs too long, and noses of which the 
 
 less said the better. As to the colour. . . . 
 
 PRIOR : Listen attentively, Allegri ; you have to deal with 
 
 a man well-versed in his subject. 
 
 CORREGGIO : I am listening attentively, reverend Father. 
 
 CHURCHWARDEN : As to the colour, one would say that 
 
 you have intended to serve us up a dish of frogs. 
 
 The monks burst out laughing ; Correggio reddens. 
 PRIOR : I hope, in any case, that his feelings of piety would 
 not have allowed him to entertain such an idea. 
 
 2 B 2 321
 
 THE RENAISSANCE 
 
 CORREGGIO: Allow mc to withdraw. 
 CHURCHWARDEN : Arc you displeased at my frankness? 
 CORREGGIO: Since, accordin^^ to you, Messer, I am no 
 painter, it is better for me not to go on with my work, and 
 accordingly I give it up. 
 
 PRIOR : You are not going on with your work? 
 CORREGGIO: No, reverend Father; you can give it to 
 whom )'ou please. 
 
 PRIOR: An unheard-of proceeding! 
 
 CHURCHWARDEN : Do you know that you could be com- 
 pelled by a court of law to withdraw your unseemly threats ? 
 CORREGGIO : You may tell the law what you please, but 
 it has no power to put the brush between my fingers. 
 THE PRIOR and THE MONKS (all together) : Then you 
 will not be paid ! 
 
 CORREGGIO : God is my witness that I need money, for my 
 house is quite bare ; never mind ! I would rather lose every- 
 thing and take my leave. I will only remind you that you 
 owe me the price of my Christ in the garden of the Mount of 
 Olives. 
 
 CHURCHWARDEN : My opinion, reverend Father, is that 
 you should at once satisfy this grasping man, whose love of 
 gain shows that he is no artist. 
 
 PRIOR : Messer Allegri, this scene affects me in the highest 
 degree. I should never, never have supposed you so proud 
 and so wanting in honour. We will give you four crowns for 
 your picture, to avoid further discussion, 
 CHURCHWARDEN : It is an ample remuneration. 
 CORREGGIO : Give me the four crowns and let me go. 
 PRIOR : Brother Honorio, take him with you, and pay him 
 the sum he demands — in copper coins, of course. I am pained, 
 my son, deeply pained, and, to say truth, my soul is utterly 
 lacerated by your course of action. 
 
 322
 
 MICHAEL ANGELO 
 
 CORREGGIO : Fathers and you, Messer, I salute you, and am 
 sorry that my painting does not satisfy you. 
 
 Exit with Brother Honorio. 
 THE CHURCHWARDEN : You must not be astonished at 
 this scandal, reverend Fathers. These men of talent are 
 violent, ill-tempered, mad fellows, most disagreeable to 
 have to deal with. Under the pretext that they are superior 
 to others, they ride the high horse ; it is unbearable ! And 
 if one only lets them hear unpalatable truths, you see what 
 results. 
 
 PRIOR : Indeed, I have always thought that the most 
 ordinary men were in many ways preferable to. . . . 
 CHURCHWARDEN : Extraordinary men. ... I think so, 
 too. In every respect the artists are far too much favoured. 
 We shall have no trouble in finding some worthy lad, modest 
 and respectable, to finish the church paintings — one who can 
 be treated with less ceremony. I take the task upon myself, 
 and promise that your cupola will be only the more admirable 
 for being carried out according to my ideas ; for although I 
 do not paint, it is true, I am a perfect judge of this sort of 
 wares. 
 
 323
 
 THE RENAISSANCE 
 
 BOLOGNA. 
 
 A street. — Citizens and artisans, gloomy and whispering, gathered in 
 front of a house. — Two travellers on horseback pass. 
 
 FIRST TRAVELLER: What means this crowd? Why 
 these troubled looks ? What's afoot ? 
 
 SECOND TRAVELLER : An accident, I expect. Gentle- 
 men, let us pass, if you please. 
 
 FIRST TRAVELLER : There is a woman in tears. Let 
 us ask the cause. 
 
 SECOND TRAVELLER : My curiosity is aroused as much 
 as yours. That master joiner looks an honest man. Speak 
 to him! 
 
 FIRST TRAVELLER (stopping his horse and leaning over 
 his neck) : Pardon, Messer ! 
 
 JOINER (in the midst of a group) : What is your pleasure, 
 Messer ? 
 
 FIRST TRAVELLER : Could you inform us, if the ques- 
 tion is permitted, of the cause of this gathering, and why so 
 many are mourning ? 
 
 JOINER : You know, no doubt, the name of Properzia de' 
 Rossi ? 
 
 FIRST TRAVELLER : Do you mean that admirable young 
 girl who has executed so many fine statues, among others 
 the two marble angels that are the glory of the Cathedral of 
 San Petronio? 
 
 JOINER: The very same! Her renown fills all Italy. 
 Properzia is dying. 
 
 SECOND TRAVELLER: My God, what are you saying! 
 So young! 
 
 FIRST TRAVELLER : We are Lombards, and we realise 
 the just grief of the Bolognese. 
 
 SECOND TRAVELLER : My God! of what is a woman so 
 beautiful, so accomplished, going to die ? She who is so 
 brilliant, so admired, so happy ! 
 
 324
 
 MICHAEL ANGELO 
 
 A WOMAN (striking her forehead violently with both hands) : 
 So happy! So happy! It is just because she is not happy 
 that she is going to die ! The man whom she loved is 
 deserting her. 
 
 IN PROPERZIA'S HOUSE. 
 
 A vast room. — The curtains lowered in front of the windows. It is dark. — 
 Properzia is Ij-ing on a bed half veiled by the darkness that fills the 
 apartment ; she is verj' pale ; her black hair floods the pillow ; her 
 arms are outside the bed and stretched on the coverlets ; the 
 draperies, of white and green damask, are turned and knotted about 
 the columns. On a table, phials of drugs, a ewer of silver, a gilded 
 basin, hnen wet with blood. — Properzia's father, mother, and husband. 
 A physician. 
 
 HUSBAND : Speak to me, dearest! . . . You are in pain? 
 
 FATHER : What ! You will not say a word ? . . . Look, look 
 
 at your unhappy mother. . . . She is here, do you see ? The 
 
 sorrow will kill her. . . . You know that well, do you not ? 
 
 HUSBAND (to physician) : Come ... to this window-seat. 
 
 ... I have something to say to you. . . . Come here ... let 
 
 us speak low . . . Let no one hear us. . . . Confess to me the 
 
 real truth. I am a man ... I can hear all. . . . You know 
 
 that I am courageous . . . yes, very courageous ! 
 
 Sobs. 
 
 PHYSICIAN : Come, come, be calm, Messer Luigi, my 
 
 friend ! 
 
 HUSBAND: Yes, your friend! . . . Indeed, I have need of 
 
 friends! Speak to me as you should. . . . How many, yes, 
 
 how many days will it be before I see her recovered ; yes, her, 
 
 there. . . . Properzia . . . my Properzia! You know of 
 
 whom I speak ! . . . 
 
 PHYSICIAN : Alas, my poor Messer Luigi. ... I warned 
 
 you. ... I have done all I could. . . . You know that Fra 
 
 Bento has been advised, and I hear him on the stair, bringing 
 
 the holy viaticum. 
 
 HUSBAND : But you do not mean by that, that . . . ? 
 
 325
 
 THE RENAISSx\NCE 
 
 PHYSICIAN: Messer Luigi, my poor friend! . . . bid your 
 wife farewell. 
 
 The husband returns to the bedside. 
 
 PROPERZIA (in a very weak voice) : Why don't I die ? 
 
 FATHER : I cannot hear what you say, dear child. . . . Do 
 
 you feel better ? . . . 
 
 PROPERZIA (indifTerently) : Yes. 
 
 HUSBAND (bending over her) : I ask but one thing . . . 
 
 that vou will not leave me. . . . Do you hear me ? 
 
 PROPERZIA: Y^es. 
 
 HUSBAND : Y^ou will let me love you. . . . You need not 
 
 love me, if you do not wish. 
 
 Properzia looks at him, at her parents and the room, and half turns 
 towards the wall. 
 
 Enter Fra Bento. He sits at the head of the bed. 
 
 FRA BENTO : Properzia, I was present at your birth. I 
 
 have a most tender love for you. . . . Y^ou remember? 
 
 PROPERZIA: No. 
 
 FRA BENTO (to the others) : Withdraw, I beg you ; keep 
 
 to the other end of the room. I must be alone with my 
 
 penitent. 
 
 PHYSICIAN : Be quick, Fra Bento, she is near her end. 
 
 FRA BENTO : I^Jy daughter, my dear daughter ... my 
 
 glorious daughter! You have suffered much. . . . Tell me 
 
 that you repent ... all will be pardoned you ! Speak now, 
 
 speak, in the name of your eternal salvation. ... I implore 
 
 you! Ah! Holy Virgin! She will not have time . . . her 
 
 eyes are growing dim ! 
 
 Properzia moves, and her outstretched hands seem to search for 
 something. 
 
 My Properzia, my child, you repent, do you not? . . . you 
 
 repent? 
 
 PROPERZIA: I don't know! 
 
 She dies, 
 
 326
 
 MICHAEL ANGELO 
 
 VENICE. 
 
 Titian's workshop. — Pictures finished or sketched. Titian, old, with long 
 white beard, a cap of black velvet on his head, a robe of red taffeta, 
 a knight's golden chain on his neck ; he is seated in an arm-chair ; by 
 his side, Aretino, whose face is full of fire, lively, intellectual, noble ; 
 great hveUness of gesture. 
 
 ARETINO : My friend, I mentioned you in my last letter 
 to Cassar. A month ago, I praised you loudly in my verses 
 addressed to the Pope (which, by the way, have not received 
 sufficient payment, so that I shall praise you still more loudly 
 in those I am about to send to the King of England, for this 
 always annoys Paul III., just as Clement VII. was always 
 angry whenever I published some panegjaic of that heretical 
 monarch). ... But why does the Roman court haggle with 
 me ? ... In short, you will oblige me by giving me a score 
 of golden crowns. 
 
 TITIAN : This is a marvellous trade that you have invented, 
 Messer Aretino. With three leaves of paper on which you 
 fling in your style a few gross flatteries, supported by half-a- 
 dozen falsehoods, addressed to anyone you please, you earn 
 more money than any poet, scholar or doctor has ever been 
 able to scrape together in thirty years of toil and vigil. 
 ARETINO : Do you know why .? 
 TITIAN : Because men love praise. 
 
 ARETINO : And dread insult. I can scratch as well as 
 caress, and, in my flying leaflets that are greedily collected 
 all over Europe, no one cares to see his name smirched in the 
 midet of a crowd of petty slanders whose truth matters little 
 to me. He who pa)-s, is praised ; he who does not pay is 
 roundly torn in pieces, and my readers believe equally what- 
 ever I print. But what will you give me for my last letters ? 
 TITIAN : Ten golden crowns. 
 
 ARETINO : You will give me twenty, my friend, and without 
 frowning into the bargain. The deuce and all! It seems to 
 me that I am worth a good many fme orders to you, a good 
 many portraits ! My charge is not high. 
 TITIAN : So be it ! But you will do me the favour of saying 
 
 32;
 
 THE RENAISSANCE 
 
 also, here aiid there, that all those rascals who paint to-day in 
 Venice are not worth all tliat fools declare. 
 ARETINO : I suppose that the names of Veronese, Tintoretto 
 and Bassano are to be mentioned, and garnished with epitliets 
 little to their liking? 
 
 TITIAN : Assuredly ! They are men who issued from my 
 workshop. They have treated me most dishonestly, and I am 
 very vexed to see them sell their productions to the detriment 
 of mine, simply because they have robbed me of certain secrets 
 which I had no intention of communicating to tliem. Yet it is 
 not these know-nothings who are most in question. 
 ARETINO : I will not<:onceal from you my opinion that these 
 know-nothings do some rather fine things ; all the same, I will 
 say all the evil of them tliat you wish, as well as of that other 
 whose name I have yet to leam. 
 
 TITIAN : The other is Paris Bordone. I have been posi- 
 tively insulted by that vagabond. 
 ARETINO : Insulted? How do you mean? 
 TITIAN : How do I mean ? You astound me ! Did he not, 
 this good-for-nothing, this beggar, obtain by intrigues the 
 order to paint the chapel of San Nicola of the Minor Brethren ? 
 Do you think I will endure such insolence? A miserable 
 v.'orkman who is not yet eighteen, is to have a chapel given 
 him, while I, an old man, one who — I venture to say — is at 
 the pinnacle of his art, am here ? I wish to paint the chapel, 
 and I don't intend that anyone, at Venice, shall poach on my 
 preserves. 
 
 ARETINO : Still, the other artists must have some chances of 
 producing and of earning their bread. I consider you 
 unreasonable, Messer Titian. Paris Bordone is young, it is 
 true, very young; you are the first painter of the world, no 
 one disputes it ; but when I observe that, thanks to God, to 
 your talent, and a little to my recommendations and eulogies, 
 you are by far the richest artist in Italy, making and re-making 
 the portraits of every potentate and having a finger in every 
 
 328
 
 TIZIANO VECELLIO (TITIAN) 
 
 To /arc fiiige 338
 
 MICHAEL ANGELO 
 
 euLerprise, I find you rather hard in not wishing other painters 
 to try their prowess by the side of yours. 
 TITIAN : These are mere words. If I did not take care of 
 myself, these shameless intriguers, who come every minute 
 with their bad brushes and try to win themselves a place in 
 the sun, would soon make me forgotten, and then I should die 
 of hunger. Let us leave this subject, it wearies me ; know 
 that, so long as I live, I shall not brook, if I can help it, any 
 competitor, any rival. Will you help me, yes or no ? 
 ARETINO : Admit that you are a terrible man, and really 
 without pity. What vexations you caused Giorgione! He 
 died of them ! During your life, happily a very long one, you 
 have done many masterpieces, but no fewer bad turns to your 
 adversaries. And who are your adversaries ? You have 
 just said — all who hold a brush in Venice. 
 TITIAN : I will give you two drawings in red chalk ; they 
 are there, in that portfolio, and each is worth at least forty 
 crowns of gold. I will give }-ou them, as I say, but you will 
 serve my good pleasure in this matter of Paris Bordone. 
 I wish him to be removed from the chapel of the Minor 
 Brethren. 
 
 ARETINO : You will give me these two drawings? 
 TITIAN : I will — and I consider this a handsome present. 
 ARETINO : After all, it's of small moment to me whether this 
 Bordone makes his way or not. It is not my business. I shall 
 write against him, and, what is more, I shall speak to the 
 Procurators. 
 
 TITIAN : So that is settled. Set to work at once. For my 
 part, I shall address myself to the doge, and if I can have this 
 upstart banished, it will be an excellent piece of work. 
 ARETINO : What I like in you is that at your age you are 
 as determined, as impetuous as a youngster. You are a diffi- 
 cult man to cross, and I have already thought of writing 
 you a parallel life in the manner of Plutarch. 
 TITIAN : With whom would you compare me, pray? 
 ARETINO : With Michael Angelo. 
 
 329
 
 THE RENAISSANCE 
 
 TITIAN : A good idea ; it ought to be set down in writing, 
 in verse or prose, and transmitted all over Europe ; not only 
 will my fame increase, but I am sure that I shall sell more 
 pictures. 
 
 ARETINO : I do not know that my proposal is altogether to 
 your advantage. The older you grow, the more high-handed 
 and acrimonious you become. You are not easy of access, my 
 friend ; to tell you the truth is the boldest stroke I can venture 
 on, I of whom everyone, including yourself, walks in dread. 
 Michael Angelo, on the other hand, who a few years ago had 
 the gloomiest of dispositions and the most rebellious of 
 tempers, grows gentler every day, and as he advances in years 
 turns almost to saintliness. Another point strikes me. I 
 know Michael Angelo well, but I also knew Raphael. I knew 
 II Bramante, II Sansovino, Andrea del Sarto, and I have heard 
 tell much of the life and actions of the great Lionardo. All 
 these men had, and those of them who are yet alive still have, 
 an imagination enlightened by principles that are truly 
 sublime. They are admirable painters, but also philosophers : 
 they love to reflect upon the most abstract questions, and speak 
 of Beauty like lovers happy enough to have gazed upon her 
 unveiled form in the bosom of the clear azure of the heavens. 
 As for you, I have never seen you in an ecstasy of any sort. 
 You are, indeed, the most admirable painter the world has ever 
 produced, and Michael Angelo does not refuse you a place by 
 his side, save that he ascribes to you certain defects in drawing. 
 But you are a painter v/ho, with the power of possessing all the 
 most excellent things that true and living Nature contains, 
 seem never to have thought of anything above her, and have 
 never let your mind soar to the quest of an ideal. 
 TITIAN : I have taken good care not to do so. I honour, 
 as I ought, the merit of the great artists whose names 
 you have just mentioned. They have achieved admir- 
 able things ; they would have done still more if they 
 had not lost a considerable part of their time in idle 
 dreams. A painter should paint, and not hold forth like a 
 
 330
 
 MICHAEL ANGELO 
 
 professor in his chair. He should paint torsos, arms, and 
 legs, give the necessary vividness to the faces he portrays, 
 suggest the colour of a bright sunbeam, surround it cunningly 
 with the warm shadows that make it stand out ; to arrive at 
 the happiest results, he has no need to know what Ariosto 
 said, but only to represent a model whom he will pay with a 
 few pieces of copper ; and he requires a studio with suitable 
 light. 
 
 ARETINO : Raphael preferred to find in himself the types 
 of his Madonnas ; his mind, subtilised by reflection and replete 
 with marvellous images, lines and reliefs, among which he 
 made his choice, seemed to him the best guide. 
 TITIAN : / prefer to find my Madonnas in the street and 
 make them breathe upon the canvas, to which I transfer their 
 portraits, in all the glory of real life. I make the creatures of 
 God live twice over, for I set them down as they are, v/ith their 
 movements and their reality, in the world of colour and in the 
 light with which the real sun animates them ; I portray them as 
 I see them — that is where my triumph lies, in seeing them, in 
 portraying them — there is no better method. 
 ARETINO : Pardon me. You are slightly in error. I 
 admire you, certainly, Messer Titian, as you deserve to be 
 admired ; yet I am not inclined to refuse the artists of Florence 
 and of Rome the respect which is no less rightfully theirs. 
 You know yourself that they accuse you, and Michael Angelo 
 is their spokesman ! They accuse you of not having studied 
 enough in your youth before beginning to paint, and hence, 
 they say, the lack of firmness in drawing which mars the work 
 of your genius. 
 
 TITIAN : I make light of this ridiculous slander ; I draw as 
 well as Nature herself. 
 ARETINO : That is just what the Masters reproach you 
 
 I with ; you draw as well as Nature herself, and no better. 
 Nature indicates completely what must be done to express 
 beauty. She does not always give it herself; she is full of 
 
 i approximations ; she abounds in unfinished ideas; licr 
 
 331
 
 THE RENAISSANCE 
 
 creations are defective in some point or other ; if only because 
 of the touch of vulgarity which she lends to everything, she is 
 not to be copied in what she produces, but only to be heard in 
 what she advises. That is why the painters of Florence and 
 Rome are great ; they always keep before them the ideal which 
 Nature suggests, and not the reality which she supplies. 
 TITIAN : Rest assured that 1 understand your precepts, Messcr 
 Piero. I have examined them myself and considered them in 
 many senses. But do you know that it is a dangerous aspira- 
 tion to seek to leave the hand of the only guide on whom the 
 artist can rely, in order to hunt in the realms of the imagina- 
 tion for paths where this guide is no longer with you? I 
 admire Raphael, I admire Michael Angelo, but it is easy to go 
 astray in listening to a demand to do as they do. Look at 
 their pupils! These self-styled worshippers of the ideal 
 begin even now to grope in the dark, and their works already 
 show the results of their inexperience. In trying to create 
 better than Nature, above Nature, they give us abortions and 
 distorted beings that lack the breath of life. Remember that 
 this evil will go on increasing ; for my part, I consider that it 
 is impossible to be mistaken in doing as I do, and I am not 
 disposed to let myself be led from my track. The greatest 
 portrait painter the world has ever known, is myself! My 
 successors will only have to walk in my footsteps in order to 
 earn praise. 
 
 ARETINO : I did not say that you were not worthy of 
 admiration. 
 
 TITIAN : You imply that I am inferior. You are wrong. I 
 yield to no man, and it is most justly that Caesar, and with him 
 all the kings of the earth, all the great lords, cover my canvases 
 with well-earned gold. At bottom, Messer Piero, the real 
 standard of merit for paintings is whether they sell, and at 
 what price. That is more or less the fashion of our time, and 
 it is a good fashion. In my youth, they attended little to this 
 point, and above all your favourite artists claimed to be dis- 
 interested. Their pupils and successors are cured of this 
 
 332
 
 :4 
 
 PIETRO ARETINO 
 
 To lact page 332
 
 MICHAEL ANGELO 
 
 madness. They hold fast to the ducats, and work for ducats, 
 as you and I do, and I approve of them. 
 ARETINO : Ducats are good and beautiful ; when assembled 
 in goodly number in a purse, they give forth the sweetest music 
 that can soothe the ear. But it is pleasing to argue about 
 principles. In short, there are more people in the world to 
 appreciate your method than to adopt that of your rivals. 
 TITIAN : Glory makes a noise only by the number of 
 acclamations. 
 
 ARETINO : Michael Angelo would not be of your opinion. 
 TITIAN : Well, ]\Iichael Angelo is a gloomy person who has 
 never known the softnesses of life. . . . Let us leave this matter. 
 . . . Do not fail to keep your word as to chastising the inso- 
 lence of Paris Bordone and my other enemies. 
 ARETINO : I will set to work at once. Pass me that sheet 
 of paper ; by the few scrawls with which I shall cover it I give 
 success or ruin, fame or disgrace, life or death, just as I please ; 
 I do not even need talent ; I have nothing to do with truth ; 
 all I require is the donkey's ears of human silliness. You see 
 this sheet of paper ? It will soon be worth two soldi, printed ! 
 
 333
 
 THE RENAISSANCE 
 
 BRUSSELS. 
 1555. 
 
 The Palace. — The Emperor's study ; Charles V. ; the heir apparent Don 
 Philip, Iving of England and Naples, standing before his father ; the 
 latter seated in an arm-chair of black leather. 
 
 CHARLES v.: For wliat I have to say to you, Infante Don 
 Philip, be seated, and put on your hat. 
 
 The heir apparent obeys. 
 Certain ideas, which I have been revolving for about a year 
 past, have come to maturity, and it is time to communicate 
 them to you. I intend to abdicate the power entrusted to my 
 hands by Heaven, and to transfer my sovereignties to you. 
 DON PHILIP : Doubtless your Majesty has sufficient 
 reasons for so important a resolve. 
 
 CHARLES V. : I am ill, w^eak ; I am weary. When I con- 
 sider the way in which so many monarchs reign or have 
 reigned, I find the task that has been set me a hard one. 
 Besides, facts speak for themselves. In order to give you some 
 idea of what my life has been, it will suffice to recall to your 
 memory what States are at this moment united under the sway 
 of our house. The Empire, Flanders, Burgundy, and Artois ; 
 the kingdoms of Spain, comprising also Naples, the Milanese 
 and Sardinia ; by your marriage with Queen Mary I have 
 joined England to this immense territory ; my flag flies over 
 the fortresses of Africa, and the vast continent of the New 
 Indies unresistingly obeys my laws. To maintain, consoli- 
 date and improve so huge a machine, my life has been nothing 
 but one long voyage. I have gone nine times to Germany, 
 six times to my Spanish dominions, seven times to France, 
 ten times to the Netherlands, twice to England, and twice to 
 Africa ; eleven times my navies have taken me across the 
 ocean, an ocean less stormy than the billows of these unending 
 affairs which I have had constantly to supervise. Once more 
 I say, I am weary, and you are to take my place. 
 DON PHILIP: God forbid that I should hesitate to obey! 
 
 334
 
 MICHAEL ANGELO 
 
 I am too well assured of the firmness of Caesar's will to submit 
 the slightest objection. 
 
 CHARLES V. : You are right to be guided by obedience, 
 holy, glorious, all-powerful obedience. Henceforth you will 
 exact obedience from others, and it is only proper and praise- 
 worthy that you should invoke it at this moment. You have 
 clearly perceived the two real pivots upon which the world 
 must turn, and if I can claim any merit with the Eternal Judge 
 when I appear before His throne, it will be that I have facili- 
 tated their movements. Henceforward all must be command 
 and submission. There is still a vast amount of work to do in 
 order to ensure the domination of these two principles, and 
 make absolute silence reign around ; but I have already gained 
 much. When I took over the reins of power — as history must 
 tell you — all was disorder ; and senseless customs, laws, privi- 
 leges and prerogatives spread their anarchy over Christian 
 lands ; the nobles commanded, the citizens disobeyed, the 
 peasants, ay, the very peasants in their villages talked and 
 claimed the right of uttering and upholding their opinions! 
 Italy, less disciplined than all the rest, infatuated with her 
 knowledge and with the beauty of her achievements, shouted, 
 made an uproar, and, attaching the most sonorous names to 
 the most outrageous follies, spoke of truth, justice, and liberty, 
 and even threatened the constitution of Holy Church. Ger- 
 many, coarser and more stiff-necked than her perverse and 
 brilliant sister, went even faster than she ; by the abominable 
 pamphlets of her scholars, she paved the way for the monstrous 
 doctrine of Lutheranism. At this moment, Don Philip, 
 Christendom ought naturally to have looked to the successors 
 of St. Peter for support. But there, unfortunately, the excess 
 of evil was more particularly displayed. The Papacy itself was 
 turning its back upon the Faith ; it was coquetting with the 
 most dangerous inventions of the modern spirit. Hence you 
 cannot wonder if Francis I., like Henry VIII., saw spring up 
 in their realms the Calvinistic and Lutheran abominations ; 
 they underwent, like Leo X., like Clement VII., the deleterious 
 
 2 C 335
 
 THE RENAISSANCE 
 
 influence ; they let themselves be bewitched, for a moment at 
 least, by ideas advantageous in semblance, but in reality no 
 less deadly to monarchy than to religion. When they realised 
 the danger, they drew back, but too late ; their States were 
 invaded. For my part, I was not led astray for a single hour, 
 and from the first minute that the disease showed itself, I 
 pronounced upon it ; I resisted it with the most energetic anti- 
 dotes. You know how at first, attempting the most immediate 
 remedies, 1 tried to rescue the Church through herself. I set 
 Adrian in the chair of the Apostles. He died almost in the 
 moment of his enthronement, and the Cardinals, saturated with 
 all the orgies of the voluptuous hell which held Italy in thrall, 
 would make no further trial of a necessary discipline. In my 
 very teeth they threw me Clement VII., who was worse than 
 his cousin. In this grave crisis, I stopped at nothing ; I forced 
 the Pope to be a Pope, and to be up and doing ; I raised the 
 sword of the Empire against the crook, and smote 
 Clement VII. on the head. I took Rome. I set up a master 
 in Florence. I drove France from the Milanese for good and 
 all ; finally, I crushed Italy. Look into this closely, Don Philip, 
 and you will see that, by this last act, I have greatly simplified 
 your task. Silence reigns now over the whole Peninsula. Go 
 on with my work. Remember that to change its character is 
 to jeopardise at once the security of your crowns and the 
 salvation of your soul. 
 
 DON PHILIP : I have listened to your Majesty with 
 scrupulous attention. I can answer that, as to the main point, 
 the rigid maintenance of obedience, I shall have little to 
 reproach myself with to the very end of my days. Certainly 
 you entrust me with a 'task that is simplified by the submission 
 of Italy : but what I appreciate above all are the two leading 
 creations of your reign ; the increased power of the Inquisi- 
 tion and the formation of the Jesuit order. Through these 
 instruments, steeled as they are by an unbending spirit of 
 obedience, and destined to be made great use of by me, I 
 shall be able to continue, in your footsteps, to save the Church 
 
 336
 
 MICHAEL ANGELO 
 
 without the Church, and to crush pohtical as well as religious 
 heresy. Henceforth, Italy is nothing; Spain is everything. 
 She has no rival but France, and as the combat levied by you 
 against this power becomes daily more furious, it must needs 
 be that either France or Spain succumbs. I shall not have a 
 more easy career of kingship than yours has been. 
 CHARLES V. : Work will consume your days as it has con- 
 sumed mine. But you and I are only servants of the Cross 
 and the Sceptre, and, in many respects, monks of an order that 
 has but fev/ members ; still, since the aim is unusually high, 
 the discipline must be exceptionally severe. Monks like you 
 and I, whose monastery is a palace, whose cell is a room 
 gorgeous with gold and paintings, whose cassock is now a 
 steel coat of mail, now a velvet mantle — such monks live and 
 will live in the midst of apparent luxuries even as their poor 
 brethren of the convents live on a bed of straw. All that 
 surrounds us is but straw for you and me, and the asceticism 
 of our thoughts reduces the pretended joys of the earth to less 
 than nothing. These joys, these wretched joys, these splen- 
 dours, these shameful splendours, these elegances, these 
 ignominious elegances, were raised by Italy to a higher plane 
 than any country or epoch had ever seen. I have set my foot 
 upon the neck of Italy ; once more, you will do the same to all 
 that resembles or wishes to resemble her. The world lives 
 not so much by bread as by discipline. Never let your subjects 
 forget that truth. 
 
 DON PHILIP (with a grim smile): Ill-timed levity is not in 
 my scheme of duty, nor, I think, in my temperament. I beg 
 your Majesty to have confidence in my firm resolve to postpone 
 to the time of immortal life, which we must here try to deserve, 
 any element of light diversion that may exist in my mind. 
 CHARLES v.: Leave me. I need repose. The Estates 
 of Flanders will assemble to-morrow, and to them I have 
 decided to declare my plans. Go, Don Philip. 
 
 Don I'hilip salutes and retires. 
 
 2 C 2 33 
 
 ♦7
 
 THE RENAISSANCE 
 
 ROME. 
 
 1559. 
 The studio of the Zucchcri. — Taddco and Federigo Zucchero ; Girolamo 
 Siciolantc, Orazio Sammacchini, and other young painters. All work 
 with the utmost energy, some scrubbing immense canvases, others 
 painting scenery mounted on frames or finishing pictures of varied 
 sizes. 
 
 FEDERIGO : I care nothing for nature or the ideal ; if you 
 
 dally with these matters, you die of hunger. The chief thing 
 
 is to acquire an individual style ; and when once you have 
 
 gained that style, paint fast and furiously! Then you will 
 
 earn money and fame. 
 
 TADDEO : Take away this head, it is finished ! By the way, 
 
 do you know how far the Barroccio and Durante del Nero have 
 
 got with the palace frontage ordered from them by Cardinal 
 
 Earnest ? 
 
 SAMMACCHINI : It is at any rate well-advanced, if not quite 
 
 finished. They are working at it like slaves, and in a week 
 
 they have completed four nude figures twenty-five feet in 
 
 height. 
 
 FEDERIGO : There are artists for you! Fast and furious, 
 
 that's a potent maxim ! How brilliant has become the part which 
 
 valiant painters, virtuous sculptors and daring architects can 
 
 play in the world ! We are the cynosure of all eyes ; men do 
 
 not trouble, as in former days, about politics or religion ; they 
 
 think of nothing but art ! I have heajrd my father say that, 
 
 in his time, Italy was always aflame ; men fought over the 
 
 merest trifles ; everyone had a thousand interests to discuss. 
 
 To-day, thanks to the Emperor, thanks to the admirable order 
 
 which his armies have established, we live in peace, we earn 
 
 money, and we have nothing left to desire ! 
 
 TADDEO : Faith, I had many things to desire when I was 
 
 employed by Giovampiero of Calabria to pound his colours 
 
 for him, and his wife thrashed me to a jelly while she let me 
 
 die of hunger. 
 
 FEDERIGO : One must have a little inconvenience at the 
 
 outset, but there is nothing in that to discourage a great artist. 
 
 338
 
 MICHAEL ANGELO 
 
 There are nowadays a thousand ways, formerly unknown, of 
 extricating oneself from trouble. Some enter the household 
 of a cardinal or a nobleman as family painters, and are well- 
 clothed, and fed at the pages' table ; others go off to France, 
 Germany and Spain, to carry out for the barbarians works for 
 which they are paid fabulous prices ; finally, when you have 
 made something of a name for yourself, there is no worthy 
 citizen who does not feel himself compelled to go down on his 
 knees before you so as to secure a masterpiece. Witness our 
 honest postmaster, Mattiuolo, who commissioned you, Taddeo, 
 to paint the frontage of his house in chiaroscuro, and God 
 knows that you got no small sum for the three subjects you 
 portrayed for him from the story of Mercury. 
 SICIOLANTE : What you say is perfectly true, Master; but 
 take note also of certain annoying customs that were unknown 
 in days gone by. 
 
 FEDERIGO : What customs, pray? 
 
 SICIOLANTE : Formerly, the foreigners bought our pictures 
 and took us away to decorate their buildings. Now, these 
 savages have learnt to paint, and all over Rome you see 
 Frenchmen, Flemings, and Spaniards, who take trade away 
 from us. 
 
 SAMMACCHINI : Yes, they often get a knife-blade in their 
 backs, do these intruders ; yet their number grows, and we are 
 beginning to suffer by it, that's true. 
 
 TADDEO : The fault rests with the Pope and the nobility. 
 They forget the respect due to the grand style, and ask for 
 novelties. A cardinal will very likely say : " Come to my 
 house, you will see there a unique painting ; admirable subject! 
 execution full of fire ! It's an ape sitting astride a unicorn and 
 biting into a peach. The author is a newly-arrived Fleming! " 
 Thereupon the fools run to the Fleming, and for six months 
 you see nothing but apes, unicorns and peaches ! 
 
 Enter the architect Francesco di San Gallo. 
 
 SAN GALLO : Good morning. Master Taddeo. Greetings, 
 Federigo. 
 
 339
 
 THE RENAISSANCE 
 
 TADDEO : Good morning-, Master, You seem to be in good 
 health, I am glad to see. 
 
 FEDERIGO : What is the matter? You are frowning. Are 
 you in a bad temper ? 
 
 SAN GALLO : One might be, for less. That old Buonarotti 
 makes my life a misery. Because this madman once had 
 genius, people will not see that his wits are gone, and that he 
 commits nothing but follies. 
 
 FEDERIGO : It is a shame to see him, at his age, still dis- 
 puting the field with young artists. He ought to be buried, 
 that Michael Angelo ! 
 
 SAN GALLO : He will find the opportunity of ruining the 
 cupola of St. Peter from top to bottom. In vain do I warn 
 the Pope and the Cardinals, I find no one bold enough to 
 affront this antique reputation in rags. 
 
 FEDERIGO : They're afraid of him ! He is so overbearing 
 and insolent! And what a narrow, obtuse mind! I tried to 
 explain to him my new method of drawing which is to make 
 art accessible to every intelligence. He affected to laugh at it 
 The truth is that he is not capable of understanding it in the 
 least. 
 
 SI CI OL ANTE : We ought to be rid of these dotards. They 
 may have been able to do sometliing in their day. But of 
 real greatness, of real delicacy, of the finesse and polish of 
 things, they never had the slightest conception. 
 SAN GALLO : That is indisputable. This scoundrel of a 
 Buonarotti is a tyrant, I maintain. He is always repeating that 
 he has been working at the cupola of St. Peter for seventeen 
 years past. As if that were a reason ! 
 
 FEDERIGO : It is a reason why he should be dismissed at 
 the earliest opportunity. Let him give place to the younger 
 men, who are in a hurry to win for themselves a fortune and a 
 reputation ! He ought to be forbidden further to touch a 
 brush, a chisel, or a pair of compasses. 
 
 Enter Pirro Ligorio, architect. 
 
 PIRRO LIGORIO : You are right. Buonarotti has fallen 
 340
 
 MICHAEL ANGELO 
 
 into his second childhood. We shall end by convincing all the 
 world of that, in spite of Vasari and Salviati and the few- 
 old bags of bones who remain to us of his following ! I have a 
 proposal to make to you. The Cardinal sends me to fetch 
 Federigo ; he wishes to show him some Flemish pictures that 
 he wants to buy. 
 
 SICIOLANTE: You hear? What foolishness! Plague 
 take your Cardinal ! Are there no Italian artists ? 
 PIRRO LIGORIO : What can you expect! It is the malady 
 of the age. The works in question are four panels by 
 Wilhelm Key, three by Anton Moor, of Utrecht, and one by 
 Martin van Vos, of Antwerp. I will tell you, to console )'ou, 
 that a German nobleman has sent his steward here ; I have 
 seen this worthy man ; he has an order to procure forty can- 
 vases of all sizes for his master. He will pay well. Will you 
 fall in with the scheme ! 
 
 ALL THE ARTISTS : Bravo, Ligorio ! Yes, we'll all fall in ! 
 PIRRO LIGORIO: Go on then, Federigo; I'll settle the 
 business for you all, no later than this evening, with the honest 
 Teuton ! 
 
 ?4i
 
 THE RENAISSANCE 
 1560. 
 
 A chamber in the Colonna palace. Dona Vittoria, Marcliionesa of Pescara, 
 dressed iu black, reading beside a little ebony table, on wliich a silver 
 lamp is set. Two maids of honour and a duenna with elaborately 
 dressed hair are doing needlework at the back of the room. The fire 
 is ht in the cliimney, and the logs sparkle noisily in the midst of the 
 ttanie. 
 
 Enter a gentleman in waiting. 
 
 GENTLEMAN : Madam, Signer Michael Angelo is at this 
 
 moment coming upstairs. 
 
 MARCHIONESS: Good: light him the way! 
 
 She rises and goes to meet Michael Angelo ; the latter appears at 
 
 the top of the landing, preceded by pages in the Uvcry of Avalos 
 
 and holding torches. 
 
 Good evening, friend. How are you? It is rather cold this 
 evening. 
 
 MICHAEL ANGELO : I kiss your Excellency's hands. I 
 feel better than an old man has any right to expect. 
 MARCHIONESS : You have not come alone, I hope? 
 MICHAEL ANGELO : No ; since you have forbidden me 
 to go at my own sweet will, without an attendant, I do so no 
 longer. Antonio lighted me the way with his lantern up to 
 the door of the palace, and there I found your servants, who 
 treated me like a noble lord. 
 
 MARCHIONESS : Come and sit here, by the chim.ney-piece. 
 In that arm-chair. . . . Don't move, Catarina. ... I wish to 
 wait on Michael Angelo. . . . Good! Put your feet near the 
 fi.rc. 
 
 MICHAEL ANGELO (seated): I let you have your way. 
 Marchioness. ... A soul like yours is at the summit of great- 
 ness, and that summit is virtue. 
 
 IMARCHIONESS (smiling) : What you say would be true if 
 it were a question of being useful to the poor, and, like our 
 Divine Saviour, of washing the dusty feet of a few beggars. 
 But waiting on Michael Angelo? . . . that is not much 
 humiliation. 
 
 MICHAEL ANGELO : To hear you, who would not believe 
 anything but the truth? Open your eyes. Marchioness ; what 
 
 342
 
 MICHAEL ANGELO 
 
 do you see ? A being weighted with years, assailed by all the 
 weaknesses of old age, putting forward his withered and 
 tremblinor finders, not without difficulty, to the blaze of the fire. 
 . . . What else do you see ? Scanty hairs, white hairs, on a fore- 
 head that assumes the tint of ivory, the cheeks sunken and 
 falling. . . . You behold a ruin, Marchioness, a human ruin, 
 the most deplorable, the most irreparable of all ruins. 
 MARCHIONESS : In speaking thus, you make a picture, and 
 you render it as powerful as your thought. This old man, 
 whom you try to humble before my eyes in all the abasement 
 of his weakness, rises, on the contrary, exalts himself by the 
 very fertility of your mind. . . . But no, you are wrong, it is 
 not a picture that I see, it is the reality, and I cannot imagine 
 anything that can vie with it in majesty and charm. 
 MICHAEL ANGELO : Yes! you see this twofold infirmity 
 — matter in dissolution, and the immortal soul which will soon 
 spurn it and fly away to the bosom of divine infinity. 
 MARCHIONESS : I seem to see, at my side, in my presence, 
 in the horizon that lies within the range of my vision, one of 
 those stars which Dante makes rise in so small a number up 
 to the ultimate place in his dazzling paradise, one of those 
 stars with living lustre, which, as nearest to the eternal Trinity, 
 borrow their radiance from its light. You are not old, 
 Michael Angelo, you live and will always live ; for that most 
 ethereal, mo.st active, most powerful part of human intelli- 
 gence, a sure and unassailable guide of the universe, will never 
 cease to be. 
 
 MICHAEL ANGELO : I shall soon leave the world. The 
 inner sap ferments in me and bursts the worn-out bark of the 
 tree ; the germ splits the pod that surrounds it ; the seed, 
 arrived at maturity, swells to leave the pulp that is shrivelling. 
 I have lived here below long enough, and I ask my Master to 
 recall His ser\'ant. 
 
 MARCHIONESS: You are weary of life? 
 MICHAEL ANGELO : On the contrary, I am greedy of life. 
 
 343
 
 THE RENAISSANCE 
 
 I wish to shake off from the hmbs of my true being these fetters 
 of flesh that bind them. I am athirst for complete freedom of 
 spirit. What 1 can divine, I am eager to seize ; what I can 
 comprehend, I yearn to behold. If, in my sojourn here below, 
 I have g-rasped something and can express a portion of the 
 truths whicli I feel, what shall I not succeed in accomplishing 
 when once the walls of barren rocks that surround me have 
 fallen for ever into the abyss of the past ? No, no ! it is not 
 death that I feel coming, but life, life whose shadow alone we 
 can perceive down here, and which I shall soon possess in its 
 entirety ! 
 
 MARCHIONESS: I tinnk as you do. We are two very 
 different beings, my friend. You are Michael Angelo ; I am 
 only a woman, with enough understanding to measure the 
 distance that separates my sympathy from your indomitable 
 energy. You have done much for the world, and while you 
 thought you were moulding the clay of your statues, you were 
 really endowing human thought with new forms and expres- 
 sions which it had never known. I — what have I done ? I 
 loved well him who is no more. ... I have loved you well — 
 that is all. 
 
 MICHAEL ANGELO : Then you have produced as much 
 as I have, quite as much. As long as Don Fernando d'Avalos 
 was with us, showing to Italy, to tlie soldiers, the scholars, the 
 populace, that proud and noble countenance, all shining with 
 the greatness of his name, with the splendour of his birtli, with 
 the lustre of his virtues, with the lightnings of his military 
 genius — as long as Heaven left us Fernando d'Avalos, the 
 incomparable Marquis of Pescara, your noble husband, you 
 loved him ; and in his love you were as gloriously Isappy as it 
 is given to any woman on earth to feci herself, to know 
 herself Believe me, that was a noble occupation ; and the 
 virtues gradually developed in you by the thrills of such a 
 love undoubtedly become the masterpiece of human worth. 
 MARCHIONESS : I have reflected upon this, and I think 
 that you are mistaken. However lofty a devotion may be, 
 
 344
 
 MICHAEL ANGELO 
 
 however pure an affection and unswerving a love, so long as 
 the heart is satisfied, it recoils upon itself, finds joy in 
 itself, and breathes only in a circle and an atmosphere that 
 are narrow and scarcely accessible to any outside influence. 
 I have realised, since I have been a widow, to what an extent 
 happiness dwarfs us. Must I confess it? It is, perhaps, the 
 knowledge of this truth which affords the greatest solace to my 
 grief. I have not loved the less him whom I loved, since I 
 have lost him ; but sorrow and solitude have counselled me to 
 efforts which I have found nobler than the facile virtues of which 
 it w^as so easy for me to clasp the semblances ; and the very 
 difficulties which then crossed my path, forcing me to redouble 
 my strength, have perhaps made of me something that a 
 cloudless happiness would never have made. 
 MICHAEL ANGELO : Whether a man w^orks only upon 
 himself, or applies his activity to inert matter and breathes into 
 it movement and life, the achievement is in both cases the 
 same : he sets up models for his fellow-men. We can say with 
 truth, when we reflect on the similarity of results, that the 
 most virtuous men are those like PolvP'notus, Zeuxis, 
 Polycletus, Pliidias, these most accomplished artists being 
 as great missionaries as are the philosophers and the saints. 
 If then I, for my part, have succeeded in producing some good 
 in this world, and the world-spirit owes me some new advan- 
 tages, do not deny me. Marchioness, the glory of comparing 
 myself with you, and permit me to hope that, in the life ever- 
 lasting, we shall rise on like wings to a perfect equality of 
 rewards. 
 
 MARCHIONESS : So be it, Michael Angelo. May I never 
 be parted from a soul which, already, for so many years has 
 made me gaze with a steadier eye upon so many great and 
 solemn truths ; it is assuredly the highest favour that I can ask 
 of Heaven. With one particular quality in you I have been 
 for a long time past powerfully and pleasantly impressed. 
 Ought I to tell you of it ? 
 MICHAEL ANGELO : Speak. I beg you. 
 
 :45
 
 THE RENAISSANCE 
 
 MARCHIONESS: We often hear it said that old age is 
 peevish and discontented ; that, to its eyes, everything is 
 enveloped in a dark cloud, and the sweetest temper grows 
 soured with years. In you the exact opposite has happened. 
 I have known you morose, impatient, irritable. You were so 
 completely possessed by your own thoughts, that the genius of 
 others remained to you a sealed book. I have seen you when 
 you understood none but yourself. ... As the snows of age 
 have gathered round your intellect, all has changed ; it seems 
 as if, in contrast with other men, you have acquired late in 
 the day a fullness, a freshness of life, clearness, precision, 
 and wide range of vision, and a true knowledge of yourself and 
 of others. 
 
 MICHAEL ANGELO : Such is indeed the case. Heaven, I 
 will confess, endowed me at birth with an energy out of propor- 
 tion to my physical powers. I guessed more than I was in 
 a position to see, and I saw further than I had the power to 
 reach. All that was being produced round about me struck 
 me with terror ; I feared that my insufficient strength would 
 be dissipated, and I forced myself with rage and gloomy 
 obstinacy to concentrate my gaze upon that holy aim which I 
 was afraid of missing. Nevertheless, I felt both my hope of 
 triumph and my dread of failure redouble, when I perceived 
 that every step, however toilsome, hard and fatiguing it might 
 be, none the less drew me nearer to my goal. I spent my 
 whole life in work and in spurring my activities ; I tried to 
 grasp nature in all her convolutions at once, and I scaled her 
 heights by clutching with my hands, my fingers, my feet, my 
 knees, my whole body, at every point where I could gain a 
 hold. I have been sculptor, painter, poet, architect, engineer, 
 anatomist ; I have carved colossi in stone and chiselled 
 statuettes in ivory ; I have traced out the ramparts of Florence 
 and of Rome, I have set up bastions, built outworks, measured 
 counterscarps, and not far from the building whose wall I 
 covered with the revelation of the East Judgment, I have 
 succeeded in raising to the clouds the immense cupola of the 
 
 346
 
 MICHAEL ANGELO 
 
 Prince of Apostles. In a word, if I have not achieved all 
 that I wished, I have certainly done something. One day I 
 saw myself in a position as high as, nay higher than, I could 
 ever have dreamt or desired. Popes, kings, the Emperor, 
 princes, honoured me. Artists proclaimed me the first among 
 their ranks, and I had nothing left to ask for either from 
 myself, who knew what I could do, nor from the world, which 
 gave me more than I had expected. Then, while I worked, my 
 heart took a rest ; all doubt, all fear of losing my v.ay, vanished. 
 I found leisure to contemplate, to appreciate, to approve, to 
 love. Irritation and impatience ceased to drive me before 
 their fitful gusts, and I became, for good or ill, the man that I 
 am to-day — one who needed age in order to be born, and has 
 become young only in his old days. 
 
 MARCHIONESS : What I love in you, Michael Angelo. is 
 that, while you have ever before your eyes the wretched 
 course which the genius of our contemporaries is taking, the 
 present decadence arouses in you neither anger nor disgust. 
 MICHAEL ANGELO : It inspires me with a profound and 
 tender pity. This world that I gaze upon is a companion with 
 whom I have accomplished a long journey, and, in contrast 
 with me, it has grown weary, it has lost its vigour, it stumbles 
 and is nigh to falling by the wayside, whereas, for my part, 
 the hope of the life I am about to enter on exalts and intoxi- 
 cates me with the most glorious anticipations. In the dawn of 
 the century, when wc started together, my companion was 
 blooming with youth, bursting with health, and every prospect 
 made him cast prouder and prouder looks towards the 
 horizon. While I felt doubts, my companion felt none ; I must 
 give him his due there ; young, impulsive, spoiled by the 
 uncouth and perverse ages from whose hands he was escaping, 
 his first thought was to reject their precepts, and, though he was 
 quite in love with the art whose charms he began to see, it 
 was of virtue and religion that he thought in the first place. 
 I knew Fra Girolamo Savonarola, madam, and never has the 
 look of that august countenance faded from my memory. I 
 
 34;
 
 THE RENAISSANCE 
 
 have lived upon his teachings. Whether it be that he asked 
 too much of us, or that poor Italy presumed too much upon 
 her strength and that her imagination outstripped her honesty 
 — Italy left his hands and remained in those of vice. Yet, 
 nevertheless, she knew herself ; she was conscious of her 
 superiority to the rest of the world. She despised the other 
 countries and used their resources for her own ends ; she was 
 the object of their admiration, and she knew it. She knew 
 herself to be great, and dreamed only of becoming greater. 
 Her artists — you know what they were ! Now, all is over. 
 The fire has gone out. Italy exists no more. Those whom 
 we despised are becoming our masters. The artists have 
 perished. I am the last survivor of the holy company ; they 
 who are called by the same glorious name that we bore, are 
 now nothing but traffickers, and impudent traffickers to boot. 
 We had indeed to die ! W' e are dying badly, unhappily. 
 What matter? There have been beautiful spirits, glorious 
 spirits in this Italy, she that is henceforsvard enslaved and 
 prostrate. I do not regret having lived. 
 
 MARCHIONESS : Alas! I am less detached than you are. 
 I feel pained at the glorious things we liave left or are leaving. 
 It seems as if, after being flooded with light, our tottering steps 
 are going forward into the dark. 
 
 MICHAEL ANGELO : We are bequeathing a great legacy, 
 great examples. . . . The earth is richer than it was before 
 our coming. . . . What is to disappear will not disappear 
 altogether. , . . The fields can rest and remain fallow for a 
 while ; the seed is in the clods. The fog may spread and the 
 grey and watery sky become covered with mist and rain ; but 
 the sun is above. . . . Who knov/s what v/ill come again ? 
 MARCHIONESS: You seem tired, my friend. Your head 
 is nodding. ... 
 
 MICHAEL ANGELO : Yes, I am weary. ... I will leave 
 you. ... I am eighty-nine years old. Marchioness, and any 
 emotion tires me a little ; we have talked of very serious 
 matters this evening. Good-bye! 
 
 348
 
 MICHAEL ANGELO 
 
 Mi\RCHIONESS: Till to-morrow, is it not? 
 
 MICHAEL ANGELO : Yes, till to-morrow. ... if I am still 
 
 of this world. ... If I am not, till we meet again, Madam ! 
 
 He rises ; the Marcliioness supports him and presses liis hand. 
 
 MARCHIONESS : Lean on my arm. ... I will take you to 
 
 the foot of the staircase. 
 
 MICHAEL ANGELO: I consent to this honour. ... I 
 
 accept this kindness. ... It seems to me that to-day I can 
 
 expect it. I have one last word to say to you. . . . 
 
 MARCHIONESS: What, friend? 
 
 MICHAEL ANGELO : You, whom I love so well, I bless 
 
 you from the depths of my soul. . . . Good-bye. 
 
 Kisses the Marchioness' hand and departs. 
 
 END OF THE FltTH AND LAST PART 
 
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