Atlantic Monthly, Vol. 9, No. 52, February, 1862 | Page 6

the
thought of these sweet hearts that comforts me when my soul is among
lions. The foundation standeth sure,--the Lord knoweth them that are
His."
"And it is good and encouraging," said Father Antonio, "to see the zeal
of the poor, who will give their last penny for the altar of the Lord, and
who flock so to hear the word and take the sacraments. I have had
precious seasons of preaching and confessing, and have worked in
blessedness many days restoring and beautifying the holy pictures and
statues whereby these little ones have been comforted. What with the

wranglings of princes and the factions and disturbances in our poor
Italy, there be many who suffer in want and loss of all things, so that no
refuge remains to them but the altars of our Jesus, and none cares for
them but He."
"Brother," said the Superior, "there be thousands of flowers fairer than
man ever saw that grow up in waste places and in deep dells and shades
of mountains; but God bears each one in His heart, and delighteth
Himself in silence with them: and so doth He with these poor, simple,
unknown souls. The True Church is not a flaunting queen who goes
boldly forth among men displaying her beauties, but a veiled bride, a
dove that is in the cleft of the rocks, whose voice is known only to the
Beloved. Ah! when shall the great marriage-feast come, when all shall
behold her glorified? I had hoped to see the day here in Italy: but
now"----
The father stopped, and seemed to lapse into unconscious musing,--his
large eye growing fixed and mysterious in its expression.
"The brothers have been telling me somewhat of the tribulations you
have been through," said Father Antonio, who thought he saw a good
opening to introduce the subject nearest his heart.
"No more of that!--no more!" said the Superior, turning away his head
with an expression of pain and weariness; "rather let us look up. What
think you, brother, are all these doing now?" he said, pointing to the
saints in the picture. "They are all alive and well, and see clearly
through our darkness." Then, rising up, he added, solemnly, "Whatever
man may say or do, it is enough for me to feel that my dearest Lord and
His blessed Mother and all the holy archangels, the martyrs and
prophets and apostles, are with me. The end is coming."
"But, dearest father," said Antonio, "think you the Lord will suffer the
wicked to prevail?"
"It may be for a time," said Savonarola. "As for me, I am in His hands
only as an instrument. He is master of the forge and handles the
hammer, and when He has done using it He casts it from Him. Thus He
did with Jeremiah, whom He permitted to be stoned to death when his
preaching mission was accomplished; and thus He may do with this
hammer when He has done using it."
At this moment a monk rushed into the room with a face expressive of
the utmost terror, and called out,--

"Father, what shall we do? The mob are surrounding the convent! Hark!
hear them at the doors!"
In truth, a wild, confused roar of mingled shrieks, cries, and blows
came in through the open door of the apartment; and the pattering
sound of approaching footsteps was heard like showering raindrops
along the cloisters.
"Here come Messer Nicolo de' Lapi, and Francesco Valori!" called out
a voice.
The room was soon filled with a confused crowd, consisting of
distinguished Florentine citizens, who had gained admittance through a
secret passage, and the excited novices and monks.
"The streets outside the convent are packed close with men," cried one
of the citizens; "they have stationed guards everywhere to cut off our
friends who might come to help us."
"I saw them seize a young man who was quietly walking, singing
psalms, and slay him on the steps of the Church of the Innocents," said
another; "they cried and hooted, 'No more psalm-singing!'"
"And there's Arnolfo Battista," said a third;--"he went out to try to
speak to them, and they have killed him,--cut him down with their
sabres."
"Hurry! hurry! barricade the door! arm yourselves!" was the cry from
other voices.
"Shall we fight, father? shall we defend ourselves?" cried others, as the
monks pressed around their Superior.
When the crowd first burst into the room, the face of the Superior
flushed, and there was a slight movement of surprise; then he seemed
to recollect himself, and murmuring, "I expected this, but not so soon,"
appeared lost in mental prayer. To the agitated inquiries of his flock, he
answered,--"No, brothers; the weapons of monks must be spiritual, not
carnal." Then lifting on high a crucifix, he said,--"Come