THE BURNING. 69 And his degradation from the priesthood. It is the degra dation of priesthood, to be sure, but not of his. then they cry, He belongs to the Church no longer, let him be burnt. And Sigismund, forsworn, perjured, consciously, blushingly guilty, lets them have their way, and, like Pilate, washes the hands which a sea could never cleanse. The sentence is not delayed. The council has other work to do, and goes on with its pottering business, while the very grandest soul that the world knew that day goes out to ascend in his chariot of fire. Like the song of the lark, which floats down the air when the sweet singer itself is no longer visible, so out of the cloud of smoke and flame are heard the last words of the martyr's mortal language, Glory be to God on high, and on earth peace and good will towards men. We praise Thee! We bless Thee! We worship Thee! We glorify Thee! We give thanks to Thee for thy great glory! 66 The mighty host of pilgrims stand silent as though smitten by some vision of heavenly apocalypse, and when the smoke clears away there are some ashes and a handful of iron links hanging to a blackened stake. But John Hus is with God. IV. SAVONAROLA. A. D. 1452-1498. As the moon Doth by the rolling of her heavenly sphere, So fortune deals with Florence. DANTE, Paradise, xv. 80. SAVONAROLA. A. D. 1452-1498. THE drama of history presents us with no scenes more fascinating in their splendor, or more impressive in their tragedy, than those which the fifteenth century saw enacted in Italy. Private magnificence reached its zenith, and common wretchedness sunk to its nadir. Art achieved its most brilliant triumphs, and religion fell into its dreariest formalisms. Government, nominally republican, was the plaything of stronghanded and unprincipled adventurers, who were rich, or mighty, or cunning enough to control the nerveless popular will. Learning among the clergy meant dabbling in scholasticism; among the higher or wealthier laity, some slight acquaintance with pagan writers, and a love for classic antiquities; among the common people there was little or none. It is almost enough, in order to describe the moral and social life of the century, to say that it was the age of the Medici at Florence, and of the Borgias at Rome; an age of culture wedded to corruption; an age whose external garb was elegance, whose inmost heart was moral rottenness; an age whose only grand enthusiasms were for art and vice; all other enthusiasms were accounted vulgar and had died out. Patriotism and religion, at least, if not dead, were comatose. The one needed a Judas Maccabæus, the other a John the Baptist. |