Seven Men [excerpts]

Act I

SCENE: A Room in the Monastery of San Marco, Florence. TIME: 1490, A.D. A summer morning.

Enter the SACRISTAN and a FRIAR.

SACR. Savonarola looks more grim to-day Than ever. Should I speak my mind, I’d say That he was fashioning some new great scourge To flay the backs of men.

FRI. ‘Tis even so. Brother Filippo saw him stand last night In solitary vigil till the dawn Lept o’er the Arno, and his face was such As men may wear in Purgatory--nay, E’en in the inmost core of Hell’s own fires.

SACR. I often wonder if some woman’s face, Seen at some rout in his old worldling days, Haunts him e’en now, e’en here, and urges him To fierier fury ‘gainst the Florentines.

FRI. Savonarola love-sick! Ha, ha, ha! Love-sick? He, love-sick? ‘Tis a goodly jest! The CONfirm’d misogyn a ladies’ man! Thou must have eaten of some strange red herb That takes the reason captive. I will swear Savonarola never yet hath seen A woman but he spurn’d her. Hist! He comes.

Give thee good morrow, Brother.

SACR. And therewith A multitude of morrows equal-good Till thou, by Heaven’s grace, hast wrought the work Nearest thine heart.

SAV. I thank thee, Brother, yet I thank thee not, for that my thankfulness (An such there be) gives thanks to Heaven alone.

FRI. [To SACR.] ‘Tis a right answer he hath given thee. Had Sav’narola spoken less than thus, Methinks me, the less Sav’narola he. As when the snow lies on yon Apennines, White as the hem of Mary Mother’s robe, And insusceptible to the sun’s rays, Being harder to the touch than temper’d steel, E’en so this great gaunt monk white-visaged Upstands to Heaven and to Heav’n devotes The scarped thoughts that crown the upper slopes Of his abrupt and AUStere nature.

SACR. Aye.

ST. FRAN. This is the place.

LUC. [Pointing at SAV.] And this the man! [Aside.] And I-- By the hot blood that courses i’ my veins I swear it ineluctably--the woman!

SAV. Who is this wanton? [LUC. throws back her hood, revealing her face. SAV. starts back, gazing at her.]

ST. FRAN. Hush, Sir! ‘Tis my little sister The poisoner, right well-belov’d by all Whom she as yet hath spared. Hither she came Mounted upon another little sister of mine-- A mare, caparison’d in goodly wise. She--I refer now to Lucrezia-- Desireth to have word of thee anent Some matter that befrets her.

SAV. [To LUC.] Hence! Begone! Savonarola will not tempted be By face of woman e’en tho’ ‘t be, tho’ ‘tis, Surpassing fair. All hope abandon therefore. I charge thee: Vade retro, Satanas.

LEONARDO Sirrah, thou speakst in haste, as is the way Of monkish men. The beauty of Lucrezia Commends, not discommends, her to the eyes Of keener thinkers than I take thee for. I am an artist and an engineer, Giv’n o’er to subtile dreams of what shall be On this our planet. I foresee a day When men shall skim the earth i’ certain chairs Not drawn by horses but sped on by oil Or other matter, and shall thread the sky Birdlike.

LUC. It may be as thou sayest, friend, Or may be not. [To SAV.] As touching this our errand, I crave of thee, Sir Monk, an audience Instanter.

FRI. Lo! Here Alighieri comes. I had methought me he was still at Parma.

ST. FRAN. [To DAN.] How fares my little sister Beatrice?

DAN. She died, alack, last sennight.

ST. FRAN. Did she so? If the condolences of men avail Thee aught, take mine.

DAN. They are of no avail.

SAV. [To LUC.] I do refuse thee audience.

LUC. Then why Didst thou not say so promptly when I ask’d it?

SAV. Full well thou knowst that I was interrupted By Alighieri’s entry. [Noise without. Enter Guelfs and Ghibellines fighting.] What is this?

LUC. I did not think that in this cloister’d spot There would be so much doing. I had look’d To find Savonarola all alone And tempt him in his uneventful cell. Instead o’ which--Spurn’d am I? I am I. There was a time, Sir, look to ‘t! O damnation! What is ‘t? Anon then! These my toys, my gauds, That in the cradle--aye, ‘t my mother’s breast-- I puled and lisped at,--‘Tis impossible, Tho’, faith, ‘tis not so, forasmuch as ‘tis. And I a daughter of the Borgias!-- Or so they told me. Liars! Flatterers! Currying lick-spoons! Where’s the Hell of ‘t then? ‘Tis time that I were going. Farewell, Monk, But I’ll avenge me ere the sun has sunk. [Exeunt LUC., ST. FRAN., and LEONARDO, followed by DAN. SAV., having watched LUC. out of sight, sinks to his knees, sobbing. FRI. and SACR. watch him in amazement. Guelfs and Ghibellines continue fighting as the Curtain falls.]

Act Ii

TIME: Afternoon of same day. SCENE: Lucrezia’s Laboratory. Retorts, test-tubes, etc. On small Renaissance table, up c., is a great poison-bowl, the contents of which are being stirred by the FIRST APPRENTICE. The SECOND APPRENTICE stands by, watching him.

SECOND APP. For whom is the brew destin’d?

FIRST APP. I know not. Lady Lucrezia did but lay on me Injunctions as regards the making of ‘t, The which I have obey’d. It is compounded Of a malignant and a deadly weed Found not save in the Gulf of Spezia, And one small phial of ‘t, I am advis’d, Were more than ‘nough to slay a regiment Of Messer Malatesta’s condottieri In all their armour.

SECOND APP. I can well believe it. Mark how the purple bubbles froth upon The evil surface of its nether slime!

LUC. [To FIRST APP.] Is ‘t done, Sir Sluggard?

FIRST APP. Madam, to a turn.

LUC. Had it not been so, I with mine own hand Would have outpour’d it down thy gullet, knave. See, here’s a ring of cunningly-wrought gold

That I, on a dark night, did purchase from A goldsmith on the Ponte Vecchio. Small was his shop, and hoar of visage he. I did bemark that from the ceiling’s beams Spiders had spun their webs for many a year, The which hung erst like swathes of gossamer Seen in the shadows of a fairy glade, But now most woefully were weighted o’er With gather’d dust. Look well now at the ring! Touch’d here, behold, it opes a cavity Capacious of three drops of yon fell stuff. Dost heed? Whoso then puts it on his finger Dies, and his soul is from his body rapt To Hell or Heaven as the case may be. Take thou this toy and pour the three drops in.

So, Sav’narola, thou shalt learn that I Utter no threats but I do make them good. Ere this day’s sun hath wester’d from the view Thou art to preach from out the Loggia Dei Lanzi to the cits in the Piazza. I, thy Lucrezia, will be upon the steps To offer thee with phrases seeming-fair That which shall seal thine eloquence for ever. O mighty lips that held the world in spell But would not meet these little lips of mine In the sweet way that lovers use--O thin, Cold, tight-drawn, bloodless lips, which natheless I Deem of all lips the most magnifical In this our city--

Well, Fool, what’s thy latest?

FOOL Aristotle’s or Zeno’s, Lady--‘tis neither latest nor last. For, marry, if the cobbler stuck to his last, then were his latest his last in rebus ambulantibus. Argal, I stick at nothing but cobble-stones, which, by the same token, are stuck to the road by men’s fingers.

LUC. How many crows may nest in a grocer’s jerkin?

FOOL A full dozen at cock-crow, and something less under the dog-star, by reason of the dew, which lies heavy on men taken by the scurvy.

LUC. [To FIRST APP.] Methinks the Fool is a fool.

FOOL And therefore, by auricular deduction, am I own twin to the Lady Lucrezia!

When pears hang green on the garden wall With a nid, and a nod, and a niddy-niddy-o Then prank you, lads and lasses all, With a yea and a nay and a niddy-o.

But when the thrush flies out o’ the frost With a nid, [etc.] ‘Tis time for loons to count the cost, With a yea [etc.]

PORTER O my dear Mistress, there is one below Demanding to have instant word of thee. I told him that your Ladyship was not At home. Vain perjury! He would not take Nay for an answer.

LUC. Ah? What manner of man Is he?

PORTER A personage the like of whom Is wholly unfamiliar to my gaze. Cowl’d is he, but I saw his great eyes glare From their deep sockets in such wise as leopards Glare from their caverns, crouching ere they spring On their reluctant prey.

LUC. And what name gave he?

PORTER [After a pause.] Something-arola.

LUC. Savon-? [PORTER nods.] Show him up. [Exit PORTER.]

FOOL If he be right astronomically, Mistress, then is he the greater dunce in respect of true learning, the which goes by the globe. Argal, ‘twere better he widened his wind-pipe.

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