“Dear Father: I fear my departure from home has caused you much sorrow—the more so that I left you furtively. Permit me to explain my motives. You who so well know how to appreciate the perishable things of earth, judge not with passion like a woman, but, guided by truth, judge according to reason whether I am not right in carrying out my project and abandoning the world. The motive determining me to enter on a religious life is this: the great misery of the world, the iniquities of men, the crimes, the pride, the shocking blasphemies, by which the world is polluted, for there is none that doeth good—no, not one. Often and daily have I uttered this verse with tears:
‘Heu fuge crudelas terras! Fuge littus avarum.’
I could not support the wickedness of the people. Everywhere I saw virtue despised, and vice honored. No greater suffering could I have in this world. Wherefore every day I prayed our Lord Jesus Christ to lift me out of this mire. It has pleased God in his infinite mercy to show me the right way, and I have entered upon it, although unworthy of such a grace. Sweet Jesus, may I suffer a thousand deaths rather than oppose thee and show myself ungrateful! Thus, my dear father, far from shedding tears, you should thank our Lord Jesus, for he has given you a son, has preserved him to you up to the age of twenty-two, and has deigned to admit him among his knights militant. Can you imagine that I have not endured the greatest affliction in separating from you? Never have I suffered such mental torment as in abandoning my own father to make the sacrifice of my body to Jesus Christ, and to surrender my will into the hands of persons I had never seen. In mercy, then, most loving father, dry your tears, and add not to my pain and sorrow. I am satisfied with what I have done, and I would not return to the world even with the certainty of becoming greater than Cæsar. But, like you, I am of flesh and blood; the senses wage war with reason, and I must struggle furiously with the assaults of the devil.[120] They will soon pass by, these first sad days, bitterest in the freshness of their grief, and I trust we will be consoled by grace in this world, and glory in the next. Comfort my mother, I beseech you, of whom, with yourself, I entreat your blessing.”
In the convent at Bologna, Savonarola spent seven years. During his novitiate, his conduct was the admiration of all his brethren. They wondered at his modesty, his humility, and his faultless obedience. He appeared to be entirely absorbed in ecstatic contemplation of heavenly things, and to have no other desire than to be allowed to pass his time in prayer and humble obedience. To one looking at him walking in the cloisters, he had more the appearance of a shadow than of a living man, so much was he emaciated by abstinence and fasts. The severest trials of the novitiate seemed light to him, and his superiors had frequently to restrain his self-imposed denials. Even when not fasting, he ate hardly enough to sustain life. His bed was of rough wood with a sack of straw and one coarse sheet; his clothes, the plainest possible, but always scrupulously neat. In personal appearance, Savonarola was of middle stature, dark, of sanguine-bilious temperament, and of extraordinary nervous sensibility. His eyes flamed from beneath dark eyebrows; his nose was aquiline, mouth large, lips thick but firmly compressed, and manifesting an immovable determination of purpose. His forehead was already marked with deep furrows, indicating a mind absorbed in the contemplation of grave subjects. Of beauty of physiognomy there was none, but it bore the expression of severe dignity. A certain sad smile, passing over his rough features, gave them a kindly expression which inspired confidence at first sight. His manners were simple and uncultivated; his discourse, plain to roughness, became at times so eloquent and powerful that it convinced or subdued every one.
As Savonarola advanced in his studies, he devoted all the time he could possibly spare to the writings of the Fathers and to the Holy Scriptures. There are no less than four different copies of the Bible still existing in the libraries of Florence, and a fifth in the library of S. Mark, in Venice, of which the margins are covered with Latin notes written by him, which are excessively abridged, and in a writing so fine as to be read only with difficulty. According to the custom of the order, the young monk was in due time sent out on the mission, that is, to different cities and towns, to preach and exercise his other clerical duties. In 1482, he was ordered to Ferrara, whither he went, very much against his will. His relatives desired that he should remain there, in order to be near his family. Referring to this, he wrote to his mother: “I could not do as much good at Ferrara as elsewhere. It is seldom that a religious succeeds in his native place. Hence it is that the Scripture commands us to go forth into the world. A stranger is better received everywhere. No one is a prophet in his own country. Even concerning Christ, they asked: ‘Is not this the son of the carpenter?’ As to me, it would be inquired, ‘Is not this Master Jerome, who committed such and such sins, and who was not a whit better than ourselves? Ah! we know him.’”
THE CONVENT OF S. MARK.
From Ferrara, Fra Hieronimo was sent to the Convent of S. Mark, at Florence. A mass of saintly and artistic recollections cluster around the history of this convent. Holy men passed their lives within its austere cloisters, and eminent artists here consecrated their works by Christian inspiration. It is sufficient to mention from among them the names of Fra Angelico, whose admirable frescoes adorn its walls, of Fra Bartolomeo, known to the world as Baccio della Porta, the equal of Andrea del Sarto, of Fra Benedetto, and of the brothers Luke and Paul della Robbia. Villari dwells on one of its greatest illustrations, F. Sant’ Antonino, the founder or renewer of nearly all the charitable institutions of Florence, and in particular of the Buoni Uomini di San Martino, which exists to this day in all its beautiful Christian edification, if, haply, the tide of modern progress, under Victor Emmanuel, have not swept it away.
F. Sant’ Antonino’s memory is still cherished there as that of a man burning with divine charity, and consumed with the love of his neighbor. His death, which took place in 1459, was deplored in Florence as a public calamity.
The early history of the convent is closely connected with that of Cosmo de’ Medici, who was its munificent patron. Besides large amounts spent on the building, he made them a still more valuable donation. Niccolo Niccoli, a name well known to scholars, a collector of manuscripts of European fame, had spent his life and a large fortune in making a collection of valuable manuscripts which was the admiration of all Italy. At his death, he bequeathed it to the public, but the donation was useless by reason of the heavy debts against his estate. Cosmo paid them, and, retaining for himself a few of the most precious documents, gave all the rest to the convent. This was the first public library in Italy, and it was cared for by the monks in a manner which proved them worthy of the gift they had received. S. Mark became, as it were, a centre of learning, and not only the most learned monks of its affiliated convents in Northern Italy, but the most distinguished men of that period, sought every occasion to frequent it.