'There!' he exclaimed, 'there is the miracle!'
And his thoughts turned to his _Cenacolo_ and to the face of Christ, still sought for, not yet found; and he felt that between this inviolable law of Necessity, and the perfect wisdom of Him who said, 'One of you shall betray me,' there existed a deep correlation.
In the evening Giovanni came with the day's news. The Signoria had exiled Fra Girolamo and Fra Domenico from the city; and the 'Enraged,' brooking no delay, had besieged San Marco with a countless throng of armed persons, and had broken into the church where the brothers were at vespers. They defended themselves, fighting with burning tapers, candlesticks, and crucifixes; in the cloud of smoke they seemed ridiculous as angry doves. One climbed on the roof and hurled stones down from it. Another fired an arquebus from the altar, shouting at each discharge '_Viva Cristo!_' Presently the monastery was taken by storm.
The brethren entreated Savonarola to flee, but he, together with Domenico, gave himself up, and they were haled to prison. The guards were unable or unwilling to defend them from the insults of the crowd, who struck Fra Girolamo from behind, crying:--
'Prophesy unto us, thou man of God, who is he that smote thee?'
Others crawled at his feet as though seeking something, and cried: 'The key? The key? Where is Fra Girolamo's key?'
--in allusion to the key often spoken of in his sermons, with which he would unlock the secrets of the abominations of Rome.
The very children who had belonged to the Sacred Troop of inquisitors now pelted him with apples and rotten eggs. Those who could not penetrate the crowd howled from a distance, reiterating their abuse till their throats were hoarse.
'Dastard! Coward! Judas! Sodomite! Sorcerer! Antichrist!'
Giovanni followed him to the doors of the prison of the Palazzo Vecchio, whence he was not to issue till the day of his execution.
On the following morning Leonardo and Boltraffio quitted Florence.
At once, on arrival in Milan, the painter set himself to the task which had baffled him for eighteen years--the face of the Christ in the 'Last Supper!'
On the very day of that trial by fire, which in Florence had had such bad results--Charles VIII., King of France, died very suddenly. The news was of sinister import to Il Moro, for the Duke of Orleans, who was now to ascend the throne as Louis XII., was descended from Valentina Visconti, daughter of the first Duke of Milan. He claimed to be the only legitimate heir of the dominion of Lombardy, and now proposed to reconquer it, annihilating 'the robber nest of the Sforzas.'