Martin Luther — Act 1

London: Remington and Co., 1879, pages 39-58, 3,408 words

ACT I.

SCENE I.

SCENE II.

SCENE III.

ACT I.

SCENE I.

Porto del Popolo at Rome, representing at the furtherest end, part of the walls of Rome with the gate in the middle, showing the open country; houses and streets seen laterally, forming a kind of square.

CITIZENS and PEASANTS cross the stage, coming from the town and country.

Enter a RELIC SELLER.

RELIC SELLER.

Buy relics, relics, all sufficing relics,

Of holy Saints who suffered martyrdom!

Who here will buy, and save their souls from hell?

I have a stone from off Saint Simon's pillar

Where twenty years he stood in wind and frost,

In rain, and storm, and shine, until his flesh

Was rotten as an Autumn drifting leaf.

Buy! buy! I say he drank the dew for drink,

And lived on what poor pious people brought

For thirty-two long years. Who would not buy

This reverend relic for ten silver scudi?

Here is a scapular containing three

Most holy tresses of Saint Appoline,

And here the tongue of good Saint Chrysostom,

And here the mallet of the carpenter

Joseph, and here, femur and sacred rib

Of great Saint Antony. Will no one buy?

Am I in heathen country, will none buy?

Look here, my friends, I have an arrow here

That pierced the side of Saint Sebastian —

It is believed that 'twas the very one

That slew him. Who will buy?

FIRST CITIZEN.

        How much for that?

RELIC SELLER.

Why, I will sell it thee for forty ducats.

FIRST CITIZEN.

I cannot pay so much.

        [He turns to go away.

RELIC SELLER.

        Give twenty-five.

FIRST PEASANT.

Why, I could buy a house with that!

FIRST CITIZEN.

        Too much.

RELIC SELLER.

Wilt thou give ten?

FIRST CITIZEN.

        I cannot give so much.

RELIC SELLER.

Too much cannot be paid for holy things.

        [First citizen turns still to go.

Have patience, I will give it thee for five.

        [He still turns to go.

Stay, stay, thou art a goodly man, and strong

In faith; to keep it out of worthless hands

I'll give it thee for one.

        [He gives the arrow and prepares to go. The crowd disperse.

        Farewell, good Sir,

To other relic-believing souls I haste

With holy help.

Enter MARTIN LUTHER, broken with fatigue and covered with dust.

MARTIN LUTHER.

        At last! I stand in Rome!

[He falls upon his knees, remains a moment with raised hands and bended head in pious ecstasy.

        (Getting up) —

Thee I salute, O Rome! Eternal city!

Thrice sanctified by blessed blood of Martyrs.

        [Enter two monks.

FIRST MONK.

A fair, fresh day. It is, indeed, a pity,

I have a mass to read; were it not so,

We might sit in the morning sun and talk

Of Roman life, and all its joys and pleasures.

SECOND MONK.

'Tis true, the air is soft and cool, but mass

Doth not take long, I read it yesterday

In thirteen minutes and a half.

FIRST MONK.

        Thou art

Too slow of speech, I read it once myself

In seven minutes thirty seconds, skipping

Scarcely a phrase.

SECOND MONK (laughing).

        Or changing one?

FIRST MONK (laughing).

        Ah, yes,

I said unto the host, But bread thou art,

And bread thou ne'er canst cease to be.

SECOND MONK.

        And I

Said to the wine, But wine thou art, and wine

Thou ne'er canst cease to be, till I have drunken.

        [Both laugh.

MARTIN LUTHER.

I will believe ye speak in jest, although,

God wot, such things are little fit for jest.

        [The monks laugh.

FIRST MONK.

Thou hast a bold, free speech…

SECOND MONK.

        Too free, methinks.

FIRST MONK.

And who art thou, O pious Augustine friar?

MARTIN LUTHER.

My name is Luther, and from Wittemberg

I come, the intervention of the Pope

To seek, for the adjustment of some questions

Pertaining to my convent.

        [The monks laugh.

SECOND MONK.

        He speaks convinced!

FIRST MONK.

I like to hear him talk, he doth remind

Me so of fair, fresh fields, he smells bucolic.

SECOND MONK.

But he will soon reform, such innocence

Is tender as a child's first skin, it soon

Is rubbed away.

FIRST MONK.

        As glad and bright as summer

Is life in Rome. We have no cares nor fears.

Good living is the order of the day.

Our Friday-fasting fare is fat young chickens,

And rich thick soups.

SECOND MONK.

        O goodly city, Rome,

How well thou nourisheth the feeble flesh!

Since Alexander, our last Pope, the harlots

And courtesans have been high held in honour…  

Laura, of Florence, fair is she as snow,

And yellow as the Autumn corn her hair:

And Leona, the Neapolitan,

Her velvet eyes are dark and deep as night.

FIRST MONK.

Aurelia, and her sister, Thaddea:

Camilla, and her daughter, Beatrice…  

SECOND MONK.

Whilst of the Greeks, Delfina and Angela,

And Baccia, the Florentine, we may

Not even dream; they are for cardinals,

And far above the reach of simple monks.

MARTIN LUTHER.

O brethren! fear the wrath of God. It will

Descend like wind-blown flame upon your lives,

And cast ye out of wholesome lands to wander

Upon the track of Cain.

        [The monks going out.

FIRST MONK.

        A thousand years

Ago, good King Athalaric decrees

Did set against the lewdness of the clergy.

It was a thousand years ago, and yet

We have not changed.

        [Exit monks laughing.

MARTIN LUTHER.

        Have pity, oh, my God!

Oh! break the bonds that Satan lays around

My soul. Oh! rend the subtle snares he spreads

About my fearing feet! Are these pit-falls

He delves for me? I came to Rome, Thy city,

To prop my failing faith, and these I find

Thy ministers… Forth stretch Thy hand to me,

O Lord! and save me, ere I perish!

        [Enter ZOPPINO, the cicerone.

ZOPPINO (aside).

        Ah!

A stranger, an Augustine Friar; there is

Money to earn. (Aloud) I am a Cicerone:

My services as guide are at your will:

Right well I know the names of all the streets,

Churches, and monuments.

MARTIN LUTHER.

        Here are six ducats.

I ask not better than to profit of thee,

And learn, as well as what thou hast proposed,

The customs and the manners of to-day.

ZOPPINO.

The wonders of the world are seen in Rome.

Rome owns the Pantheon, the perfect temple

Agrippa built; the sculptured column raised

By Trojan for memorial of his wars;

And that called Antonine, the hospital

Where war-worn soldiers dream in calmful peace

Of loud wild life: the Coliseum, once

A vast Titanic amphitheätre,

Where twice a hundred thousand lips did pause,

Upon suspended breath, to watch the match

Of life and death played out. Those days have passed

For ever, yet the simple present time

Has many marvellous sights and scenes to show.

There are at Rome seven churches where you may

Obtain indulgences; a pilgrimage

To any one gives you an absolution

Of all your sins, though you were parricide

And matricide.

MARTIN LUTHER.

        They use Thy name, O God,

As raiment for their lies!

ZOPPINO.

        There are the famous

Statues of Pasquin and Marforio,

Whereon the wits write sharp and scathing satire

Against the highest prelates of the Church;

Even his Holiness the Pope is not

Exempt. Thou wilt be learnéd in to-day

'Fore long; thou livest, I see, in yesterage.

The arch priest Salvino is signalised

By Pasquin for the vile incestuous life

He leads with his three nieces; then again

The Bishop Parabosco is denounced

As chief supporter of the Lazarina,

And Cardinal Stricca stigmatised by both

As always choosing for his palace pages

The beautifullest youths of Christendom.

MARTIN LUTHER.

I do but dream: it cannot be I hear

The words, and, sickened, would avoid their sense

Like sight of some foul thing. Am I in Rome,

Thy city, or another like to those

That Thou did'st smite with ravening fires of Heaven?

        [Enter RELIC SELLER, followed by an OLD WOMAN.

RELIC SELLER.

Here is the shoe of Saint Elizabeth,

The very one she wore when Mary came

To visit her, and speak her salutation!

I only ask a hundred sequins! Yea,

Only a hundred for this holy shoe!

Through long, long centuries it was preserved

By pious monks in Spain; beneath their altar,

In the times of persecution, it lay hid.

A hundred golden sequins.

OLD WOMAN.

        Nay, it would

Be a sin to value gold above a relic.

A priceless shoe!

        [She buys the shoe.

RELIC SELLER (aside).

        I should have asked much more.

MARTIN LUTHER.

O, impious man! thou knowest well enough,

E'en if thy tale wert true, the shoe is worthless.

OLD WOMAN.

You are a heretic, and do belie

This good man's word: have care, the inquisitor

Doth rid the world of such as you.

        (Going out) It is

A holy relic, and will save my soul.

        [Exit Old Woman.

RELIC SELLER.

Why blame me, Friar? We all must drive our trade

As best we can.

(Going out) Buy relics of the saints.

        [Exit Relic Seller.

MARTIN LUTHER.

O Rome, thou art a den of thieves; my soul

Is sick to loathing of thine infamy,

And yearns to parting hour. But yet I cannot go!

My mission still is unperformed. I will

At once to it, and then for Germany,

Where I may breathe a pure unpoisoned air

Of simple innocence. May be, I judge

Too soon: these clouds of doubt may pass away

Like mists when morning gazes from the east.

        (To the Cicerone.)

I bear a letter from the Doctor Staupitz,

The prior-father of the Augustine convent

At Wittemberg, so that without delay

His Holiness might grant me audience;

I, therefore, will now ask thee to conduct

Me forthwith to the Vatican; my time

Admits of no delay.

CICERONE.

        I wait your service.

MARTIN LUTHER.

O Lord! in Thy great mercy grant me grace,

That all my acts may tend to honour Thee.

THE SCENE CLOSES.

SCENE II.

A Corridor in the Vatican.

Enter CANON DONATI, ARMILEO, and GRIFFOLINO.

GRIFFOLINO.

Here one can catch a breath.

DONATI.

        I never saw

The ante-chamber fuller than to-day,

And yet 'tis not an audience of the Pope,

But of his Chamberlain.

ARMILEO.

        We must court patience

In this cool corridor.

Enter ZOPPINO and MARTIN LUTHER from the other side.

ZOPPINO.

        Far harder than

You think, it is to see the Pope: you must

The letter of the Doctor Staupitz give

Unto the usher of the audience,

Who will in turn remit it to a lackey,

Who will in turn remit it to a clerk,

Who will remit it to a secretary,

Who will remit it to a chamberlain,

Who will remit it to a cardinal,

Who will remit it to His Holiness!

MARTIN LUTHER (aside).

Is this the Papal court? Mine eyes and ears

The lie give back unto my heart.

ZOPPINO.

        There is

Another, and a better way, perhaps;

At least, it is a speedier one. I know

A fair girl named Ginevra, and she is

Faustine Romana's confidant and friend,

Who hath much credit in the Vatican.

In such wise thou may'st gain an audience

And justice so be wrought.

MARTIN LUTHER (aside).

        I will not yet

Believe; the good have oft been calumnied.

Man hath a tongue to lie. As swimmer lost

Far out at sea, where no land is, and all

Goes shrouded in a deep tempestuous night,

Clings to some broken drifting spar, I hold

Unto my failing faith.

Enter an USHER; CANON DONATI, the CITIZEN ARMILEO and the ACTOR GRIFFOLINO bow in a most obsequious manner.

ARMILEO.

        Good day, good sir:

My law-suit has not slipped your memory,

I hope. I gave you forty ducats.

USHER.

        True;

Thou shalt not be neglected. I bear thee well

In mind.

CANON DONATI.

Thou dost remember me — I come

About my bishopric; and thou hast not

Forgotten, may I hope, my hundred ducats.

USHER.

Make your mind calm; you shall have audience.

GRIFFOLINO.

The lady that thou spokest of I have

Engaged to play a leading part; and yet

A leave to ope my theatre has not

Arrived.

USHER.

She is engaged?

GRIFFOLINO.

        My word, I hope,

Is doubted not!

USHER.

        Thy license is at hand:

I'll send it on to thee to-night.

(To MARTIN LUTHER.)

        And thou,

What are thy wants? Mine ear is open to thee.

        [Holding out his hands.

GRIFFOLINO (aside).

And eke his hand.

MARTIN LUTHER.

        I am a very poor

Augustine monk, who hopes to find a shelter

Within the convent of his order here

In Rome; my means of making gifts are small.

USHER.

Poorer than thou, thy chance of getting, then,

An audience of the Pope.

MARTIN LUTHER.

        But I am sent

By the Augustine monks of Wittemberg

To beg the Holy Father that our convent

Shall not be laid beneath the Government

Of the Augustine fathers of Mayence,

Who a religious masterdom pretend

Without good ground, as is explained at length,

With close precising detail, in the letter

I am the bearer of.

        [The Usher listens absently.

USHER.

        I am much pressed

For time just now, and cannot undertake

Affairs that bring me no return.

(To GRIFFOLINO.)         What fashion

Of plays dost thou intend to represent?

GRIFFOLINO.

My plan is well arranged: the different trades

In Rome will all compete, and struggle each

To give the best display. The "Shepherd Kings"

Will be performed by haberdashers, and

"Our Lord's Last Supper" by the bakers, and

“The Fall of Angels" by the tanners, and

“Christ carrying His Cross" by porters, and

"The Earthly Paradise" by gardeners,

And "Abraham's Sacrifice" by butchers, and

“The Deluge" by the water-carriers.

MARTIN LUTHER.

Is, then, the Vatican a place set out

For low, lewd speech and blasphemy? O God!

Stretch forth Thine hand and lead Thy servant right,

For he is lost in deep nigrescent doubt.

Enter a CARDINAL in robes of State; all bow and give way before him.

I thank Thee, O my God; Thou sendest me

Sweet hope, that rises through the gloomy clouds

Of fell uncertainty, as fair as day

Behind the mountains of the earth.

[MARTIN LUTHER approaches to give him the letter of DOCTOR STAUPITZ: at the same time enters a COURTESAN richly dressed.

CARDINAL.

        Good day,

Fair Lina Balbi.

        [He walks aside with her.

MARTIN LUTHER.

        Away from this dire den

Of deep iniquity!

USHER.

        Come, sirs — come, sirs,

The audience: the audience awaits.

        [Exit from different sides.

THE SCENE CLOSES.

SCENE III.

Summit of Mount Aventine.

MARTIN LUTHER (alone).

What hill is this? where stray my wandering feet?

Was I not told it was Mount Aventine?

O proud and pompous ruins of the past!

O unchaste capital of Christendom,

In thee I found not Christianity!

Standing upon this over-gazing summit,

Mine eyes take into view the whole extent

Of the once Pagan city that hath lost

So little of her ancient Paganism!

As full of dream I look upon thee, Rome,

A strange mixed crowd of gods and goddesses

In all their pride of fleshly loveliness,

Statues of Venus and the Virgin Mother

Receiving here an equal reverence!

And prophets, fervid-faced, and sorrowing saints,

And blood-marked martyrs pass before mine eyes!

Before me rise, ye splendid monuments,

O ye that have the homage of the world,

Triumphal arches, cupolas and columns,

Steeples and obelisks, and circuses,

Towers and spires, and pleasure palaces!

Cloud-ward uplift you massive marble piles

In witness and in proud presumptuous proof

Of Catholic humility!...

        Oh! now,

I know what lies beneath your porphyry

Jasper and gold, like a putrescent corpse

Devouréd by the worms beneath the tomb

Of silvery marble sepulchre. O Rome,

I shake thy dust from off my feet, thou art

A house of lust!... I will not tarry here,

I will go hence away. —Thy beast-like body

Is fed foul-fat on sins, thy brows are wreathed

With roses gathered from the red pit-side,

And all thy breathing reeks of fornication

And stranger sinning; from thy splendid shame

Of wealth, triumphant vice doth raise its head

Like a foul reptile rears its hideous length

Above a glittering wave. Thy carnal greed

Entwines around the soul enwrapping it,

Like scurfy leprosy doth cling and eat

The bloom of flower-like flesh away. In Rome

All things are weighed in scale with gold, and rise

Unfailingly: the golden calf is placed

On high for worship in thy temple-churches,

Where prostitution kneels, and underneath

The cassocks of the priests the gnawing rat

Of unbelief is hid. Such were the sights

Mine eyes beheld and mine ears heard, until

My soul from out her dire deception cried,

"I have seen enough;" then turning suddenly,

My steps were stayed by sounds and acclamations,

A thousand voices spoke: He comes! He comes

Make way, make way for Julius the Second!

Then hope came back to me again, and said,

"Courage, thy failing faith shall be made whole,

When thine eyes fill with visible view of him,

The vicar of Christ's Church."

        And this is how

I saw the vicar of Christ's Church. He rode

Upon a war-horse, brandishing a sword

And clad in armour. Did he speak of peace

And righteous life? Not so; he spoke of war,

Carnage and massacre, and of completing

The work of Caesar Borgia, in the increase

Of Church estate, saying that he would leave

For seal upon the year his gory breach

Into Mirandola, with lance and sword

And flaming torch in hand! O then! O then!

My spirit shook and shivered like a last

Left leaf within the whirling-blast that bears

It — where! O where! it knows not where! Like Paul,

On the Damascus road, o'ercome with vision

Of God, I trembled, and my wavering soul,

As star falls thro' the interstellar air,

Fell thro' the deeps of inner entity,

Whose great dead night was void and formless, till

Lo! erubescent suddenly it grew

As with a double dawn: and then methought

A great voice spake from out the end of space

Words which I could not save at first from tumult,

And strange confused murmuring of sounds,

But which at last swelled forth distinct and clear,

And filled mine ears with it. I heard! I heard —

The word was spoken! and 'twas Reformation!

Yea, reformation was the word! the Word

Was God! The reformation of all things,

Of scandals, and of infamies, abuses,

That cry aloud, Reform! reform! Even now

Adown the wide winds of the world, the Word

Goes forth, lo even as a bird a moment

Is strained unto the breast, and then cast off

To bear the joyous tidings. Am I mad?

What enterprise my soul would undertake —

O what am I? a poor Augustine Friar!

Friar Martin Luther! What! So weak and frail,

Can I go forth unto the direful fight

Against the prelates of the Church, against

The kings, the rulers of the world! Why dream

These dreams impossible. What enterprise

My soul would undertake! To overthrow

This Titan, this Colossus — yet why not

Make the attempt, tho' it be vain, if it

Be in Thy name, O desecrated Christ!

For Thou wilt give me David's stone to sling

Against this monster of iniquity!....  

[Here the sky darkens and a storm commences.

The sky grows darker than the nether cleft

Of hell, the air is black with thunder, while

The night is rent with sound, the bolted clouds

Pour forth their flying fires, and all the winds

Are loud beneath the mounting moon. A friend

Whom I loved with a brother's love was struck

By lightning at my feet, a night like this,

That me decided to become a monk! —

Yea, then, if reason there be none to break

My faith with thee, O Rome! rain down thy thunders

Upon me, God! and crush me dumb as dust!

No, no, methinks I hear the voice of God,

As Moses on Mount Sinai. Yes, I will

Fight in the holy fight. So forthwith let it

Lie 'tween us two, O pestilential city!

O priest-ruled Rome! O seat of Antichrist!

O Satan's Synagogue, and Pantheon

Of impiousness!...

[The thunder here strikes down from its pedestal an antique statue.]

        Between us let it be,

O Modern Babylon! and may my word,

The living God avenging, cast thee from

Thy pedestal, as even now the thunder

The statue of yon false god has o'erthrown.

END OF THE FIRST ACT.