is seen the interior of LUCREZIA'S cell, on the other that of
SAVONAROLA'S.

Neither he nor she knows that the other is in the next cell. The
audience, however, knows this.

Each cell (because of the width and height of the proscenium) is of
more than the average Florentine size, but is bare even to the point
of severity, its sole amenities being some straw, a hunk of bread, and
a stone pitcher. The door of each is facing the audience. Dimish
light.

LUCREZIA wears long and clanking chains on her wrists, as does also
SAVONAROLA. Imprisonment has left its mark on both of them. SAVONAROLA'S
hair has turned white. His whole aspect is that of a very old, old
man. LUCREZIA looks no older than before, but has gone mad.

SAV.
Alas, how long ago this morning seems
This evening! A thousand thousand eons
Are scarce the measure of the gulf betwixt
My then and now. Methinks I must have been
Here since the dim creation of the world
And never in that interval have seen
The tremulous hawthorn burgeon in the brake,
Nor heard the hum o' bees, nor woven chains
Of buttercups on Mount Fiesole
What time the sap lept in the cypresses,
Imbuing with the friskfulness of Spring
Those melancholy trees. I do forget
The aspect of the sun. Yet I was born
A freeman, and the Saints of Heaven smiled
Down on my crib. What would my sire have said,
And what my dam, had anybody told them
The time would come when I should occupy
A felon's cell? O the disgrace of it
The scandal, the incredible come-down!
It masters me. I see i' my mind's eye
The public prints--'Sharp Sentence on a Monk.'
What then? I thought I was of sterner stuff
Than is affrighted by what people think.
Yet thought I so because 'twas thought of me,
And so 'twas thought of me because I had
A hawk-like profile and a baleful eye.
Lo! my soul's chin recedes, soft to the touch
As half-churn'd butter. Seeming hawk is dove,
And dove's a gaol-bird now. Fie out upon 't!

LUC.
How comes it? I am Empress Dowager
Of China--yet was never crown'd. This must
Be seen to.
[Quickly gathers some straw and weaves a crown, which she puts on.]

SAV.
O, what a degringolade!
The great career I had mapp'd out for me--
Nipp'd i' the bud. What life, when I come out,
Awaits me? Why, the very Novices
And callow Postulants will draw aside
As I pass by, and