I did not, as Brown's literary executor, try
to finish the play myself. Can they never ask a question without a false
assumption in it? I did try, hard, to finish 'Savonarola.'

Artistically, of course, the making of such an attempt was indefensible.
Humanly, not so. It is clear throughout the play--especially perhaps in
Acts III and IV--that if Brown had not steadfastly in his mind the hope
of production on the stage, he had nothing in his mind at all. Horrified
though he would have been by the idea of letting me kill his Monk,
he would rather have done even this than doom his play to everlasting
unactedness. I took, therefore, my courage in both hands, and made out a
scenario....

Dawn on summit of Mount Fiesole. Outspread view of Florence (Duomo,
Giotto's Tower, etc.) as seen from that eminence.--NICCOLO MACHIAVELLI,
asleep on grass, wakes as sun rises. Deplores his exile from Florence,
LORENZO'S unappeasable hostility, etc. Wonders if he could not somehow
secure the POPE'S favour. Very cynical. Breaks off: But who are these
that scale the mountain-side? | Savonarola and Lucrezia | Borgia!--Enter
through a trap-door, back c. [trap-door veiled from audience by a
grassy ridge], SAV. and LUC. Both gasping and footsore from their climb.
[Still, with chains on their wrists? or not?]--MACH. steps unobserved
behind a cypress and listens.--SAV. has a speech to the rising sun--Th'
effulgent hope that westers from the east | Daily. Says that his hope,
on the contrary, lies in escape To that which easters not from out
the west, | That fix'd abode of freedom which men call | America! Very
bitter against POPE.--LUC. says that she, for her part, means To start
afresh in that uncharted land | Which austers not from out the antipod,
| Australia!--Exit MACH., unobserved, down trap-door behind ridge, to
betray LUC. and SAV.--Several longish speeches by SAV. and LUC. Time is
thus given for MACH. to get into touch with POPE, and time for POPE and
retinue to reach the slope of Fiesole. SAV., glancing down across ridge,
sees these sleuth-hounds, points them out to LUC. and cries Bewray'd!
LUC. By whom? SAV. I know not, but suspect | The hand of that sleek
serpent Niccolo | Machiavelli.--SAV. and LUC. rush down c., but find
their way barred by the footlights.--LUC. We will not be ta'en Alive.
And here availeth us my lore | In what pertains to poison. Yonder herb
| [points to a herb growing down r.] Is deadly nightshade. Quick,
Monk! Pluc