He made piety more exalted by giving it an intelligent
stimulus. He looked to the future rather than the past. He would make
use, in his interpretation of the Bible, of all that literature,
science, and art could contribute. Hence his writings had a wider
influence than could be produced by the fascination of personal
eloquence, on which Savonarola relied, but which Luther made only
accessory.

Again, the sermons of the Florentine reformer do not impress us as they
did those to whom they were addressed. They are not logical, nor
doctrinal, nor learned,--not rich in thought, like the sermons of those
divines whom the Reformation produced. They are vehement denunciations
of sin; are eloquent appeals to the heart, to religious fears and hopes.
He would indeed create faith in the world, not by the dissertations of
Paul, but by the agonies of the dying Christ. He does not instruct; he
does not reason. He is dogmatic and practical. He is too earnest to be
metaphysical, or even theological. He takes it for granted that his
hearers know all the truths necessary for salvation. He enforces the
truths with which they are familiar, not those to be developed by reason
and learning. He appeals, he urges, he threatens; he even prophesies; he
dwells on divine wrath and judgment. He is an Isaiah foretelling what
will happen, rather than a Peter at the Day of Pentecost.

Savonarola was transcendent in his oratorical gifts, the like of which
has never before nor since been witnessed in Italy. He was a born
orator; as vehement as Demosthenes, as passionate as Chrysostom, as
electrical as Bernard. Nothing could withstand him; he was a torrent
that bore everything before him. His voice was musical, his attitude
commanding, his gestures superb. He was all alive with his subject. He
was terribly in earnest, as if he believed everything he said, and that
what he said were most momentous truths. He fastened his burning eyes
upon his hearers, who listened with breathless attention, and inspired
them with his sentiments; he made them feel that they were in the very
jaws of destruction, and that there was no hope but in immediate
repentance. His whole frame quivered with emotion, and he sat down
utterly exhausted. His language was intense, not clothing new thoughts,
but riveting old ideas,--the ideas of the Middle Ages; the fear of hell,
the judgments of Almighty God. Who could resist such fiery earnestness,
such a convulsed frame, such quivering