dogmas of the Catholic Church; and that is the reason why Catholics
hate Luther so bitterly, and deny to him either virtues or graces, and
represent even his deathbed as a scene of torment and despair,--an
instance of that pursuing hatred which goes beyond the grave; like that
of the zealots of the Revolution in France, who dug up the bones of the
ancient kings from those vaults where they had reposed for centuries,
and scattered their ashes to the winds.

Savonarola hoped the Christian world would come to his rescue; but his
letters were intercepted, and reached the eye of Alexander VI., who now
bent the whole force of the papal empire to destroy that bold reformer
who had assailed his throne. And it seems that a change took place in
Florence itself in popular sentiment. The Medicean party obtained the
ascendency in the government. The people--the fickle people--began to
desert Savonarola; and especially when he refused to undergo the ordeal
of fire,--one of the relics of Mediaeval superstition,--the people felt
that they had been cheated out of their amusement, for they had waited
impatiently the whole day in the public square to see the spectacle. He
finally consented to undergo the ordeal, provided he might carry the
crucifix. To this his enemies would not consent. He then laid aside the
crucifix, but insisted on entering the fire with the sacrament in his
hand. His persecutors would not allow this either, and the ordeal did
not take place.

At last his martyrdom approaches: he is led to prison. The magistrates
of the city send to Rome for absolution for having allowed the Prior to
preach. His enemies busy themselves in collecting evidence against
him,--for what I know not, except that he had denounced corruption and
sin, and had predicted woe. His two friends are imprisoned and
interrogated with him, Fra Domenico da Pescia and Fra Silvestro Maruffi,
who are willing to die for him. He and they are now subjected to most
cruel tortures. As the result of bodily agony his mind begins to waver.
His answers are incoherent; he implores his tormentors to end his
agonies; he cries out, with a voice enough to melt a heart of stone,
"Take, oh, take my life!" Yet he confessed nothing to criminate himself.
What they wished him especially to confess was that he had pretended to
be a prophet, since he had predicted calamities. But all men are
prophets, in one sense, when they declare the certain penalties of sin,
from which no on