iscerning the catastrophe to which circumstances must inevitably
lead, another thing to trace beforehand the path which will be taken by
the hurricanes that change the face of the world. Remaining in his soul
a monk, attached by education and by natural sympathy to the past rather
than the future, he felt in spite of himself the spirit of the coming
age. Had he lived but one century earlier, we should not have called him
prophet. It was the Renaissance which set the seal of truth upon his
utterances. Yet in his vision of the world to be, he was like Balaam
prophesying blindly of a star.

Sixtus IV. had died and been succeeded by Innocent VIII. Innocent had
given place to Alexander. The very nadir of the abyss had been reached.
Then Savonarola saw a vision and heard a voice: _Ecce gladius Domini
super terram cito et velociter._ The sword turned earthward; the air was
darkened with fiery sleet and arrows; thunders rolled; the world was
filled with pestilences, wars, famines. At another time he dreamed and
looked toward Rome. From the Eternal City there rose a black cross,
reaching to heaven, and on it was inscribed _Crux irae Dei._ Then too the
skies were troubled; clouds rushed through the air discharging darts and
fire and swords, and multitudes below were dying. These visions he
published in sermons and in print. Pictures were made from them. They
and the three conclusions went abroad through Italy. Again, Charles was
preparing for his expedition. Savonarola took the Ark of Noah for his
theme. The deluge was at hand; he bade his hearers enter the ship of
refuge before the terrible and mighty nation came: 'O Italy! O Rome! I
give you over to the hands of a people who will wipe you out from among
the nations! I see them descending like lions. Pestilence comes marching
hand in hand with war. The deaths will be so many that the buriers shall
go through the streets crying out: Who hath dead, who hath dead? and one
will bring his father, and another his son. O Rome! I cry again to you
to repent, Repent, Venice! Milan, repent!' 'The prophets a hundred years
ago proclaimed to you the flagellation of the Church. For five years I
have been announcing it: and now again I cry to you. The Lord is full of
wrath. The angels on their knees cry to Him: Strike, strike! The good
sob and groan: We can no more. The orphans, the widows say: We are
devoured, we cannot go on living. All the Church triumphant hath cried
to Christ: Thou diedst i