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 in vain.  It is heaven which is in combat.  The saints of Italy, the angels, are leagued with the barbarians.  Those who called them in have put the saddles to the horses.  Italy is in confusion, saith the Lord; this time she shall be yours.  And the Lord cometh above his saints, above the blessed ones who march in battle-array, who are drawn up in squadrons.  Whither are they bound?  S. Peter is for Rome, crying:  To Rome, to Rome! and S. Paul and S. Gregory march, crying:  To Rome!  And behind them go the sword, the pestilence, the famine.  S. John cries:  Up, up, to Florence!  And the plague follows him.  S. Anthony cries:  Ho for Lombardy!  S. Mark cries:  Haste we to the city that is throned upon the waters!  And all the angels of heaven, sword in hand, and all the celestial consistory, march on unto this war.’

Then he speaks of his own fate:  ’What shall be the end of our war, you ask?  If this be a general question, I shall answer Victory!  If you ask it of myself in particular, I answer, Death, or to be hewn in pieces.  This is our faith, this is our guerdon, this is our reward!  We ask for no more than this.  But when you see me dead, be not then troubled.  All those who have prophesied have suffered and been slain.  To make my word prevail, there is needed the blood of many.’