The monk's astonishment was therefore great when he saw street-urchins playing on them with b.u.t.tons and little stones, and he could hardly contain himself when young priests came running and sprang up the eight and twenty steps in a few bounds.

He paid his devotions in the usual way, but without feeling the ecstasy which he had hoped for.

Then he went into the Church of the Lateran and heard a ma.s.s. He had imagined that he would find a cathedral in the genuine Gothic style, something like that of Cologne, but he found a Basilica or Roman hall, where in heathen times a market had been held, and it looked very worldly.

At the High Altar there stood two priests before the Epistle and the Gospel. However, they neither read nor sang; they only gossiped with each other, and pretended to turn the leaves; sometimes they laughed, and when it was over they went their way, without giving a blessing or making the sign of the cross.

"Is this the Holy City?" he asked himself, and went out into the streets again.

His business in Rome was to interview the Vicar-General of the Augustinians, about a matter which concerned his convent, but he first wished to look about him. As he went along he came to a little church on the outer wall. In the open s.p.a.ce in front of it a pagan festival was being held: Bacchus was represented sitting on a barrel, scantily clothed nymphs rode on horses, and behind them were satyrs, fauns, Apollo, Mercury, Venus.

The monk hastened into the church to escape the sight of the abomination. But in the sacred place he came upon another scandal.

Before the altar stood an a.s.s with an open book before it; below the a.s.s stood a priest and read ma.s.s. Instead of answering "Amen," the congregation hee-hawed like a.s.ses, and everyone laughed.

That was the cla.s.sical "a.s.ses' Festival," which had been forbidden in the previous century, but which, during the Carnival, had been again resumed. The monk did not understand where he was, but thought he was in the h.e.l.l of the heathen; but it was still worse when a priest disguised as Bacchus, his face smeared with dregs of wine, entered the pulpit, and, taking a text from Boccaccio's _Decameron_, preached an indecent discourse, presently, with a skilful turn, going on to narrate a legend about St. Peter. It began in a poetical way, like other legends, but then made Peter come to an alehouse and cheat the innkeeper about the reckoning.

The monk rushed out of the church, and through the streets till he reached the Convent of the Augustines which he sought. He rang, was admitted, and led into the refectory, where the Prior sat at a covered table surrounded by priests who were entertained in the convent in order to make their confessions, and to take the communion during the fast.

Before them were pheasants, with truffles and hard-boiled eggs, salmon and oysters, eels and heads of wild boar--above all, quant.i.ties of wine in pitchers and gla.s.ses.

"Sit down, little monk!" was the Prior's greeting. "You have a letter: good! Put it under the table-cloth. Eat, drink, and be merry, for tomorrow we die!"

The monk sat down, but it was Friday, and he could not bring himself to eat flesh on that day. It pained him also to see the licence which prevailed here; still they were his superiors, and the rule of his order forbade him to reprove them.

The Prior, who had just been speaking with some special guest, continued to talk volubly, although conversation was forbidden.

"Yes, worthy friend, we have come as far as this now in Rome. This is Christ's Kingdom as it was announced at the first Christmas, 'One Shepherd, One Sheepfold.' The Holy Father rules over the whole Roman Empire as it was under Caesar and Augustus. But mark well! this empire is a spiritual one, and all these earthly princes lie at the feet of Christ's representative. This is the crown of all epochs of the world's history. 'One Shepherd, One Sheepfold!' Bibamus!"

On the little platform, where formerly a reader used to read out of holy books while the meal was going on, some musicians now sat with flutes and lutes. They struck up an air, and the cups were emptied.

"Now," continued the Prior to the monk, "you have come from far; what news have you brought?"

"Anything new under the sun? Yes," answered a slightly inebriated prelate, "Christopher Columbus is dead, and buried in Valladolid. He died poor, as was to be expected."

"Pride comes before a fall. He was not content with his honours, but wished to be Viceroy and to levy taxes."

"Yes, but at any rate he got to India, to East India, after he had sailed westward. It is enough to make one crazy when one tries to understand it. Sailing west in order to go east!"

"Yes, it is all mad, but the worst is that he has brought the cursed sickness, lues"--(here he whispered). "It has already attacked Cardinal John de Medici. You know he is said to be the Pope's successor."

"As regards the Holy Father, our great Julius II, he is a valiant champion of the Lord, and now the world has seen what this basilisk-egg, France, has hatched. Fancy! they want to come now and divide our Italy among them! As if we did not have enough with the Germans."

"The French in Naples! What the deuce have we to do with them?"

The Prior now felt obliged to attend to his guest, the monk.

"Eat, little monk," he said. "He who is weak, eateth herbs, and all flesh is gra.s.s, _ergo_...."

"I never eat meat on Friday, the day on which our Lord Jesus Christ suffered and died!"

"Then you are wrong! But you must not speak so loud, you understand, for if you sin, you must go in your room, and hold your mouth! Practise obedience and silence, the first virtues of our Order."

The monk turned first red, then pale, and his cheekbones could be seen through his thin cheeks. But he kept silence, after he had taken a spoonful of salt in his mouth to help him to control his tongue.

"He is a Maccabee," whispered the prelate.

"Conventual disciple is decaying," continued the Prior, jocosely; "the young monks do not obey their superiors any more, but we must have a reformation! Drink, monk, and give me an answer!"

"We must obey G.o.d rather than man," answered the monk. There was an embarra.s.sed pause, and the prelate who had to communicate in the evening declined to drink any more. But this vexed the Prior, who felt the implied reproof.

"You are from the country, my friend," he said to the monk, "and know not the time, nor the spirit of the time. You must have a licence for me--it must be paid for of course--and then the day is not dishonoured.

Besides--_panis es et esto_. Here you have wine and bread--with b.u.t.ter on it. More wine, boy!"

The monk rose to go; the Prior seemed to wake to recollection.

"What is your name, monk?"

"My name is Martin, Master of Philosophy, from Wittenberg."

"Yes, yes, thank you. But don't go yet! Give me your letter." The monk handed over the letter, which the Prior opened and glanced through.

"The Kurfurst of Saxony! Master Martin Luther, go if you wish to your chamber. Rest till the evening, then we will go together to the a.s.sembly at Chigi. There we shall meet elegant people like Cardinal John de Medici, great men like Raphael, and the Archangel Michael himself. Do you know Michael Angelo, who is building the new Church of St. Peter and painting the Sistine Chapel? No! then you will learn to know him.

_Vale_, brother, and sleep well."

Master Martin Luther went, sorely troubled, but resolved to see more of the state of affairs before judging too hastily.

Cards were now brought out, and the Prior shuffled them.

"That is an unpleasant fellow, whom the Kurfurst had sent to us. A hypocrite, who does not drink wine and crosses himself at the sight of a pheasant!"

"There was an ill-omened look about the man."

"He looked something like the Trojan horse, and Beelzebub only knows what he has in his belly."

When Luther came into his lonely cell, he wept with a young man's boundless grief when reality contradicts his expectations, and he finds that all which he has learnt to prize is only contemptible and common.

He was not, however, allowed to be alone long, for there was a knock at the door, and there entered a young Augustinian monk, who seemed, with a confidential air, to invite his acquaintance.

"Brother Martin, you must not be solitary, but open your heart to sympathetic friends."

He took Martin's hands. "Tell me," he said, "what troubles you, and I will answer you."

Luther looked at the young monk, and saw that he was a swarthy Italian with glowing eyes. But he had been so long alone that he felt the necessity of speech.

"What do you think," he said, "our Lord Christ would say if he now arose and came into the Holy City?"

"He would rejoice that His churches, His three hundred and sixty-five churches, are built on the foundations of the heathen temples. You know that since Charles the Great dragged the great marble pillars to Aachen in order to build his cathedral, our Popes have also gone to work, and the heathen and their houses have been literally laid at the feet of Christ. That is grand and something to rejoice at! _Ecclesia Triumphans!_ Would not Christ rejoice at it? How well Innocent III has expressed the 'Idea' of the conquering Church, as Plato would call it. You know Plato--the Pope has just paid five thousand ducats for a ma.n.u.script of the _Timoeus_. Pope Innocent says: 'St Peter's successors have received from G.o.d the commission not only to rule the Church but the whole world. As G.o.d has set two great lights in the sky, he has also set up two great powers on earth, the Papacy, which is the higher because the care of souls is committed to it, and the Royal power which is the lower, and to which only the charge of the bodies of men is committed.' If you have any objection to make to that, brother, speak it out."