So much was clear to Luther from the foregoing conversation,--that he had seen and heard the representatives of the highest ranks of the priesthood, and that the stout man was John de Medici, the candidate for the papal chair. He went quickly through several other rooms where half-intoxicated women were coquetting with their paramours. At last he came into the great banqueting hall. There stood groups of ambassadors and pilgrims, representing all nations of the world. They were looking at the ceiling and admiring the paintings on it. Luther followed their example, while he listened to their remarks. “This is like looking at the sky; one has to lie on one’s back.” “I know nothing more beautiful than sunrise and the nude.” “Raphael is indeed a divine painter.” “What luck that Savonarola is burnt, else he would have burnt these paintings.” At the mention of Savonarola’s name the monk awoke from the state of aesthetic intoxication into which the pictures had brought him, and rushed out into the night. Savonarola, the last of the martyrs, who had sought to save Christendom and had been burnt! All were burnt who tried to serve Christ--by way of encouraging them. How could one expect people to believe in Christianity? What added to his trouble of mind was the fact that this painter who had the name of an angel, and looked like an angel, painted Jupiter and nude women! Nothing kept what it promised; all was dust and ashes. _Vanitas!_ But this heathenism which sprang from the earth, what was its object? Even the divine Dante had chosen a heathen Roman poet, Virgil, as his guide through Hell, and a beautiful maiden as his companion on the way to heaven. That was foolishness and blasphemy. The end of the world must be approaching, for Antichrist was come and ruled in Rome. But an Antichrist had always sat on the Papal throne, which was itself an evil, for Paul had taught that in Christ’s Church we are all priests and should form a priesthood. So he reached his cell again, and recovered himself and his God in solitude. * * * * * The next morning he went out in order to see the Church of St. Peter and the Vatican, which had become the residence of the Popes after their return from Avignon. Since he did not know his way about the town, he happened to come into the Forum. There were several bodies of troops collected for review, and on a great black stallion sat an old man, armed from top to toe in steel. The troops passed in review before him, and he seemed to be the commander. “He looks like a Rabbi,” said a citizen, “and he must be quite five and sixty now.” “He seems to me to resemble the prophet Muhammed. And he began as a tradesman.” “Yes, and he has bought the papal chair.” “Well, let it go! But his summoning Charles VIII with the French to Naples was a betrayal of his country. Now he goes against Venice, and leads the troops himself.” “And expects help from the Turks.”