One day a lansquenet named Guillaume de Sainte Celle, robes, and placed the triple crown upon his head; others, adorning themselves with the red hats and long robes of the cardinals, surrounded him; and all going in procession upon asses through the streets of the city, arrived at last before the castle of Saint Angelo, where Clement VII. had retired. Here the soldier-cardinals alighted, and lifting up the front of their robes, kissed the feet of the pretended pontiff. The latter drank to the health of Clement VII., the cardinals kneeling did the same, and exclaimed that henceforward they would be pious popes and good cardinals, who would have a care not to excite wars, as all their predecessors had done. They then formed a conclave, and the Pope having announced to his consistory that it was his intention to resign the Papacy, all hands were immediately raised for the election, and they cried out "Luther is Pope! Luther is Pope!"[57] Never had pontiff been proclaimed with such perfect unanimity. Such were the humours of the Germans. [57] Milites itaque levasse manum ac exclamasse: Lutherus Papa! Lutherus Papa!--(Cochlœus, p. 156.) [Sidenote: VIOLENCE OF THE SPANIARDS.] The Spaniards did not let them off so easily. Clement VII. had called them "Moors," and had published a plenary, indulgence for whoever should kill any of them. Nothing, therefore, could restrain their fury. These faithful Catholics put the prelates to death in the midst of horrible tortures, destined to extort their treasures from them: they spared neither rank, sex, nor age. It was not until after the sack had lasted ten days, and a booty of ten million golden crowns had been collected, and from five to eight thousand victims had perished, that quiet began to be in some degree restored. Thus did the pontifical city expire in the midst of a long and cruel pillage, and that splendour with which Rome from the beginning of the sixteenth century had filled the world faded in a few hours. Nothing could preserve this haughty city from chastisement, not even the prayers of its enemies. "I would not have Rome burnt," Luther had exclaimed; "it would be a monstrous deed."[58] The fears of Melancthon were still keener: "I tremble for the libraries," said he, "we know how hateful books are to Mars."[59] But in despite of these wishes of the reformers, the city of Leo X. fell under the judgment of God. [58] Romam nollem exustam, magnum enim portentum esset.--(Epp. iii. p. 221.) [59] Metuo bibliothecis.--(Corp. Ref. i. p. 869.)