I tarried the more at the Regenstein because I believed Dr. Luther needed no more help. A smooth-spoken envoy from Rome, Miltitz, a Saxon by birth, had come out of the South. He had reproved Tetzel so bitterly for his sins that the wretch had slunk away to his cloister to die. He had glossed over difficulties with Luther, and by fine words gotten a promise to drop the dispute on both sides, “so that it might soon bleed itself to death.” A hollow truce it proved, but for a little I honestly thought the battle had ended almost ere its fair beginning. Meantime pilgrim or pedlar brought much news to the Regenstein. Old Kaiser Maximilian was dead, and Europe was buzzing over the succession. Prince Charles of Spain and the Netherlands, and King Francis of France were draining their coffers to find money to bribe the seven prince electors who had the imperial gift in their keeping. Many a good German wagged his beard with an “Oh that Frederick of Saxony would take the power!” but that canny elector foresaw the storms and shrank back modestly. Every day brought new rumors of new intrigues, and I was vastly in doubt whither in the political world I could turn myself with the most hope of advancement and honor, when fresh tidings from Wittenberg called me back to the thing whereon my heart had really been fixed the longest. The truce betwixt Luther and his monkish opponents had been broken by the furious onslaughts of Johann Eck, Professor at Ingolstadt; then, after the usual thrust and parry by pamphlets, the contest had reached a climax. Eck was to hold a public disputation on the moot points of theology with Luther and his now ardent champion Carlstadt. Duke George of Ducal Saxony[7] had consented to allow his city of Leipzig to be the scene of encounter, and toward this intellectual tournament a vast multitude of scholars and students were not ashamed to hasten. The tidings left me only one thing to do. The pretext of pushing my interest at the ducal court was sufficient to bring me to Leipzig, and the following excerpt from a letter to Moritz (whose friendship was ever tightening) tells its own story. * * * * *