The Bull had not yet been signed by the Pope, although cast in its final form. A long wrangle among the Latinists as to its precise verbiage had delayed matters. “Its language, as well as its orthodoxy, must be beyond reproach.” Eck and his Dominicans had clamored for instant anathemas, but a moderate party had insisted that Luther be given a last interval of sixty days wherein to recant. What I must do, I must do quickly. I resolved to request an interview with the Pope at his hunting lodge, and to this end I visited the Secretary of State, the Cardinale di Frascati. I knew the illustrious prelate well, and he was in an amiable mood when they ushered me into his private camera. It was one of the first exceeding hot days. His Eminence lounged in a very informal dressing-gown upon a wicker chair. The windows were filled with linen in lieu of glass, and the tiled floor had just been sprinkled with water. “Ah! my dear Gualtiero, for I renew the old familiarity,” he began, my wish explained, “I am sure an interview can be arranged. His Holiness will rejoice to see you. But may I crave your motive?” “Eminenza,” I replied, with premeditated boldness, “I understand the reputation I have left in Rome.” “You ought, you mad fellow,” he answered, laughing. “I fear therefore what I shall say will be accounted a merry but ill-timed jest. Do me the favor to consider me wholly in earnest.” “Alas!” quoth he, mopping his brow; “I had hoped you came merely with pleasant gossip; but pray state this dreadfully serious business.” “Has your Eminence heard that I have written to Rome in behalf of the alleged heretic Luther?” “It was a most cleverly sustained witticism. You played the _advocatus diaboli_ to perfection.” “I may well have done so. I was in earnest.” The Cardinal dropped his handkerchief, and leaned back, staring at me. “You seriously argue the case of that friar? that child of perdition, foe of the Church, of the spawn of Arius and Hus? You, whose frivolities are notorious?” I nodded. “Jupiter and all gods! Your reasons?” “Very simple ones. Luther is a saint. He who raises a hand against him is accursed even as the Jews who stoned the kneeling Stephen.” He clasped his hands over his head. “Are my ears betraying me? _You_ actually try to quote Scripture? Pray, when have you been seized with such miraculous piety?” I took a step nearer to his chair. “Hearken, Eminenza. I am not here to justify myself, but another. But this I will say for myself; I am not what I was once. I have seen, felt, suffered. I am no longer my old vain, idling, self-pleasing self. I have met in Germany a Man. And that Man has taught me that I at least have a work to do, and a life to live ere I render back my life and talents to God. It is in behalf of that Man I am in Rome, for his name is Martin Luther.” He beckoned for me to cease, but I would not.