How we fared down from the Harzland into the rich valley of the Elbe, how by a detour we visited the free and wealthy city of Magdeburg, and were astonished at the elegance of its princely burghers, and how finally we must needs make another detour towards Berlin to visit an old military friend of my father’s, I leave out as immaterial. After quitting our host’s castle we found ourselves, late in October, traversing the sandy plain that forms the southern part of the Markgravate of Brandenburg. The country was poor, the peasants dwelling in wretched little mud villages, the castles to offer us hospitality few, and the inns intolerable. We therefore hastened over the last stages of the way to Jüterbog with all possible speed, being told that a cleanly inn and decent fare at last awaited us, and need we had of both. While yet we were about two German miles[2] from the town, and upon a most solitary road, we were amazed at the number of wayfarers our cavalcade overtook--old men on their canes, round peasant women with children hanging at their skirts, and whole bands of sturdy wayfarers, usually carrying goodly bundles of provisions as if for a long journey. Occasionally we passed creaking ox-carts whereon a whole family were sitting in the straw. Once a company of wandering scholars ran up to us to beg “Charity for God’s sake!” in very bad Latin. We were all mystified, until at a watering trough a trudging rascal, who called himself a mendicant friar on pilgrimage to the Swiss shrine of Eisiedeln, gave the key. “Whither go all these folk?” asked Moritz from his saddle; “to a shooting tournament?” “To a holier sport than that, please your Lordship,” spoke the fellow, holding out his hand for a groschen. “Well, tell us, then.” “Why, the reverend Master Tetzel, His Holiness’s own special Commissioner, will preach and sell the new plenary indulgences this afternoon before the church at Jüterbog.” “Indulgences?” I saw Gräfin Ilsa’s pretty ears prick up like a rabbit’s. “What do you mean?” “Why, your Ladyship can learn for herself when she gets to Jüterbog. Not that noble folk like you have great sins upon your conscience, but still these are the most potent indulgences ever hawked. The Lord Pope’s special granting, you know.” “What we heard of at Magdeburg,” frowned Moritz to me, but Ilsa was all attention. “Your Lordships would do well to hear Master Tetzel,” ran on the glib rogue. “You see, he goes to Jüterbog because it is the nearest town to Saxony, the Elector having forbidden him to enter his dominions.” “Another proof the Elector is justly called ‘the Wise,’” I remarked, signing to ride on. But from that moment Ilsa had lost interest in everything else, and questions from other wayfarers brought out abundance of information.