In the candle-light when first I saw him I could hardly distinguish his features. I saw a man in the white Augustinian tunic. He seemed a person of a little over middle height, his body very lean--by fasting, I imagined--his head widely tonsured, leaving merely a dark ring of hair. I could see enough of the face to tell that it was rugged and interlined, but not old; distinctly a peasant countenance; yet it was the uncouthness of strength, not of ignorance. Then out of it all flashed eyes so bright, so keen, that the word of condescending salutation halted on my lips. I removed my cap silently. Kings, emperors, popes I have met, but never one of whom first instinct spoke as of that tonsured monk, “A master.” “I have the honor to meet Dr. Luther?” I asked, with a diffidence not my wont; and he, looking on me frankly, extended a wide hand. His voice, clear as a deep bell, added to the influence of his eyes. “Martin Luther, Augustinian friar, lecturer on theology, preacher to the convent, vicar to the priory, pastor to the parish,--and generally struggling with flesh and blood, the devil, and the world. See what an idle man I am! and now how may I serve you?” Very diffidently--I could have faced the Prince Elector with greater ease--I explained my errand, Carlstadt’s fears, my own experience, and the friendly intent of my mission. Dr. Luther proffered me a chair, and threw on the table a small pile of papers, motioning for me to peruse them. “Oh! my brave Carlstadt,” he cried in broad Saxon, whilst I examined. “All fears to-day, hot flame to-morrow! Whither will your weasel courage jump next? A merry day for the Church and poor Christians when all we theologians are of your fine boldness! Well, your Lordship, do you find in those black marks on white sheets anything very heretical?” “Magister Doctor,” said I, trying once more to use my best Florentine Latin, and beginning already to dislike my task; “I am not learned in the niceties of theology; but in these ninety-five theses here, which I gather are propositions concerning Tetzel’s indulgences that you wish to propound for public debate, I fear are certain matters which you would wisely moderate here and there, lest you raise greater scandal for the Church than that which you so piously endeavor to quell.” “Moderate? How many, your Lordship?” His hand fell vehemently on the table. “Why, not a few, to speak the candid truth. For instance, you say ‘Every Christian, truly contrite, has full remission from both punishment, and guilt, even without letters of indulgence.’ ‘Christians should be taught that he who gives to a poor man, or lends to needy man, does better than if he bought pardons’; or, more especially, ‘We affirm that Papal pardons cannot take away even the least of venial sin, as regards its guilt.’ There are a great many more in like vein. I am bound to tell you, reverend Doctor, such utterances are exceedingly unwise.”