Dr. Martin Luther and a young disciple, the later famous Johann Agricola, were moving steadily down the Collegien-strasse. The doctor carried a hammer clutched firmly in his right hand; in his left flapped a packet of long white papers,--papers I had seen before. He went forward, with his head held high, a little defiantly, even. His eyes were brighter than ever; his shaven cheeks seemed pale. When he saw me, he wheeled and held out his hand with his hearty laugh. “A fair day, noble Graf. And so you are ready to see me trample your fine words underfoot. Am I not a grateful fellow for all your trouble and courtesy!” “I am pleased if you are pleased, dear Doctor,” said I, while my fingers cracked under his grasp; “and as for my prophesies, I hope they all will blow away on this wind. The decision is yours, not mine.” “Ah!” cried the other, “too much imprudence displeases men: too much prudence displeases God. You will pardon again my uncourtly bluntness. And now let us on to the Schloss-Kirche.” Worthy Master Agricola explained to me as we went before that the door of the Castle Church was the regular bulletin board for the University. The others talked. I perforce lapsed into silence. Yet it seemed a very simple thing to do. I can see everything that happened as clearly as though it were yesterday. I stood in the street under the lofty round tower while Doctor Martin, and Agricola (hanging a bit timidly behind), strode up to the side door of the Schloss-Kirche. We were near the gate. A produce cart pulled by two brown dogs yoked along with a brown country maid, rattled by, dimming the hammer strokes. Three jaunty students halted to cast glances at the girl, pulling away at their young mustaches, and I heard “At the Black Eagle to-night; smacking beer there, pretty women.” A young pig slipped from his sty outside the gate, ran past, grunting, with his owner’s son in angry chase. Old Willy, the blind church beggar, shuffled up to me, rattling the pfennigs in his pewter mug, and not to be denied another copper. The keen breeze would send the Doctor’s papers flying, yet he pounded away doggedly, reaching to Agricola for more nails, making every corner fast, while his black cassock flapped in the wind. Then he stepped back, and slipped the hammer in a pocket. Willy wandered back into the church. The pig was chased out of the gate. The students, anxious for the latest academic notice, drew nigh the papers. Three necks craned: craned yet further. No ordinary announcement of allocutions, evidently. “Jesu-Maria!” I caught the mutter; and behold! two more had joined them, then a third, and three others. And ere one could think it, twenty seemed conning the Latin upon that church door, while others were swarming like bees out of every tall gabled house; out of every beer and wine cellar. And like bees went the buzzing of their voices.