"You are from the country, my friend," he said to the monk, "and
know not the time, nor the spirit of the time. You must have a
licence for me--it must be paid for of course--and then the day is
not dishonoured. Besides--_panis es et esto_. Here you have wine and
bread--with butter on it. More wine, boy!"
The monk rose to go; the Prior seemed to wake to recollection.
"What is your name, monk?"
"My name is Martin, Master of Philosophy, from Wittenberg."
"Yes, yes, thank you. But don't go yet! Give me your letter." The
monk handed over the letter, which the Prior opened and glanced
through.
"The Kurfurst of Saxony! Master Martin Luther, go if you wish to
your chamber. Rest till the evening, then we will go together to the
assembly at Chigi. There we shall meet elegant people like Cardinal
John de Medici, great men like Raphael, and the Archangel Michael
himself. Do you know Michael Angelo, who is building the new Church
of St. Peter and painting the Sistine Chapel? No! then you will
learn to know him. _Vale_, brother, and sleep well."
Master Martin Luther went, sorely troubled, but resolved to see more
of the state of affairs before judging too hastily.
Cards were now brought out, and the Prior shuffled them.
"That is an unpleasant fellow, whom the Kurfurst had sent to us.
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