The night before I reached this city I was weary with a long day's walk in the dust and heat, and had fallen asleep on a bench in the garden outside a village inn, under the shade of a trellised vine, leaving my pack partly open beside me. When I awoke, a grave and dignified-looking man, who, from the richness of his dress and arms, seemed to be a nobleman, and, from the cut of his slashed doubtlet and mantle, a Spaniard, sat beside me, deeply engaged in reading one of my books. I did not stir at first, but watched him in silence. The book he held was a copy of Luther's Commentary on the Galatians, in Latin.
In a few minutes I moved, and respectfully saluted him.
"Is this book for sale?" he asked
I said it was and named the price.
He immediately laid down twice the sum, saying, "Give a copy to some one who cannot buy."
I ventured to ask if he had seen it before.
"I have," he said. "Several copies were sent by a Swiss printer, Frobenius, to Castile. And I saw it before at Venice. It is prohibited in both Castile and Venice now. But I have always wished to possess a copy that I might judge for myself. Do you know Dr. Luther?" he asked, as he moved away.
"I have known and reverenced him for many years," I said.
"They say his life is blameless, do they not?" he asked.
"Even his bitterest enemies confess it to be so," I replied.