that when I heard you hammering, I thought, no doubt, that it was the old noise, and that I was comfortable in my bed at my own inn.’ We now ascended to the field, where I showed the postillion his chaise. He looked at the pin attentively, rubbed his hands, and gave a loud laugh. ‘Is it not well done?’ said I. ‘It will do till I get home,’ he replied. ‘And that is all you have to say?’ I demanded. ‘And that’s a good deal,’ said he, ‘considering who made it. But don’t be offended,’ he added, ‘I shall prize it all the more for its being made by a gentleman, and no blacksmith; and so will my governor, when I show it to him. I shan’t let it remain where it is, but will keep it, as a remembrance of you, as long as I live.’ He then again rubbed his hands with great glee, and said, ‘I will now go and see after my horses, and then to breakfast, partner, if you please.’ Suddenly, however, looking at his hands, he said, ‘Before sitting down to breakfast, I am in the habit of washing my hands and face: I suppose you could not furnish me with a little soap and water.’ ‘As much water as you please,’ said I, ‘but if you want soap, I must go and trouble the young gentlewoman for some.’ ‘By no means,’ said the postillion, ‘water will do at a pinch.’ ‘Follow me,’ said I, and leading him to the pond of the frogs and newts, I said, ‘this is my ewer; you are welcome to part of it—the water is so soft that it is scarcely necessary to add soap to it;’ then lying down on the bank, I plunged my head into the water, then scrubbed my hands and face, and afterwards wiped them with some long grass which grew on the margin of the pond. ‘Bravo,’ said the postillion, ‘I see you know how to make a shift:’ he then followed my example, declared he never felt more refreshed in his life, and, giving a bound, said, ‘he would go and look after his horses.’
We then went to look after the horses, which we found not much the worse for having spent the night in the open air. My companion again inserted their heads in the corn-bags, and, leaving the animals to discuss their corn, returned with me to the dingle, where we found the kettle boiling. We sat down, and Belle made tea and did the honours of the meal. The postillion was in high spirits, ate heartily, and, to Belle’s evident satisfaction, declared that he had never drank better tea in his life, or indeed any half so good. Breakfast over, he said that he must now go and harness his horses, as it was high time for him to return to his inn. Belle gave him her hand and wished him farewell: the postillion shook her hand warmly, and was advancing close up to her—for what purpose I cannot say—whereupon Belle, withdrawing her hand, drew herself up with an air which caused the postillion to retreat a step or two with an exceedingly sheepish look. Recovering himself, however, he made a low bow, and proceeded up the path. I attended him, and helped to harness his horses and put them to the vehicle; he then shook me by the hand, and taking the reins and whip mounted to his seat; ere he drove away he thus addressed me: ‘If ever I forget your kindness and that of the young woman below, dash my buttons. If ever either of you should enter my inn you may depend upon a warm welcome, the best that can be set before you, and no expense to either, for I will give both of you the best of characters to the governor, who is the very best fellow upon all the road. As for your linch-pin, I trust it will serve till I get home, when I will take it out and keep it in remembrance of you all the days of my life:’ then giving the horses a jerk with his reins, he cracked his whip and drove off.
I returned to the dingle, Belle had removed the breakfast things, and was busy in her own encampment: nothing occurred, worthy of being related, for two hours, at the end of which time Belle departed on a short expedition, and I again found myself alone in the dingle.
CHAPTER II
THE MAN IN BLACK—THE EMPEROR OF GERMANY—NEPOTISM—DONNA OLYMPIA—OMNIPOTENCE—CAMILLO ASTALLI—THE FIVE PROPOSITIONS
In the evening I received another visit from the man in black. I had been taking a stroll in the neighbourhood, and was sitting in the dingle in rather a listless manner, scarcely knowing how to employ myself; his coming, therefore, was by no means disagreeable to me. I produced the hollands and glass from my tent, where Isopel Berners had requested me to deposit them, and also some lump sugar, then taking the gotch [5a] I fetched water from the spring, and, sitting down, begged the man in black to help himself; he was not slow in complying with my desire, and prepared for himself a glass of hollands and water with a lump of sugar in it. After he had taken two or three sips with evident satisfaction, I, remembering his chuckling exclamation of ‘Go to Rome for money,’ when he last left the dingle, took the liberty, after a little conversation, of reminding him of it, whereupon, with a he! he! he! he replied, ‘Your idea was not quite so original as I supposed. After leaving you the other night I remembered having read of an Emperor of Germany who conceived the idea of applying to Rome for money, and actually put it into practice.
‘Urban the Eighth then occupied the papal chair, of the family of the Barbarini, [5b] nicknamed the Mosche, or Flies, from the circumstance of bees being their armorial bearing. The Emperor having exhausted all his money in endeavouring to defend the church against Gustavus Adolphus, the great King of Sweden, who was bent on its destruction, applied in his necessity to the Pope for a loan of money. The Pope, however, and his relations, whose cellars were at that time full of the money of the church, which they had been plundering for years, refused to lend him a scudo; whereupon a pasquinade picture was stuck up at Rome, representing the church lying on a bed, gashed with dreadful wounds, and beset all over with flies, which were sucking her, whilst the Emperor of Germany was kneeling before her with a miserable face requesting a little money towards carrying on the war against the heretics, to which the poor church was made to say: “How can I assist you, O my champion, do you not see that the flies have sucked me to the very bones?” Which story,’ said he, ‘shows that the idea of going to Rome for money was not quite so original as I imagined the other night, though utterly preposterous.
‘This affair,’ said he, ‘occurred in what were called the days of nepotism. Certain Popes, who wished to make themselves in some degree independent of the cardinals, surrounded themselves with their nephews, and the rest of their family, who sucked the church and Christendom as much as they could, none doing so more effectually than the relations of Urban the Eighth, at whose death, according to the book called the “Nipotismo di Roma,” [6a] there were in the Barbarini family two hundred and twenty-seven governments, abbeys, and high dignities; and so much hard cash in their possession that threescore and ten mules were scarcely sufficient to convey the plunder of one of them to Palestrina.’ He added, however, that it was probable that Christendom fared better whilst the Popes were thus independent, as it was less sucked, whereas before and after that period, it was sucked by hundreds instead of tens, by the cardinals and all their relations, instead of by the Pope and his nephews only.
Then, after drinking rather copiously of his hollands, he said that it was certainly no bad idea of the Popes to surround themselves with nephews, on whom they bestowed great church dignities, as by so doing they were tolerably safe from poison, whereas a Pope, if abandoned to the cardinals, might at any time be made away with by them, provided they thought that he lived too long, or that he seemed disposed to do anything which they disliked; adding that Ganganelli [6b] would never have been poisoned provided he had had nephews about him to take care of his life, and to see that nothing unholy was put into his food, or a bustling, stirring brother’s wife like Donna Olympia. He then, with a he! he! he! asked me if I had ever read the book called the ‘Nipotismo di Roma,’ and on my replying in the negative, he told me that it was a very curious and entertaining book, which he occasionally looked at in an idle hour, and proceeded to relate to me anecdotes out of the ‘Nipotismo di Roma,’ about the successor of Urban, Innocent the Tenth, and Donna Olympia, showing how fond he was of her, and how she cooked his food, and kept the cardinals away from it, and how she and her creatures plundered Christendom, with the sanction of the Pope, until Christendom, becoming enraged, insisted that he should put her away, which he did for a time, putting a nephew—one Camillo Astalli—in her place, in which, however, he did not continue long; for the Pope, conceiving
