"Your holiness, they say, hath not disdained to write a novel."
"My holiness hath done more foolish things than one, whereof it repents too late. When I wrote novels I little thought to be head of the Church."
"I search in vain for a copy of it to add to my poor library."
"It is well. Then the strict orders I gave four years ago to destroy every copy in Italy, have been well discharged. However, for your comfort, on my being made Pope, some fool turned it into French: so that you may read it, at the price of exile."
"Reduced to this strait we throw ourselves on your holiness's generosity. Vouchsafe to give us your infallible judgment on it!"
"Gently, gently, good Francesco. A Pope's novels are not matters of faith. I can but give you my sincere impression. Well then the work in question had, as far as I remember, all the vices of Boccaccio, without his choice Italian."
Fra Colonna.] "Your holiness is known for slighting Æneas Silvius as other men never slighted him. I did him injustice to make you his judge. Perhaps your holiness will decide more justly between these two boys—about blessing the beasts."
The Pope demurred. In speaking of Plutarch he had brightened up for a moment, and his eye had even flashed; but his general manner was as unlike what youthful females expect in a Pope as you can conceive. I can only describe it in French. Le gentilhomme blasé. A high bred, and highly cultivated gentleman, who had done, and said, and seen, and known everything, and whose body was nearly worn out. But double languor seem to seize him at the father's proposal.
"My poor Francesco," said he "bethink thee that I have had a life of controversy, and am sick on't, sick as death. Plutarch drew me to this calm retreat; not divinity."
"Nay, but, your holiness, for moderating of strife between two hot young bloods.