On another occasion he was about to entertain a distinguished party at dinner. The gentlemen were already gathered in the drawing-room when their host was informed that a man wished to speak with him on urgent business. He excused himself and came into the dining-room, where he found one of his parishioners in frantic distress. He wanted a loan to save him from immediate bankruptcy. “I have not a single dollar in my possession, my poor friend,” said the Cardinal, “but——” He glanced round the room, where all his best plate was laid out in preparation for the coming feast, and pounced on a great gold soup tureen, a cherished gift from his mother. “Take this,” he said, putting it into the man’s hands, “it will pay your debts.”
With sublime carelessness he returned to his guests, and they and he soon began to wonder why dinner was not served. A long time passed, and then the steward, pale as death and with tears in his eyes, came and informed him that somebody had stolen the gold soup tureen! He had looked everywhere, searched the servants’ rooms—the household was in an uproar—but the tureen was gone!
“Oh, is that all?” he laughed. “I stole it myself! Get the old china one and let us eat.”
CHAPTER VII CAPTIVITY OF POPE PIUS VII
Lebzeltern, the Ambassador of the Austrian Emperor—Origin of His Mission—Napoleon’s Anger Against Pius VII—Arrest of the Pope—Protests from the Church—Napoleon Excommunicated—Vain Efforts to Evade the Bull—Instructions for the Mission—“Do All, or Else, Do Nothing”—Pius VII in His Sixty-eighth Year—The Interview—The Pope’s Position—His Generosity—Message to Napoleon—Continued Captivity—Return to Rome—Napoleon’s Expiation.
One beautiful evening of early summer in the year 1810, the packet-boat plying between Genoa and Savona reached the latter port after a fair but exciting passage; for, albeit the sea was scarcely ruffled by the breeze—which in itself was barely sufficient to fill the sails—yet during the whole of the voyage from Genoa a couple of British frigates had accompanied the packet-boat, keeping however, much to the surprise of the voyagers, at a considerable distance and without manifesting any hostile intention. And when, at last, the packet-boat was safe at anchor in the harbour of Savona, the frigates likewise lay to, within about a cannon-shot of the land, and began, apparently, to make all snug for the night.
Among the passengers who now walked down the gang-plank of the packet-boat on to the quay, thankful for once to British eccentricity for its unaccountable generosity in letting them go their way unmolested, was a man, still young, with an expression of imperturbable good-nature not unmixed with a certain bland shrewdness. This person, after directing a servant, by whom he was accompanied, to have his baggage taken to an hotel—possibly the “Roma”—betook himself alone and on foot to the “Vescovado,” the palace of the Bishop of Savona, “a fairly large house,” as Napoleon had described it in a letter in which he had attempted to excuse himself for the choice of it as a residence for his prisoner, Pope Pius VII.
The traveller, on arriving at the door of the Vescovado, found his further way barred by a couple of gendarmes who were mounting guard there; to them, on their asking his business, he replied that he desired an interview with the Sovereign Pontiff, and requested that they would let him pass. For all answer they stared at him, open-mouthed, taking him for an eccentric; when their commander, a Colonel Thévenot, who chanced to be passing, took the matter out of their hands.
“Who are you, sir, and what do you want?” he enquired.
“I wish to see the Holy Father, as soon as possible,” replied the other. “Allow me”—handing the Colonel a visiting card inscribed: