Then Borghese called up the steward (Maestro di Casa), and told him to go to the house and find out who the man was, and leave them what was wanted for the night.
The steward did as he was told, and left a scudo that the man might get a supper without eating stolen food, but without saying who sent him, for he had learnt by his inquiries that he was the servant whom Borghese had sent away.
The next day Borghese sent and clothed all the family; furnished their place again for them; put the children to schools, and gave the parents ten scudi a month. He wouldn’t take the man back, having once had to send him away—for that was his rule—but he gave him a pension for the rest of his life.
‘POPE JOAN.’
‘You know, of course, that there was once a Papessa? They have put that in the books, I suppose?’
‘I know there is such a story, but learned writers have proved it was a mere invention.’
‘Well, I daresay it isn’t true; but there’s no one in Rome who has not heard of it. And what makes them believe it is this.[1] Outside of St. Peter’s somewhere there’s a statue of her all among the apostles and saints; and they say it’s because a Pope must have a statue, and they didn’t dare to put hers inside the church, so they put it up outside. And if it isn’t a Papessa, what is a woman’s statue doing there, for it wasn’t the Madonna, that’s certain?’
‘Oh! that’s a statue of Religion, or the Church.[2] There never was a woman-pope.’
‘Ah, well! you read books. I dare say you know best; but, anyhow, that’s what they say. And, after all, who knows!’