The Daughter of an Empress

"But that is exactly what you do," gently replied Ganganelli. "All the

streets of Rome bear witness to it. Did you not yesterday, in one of

those streets, with force and arms rescue a bandit from the hands of

justice, and with your murderous dagger take the life of the servant of

the law?"

"They wanted to lead one of my servants to death, who had done nothing

more than obey my commands," vehemently responded the cardinal. "I

liberated him from their hands as was natural; and if some of the

sbirri were killed in the encounter, that was their fault. Why did

they not voluntarily give up their prisoner and then run away?"

"And was it really your command that this bandit fulfilled?" asked the

pope, shuddering. "You know he killed a young nobleman, the pride and

hope of his family, and was caught in the act, which he did not attempt

to deny?"

"That young nobleman had mocked and made a laughing-stock of me in a

public company," calmly replied the cardinal; "hence it was natural that

he must die. Revenge is the first duty of man, and whoever neglects to

take it is dishonored!"

"And such men dare to call themselves Christians!" exclaimed Ganganelli,

with uplifted arms--"and such men call themselves priests of the

religion of love!"

"I am a priest of love!" said Albani.

"But of what love?" responded the pope, with an appearance of

agitation--"the priest of a wild, beastly passion, of a rough animal

inclination. You know nothing of the soft and silent love that ennobles

the heart and strengthens it for holy resolutions; which inculcates

virtue and decency, and lifts up the eyes to heaven--of that love

which is full of consolation and blessed hope, and desires nothing for

itself."

"God save me from such a love!" said the cardinal, crossing himself.

"When I love, I desire much, and of virtue and perfection there is,

thank God, no question."

"Repent, amend, Francesco," said the pope. "I promised your uncle, the

very worthy Cardinal Alessandro Albani, once more to attempt the course

of mildness, and exhort you to return to the path of virtue. Ah, could

you have seen the poor old man, with tears streaming from his blind

eyes--tears of sorrow for you, whom he called his lost son!"

"My uncle did very wrong so to weep," said the cardinal. "Blind as he

was he yet kept a mistress. How, then, can he wonder that I, who can

see, kept several? Two eyes see more than none; that is natural!"

"But do you, then, so wholly forget your solemn oath of chastity and

virtue?" excitedly exclaimed the pope. "Look upon the cross that covers

your breast, and fall upon your knees to implore the pardon of God."

"This cross was laid upon my breast when I was yet a boy," gloomily

responded the cardinal; "the fetters were attached to me before I had

the strength to rend them; my will was not asked when this stone was

laid upon my breast! Now I ask not about your will when I seek, under

this weight, to breathe freely as a man! And, thank God, this weight has

not crushed my heart--my heart, that yet glows with youthful freshness,

and in which love has found a lurking-hole which your cross cannot fill

up. And in this lurking-hole now dwells a charming, a wonderful woman,

whom Rome calls the queen of song, and whom I call the queen of beauty

and love! All the world adjudges her the crown of poesy, and only you

refuse it to her."