The Daughter of an Empress

He lightly touched the silver bell suspended over his writing-table, and

at the immediately opened door appeared the pleasant and well-nourished

face of brother Lorenzo, the Franciscan monk, who performed the whole

service of the pope.

"Lorenzo," said Ganganelli, with a smile, "let us go down into the

poultry-yard. You must show me the young chickens of which you told me

yesterday. And hear, would it be asking too much to beg of you to bring

my dinner into the garden?"

"I would that you could ask too much," said brother Lorenzo, waddling

after his master, who was descending the stairs leading to the

court-yard. "I really wish, your holiness, that it were asking too

much, for then your dinner would be at least a little more desirable

and heavier to transport! Was such a thing ever heard of? the father of

Christianity keeps a table like that of the poorest begging monk, and is

satisfied with milk, fruit, bread, and vegetables, while the fattest of

capons and ducks are crammed in vain for him, and his cellar is replete

with the most generous wines."

"Well, well, scold not," said Ganganelli, smiling; "have we not for

years felt ourselves well in the Franciscan cloister, it never once

occurring to us to wish ourselves better off! Why should I now quit the

habits of years and accustom myself to other usages? When I was yet a

Franciscan monk, I always had, thanks to our simple manner of living, a

very healthy stomach, and would you have me spoil it now, merely because

I have become pope? It has always remained the same human body, Lorenzo,

and all the rest is only falsehood and fraud! How few years is it since

you and I were in the cloister, and you served the poor Franciscan monk

as a lay brother! You then called me brother Clement, and they all did

the same, and now you no longer call me brother, but holy father! How

can your brother of yesterday be your father of to-day? We are here

alone, Lorenzo; nobody sees or hears us. We would for once cease to be

holy father, and for a quarter of an hour become again brother Clement."

"Ahem! it was not so bad there," simpered Lorenzo. "It was yet very

pleasant in our dear cloister, and I often think, brother, that you were

far happier then than now, when every one falls upon his knees to kiss

your slipper. It must be very dull to be always holy, always so great

and sublime, and always revered and adored!"

"Therefore let us go to our ducks and hens," said the pope. "The people

have made a bugbear of me, before which they fall upon the earth. But

the good animals, who understand nothing of these things, they

cackle and grunt, and gabble at me, as if I were nothing but a common

goose-herd and by no means the sainted father of Christendom! Come, come

to my dear brutes, who are so frank and sincere that they cackle and

gabble directly in my face as soon as their beaks and snouts are grown.

They are not so humble and devoted, so adoring and cringing, as these

men who prostrate themselves before me with humble and hypocritical

devotion, but who secretly curse me and wish my death, that there may be

a change in the papacy! Come, come, to our honest geese!"