“Will she see me?”

“No doubt of it.”

On the following day I proceeded to Monte-Cavallo, and I was at once led into the room where the Pope was alone.  I threw myself on my knees and kissed the holy cross on his most holy slipper.  The Pope enquiring who I was, I told him, and he answered that he knew me, congratulating me upon my being in the service of so eminent a cardinal.  He asked me how I had succeeded in gaining the cardinal’s favour; I answered with a faithful recital of my adventures from my arrival at Martorano.  He laughed heartily at all I said respecting the poor and worthy bishop, and remarked that, instead of trying to address him in Tuscan, I could speak in the Venetian dialect, as he was himself speaking to me in the dialect of Bologna.  I felt quite at my ease with him, and I told him so much news and amused him so well that the Holy Father kindly said that he would be glad to see me whenever I presented myself at Monte-Cavallo.  I begged his permission to read all forbidden books, and he granted it with his blessing, saying that I should have the permission in writing, but he forgot it.

Benedict XIV, was a learned man, very amiable, and fond of a joke.  I saw him for the second time at the Villa Medicis.  He called me to him, and continued his walk, speaking of trifling things.  He was then accompanied by Cardinal Albani and the ambassador from Venice.  A man of modest appearance approached His Holiness, who asked what he required; the man said a few words in a low voice, and, after listening to him, the Pope answered, “You are right, place your trust in God;” and he gave him his blessing.  The poor fellow went away very dejected, and the Holy Father continued his walk.

“This man,” I said, “most Holy Father, has not been pleased with the answer of Your Holiness.”

“Why?”

“Because most likely he had already addressed himself to God before he ventured to apply to you; and when Your Holiness sends him to God again, he finds himself sent back, as the proverb says, from Herod to Pilate.”

The Pope, as well as his two companions, laughed heartily; but I kept a serious countenance.

“I cannot,” continued the Pope, “do any good without God’s assistance.”

“Very true, Holy Father; but the man is aware that you are God’s prime minister, and it is easy to imagine his trouble now that the minister sends him again to the master.  His only resource is to give money to the beggars of Rome, who for one ‘bajocco’ will pray for him.  They boast of their influence before the throne of the Almighty, but as I have faith only in your credit, I entreat Your Holiness to deliver me of the heat which inflames my eyes by granting me permission to eat meat.”

“Eat meat, my son.”

“Holy Father, give me your blessing.”

He blessed me, adding that I was not dispensed from fasting.

That very evening, at the cardinal’s assembly, I found that the news of my dialogue with the Pope was already known.  Everybody was anxious to speak to me.  I felt flattered, but I was much more delighted at the joy which Cardinal Acquaviva tried in vain to conceal.