In the evening I received another visit from the man in black.  I had been taking a stroll in the neighbourhood, and was sitting in the dingle in rather a listless manner, scarcely knowing how to employ myself; his coming, therefore, was by no means disagreeable to me.  I produced the hollands and glass from my tent, where Isopel Berners had requested me to deposit them, and also some lump sugar, then taking the gotch I fetched water from the spring, and, sitting down, begged the man in black to help himself; he was not slow in complying with my desire, and prepared for himself a glass of hollands and water with a lump of sugar in it.  After he had taken two or three sips with evident satisfaction, I, remembering his chuckling exclamation of “Go to Rome for money,” when he last left the dingle, took the liberty, after a little conversation, of reminding him of it, whereupon, with a he! he! he! he replied, “Your idea was not quite so original as I supposed.  After leaving you the other night, I remembered having read of an Emperor of Germany who conceived the idea of applying to Rome for money, and actually put it into practice.

“Urban the Eighth then occupied the papal chair, of the family of the Barbarini, nicknamed the Mosche, or Flies, from the circumstance of bees being their armorial bearing.  The Emperor having exhausted all his money in endeavouring to defend the church against Gustavus Adolphus, the great King of Sweden, who was bent on its destruction, applied in his necessity to the Pope for a loan of money.  The Pope, however, and his relations, whose cellars were at that time full of the money of the church, which they had been plundering for years, refused to lend him a scudo; whereupon a pasquinade picture was stuck up at Rome, representing the church lying on a bed, gashed with dreadful wounds, and beset all over with flies, which were sucking her, whilst the Emperor of Germany was kneeling before her with a miserable face, requesting a little money towards carrying on the war against the heretics, to which the poor church was made to say:  ’How can I assist you, O my champion, do you not see that the flies have sucked me to the very bones?’ Which story,” said he, “shows that the idea of going to Rome for money was not quite so original as I imagined the other night, though utterly preposterous.

“This affair,” said he, “occurred in what were called the days of nepotism.  Certain popes, who wished to make themselves in some degree independent of the cardinals, surrounded themselves with their nephews and the rest of their family, who sucked the church and Christendom as much as they could, none doing so more effectually than the relations of Urban the Eighth, at whose death, according to the book called the ‘Nipotismo di Roma,’ there were in the Barbarini family two hundred and twenty-seven governments, abbeys and high dignities; and so much hard cash in their possession, that threescore and ten mules were scarcely sufficient to convey the plunder of one of them to Palestrina.”  He added, however, that it was probable that Christendom fared better whilst the popes were thus independent, as it was less sucked, whereas before and after that period it was sucked by hundreds instead of tens, by the cardinals and all their relations, instead of by the pope and his nephews only.