The Romany Rye | Page 9

a shift;" he then followed my example, declared he never felt more
refreshed in his life, and, giving a bound, said "he would go and look
after his horses."
We then went to look after the horses, which we found not much the
worse for having spent the night in the open air. My companion again
inserted their heads in the corn-bags, and, leaving the animals to
discuss their corn, returned with me to the dingle, where we found the
kettle boiling. We sat down, and Belle made tea and did the honours of
the meal. The postillion was in high spirits, ate heartily, and, to Belle's

evident satisfaction, declared that he had never drank better tea in his
life, or indeed any half so good. Breakfast over, he said that he must
now go and harness his horses, as it was high time for him to return to
his inn. Belle gave him her hand and wished him farewell: the
postillion shook her hand warmly, and was advancing close up to
her--for what purpose I cannot say--whereupon Belle, withdrawing her
hand, drew herself up with an air which caused the postillion to retreat
a step or two with an exceedingly sheepish look. Recovering himself,
however, he made a low bow, and proceeded up the path. I attended
him, and helped to harness his horses and put them to the vehicle; he
then shook me by the hand, and taking the reins and whip mounted to
his seat; ere he drove away he thus addressed me: "If ever I forget your
kindness and that of the young woman below, dash my buttons. If ever
either of you should enter my inn you may depend upon a warm
welcome, the best that can be set before you, and no expense to either,
for I will give both of you the best of characters to the governor, who is
the very best fellow upon all the road. As for your linch-pin, I trust it
will serve till I get home, when I will take it out and keep it in
remembrance of you all the days of my life:" then giving the horses a
jerk with his reins, he cracked his whip and drove off.
I returned to the dingle, Belle had removed the breakfast things, and
was busy in her own encampment: nothing occurred, worthy of being
related, for two hours, at the end of which time Belle departed on a
short expedition, and I again found myself alone in the dingle.
CHAPTER II.
THE MAN IN BLACK--THE EMPEROR OF
GERMANY--NEPOTISM--DONNA
OLYMPIA--OMNIPOTENCE--CAMILLO ASTALLI--THE FIVE
PROPOSITIONS.
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