of such as love mankind. Moreover, he hath no skill at characters. Now
this Greek is supreme in that great art: he carveth them with pen; and
turning his page, see into how real and great a world we enter of war,
and policy, and business, and love in its own place: for with him, as in
the great world, men are not all running after a wench. With this great
open field compare me not the narrow garden of Boccaccio, and his little
mill-round of dishonest pleasures."

"Your holiness, they say, hath not disdained to write a novel."

"My holiness hath done more foolish things than one, whereof it repents
too late. When I wrote novels I little thought to be head of the
Church."

"I search in vain for a copy of it to add to my poor library."

"It is well. Then the strict orders I gave four years ago to destroy
every copy in Italy have been well discharged. However, for your
comfort, on my being made Pope, some fool turned it into French: so that
you may read it, at the price of exile."

"Reduced to this strait we throw ourselves on your holiness's
generosity. Vouchsafe to give us your infallible judgment on it!"

"Gently, gently, good Francesco. A Pope's novels are not matters of
faith. I can but give you my sincere impression. Well then the work
in question had, as far as I can remember, all the vices of Boccaccio,
without his choice Italian."

Fra Colonna. "Your holiness is known for slighting Aeneas Silvius as
other men never slighted him. I did him injustice to make you his
judge. Perhaps your holiness will decide more justly between these two
boys-about blessing the beasts."

The Pope demurred. In speaking of Plutarch he had brightened up for
a moment, and his eye had even flashed; but his general manner was as
unlike what youthful females expect in a Pope as you can conceive. I can
only describe it in French. Le gentilhomme blase. A highbred, and
highly cultivated gentleman, who had done, and said, and seen, and
known everything, and whose body was nearly worn out. But double languor
seemed to seize him at the father's proposal.

"My poor Francesco," said he, "bethink thee that I have had a life of
controversy, and am sick on't; sick as death. Plutarch drew me to this
calm retreat; not divinity."

"Nay, but, your holiness, for moderating of strife between two hot young
bloods, {Makarioi oi eirinopioi}."

"And know you nature so ill, as to think either of these high-mettled
youths will reck what a poor old Pope