Such men as you have a moral force. . . .
  I knew you by  name; and by sight ... of course!"
     Here he stroked his face
     With significant grace;
And his smile, as plain as a smile could convey it,
Meant, "Birds of a feather ... if one dared say it!"
  Montani bowed . . . and once again
  The plausible prelate pitched off his strain:
"To Rome? ay, surely. Your thought's my own.
Such men as you should be seen and known.
If I can help you . . . Don't say no!
A letter? . . . with pleasure! When do you go?
Tuesday? You'll call on the minister, eh?
I'll write him a line without delay.
Send when you please, for it. Pedro! the door!
Would I had known of your case before!
Be sure, what his Eminence can, he'll do!
Good morning! Take courage! Such men as you!" . . .
Here Montani went out, half glad, half sorry;
But fancied he heard, through his mental flurry,
The parrot (which looked too lazy to budge)
Jerk out in chuckling tones, as he hung
Pompously sucking his fat grey tongue,
Something which might be, if said or sung,
     The Mexican Spanish for. . . "Fudge!"

                             VIII

  The Bishop hummed a Gregorian tune
  As he wrote two letters that afternoon.
  Both were enclosed in the self-same manner,
  And sealed with a Paschal Lamb and a banner.
  Both had "Dear brother" atop of the sheet,
  Both were in characters pretty and neat,
  With a superscription as neat and as pretty,
  "His Eminence Cardinal Sec. Bernetti."
  Both had "Mastai" subscribed in conclusion,
  And both had superlatives strewn in profusion.
  He laid them both on the same bureau,
  And patted them smooth as he placed them so;
  And there you might see a dash and a dot.
  Which only one of the pair had got.
Then, with his red-tasselled hat on his head—
For the time had come for his daily rumble—
The Bishop rang for his lacquey, and said,
  " Pedro! Those letters . . . make no jumble.
  That for the post, with the dash . . . look there!
  This for Montani; and pray TAKE CARE!"
And Pedro, the gravest of lacqueys and men,
(Who'd never fallen into a blunder till then),
With a nose like a hawk, and an eye like a boa—
A lay brother once, of a convent at Goa—
While trying his utmost to give satisfaction
Made one small mistake, which reversed the transaction;
Sent the letter undashed to the post, like a zany.
And delivered the other, himself, to Montani!

                             IX

  The sun was enough to bake you brown,
  When the "Roman Express" drove out of the town,
With its passengers packed in a jingling machine,
Very high on the springs; of a sickly pea-green;
With three horses, a postboy who cracked a huge whip,
And rope harness enough to have rigged out a ship.
  Wearily, wearily, onwards it bore.
The poor souls were grimy with dust to the core,
And some of them smoked; and most of them swore!
But whether from weariness, sun-stroke, or sorrow,
Montani fell ill at an inn on the morrow;
  Lay there a fortnight, cursing his fate,
     Then fevered, and jaded,
     And almost light-headed,
  Scurried to Rome at a desperate rate,
     And met with his friend
     At the journey's end,
     Just inside the Popolo gate.

                              X

Then there was a kissing, embracing, and greeting,
Such as bearded Italians indulge in on meeting.
  The Roman welcomed his friend with a jest,
And hailed him "Sir Judge," as it seemed, without reason;
Which poor sad Montani thought quite out of season,
     And rather unfeeling at best!
But once the embracing and kissing got over,
He (looking glum as a jilted lover,
And hearing the other say, "Fortunate wight!")
Seemed three parts ready to sob outright;
  And cried abruptly, "What can I do?
  You'll never teach me to fawn or to sue!"
"Do!" quoth the friend. "You insatiable fellow!
Your business is all but done, I tell you!
A man that's blest with such high protection
Has but to vote for his own election.
With a Cardinal Minister's help to win it,
His suit is won, or the devil's in it!"
  Montani stared—Montani stuttered—
  "Minister! . . . Suit!" . . . was all he uttered,
While the other ran on, as his tongue were buttered.
"Ay! when I angled, with congee and smirk
     (Just as you bade me),
     For friends that could aid me,
I found that Bernetti was doing my work;
Praising your principles up like a brother's;
Painting some traits out, and sketching in others;
Making you look a few shades less rhapsodical
Than your namesake the saint; you regenerate prodigal!
I thought to be sure 'twas a marvellous thing,
But ... we know that a she-wolf once suckled a king!
And now ... (Don't look helpless, as though I spoke Greek to you!)
Go to Bernetti! Perhaps he's at home.
You've got to thank him, and he wants to speak to you.
  Say you've arrived but this instant at Rome."
  "Stop! I've a letter of recommendation" . . .
  Groaned poor Montani, whose strength was spent.
"Letter! per bacco! you're sure of your station.
     Don't wait to find it!
     He'll never mind it.
Go, if you're wise!" . . . and Montani went.

                              XI

Down in the court-yard are columns and coaches,
Up the great staircase, marbles and gold,
Over each portal Montani approaches,
     Through each high room
     With its statues and gloom,
  Rooms that seemed infinite—
     (One had a Nymph in it)
Droops the rich door curtain, fold upon fold.
  In the great hall are prelates colloquing.
On goes Montani ... a lacquey before
Whispers his name, as he'd scarce let the rogue in ...
  Heav'ns! Monsignorè comes out to the door! . .
Beckons him. onward . . . Montani, grown stronger,
  Stammers ..."The Bishop ... a stranger . . .excuse"! . ...