We frequently accompanied Madame du Puy-Montbrun, and the society in our box usually consisted of the old Prince of Palestrine, the Abbé de Bernis, and the Chevalier du Theil, “un savant très caustique,” whom the Court of France had sent to examine certain manuscripts in the Vatican, and who lived at Cardinal de Bernis’. We had also occasional visitors from the corps diplomatique. Madame du Puy-Montbrun was correct and serious, handsome, sensible, and only thirty-six. I was _very_ young and _very_ animated, but vainly would any of the gay prelates or young travellers have endeavoured to effect a comfortable entrée. Madame du P. was reserved, and the old prince and the chevalier were immovable, and the only prelate who was not old but very agreeable, was Monsignor la Somaglia, belonging to a noble family of Parma. He was a man of elegant learning and manners, but by the gay was accused of too much devotion.
I shall here insert a few anecdotes and bons mots which I collected during our lengthened residence in Rome.
M. de Choiseul, when he was ambassador of France at Rome, used to say there were only two ways of managing the Italians, “danaro o bastone.”[23] One day he addressed the Pope (Lambertini), at an audience, in such an authoritative tone, that his holiness rose from his chair, and said, “Mi faccia la finezza di mettersi quà, signor ambasciadore.”[24] This same Pope once asked a lady how she liked Rome, and whether she had seen all the ceremonies, &c. She answered that she had seen everything except a “sedia vacante;”[25] whereupon the Pope got up directly from his chair, and said, “There is one, madam.”
A cardinal, in conversation with a prelate whose whole study was how to obtain promotion, happened to remark that he himself had very good health. “Ah,” said the other, “how do you manage that? For my part, I am always ailing.” “Why,” replied the cardinal, “the reason is, that I wear my hat on my head, but you have it in your heart.”
The Abbé G., who is said to be the son of a shoemaker, was one day complaining that he could not go to the Constable Colonna’s because his carriage was not ready; a bystander remarked, that he was not surprised, for, as the Abbé’s father was dead, his shoes might probably want mending, and that consequently he could not walk. A very elegant Grand Vicaire once asked a physician from what stock this Abbé G. was derived. The physician took him into a shoemaker’s shop, and striking his hand on the block—in French called “souche”—upon which they cut the leather, he answered, “Voici, monsieur, la souche dont sort la famille de l’abbé.”