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and Lambressa are your guillotines, and the Empress is safe from them.!
But there are other modes of violent death,' he answered ; ‘from one of which she escaped almost by miracle.'
• How did she behave,' I asked, ' at the attentat ?'
Little is known,' he answered, 'except that the Emperor said to her, as he led her upstairs to her box : “Allons, il faut faire notre métier."
• Then she is disturbed by religious fears. The little prince has been taught to say to his father every morning: “Papa, ne faites pas de mal à mon parrain.” The Pope was his godfather.'
If the Emperor dies, the real power will pass into the hands of Prince Napoleon. And very dangerous hands they will be. He has more talent than the Emperor, and longer views. Louis Napoleon is a revolutionist from selfishness. Prince Napoleon is selfish enough, but he has also passion. He detests everything that is venerable, everything that is established or legal.
• There is little value now for property or for law, though the Government professes to respect them. What will it be when the Government professes to hate them ?'
Wednesday, August 14.--We talked at breakfast of Rome.
Is there,' said Beaumont to Ampère, ‘still an Inquisition at Rome?'
'There is,' said Ampère, “but it is torpid. It punishes bad priests, but does little else.'
If a Roman,' I asked, 'were an avowed infidel, would it take notice of him?'
* Probably not,' said Ampère, but his curé mightnot for his infidelity, but for his avowing it. The curé, who has always the powers of a commissaire de police, might put him in prison if he went into a café and publicly denied the Immaculate Conception, or if he neglected going to church or to confession: but the Inquisition no longer cares about opinions.'
* Is there much infidelity,' I asked, “in Rome?'
Much,' said Ampère, “among the laity. The clergy do not actively disbelieve. They go through their functions without ever seriously inquiring whether what they have to teach be true or false. No persons were more annoyed by the Mortara' business than the clergy, with the exception of Antonelli. He hates and fears the man who set it on foot, the Archbishop of Bologna, and therefore was glad to see him expose himself, and lose all hope of the Secretaryship, but he took care to prevent the recurrence of such a scandal. He revived an old law prohibiting Jews from keeping Christian nurses. But he could scarcely order restitution. According to the Church it would have been giving the child to the Devil, and, what is worse, robbing God of him. The Pope's piety is selfish. His great object is his own salvation. He would not endanger that, to confer any benefit upon, or to avert any evil from Rome ; or indeed from the whole world. This makes him difficult to
1 The Jewish child who was taken away from his parents and converted.-ED.
Torpor of Papal Government.
negotiate with. If anything is proposed to him which his confessor affirms to be dangerous to his soul, he listens to no arguments. As for Mortara himself, he is a poor creature. A friend of mine went to see him in his convent. All that he could get from him was:
"“Sono venuti i Carabinieri.”
What is most teasing,' continued Ampère, 'in the Roman Government is not so much its active oppression as its torpidity. It hates to act. An Englishman had with great difficulty obtained permission to light Rome with gas. He went to the Government in December, and told them that everything was ready, and that the gas would be lighted on the ist of January.
““Could you not,” they answered, “put it off till April ?”
““But it is in winter," he replied ; "that it is wanted. Every thing is ready. Why should we wait?"
"" It is a new thing,” they replied ; "people will be frightened. It may have consequences.
consequences. At least put it off till March."
““But they will be as much frightened in March,” he replied.
““ If it must be done,” they said, “as a kindness to His Holiness and to us put it off till February.”
“There is, however, one sort of oppression which even we should find it difficult to tolerate.
'A Monsignore has a young friend without money, but an excellent Catholic and an excellent politician, a fervid believer in the Immaculate Conception and in the excellence of the Papal Government. He wishes to reward such admirable opinions : but the Pope has little to give. Monsignore looks out for some young heiress, sends for her father, describes his pious and loyal protégé, and proposes marriage. Her father objects-says that his daughter cannot afford to marry a poor man, or that she does not wish to marry at all—or that he or she has some other preference.
Monsignore insists. He assures the father that what he is proposing is most favourable to the salvation of his daughter, that he suggests it principally for the benefit of her soul, and that the father's objections are inspired by the Evil One. The father breaks off the conversation and goes home. He finds that his daughter has disappeared. He returns furious to Monsignore, is received with the utmost politeness and is informed that his daughter is perfectly safe under the protection of a cardinal who himself did her the honour of fetching her in his gilded coach. “You have only,” the Monsignore says, “to be reasonable, and she shall be returned to you."
*The father flies to the cardinal.
““Do not oppose," he is told, “the will of the Pope, who, in this matter, seeks only your daughter's happiness here and hereafter. She is now with me. If you will give up your sinful obstinacy she shall be restored to
you to-day. If not, it will be our duty to place her in a convent, where she will be taken the utmost care of, but she will not leave it except to marry the person whom His Holiness thinks most fitted to promote the welfare of her soul."
' I have known several cases in which this attempt has been made. With such timid slaves as the Roman nobility it always succeeds.'
Thursday, August 15.—This is the fête of St. Louisthe great fête of Tocqueville. Madame de Tocqueville and Madame de Beaumont spent much of the morning in church.
Beaumont and his son walked to the coast to bathe. Minnie, Ampère, and I strolled among the deep shady lanes of the plateau above the castle. Throughout Normandy the fields are small and are divided by mounds planted with trees. The farmhouses, and even the cottages, are built of primitive rock, granite, or old red sandstone. At a distance, peeping out of the trees that surround them, they look pretty, but they have more than the usual French untidiness. The out-houses are roofless, the farmyards are full of pools and dung heaps, which often extend into the road ; and the byroads themselves are quagmires when they do not consist of pointed stones. I was struck by the paucity of the children and the absence of new houses. The population of Normandy is diminishing. We conversed on the subject of Italy.
If we are in Rome next winter,' I asked, shall we find the French there?'