PARIS, August, 1805.
MY LORD:--Though all the Bonapartes were great favourites with Pius VII.,
Madame Letitia, their mother, had a visible preference. In her
apartments he seemed most pleased to meet the family parties, as they
were called, because to them, except the Bonapartes, none but a few
select favourites were invited,--a distinction as much wished for and
envied as any other Court honour. After the Pope had fixed the evening
he would appear among them, Duroc made out a list, under the dictates of
Napoleon, of the chosen few destined to partake of the blessing of His
Holiness’s presence; this list was merely pro form, or as a compliment,
laid before him; and after his tacit approbation, the individuals were
informed, from the first chamberlain’s office, that they would be
honoured with admittance at such an hour, to such a company, and in such
an apartment. The dress in which they were to appear was also
prescribed. The parties usually met at six o’clock in the evening. On
the Pope’s entrance all persons, of both sexes, kneeled to receive his
blessing. Tea, ice, liqueurs, and confectionery were then served. In
the place of honour were three elevated elbow-chairs, and His Holiness
was seated between the Emperor and Empress, and seldom spoke to any one
to whom Napoleon did not previously address the word. The exploits of
Bonaparte, particularly his campaigns in Egypt, were the chief subjects
of conversation. Before eight o’clock the Pope always retired,
distributing his blessing to the kneeling audience, as on his entry. When
he was gone, card-tables were brought in, and play was permitted. Duroc
received his master’s orders how to distribute the places at the
different tables, what games were to be played, and the amount of the
sums to be staked. These were usually trifling and small compared to
what is daily risked in our fashionable circles.
Often, after the Pope had returned to his own rooms, Madame Letitia
Bonaparte was admitted to assist at his private prayers. This lady,
whose intrigues and gallantry are proverbial in Corsica, has, now that
she is old (as is generally the case), turned devotee, and is surrounded
by hypocrites and impostors, who, under the mask of sanctity, deceive and
plunder her. Her antechambers are always full of priests; and her closet
and bedroom are crowded with relics, which she collected during her
journey to Italy last year. She might, if she chose, establish a
Catholic museum, and furnish it with a more curious collection, in its
sort, than any of our other museums contain. Of all the saints in our
calendar, there is not one of any notoriety who has not supplied her with
a finger, a toe, or some other part; or with a piece of a shirt, a
handkerchief, a sandal, or a winding-sheet. Even a bit of a pair of
breeches, said to have belonged to Saint Mathurin, whom many think was a
sans-cullotte, obtains her adoration on certain occasions. As none of
her children have yet arrived at the same height of faith as herself, she
has, in her will, bequeathed to the Pope all her relics, together with
eight hundred and seventy-nine Prayer-books, and four hundred and
forty-six Bibles, either in manuscript or of different editions. Her
favourite breviary, used only on great solemnities, was presented to her
by Cardinal Maury at Rome, and belonged, as it is said, formerly to Saint
Francois, whose commentary, written with his own hand, fills the margins;
though many, who with me adore him as a saint, doubt whether he could
either read or write.
Not long ago she made, as she thought, an exceedingly valuable
acquisition. A priest arrived direct from the Holy City of Jerusalem,
well recommended by the inhabitants of the convents there, with whom he
pretended to have passed his youth. After prostrating himself before the
Pope, he waited on Madame Letitia Bonaparte. He told her that he had
brought with him from Syria the famous relic, the shoulder-bone of Saint
John the Baptist; but that, being in want of money for his voyage, he
borrowed upon it from a Grecian Bishop in Montenegro two hundred louis
d’or. This sum, and one hundred louis d’or besides, was immediately
given him; and within three months, for a large sum in addition to those
advanced, this precious relic was in Madame Letitia’s possession.
Notwithstanding this lady’s care not to engage in her service any person
of either sex who cannot produce, not a certificate of civism from the
municipality as was formerly the case, but a certificate of Christianity,
and a billet of confession signed by the curate of the parish, she had
often been robbed, and the robbers had made particularly free with those
relics which were set in gold or in diamonds. She accused her daughter,
the Princesse Borghese, who often rallies the devotion of her mamma, and
who is more an amateur of the living than of the dead, of having played
her these tricks. The Princess informed Napoleon of her mother’s losses,
as well as of her own innocence, and asked him to apply to the police to
find out the thief, who no doubt was one of the pious rogues who almost
devoured their mother.
On the next day Napoleon invited Madame Letitia to dinner, and Fouche had
orders to make a strict search, during her absence, among the persons
composing her household. Though he, on this occasion, did not find what
he was looking for, he made a discovery which very much mortified Madame
Letitia.
Her first chambermaid, Rosina Gaglini, possessed both her esteem and
confidence, and had been sent for purposely from Ajaccio, in Corsica, on
account of her general renown for great piety, and a report that she was
an exclusive favourite with the Virgin Mary, by whose interference she
had even performed, it was said, some miracles; such as restoring stolen
goods, runaway cattle, lost children, and procuring prizes in the
lottery. Rosina was as relic-mad as her mistress; and as she had no
means to procure them otherwise, she determined to partake of her lady’s
by cutting off a small part of each relic of Madame Letitia’s principal
saints. These precious ‘morceaux’ she placed in a box upon which she
kneeled to say her prayers during the day; and which, for a
mortification, served her as a pillow during the night. Upon each of the
sacred bits she had affixed a label with the name of the saint it
belonged to, which occasioned the disclosure. When Madame Letitia heard
of this pious theft, she insisted on having the culprit immediately and
severely punished; and though the Princesse Borghese, as the innocent
cause of poor Rosina’s misfortune, interfered, and Rosina herself
promised never more to plunder saints, she was without mercy turned away,
and even denied money sufficient to carry her back to Corsica. Had she
made free with Madame Letitia’s plate or wardrobe, there is no doubt but
that she had been forgiven; but to presume to share with her those sacred
supports on her way to Paradise was a more unpardonable act with a
devotee than to steal from a lover the portrait of an adored mistress.
In the meantime the police were upon the alert to discover the person
whom they suspected of having stolen the relics for the diamonds, and not
the diamonds for the relics. Among our fashionable and new saints,
surprising as you may think it, Madame de Genlis holds a distinguished
place; and she, too, is an amateur and collector of relics in proportion
to her means; and with her were found those missed by Madame Letitia.
Being asked to give up the name of him from whom she had purchased them,
she mentioned Abbe Saladin, the pretended priest from Jerusalem. He, in
his turn, was questioned, and by his answers gave rise to suspicion that
he himself was the thief. The person of whom he pretended to have bought
them was not to be found, nor was any one of such a description
remembered to have been seen anywhere. On being carried to prison, he
claimed the protection of Madame Letitia, and produced a letter in which
this lady had promised him a bishopric either in France or in Italy. When
she was informed of his situation, she applied to her son Napoleon for
his liberty, urging that a priest who from Jerusalem had brought with him
to Europe such an extraordinary relic as the shoulder of Saint John,
could not be culpable.
Abbe Saladin had been examined by Real, who concluded, from the accent
and perfection with which he spoke the French language, that he was some
French adventurer who had imposed on the credulity and superstition of
Madame Letitia; and, therefore, threatened him with the rack if he did
not confess the truth. He continued, however, in his story, and was
going to be released upon an order from the Emperor, when a gendarme
recognized him as a person who, eight years before, had, under the name
of Lanoue, been condemned for theft and forgery to the galleys, whence he
had made his escape. Finding himself discovered, he avowed everything.
He said he had served in Egypt, in the guides of Bonaparte, but deserted
to the Turks and turned Mussulman, but afterwards returned to the bosom
of the Church at Jerusalem. There he persuaded the friars that he had
been a priest, and obtained the certificates which introduced him to the
Pope and to the Emperor’s mother; from whom he had received twelve
thousand livres for part of the jaw bone of a whale, which he had sold
her for the shoulder-bone of a saint. As the police believe the
certificates he has produced to be also forged, he is detained in prison
until an answer arrives from our Consul in Syria.
Madame Letitia did not resign without tears the relic he had sold her;
and there is reason to believe that many other pieces of her collections,
worshipped by her as remains of saints, are equally genuine as this
shoulder-bone of Saint John.