“The Land! I don’t bother with the outlandish names. But you’ll find it easy. Napoleon Boneypart did somethin’ or ’nother ther oncet. Or, his son, or nephey, or some of the family. Any way, I do know I never see sech winder-curtains anywhere. Thick as a board! Solid satin. No linin’s, for I fingered ’em and took a peek at the wrong side to be positive. We wound up the churches by goin’ to see the tomb the Pope’s been a buildin’ of for himself. A kind o’ square pit, or cellar right in the middle of the church of What’s-his-name?”
“That’s the feller! You go down by two flights of stun steps. One onto each side of the cellar. Its all open on top, you understand, on a level with the church-floor, and jest veneered with marble. Every color you can think of. Floor jest the same. Old Pope Griggory, he aint buried yet. Lies ’bove-ground, in a red marble box. He can’t be buried for good ’tell Pious, he dies. And _he_ must hev the same spell o’ waitin’ for the next one. Ther’ must be two popes on the top of the yearth at the same time. One live and one dead. Thinks-I, when I looked inter the cryp’—as they call it—jest a-blazin’ and a-dazzlin’ with red, blue, green and yellow, and polished like a new table-knife blade.—If _this_ aint vanity and vexation! I’d ruther hev our fam’ly lot in the buryin’ groun’ to Meekinses Four Corners—(a real nice lot it is! With only one stun’ as yet. ‘To my daughter Almiry Jane, Ag_éd_ six months and six days,’) where I could be tucked up, like a lady, safe and snug. Oncet for all and no bones about it!”
On the tenth and last day of our sojourn at the hotel, she went to see the Pope.
“May I come inter your sittin’-room?” was her petition at evening. “I am fairly bustin’ to tell you all about it. And if we go inter the public parler, them Englishers will be makin’ fun behind my back. For, you see, ther’s considerable actin’ to be done to tell it jest right.”
I took her into our _salon_, established her in an arm-chair, and was attentive. I had seen her in her best black silk with the regulation black lace shawl, which generally does duty as a veil, pinned to her scanty hair. Ladies attending the Pope’s levees must dress in black, without bonnets, the head being covered by a black veil. When thus attired, my acquaintance had wound and hung at least half a peck of rosaries upon her arms, “to have ’em handy for the old cretur’s blessin’.” I was now to hear how her husband had hired at the costumer’s the dress-coat prescribed for gentlemen.