THE HISTORY 
 
 
 OP 
 
 POPE JOAN. 
 
 GIANBATTISTA CAST I. 
 
 IN THREE CANTOS. 
 
 DEDIC-A.TED TO THE E.A.EIES. 
 
 TRANSLATED FROM THE ITALIAN 
 
 BT 
 
 DEMOCRITUS RIDENS. 
 
 ■s^g.xvA'TELr yRirmi? . 
 
 x?><so. 
 
PREFACE. 
 
 O— 
 
 It is now above a thousand years since disputes have been raised 
 respecting the existence of a Pope Joan, who, it is supposed, sue* 
 ceeded Leon the IV. in the ninth century of the Christian era. Each 
 person, according to his conviction or preconception, has endea- 
 voured to support his opinions with historical or chronological argu- 
 ments, by the testimony of the most respectable writers, or by 
 authentic chronicles or manuscripts carefully preserved in celebrated 
 archives and libraries. The singularity of the event, which has all the 
 appearance of being fabulous and absurd, and the great multitude 
 of writers whose interest it was to discredit it, from the supposed 
 harm that it did to the Apostolic See, and, finally, the weight which 
 the Roman Catholic religion has obtained through the Christian 
 world, have caused this point of ecclesiastical history to be forgotten, 
 and to be regarded as a calumny introduced by the Reformers to 
 vilify the dignity of the pontifical throne. 
 
 I do not pretend to settle the question, and I leave to every one 
 the liberty of believing what he esteems most conformable to reason 
 and sound criticism; but as I have undertaken to turn this subject 
 into poetry, of which it seemed to me susceptible, in order that per- 
 sons may not think that the story rests on no foundation, or that it is 
 not supported by the authority of the most respectable ecclesiastical 
 writers, beside the notes given in the course of the poem, where they 
 seemed to come in best, and which will be found in their proper 
 place, I have judged it right to prefix some references. 
 
 First, to ancient chronicles and authentic manuscripts which 
 make distinct mention of Pope Joan. 
 
 Secondly, to some ancient writers of ecclesiastical history, suffici- 
 ently known for their learning in similar matter, and for their zeal 
 in the Catholic religion. 
 
 Thirdly, to writers more modern indeed, but not less conspicuous 
 and respectable, than the ancient ones, and who have in our times, 
 without passion or prejudice, spoken of her. 
 
 I flatter myself that my kind readers will courteously pardon the 
 poetical ornaments with which I have from time to time embellished 
 my narrative, where only I have thought them adapted to the 
 subject. 
 
INVOCATION ♦ 
 
 Angelic sex! by Providence created, 
 
 To give a sample of our future bliss, 
 
 When man to Paradise shall be translated, 
 
 And find at last a better world than this; 
 
 To you my feeble strains are dedicated — 
 Whether to wife or maiden, dame or miss. 
 
 My theme’s a story that concerns the women. 
 And, if too long to read, is worth the skimming. 
 
 * The invocation and two lines of the first stanza are not in Casti. 
 
POPE 
 
 J 
 
 PART THE FIRST. 
 
 I. 
 
 Catullus, Ovid, Byron, Tommy Moore, 
 
 To Cupid’s pranks their wicked lyrics dress : 
 To-day, fair ladies, we will higher soar, 
 
 And make censorious cavillers confess 
 A trifling vein may hide the richest ore. 
 
 And homely verse a lofty theme express. 
 
 So listen, for my rhymes if not seductive. 
 
 At least shall be quite serious and instructive. 
 
 n. 
 
 It turns upon a subject of contention. 
 
 Among ecclesiastics controverted. 
 
 Which some allege to be a pure invention ; 
 
 And, as a fact, some boldly have asserted : — 
 Without a spark of zeal, ’tis my intention 
 (Leaving each man his passions unperverted). 
 From chronicles, (*) now buried in the night 
 Of long oblivion, to extract the light. 
 
 in. 
 
 I sing of that distinguished maiden, who. 
 
 By studies grave in coenobitic cell. 
 
 Could for awhile her nature so subdue. 
 
 And drink so deep of learning’s sacred well. 
 
 That versed in all philosophy sne grew. 
 
 And grasped, at last, the keys of heaven and hell. 
 I mean to celebrate the manly Joan, 
 
 Who from a cowl attained the papal throne. 
 
 rv. 
 
 Authors and ancient chronicles have got 
 The facts recorded, or their truth assert — 
 Martin, the Pole, and Marian, the Scot, 
 Rodolfus, Atho, Godfrey, Sigebert. 
 
 Have Torquemada and have Soto not ? 
 
 Boccaccio, Petrarch, who will controvert ? 
 Sabellius and Nauclerus, Rodiginus, 
 Platinus, Badia, Stella, Antoninus. 
 
 B 
 
V. 
 
 These names will make my readers understand, 
 Ladies, that whatsoever I expound 
 Is not invention conjur’d up off hand, 
 
 But in authentic ancient volumes found, 
 
 Which, on authority, unshaken stand. 
 
 I’m well aware that nobody is bound 
 To read what all these hard-named authors wrote. 
 And many others I forbear to quote. 
 
 VI. 
 
 When Charlemagne, with troops and homilies 
 So merciful, the Saxons fierce pursued ; 
 
 And in the blood of harmless families. 
 Unnumbered, had his holy hands imbrued. 
 And, with the view of making others wise. 
 Putting to death all those he had subdued. 
 Which sort of chastisement has now-a-days 
 Been termed paternal in the courtly phrase ; 
 
 vn. 
 
 The remnants of the Pagan population 
 He gathered under his pacific rule. 
 
 And, having sav’d them from extermination, 
 
 He with the sabre sent them all to school. 
 
 On Tuiton and Armenius heaped damnation, 
 Irmensul’s worship turned to ridicule : 
 
 Then bade them set their father’s creeds at naught. 
 And others, past their comprehension, taught. 
 
 vm. 
 
 Charles all these matters little understood ; 
 
 But bloated monks beset the monarch’s throne. 
 Whose cruel bigotry did what it could 
 By laws concise to make his orders known. 
 
 ’Twas death on fasts to eat forbidden food ; 
 
 ’Twas death on meagre days to pick a bone. 
 
 With sword and rack their converts they kept urging. 
 And showed the way to paradise by scourging. (*) 
 
 AA.. 
 
 A warrior and a missionary too 
 The Frank was then : for, without analysing 
 s modes of faith, a method prompt he knew 
 Of making Christians that was quite surprising. 
 The victors told the vanquish’d “Hellish crew! 
 
 rr«ir * hinder’d sermonizing : 
 
 The Saxon converts made so little fuss, 
 
 I hat each conversion seem’d miraculous. 
 
But still, as far as faith can doubt dispel, 
 (Since any man that’s saddled with baptism. 
 Should have some notion what his tenets tell,) 
 Men coin a medley call’d a catechism, 
 
 Part clear, and part incomprehensible ; 
 
 A paradox defying criticism. 
 
 But then the Franks were tyros in theology 
 Compared with us ; and this is their apology. 
 
 XI. 
 
 This with the King was matter of vexation. 
 
 Who little knew the mysteries sublime 
 Of our religion ; and by proclamation 
 Summon’d from evr’y near and distant clime, 
 Instructors for his new converted nation ; 
 
 But above all, the English — at that time, 
 Renown’d for having many clever teachers. 
 
 Such as Alcinus, one of their best preachers. 
 
 XII. 
 
 Forthwith appear’d a troop of catechisers. 
 
 From far and near, from isles and continents ; 
 Great doctors, masters, bachelors, and sizers. 
 Pregnant with themes and holy arguments, 
 Loaded with Christs, these holy advertisers. 
 
 Sold them to deck the peasants’ tenements. 
 Among all these the English were the chief, 
 
 Who flock’d to teach the Germans their Belief. (*) 
 
 XIII. 
 
 For, strange to say, about the period when 
 The churchman’s vices were a public scene. 
 And prelates, abbots, priests, and clergymen 
 Frequented brothels, and led lives obscene. 
 Such as would shame our modern gentlemen. 
 
 ’Twas then that bigots most enraged were seen 
 In propagating with the holy birch 
 The Christian apostolic Roman church. 
 
 xrv. 
 
 And then it was to Germany came over 
 A certain English priest, of skill profound, 
 
 Who, leaving Britain by the Straits of Dover, 
 
 As locum tenens for a wife had found 
 A blithsome maid ; whose company moreover 
 
 Might smooth the journey whereon he was bound. 
 But, w'hilst he thus the road’s fatigue beguil’d, 
 
 It happen’d his companion prov’d with child. 0) 
 

 xr. 
 
 If any body asks me who they were, 
 
 I can’t pretend in that to set them right ; 
 
 Her name was Ildegrand, if I don’t err : 
 
 I learn, moreover, that a coenobite 
 Had from her friends in Ireland ravish’d her, 
 
 And that the Englishman felt equal right 
 To steal her from the raptor. So I gather 
 They both were monks, and birds, too, of one feather, 
 
 XVI. 
 
 His wife (or call her, if you please, his chum) 
 
 From place to place through Germany was led ; 
 But scarcely to the town of Metz had come. 
 
 When she with labour-pains was put to ^d. 
 
 She groaned, and moaned, and squeezed and cried — in 
 At last a little female showed her head. 
 
 The priest was midwife, and this child became 
 Successor to Pope Leon, fourth by name.(®) 
 
 xvn. 
 
 Joan, in the year eight hundred and thirteen 
 Was born : soon after full of years expired. 
 Imperial Charlemagne, and from the scene. 
 
 In odour of true sanctity retired. 
 
 Whatever persons ill-disposed have been 
 Inclined to say, the clergy all admired 
 His acts, and made him for his merits rare 
 A saint, and put him in the calendar. 
 
 xvni. 
 
 Joan soon increased in beauty and in grace, 
 
 And talents rare and wonderful displayed. 
 
 Her father’s lessons she imbibed apace, 
 
 And in the arts and sciences she laid. 
 
 E’en from her tender infancy, a base 
 
 Of so much learning, that, although a maid. 
 Compared with her, the doctors of the schools 
 Were but a pack of dunces and of fools. 
 
 Debates she held on arguments acute. 
 
 Gave public lectures whilst she yet was young. 
 And could a host of disputants refute 
 In Latin, German, and the English tongue ; 
 And what in other’s soils was labour’s fruit. 
 
 In her s without the least exertion sprung. 
 Doctrines she knew, canonical, scholastic. 
 
 And books profane, and books ecclesiastic. 
 
It was, however, natural to guess 
 That one, in whom such wit and beauty reigned. 
 
 With such fine talents (even were they less) 
 
 A host of fond admirers quickly gained. 
 
 And true she had : nor was she slow to bless 
 Those who, to court her, love or felt, or feigned ; 
 
 But, like a dutiful obedient daughter. 
 
 She followed the good rules her mother taught her. 
 
 XXI. 
 
 But one more favoured lover than the rest 
 Had in her bosom deeper fondness sown— 
 
 A stripling monk of Fulda, who possessed 
 Talents and beauty equal to her own. 
 
 They saw, they spoke, and in each other’s breast 
 A mutual secret tenderness had grown. 
 
 Both handsome, learn’d, both springing from one nation. 
 To love was certain in their situation. (’) 
 
 xxn. 
 
 ’Twas then, whilst ardent thoughts her bosom goad, 
 
 She formed the lofty nor less daring plan 
 To quit at once her relative’s abode 
 A fugitive. So, dressing like a man. 
 
 To Fulda’s monastery she bent her road ; (®) 
 
 And for her lover’s sake this risk she ran. 
 
 The name of John the Englishman, she took. 
 
 And her own maiden name of Joan forsook. (®) 
 
 XXIII. 
 
 Whether the sight of striplings, who delighted 
 To live inseparable night and day. 
 
 Suspicions in the brotherhood excited. 
 
 Or whether a retreat, so little gay. 
 
 The notions of the youthful monks affrighted. 
 
 Where curious eyes observed them every way, 
 
 They scarce a month or two had in it spent. 
 
 When one fine morning off* the couple went. 
 
 XXIV. 
 
 Perhaps against Rabanus ’twas a spite, 
 
 (The abbot of the order), who contended, 
 
 That Gotiscalcus was in error quite. — 
 
 (He showed that over children there extended, 
 
 If offered to the church, an ancient right, 
 
 So that their commerce with the world was ended. 
 Nor from the order could they ever go : 
 
 The council, held at Metz, decided so). (*®) 
 
XXV. 
 
 So, in the dead of night, our youthful pair. 
 
 In dress befitting travellers attired. 
 
 Forth from the abbey went they knew not where, 
 
 A philosophic pilgrimage, inspired 
 With courage every obstacle to dare, 
 
 But hardly knowing what themselves desired. 
 
 A vaOTant life is now and then,we find , 
 
 Far the best way of studying mankind. 
 
 xxn. 
 
 The pen of history has ne’er revealed 
 Her gentle lover’s real appellation ; 
 
 Or, if ’twas known, ’twas carefully concealed : 
 
 Nor has the critic’s nicest observation 
 Or close research the mystery unsealed. 
 
 But, from his abbey’s known denomination. 
 
 They called him Fulda, and because a name 
 Is proper, I shall call him by the same. 
 
 XXVII. 
 
 Led on by no premeditated scheme, 
 
 Through new and various provinces they strayed : 
 
 Their actions wise and exemplary seem, 
 
 (Who would believe it?) and they both displayed 
 Genius sublime, where learning was the theme. 
 
 Where’er they went they such sensation made, 
 
 That when a morning promenade they took, 
 
 Folks to their windows ran to have a look. 
 
 xxvin. 
 
 When (less from idleness than recreation) 
 
 They went to theatres or to a rout. 
 
 The people welcomed them with acclamation : 
 
 Or when they saw them spend whole days without 
 Bemission o’er their books, an exclamation 
 ^ Of “What fine youths! how learned!” would then break out, 
 “ Castor and Pollux surely never were 
 “ So much united as this loving pair I” 
 
 And having Italy perambulated, 
 
 And Germany, — their customs and their laws 
 Examined with that appetite unsated. 
 
 Which nutriment from men and study draws. 
 Prompted by inclinations unabated 
 For lo^e divine, their footsteps never pause, 
 bo next their course from Italy to Greece 
 iiiey bend, their stores of knowledge to increase. 
 
Though Greece no longer that renown maintained 
 Which rendered her in early times so great, 
 
 Yet over other nations long she reigned, 
 
 And still she saw her arts predominate : 
 
 Until by slow degrees her splendour waned, 
 
 When to her present miserable state 
 She fell, of fierce invaders first the prev, 
 
 And then of tyrants even worse than they. 
 
 XXXI. 
 
 Landed in Greece the youthful couple saw 
 The monuments of early Grecian fame. 
 
 Which still the passenger’s attention draw, 
 
 Sparta severe, and Thebes of impious name ; 
 
 The city built two seas to overawe. 
 
 Where crowds of wrestlers and of heroes came. 
 
 To Argus and Mycaene next they went. 
 
 And then their course across to Athens bent. 
 
 XXXII. 
 
 And by the walls that to the city lead 
 
 From port Piraeus wond’ring they went on : 
 
 There stood the fane of Theseus, there succeed 
 The proud Acropolis, and Parthenon, 
 
 There Jove’s tall temple 1 Athens, great indeed 
 
 Wert thou whilst free ; but now thy freedom’s gone. 
 Of all thy former splendour now bereft. 
 
 Thy fame consists but in thy ruins left. 
 
 XXXIII. 
 
 Yet though they saw no crowded porticoes, 
 
 No academus, and no forum there. 
 
 No Plato, wisdom’s heavenly form to gloze. 
 
 No Aristotle and no sages rare. 
 
 Whose lustre o’er their soil paternal throws 
 E’en to this hour a never dying glare. 
 
 Yet still some not ignoble schools they found, 
 
 And still the soil they trod was classic ground. 
 
 XXXIV. 
 
 So here this pair, by no distraction troubled. 
 
 With fervour e’en more zealous than before 
 Their efforts and their application doubled ; 
 
 And now with Pallas over books they pore ; 
 
 Now Cupid’s cauldron in their bosoms bubbled ; 
 
 (She feeds the mind, he nourishes the core). 
 
 In serious studies they consume the day. 
 
 And pass the night in sweet and amorous play* 
 
XXXV. 
 
 This, we may say, was happiness complete ; 
 
 But living thus in the marital state. 
 
 Because the parties thought the union meet, 
 
 And not to let the Church participate, 
 
 Is rather an unauthorised receipt — 
 
 A sin the decalogue calls very great, 
 
 But, setting that aside, I cannot see 
 How two young persons happier could be. 
 
 XXXVI. 
 
 And now to sages they addressed themselves — 
 Antiquities unknown now brought to light — 
 Now Archives visited, and dusty shelves — 
 
 Now set the musty commentator right. 
 
 Each for a dozen years assiduous delves 
 The Grecian tongue, an earnest proselyte : 
 Divine philosophy they robed anew, 
 
 And though neglected elsewhere here she grew. 
 
 XXXVII. 
 
 Theophilus and Michael (called the Sot) 
 
 The Grecian Empire at this epoch awed : 
 
 The Macedonian Basil, to whose lot 
 The sceptre fell, by foul ambition gnawed, 
 
 His brother killed, and thus the empire got. 
 
 For every glimpse of knowledge was outlawed ; 
 And the thick veil of ignorance o’erspread 
 The realm, and Reason’s only light was dead. 
 
 XXXVIII. 
 
 This state of darkness but increased the fame 
 Of John the Englishman and Fulda’s life. 
 
 As well for learning as their virtuous name. 
 
 And everywhere their history was rife. 
 
 How thus for study they to Athens came. 
 
 And how their fellowship was free from strife. 
 In both what great conformity appears. 
 
 Alike in disposition, sex, and years. 
 
 XXXIX. 
 
 Three lustres had expired since love had tied 
 The knot their lives so closely had united ; 
 
 And whether ’twas that their affection died, 
 
 Or novelty or jealousy excited. 
 
 Or whatsoever reason ’twas beside. 
 
 In search of which the writer is benighted, 
 These two, who were inseparable, fate 
 Or sudden fancy caused to separate, 
 
But let that rest : the fire of love, we know, 
 
 Not always burns with one degree of heat ; 
 
 Little by little sometimes it gets low. 
 
 And Uupid then is difficult to treat. 
 
 For change of place and objects he must go, — 
 
 So both from Athens took a different beat ; 
 
 And with a friendly parting both content. 
 
 One eastward sailed, the other westward went. 
 
 XLI. 
 
 Here we will turn a moment, if you please. 
 
 And follow Fulda. — For Byzantium bound 
 From Port Piraeus, with a favouring breeze, 
 
 In a Kagusan ship a berth he found. 
 
 The isles he visits of the .^gean seas. 
 
 And, where he touches, makes remarks profound. 
 Then sailing next for Alexandria, 
 
 He sees Rhodes, Crete, and Cyprus in his way. 
 
 XLII. 
 
 The Pharos, Pompey’s Pillar, and the Nile 
 With his seven mouths and with his meadowy scenes, 
 The hippopotamus and crocodile. 
 
 The tribes of highwaymen, called Bedoweens, 
 
 The broken pots found in gigantic pile, 
 
 Memphis, and Thebes that now to ruin leans, 
 
 He viewed ; and then the Pyramid surveyed, 
 
 The mightiest mass that man has ever made. 
 
 XLIll. 
 
 The isthmus which the Red and Syrian sea 
 Divides, a lasting bar to navigation. 
 
 He traversed, and the proud Phoenicia, 
 
 Whose precious wares, shipped off to every nation. 
 From ^re and Sidon, men were wont to see — 
 
 Nor Palestine escaped his observation. 
 
 Where the great mystery of our religion 
 Was ma^ested by a little pigeon. 
 
 XLIV. 
 
 No European troops on Asia’s ground 
 As yet had roused the East with martial stir ; 
 
 Not yet were pious mobs united found 
 To liberate the Holy Sepulchre ; 
 
 Not yet had lived those chiefs, whose names resound 
 With fame that Tasso’s lasting lays confer, 
 
 The Tancreds, the Rinaldis, the Circassian ; 
 
 Nor was crusading yet become the fashion. 
 
XLV. 
 
 Nor had the land of Palestine been made 
 By piety an object of invasion ; 
 
 Nor had celestial messengers conveyed 
 Loretto’s chapel to its present station : 
 
 But, up to then, unmoveable it stayed 
 Just where the masons settled its foundation; 
 
 Yet do not think this miracle a lie — 
 
 It happened afterwards undoubtedly. 
 
 XLVI. 
 
 And mindful where the Saviour was baptized, 
 
 Fulda immersed himself in Jordan’s stream. 
 
 He visited the manger, where surprised 
 The Virgin heard the songs of seraphim — 
 
 The mount, where Jesus, in man’s flesh disguised, 
 Died, by his death our errors to redeem ; 
 
 The church he entered, saw where Christ was laid, 
 And with a heart contrite his vows he paid. 
 
 XLVII. 
 
 These holy duties ceasing to beguile 
 His time, he passed the stream of Tigris o’er, 
 Where by Almanzor, in the Arab style, 
 
 Bagdad was built a century before. 
 
 There he took up his residence awhile. 
 
 Bagdad the stamp of master workmen bore 
 For the same plan which first Almanzor chose, 
 
 Was brought by other caliphs to a close. 
 
 XLVIII. 
 
 The name of Aaron al Bashid in story 
 
 Survived yet fresh and green, whose high renown, 
 Whose virtuous thoughts, whose deeds not transitory. 
 Have brought his fame to latest ages down. 
 
 His son, the rival of his father’s glory, 
 
 Marnfln was next successor to the crown. 
 
 As caliphs, sultans, emperors, and kings, 
 
 The universe with both their actions rings. 
 
 XLIX. 
 
 For they themselves were orators and sages, 
 
 And at their instigation clever men 
 Made useful versions from the Grecian pages. 
 
 And civilised the unlettered Saracen. 
 
 In peaceful ^ts the warrior rude engages, 
 
 A learning penetrates the shepherd’s glen ; 
 
 And as it happens where the arts arise, 
 
 Iney founded schools and universities. 
 
T 
 
 Motassem next to Mamun in succession 
 
 Neither his sire’s nor brother’s virtues had ; 
 
 From him the throne fell to his son’s possession, 
 
 Vatek by name, whose reign was short and bad, 
 Replete with crimes and ended in oppression. 
 
 About the time that Fulda reached Bagdad 
 His brother Mottawakil called to fill 
 The throne, though younger, proved more vicious still. 
 
 LI. 
 
 He by the hand of an assassin died. 
 
 He was a caliph both unjust and base ; 
 
 His son, Montassar, turned a parricide, 
 
 And strangled him to occupy his place, 
 
 A wicked father a worse son outvied. 
 
 But these atrocities did not disgrace 
 The time of which we speak, and that I grant 
 Renders their mention quite irrelevant. 
 
 LII. 
 
 For in the conversation of the wise 
 
 On Bagdad’s learning Fulda’s mind was bent 
 With Zoroaster’s sect to fraternise. 
 
 To learn what those Chaldaic ciphers meant, 
 
 To study Zoroaster’s mysteries ; 
 
 And on new acquisitions still intent, 
 
 To learn their usages was his diversion ; 
 
 He wish’d to speak both Arabic and Persian. 
 
 Lin. 
 
 So fixing under Mottawakil’s reign 
 His home in Bagdad, there, from doctrines new. 
 He adds fresh stores of knowledge to his brain. 
 And praise upon his signal talents drew. 
 
 But now to Joan we must return again, 
 
 Who in the interim was busy too ; 
 
 If you remember, she was just about 
 Packing her things, from Athens to set out. 
 
 LIV. 
 
 Her first intention was to Rome to go : 
 
 Since Rome, though humbled from her ancient station. 
 If former grandeur made her now seem low, 
 
 Was still imposing in her reputation. 
 
 The pontiff there held out his holy toe 
 
 From Peter’s chair for Christian adoration ; 
 
 So Joan resolved that theatre to mount, 
 
 Where she might turn her talents to account. 
 
 / 
 
LV. 
 
 Another cause our heroine induced 
 In Italy henceforward to remain ; 
 
 To man’s attire from habit long grown used, 
 ’Twould cost her much to leave it off again. 
 
 She still might wear it, where the barber spruced 
 Men’s chins, a custom in the Pope’s domain ; 
 
 But to go beardless in the Turk’s dominions 
 Was violating all received opinions. 
 
 LVI. 
 
 At Corinth Joan embarked, and near those shores 
 That islets crowd, and dangerous shallows fill. 
 The sturdy seamen ply the bending oars. 
 
 And twixt them steer with never erring skill. 
 
 On one side Delphi’s lofty summit soars. 
 
 And on the left the Cephalonian hill. 
 
 With rapid course from Ithaca they run. 
 
 Where reigned in ancient times Laertes’ son. 
 
 LVII. 
 
 By the Leucadian precipice they came, 
 
 The fatal leap, where each despairing lover 
 In the salt water quenched his hopeless flame. 
 
 A little farther onward they discover 
 The bay of Actium, where the rival game 
 Of a world’s empire in one day was over ; 
 
 And victims numberless laid down their life 
 In the decision of the mortal strife. 
 
 LVIII. 
 
 By sea and land lay scattered all around 
 The monuments of those atrocious deeds. 
 
 Which weak humanity is often found 
 (AVhen men’s ferocious appetites it feeds, 
 
 And foul ambition has no virtuous bound) 
 
 To nourish guiltily ; when reason pleads 
 In vain against the tyranny of use, 
 
 And crimes are sanctioned by a long abuse. 
 
 JLIX. 
 
 where Anthony turned tail 
 To follow her who drags him as she flies : 
 
 And wafted by the bland Favonian gale. 
 
 Which prosperous on their starboard quarter lies, 
 Along the sea, Ionian named, they sail. 
 
 The bowman, at the North, Corey ra spies ; 
 
 The Imrque casts anchor on Calabria’s strand. 
 
 And Joan at last sets foot upon the land. 
 
Joan visited Crotona in her road, 
 
 Tarentum saw with diligent attention— 
 
 This Milo’s, that Archy tas’s abode ; 
 
 But of the two Crotona claims our mention. 
 
 For there the philosophic Samian showed 
 Of transmigrating souls his great invention. 
 
 He taught what powers in stars and numbers reign. 
 And made his pupils from broad beans abstain. 
 
 LXI. 
 
 O thou ! one time the nurse of all that’s great ! 
 
 Country, that gods and men conspired to bless, 
 
 Is it the wrath of heaven, or cruel fate. 
 
 Has brought thee to thy present littleness ? 
 
 And shall the yoke, with its ignoble weight. 
 
 Still on thy neck without a struggle press ? 
 
 Tom, abject, desolated, forced to bow. 
 
 What Italy once was where is she now ? 
 
 LXII. 
 
 Already fierce Bellona’s satellites. 
 
 Descending from the North (Hesperia’s bane) 
 
 Had scattered — how the thought my grief excites ! — 
 Each work of art, each edifice and fane. 
 
 Which Greece and Rome had spread on varied sites ; 
 
 And zeal ferocious did as much again. 
 
 E’en then midst ruins was the ploughshare seen, 
 Where temples once and theatres had been. 
 
 LXIII. 
 
 But yet if Joan found only fragments there. 
 
 Of ancient superstructures still remaining. 
 
 The shepherds and contented peasants were 
 On verdant downs and sunny hills maintaining 
 Their numerous herds ; of fruit, no tree was bare. 
 And yellow stalks were seen rich ears sustaining, 
 With lavish bands in those blest regions then 
 .J^cchus and Ceres poured their gifts on men. 
 
 LXIV. 
 
 Ye regions fertile, and one time so blest I 
 What tyrant destiny could change you thus ? 
 
 By what exterminating curse opprest ? 
 
 Was it the Greek, the Saracen, or Russ ? 
 
 Was it the brutal Vandal’s iron crest 
 
 That caused such changes and so scandalous ? 
 Who thus has rendered nature’s favours dead, 
 
 Who thus has wretchedness and mourning spread ? 
 
LXV. 
 
 God curses those by whose infernal plots, 
 
 The arts and industry of man prove vain, 
 
 By which the mind in sleep lethargic rots 
 Who slothful manners nourish and sustain. 
 
 To such the page of history allots 
 A place conspicuous ; fearless she’ll arraign 
 Those who deserve our deepest scorn and hate ; 
 
 And nations shall their memory execrate. 
 
 LXVI. 
 
 What fatal sloth But there ! I see you laugh— 
 
 Yes, I was doting — pardon me, dear ladies — 
 
 Laugh on, for I too prosing am by half — 
 
 Yes, laugh — for ah I how useless this tirade is. 
 
 Begin we then another paragraph. 
 
 Let us return to Joan, and leave what said is ; 
 Which not a man existing sure can hear 
 (If he but has a soul) without a tear. 
 
 LXVII. 
 
 If more at length I were to prosecute 
 The narrative, and count the places o’er 
 Of Joan’s instructive and amusing route. 
 Perhaps I should be called a tiresome bore. 
 All I shall say that, with a mind acute, 
 Having of observations made a store, 
 
 She got to Rome delighted and content, 
 
 And closed her journey without accident. 
 
 Aj a V A XX • 
 
 But folks will cry, such journies when one goes, 
 Pray, who the devil furnished the finances ? 
 And, let me ask you, who found food and clothes 
 For all knight errants mentioned in romances ? 
 Ulysses, Tancrcd, Hercules, and those 
 Orlandos, ^whom the poets led such dances ? 
 And I will give an answer quite as good 
 As Aristo or as Homer could. 
 
 BiR to the close of her perambulation, 
 
 A last with little labour. 
 
 And both our heroes have attained their station : 
 
 next-door neighbour, 
 
 We too will take a httle recreation, 
 
 Vn °n my pcgasus belabour. 
 
 You 11 hear things stranger still than these, as all 
 I ve said thus far is but a protocol 
 
PART THE SECOND. 
 
 I. 
 
 The pontiff Sergius, second of the name, 
 
 Ruled o’er the church when Joan arrived at Rome ; 
 Ilea^d of the world was once that city’s claim, 
 
 But when caballing priests had found a home 
 Within her walls, and greedy suitors came 
 To seek the mitre under Peter’s dome. 
 
 Head of the world was now so far from true. 
 
 That by degrees she seemed to be the queue. 
 
 But still she harvested some splendid things. 
 
 Thus, from the Pontiff’s hand their diadem 
 To take in Rome, came emperors and kings ; 
 
 In lieu of which they gave some precious gem. 
 Tributes, and states, and richest offerings ; 
 
 Whilst in exchange his Holiness on them 
 Celestial treasures liberally poured, 
 
 And with indulgences their pockets stored. 
 
 Joan then ^Yas four and twenty years of age. 
 Blooming in looks and full of animation ; 
 
 And though so young, few persons dared engage 
 With her on themes of learned conversation. 
 For she had mastered every classic page 
 Of Grecian lore, with nicest penetration. 
 
 Her lengthened sojourn in Minerva’s city. 
 
 Had made her singularly wise and witty. 
 
 United with a judgment perspicaceous. 
 
 With every learn’d and splendid acquisition. 
 Her look was decent, and her manners gracious. 
 
 The mildest suavity of disposition 
 Inspired respect with e’en the most audacious. 
 Like sculptured deities : and in addition 
 Her voice was sweet as honey, and her mien. 
 
 So charming, that she pleased as soon as seen. 
 
 II. 
 
 nr. 
 
 rv. 
 

 V. 
 
 But all these splendid qualities had soon 
 Been lost, or hid in some forgotten place, 
 Had fortune not accompanied her boon, 
 
 By setting them upon a lofty base. 
 
 As tapers blazing in a vast saloon, 
 
 On candelabra fill a larger space. 
 
 But Joan already felt that she should be 
 No common person in her destiny. 
 
 VI. 
 
 I know not, gentle dames, if ’twas the effect 
 Of local habits, or the place’s air. 
 
 That Joan was then first able to detect 
 A certain itching and corroding care 
 That preyed in secret on her intellect. 
 
 Of which before she never was aware ; 
 
 And scarcely had she dwelt in Home an hour. 
 Before her breast ambitious stings devour. 
 
 VII. 
 
 There stood that time without the city wall 
 An abbey, to St. Martin dedicated. 
 
 Where masters, famed for learning classical, 
 
 In Greek and Latin pupils educated ; 
 
 And St. Augustin, a professor’s stall 
 Held in it once, as chronicles have stated, 
 
 A first-rate school it was in Rome for knowledge, 
 By authors most times styled the Grecian college. 
 
 VIII. 
 
 Before the altar Joan her vows monastic 
 Made to St. Martin, and assumed the dress 
 She then embraced the state ecclesiastic. 
 
 Was priest ordained, and made a fierce address 
 Against the party called iconoclastic ; 
 
 Michael the sot, when he the regal vest 
 Assumed, had banished them from his domain. 
 Another Michael called them back again. 
 
 IX« 
 
 only image worship in those days 
 Lxcited theological dispute, 
 
 But doctrines most recondite, and a maze 
 On either side of logic most minute, 
 
 With controversies clouded in a haze, 
 
 Abstracted, tropological, acute, 
 
 of authors through the la 
 Which they themselves could never understand. 
 
X. 
 
 How strange the paths that mad enthusiasm 
 Has opened to the folly of mankind ; 
 
 The Theologian’s trash — the sudden spasm, 
 Convulsing half a world a tomb to find — 
 Distant discoveries — hell’s infernal chasm — 
 Monks, converts, heresies of every kind ; 
 In rulers jealousies, and bad intentions. 
 
 And now-a-days political dissensions. 
 
 Joan — say we rather John the Englishman, 
 
 For that seems now the fittest appellation — 
 Took the professor’s pulpit, and began 
 A course of lectures, where in combination 
 Theology and Grecian letters ran, 
 
 And filled the country with his reputation. 
 The monks, her sex who never dreamed of, cried 
 “ Behold the church’s pillar and its pride.” 
 
 Meanwhile no longer death will Sergius spare. 
 
 The keys celestial, from his hands ejected. 
 Require another fit their weight to bear. 
 
 The wisest of the candidates, selected 
 In haste, was chosen to the papal chair — 
 
 For great calamities were then expected. 
 
 The Saracens had sallied from their home 
 And threatened to attack the walls of Rome. 
 
 The subject fitted for a part so great 
 Was chosen from St. Martin’s monastery. 
 
 The conclave Leon fourth by name create. 
 
 Whose talents then were thought most necessary. 
 He had, from being his associate. 
 
 Conceived for John the Englishman, a very 
 Sincere regard, which never was belied. 
 
 Although their ranks were now diversified. 
 
 And if, connected with his lofty station. 
 
 He gave her some important business 
 Which asked for more than common penetration. 
 She always managed it with great address. 
 Confirming more and more the reputation 
 The public had in her deservedness. 
 
 And when esteem though undeserved is pleasant. 
 What must it be where merit too is present ? 
 c 
 
 XI, 
 
 XII. 
 
 XIII. 
 
 XIV. 
 
J 
 
 XV. 
 
 Korae was a chaos. Through the suburbs ran 
 The furious Saracen on plunder bent, 
 
 And Leon then by John the Englishman 
 AVas aided much in this severe event. 
 
 He proved to Pope and church the artisan 
 Of good, by council, deeds, and management. 
 He boldly sallied forth with sword in hand, 
 And of the Koman people took command. 
 
 XVI. 
 
 Bat not a Saracen his neck could save ; 
 
 Their host, by Leon excommunicated, 
 
 Fled in disorder on the stormj’^ wave. 
 Blaspheming, impious, intimidated. 
 
 For angry Neptune had prepared their grave, 
 And all their fleet was quickly devastated. 
 Thus perish those whose sacrilegious hopes 
 AA^oulcl plunder temples and go butting popes. 
 
 XVII. 
 
 Pope Leon in his thoughts forthwith reflected 
 How he the damages might best repair, 
 
 AV Inch, by calamities so unexpected. 
 
 The Saracens had made the city bear. 
 
 The mart, called Leonina, he erected, 
 
 ^ And John s assistance helped him everywhere; 
 hor building he had studied; and his mind 
 The wall and ditch surrounding it designed. 
 
 His Holiness by such distinguished deeds 
 Baised for himself a great immortal name. 
 
 And from the people of the Christian creeds 
 Obtained applause and universal fame. 
 
 Thus full of years and virtue life recedes ; 
 
 And, with a character devoid of blame. 
 
 The churchman’s phrase for once may be applied — 
 ‘ He rested in the Lord ” — id est^ he died. 
 
 XIX* 
 
 They called him saint — for saint was in those ds 
 A nickname, a prenomen of a trade. 
 
 And not significant of moral praise, 
 
 But, just as Don or Signor is a grade, 
 
 To be a saint was but another phrase 
 
 pops or bishop ; and wlien mitres weighe 
 Ihe emples, or tiaras bound the hair, ® 
 
 AV hether or not they liked it saints they were. 
 
XX. 
 
 When superstition came to such a pass 
 
 That all the world in darkness seemed to lie, 
 
 By how much more corrupted was the mass. 
 
 By so much more were saints but common fry. 
 
 But mix not Leon with the vulgar class, 
 
 His saintship came not by mere courtesy ; 
 
 And if mankind with one accord bestowed it, 
 
 ’Tis to his own exertions that he owed it. 
 
 XXI. 
 
 But in his favour be this testified — 
 
 Cite, if you can, a mark of greater note 
 Which more could elevate Pope Leon’s pride 
 Than wdiat the author of Pulzella wrote ; 
 
 And who is better fitted to decide ? 
 
 IIow much he praises Leon need I quote ? 
 
 And when a man like him exalts a pope. 
 
 You will not ask a better proof I hope. 
 
 XXII. 
 
 As soon as Leon in his earthly bed 
 
 Was laid a most tumultuous conclave met, 
 
 And gold was lavished, even blood was shed 
 By those who wished St. Peter’s keys to get. 
 Intrigue and base cabals are ever bred 
 
 When hearts depraved men’s plotting schemes abet, 
 Who for some high ambitious enterprise 
 Will every right and duty sacrifice. 
 
 XXIII. 
 
 But since ambition, as it spreads its bane 
 In all ecclesiastical afi*airs. 
 
 Assumes the garb of piety to feign, 
 
 A priest, named Anastagius, with such snares, 
 
 So well contrived the suffrages to gain 
 Of many deans and bishops, that he dares 
 Invest the robes pontifical, in spite 
 Of forms received and all acknowledged right. ('») 
 
 XXIV. 
 
 Still having all the canons violated, 
 
 The adverse party, counting numbers most. 
 Unveiled the tricks by which he was collated. 
 
 And so compelled him to resign his post. 
 
 And other suitors were eliminated 
 
 Because no better title they could boast. 
 
 Men doubted who should put the mitre on, 
 
 When all the clergy cast their eyes on John. 
 
XXT. 
 
 Joan from her merits certainly had higher 
 Pretensions to that lofty dignity ; 
 
 But, whether as a woman or a friar, 
 
 Those machinations Jmen are wont to try 
 In such like cases, were adopted by her, 
 
 I can’t maintain with any certainty. 
 
 When female arts are with a monk’s connected, 
 
 A failure surely could not be expected. 
 
 XXVI. 
 
 For many nights upon the Vatican 
 Screech-owls were heard^’and bats were seen to perch, 
 Before the time that John the Englishman 
 Put on the triple mitre of the church. 
 
 Pope John the Eighth his sacred title ran— 
 
 A parallel event defies research — 
 
 Grave history seems in fairy tales to dwindle 
 When papacy thus falls beneath the spindle.(»>) 
 
 XXVII. 
 
 The wife of Ninus, ’tis but fair to own, 
 
 The male attire assumed and changed her name, 
 Then mounted on the Babylonian throne. 
 
 But is dominion temporal the same 
 (Which rests on earthly prejudice alone) 
 
 With right divine, the Pope’s exalted claim ? 
 
 Which on the soul and body holds a spell 
 In heaven, on earth, and even down to hell. 
 
 XXVIII. 
 
 Oh, daring ! oh, inimitable maid ! 
 
 The sensual and voluptuous life you led 
 When in the spring of life your passions strayed, 
 that vile sin of sharing the same bed 
 With your dear monk, can’t certainly be made 
 Example for young ladies chastely bred : 
 
 And those vagaries of your early youth 
 Are not for imitation— that’s the truth. 
 
 XXIX., 
 
 X et Iblhs not over nice (and there are such) 
 
 All this not only might excuse but praise, 
 l>iU then the character of priests to touch ! 
 
 But then to be ordained I the host to raise ! 
 l^euce take the woman I that’s indeed too much. 
 A ,^^ '^tien no obstacle the strumpet stays, 
 
 ^ thinks the papal chair a mooring 
 
 iMt tor her purpose— that is past enduring !(^‘) 
 
XXX. 
 
 And hence an old tradition takes its rise : 
 
 The dove upon the Vatican, espjdng 
 The clergy busied in their enterprise, 
 
 And running headlong in a sin so crying 
 To deck a woman in the pontiffs guise. 
 
 Her troubled feathers snook and took to fl3dng, 
 And, with a shriek indignant from her breast. 
 
 She fled away to her celestial nest 
 
 XXXI. 
 
 But by the people, in whose estimation 
 The English John stood high, the choice was deemed 
 Most fit,and met with perfect approbation. 
 
 For she the fittest and the wisest seemed. 
 
 And they were right — for in their humble station 
 What they were told was right they right esteemed. 
 Things most absurd, if covered with eclat^ 
 
 The people please, and then they cry huzzah. 
 
 XXXII. 
 
 If hitherto your sex has been renowned 
 For women learned and valorous and wise, 
 
 Whose names by fame have been with honour crowned, 
 Shall we be angry, if you brag likewise 
 That e’en a female pope at last was found ? 
 
 To try the thing again I don’t advise — 
 
 It is not now so easy as before, 
 
 Though what has once succeeded might once more. 
 
 XXXIII. 
 
 Exactly in her two and fortieth year. 
 
 Anno eight hundred forty-five, did Joan, 
 
 According to a calculation clear. 
 
 Her monastery quit to mount a throne. 
 
 She wished that all her actions should appear 
 To justify the favour men had shown. 
 
 And (which her noble sentiments evinces) 
 
 To be renowned among the papal princes. 
 
 xxxrv. 
 
 Accordingly, the first of all her cares 
 
 Was spent in making public regulations — 
 
 Devising clearer systems for affairs — 
 
 Opposing ail financial speculations. 
 
 Disorders great had crept in unawares — 
 
 The Saracens had caused vast tribulations — 
 
 And in the country’s multifarious crosses 
 The public purse had suffered various losses. 
 
XXXV. 
 
 The papal power, of which her hands were full. 
 She turned directly to its proper gist ; 
 
 She launched an excommunicating bull 
 On Anastagius, her antagonist. 
 
 Iconoclastics, still undutiful. 
 
 Got the next fillip from the papal fist. 
 
 Fozio was third, denying in his creed 
 The Holy Ghost could from the Son proceed. 
 
 XXXVI. 
 
 Joan’s prudent conduct, though I were inclined 
 To dwell upon it, yet ’tis not expected — 
 
 Or mark that zeal with holy pride combined. 
 Which never failed to make a pope respected. 
 The church’s rights she always held in mind. 
 And thus the papal dignity protected. 
 
 From foreign regions gifts and monarchs came 
 To homage pay and benediction claim. 
 
 xxxvn. 
 
 We know that from a distant monarchy 
 The Saxon Ethelwolf, king Egbert’s son 
 (The one who overturned the heptarchy). 
 
 Came on a pilgrimage from Albion 
 With Alfred, who the Danish anarchy 
 Repressed, and proved his country’s champion. 
 For all the Catholic high potentates 
 Were used to visit then the Roman States. 0“) 
 
 XXXVIIT. 
 
 King Ethelwolf was credulous, devout. 
 
 Most docile, charitable, not too sage. 
 
 And therefore with humility set out 
 To Rome upon a holy pilgrimage. 
 
 A work so meritorious he, no doubt, 
 
 Thought would indulgences fourfold engage : 
 Besides, he had a sneaking wish to view 
 The pope, who, like himself, was British too. 
 
 xxxix. 
 
 The son, in manners quite a courtly beau. 
 Cherished a liking for a petticoat, 
 
 Ai^, when he went to kiss the pontifTs toe. 
 
 He chanced the taper leg and foot to note, 
 
 And in his breast felt odd ideas flow; 
 
 ^ forward bent, the fancy smote 
 His mind, as smacking somewhat of the trade — 
 
 1 was like a female foot ; but nought he said. 
 
King Ethelwolf (for better papists then 
 
 Than now-a-days were kings, at all events) — 
 Issued an order that all Englishmen 
 (Exempting neither want nor opulence) 
 
 Should pay the pope a tax, by history’s pen 
 Denominated since St. Peter’s pence : 
 
 And tributary thus unto the see 
 
 Of Rome became the English monarchy.(^) 
 
 XLI. 
 
 Oh ! strange capriciousness of human brains ! 
 
 Time was that popes got kingdoms at a call — 
 Tribute exacted with so little pains! 
 
 And now they’ve been obliged to give up afl^ 
 Little by little go their pious gains. 
 
 I know the deeds of kings should never fall 
 Under the action of too strong a light — 
 
 Whether they give or take they’re always right. 
 
 XLII. 
 
 To every parish, all endowed foundations. 
 
 And to the magistrates who there presided, 
 King Ethelwolf made very rich donations ; 
 
 Besides three hundred marks to be divided 
 Between the pope and those in higher stations — 
 
 A sum in those days not to be derided. 
 
 But such a king for popes is past all praise ! 
 
 I fear there live none like him now -a- days. (^^) 
 
 XLIII. 
 
 Our holy faith, so flourishing of old, 
 
 Now in a state desponding seems to lie. 
 
 England, where papacy was once so bold. 
 
 Is now, alas ! brimful of heresy : 
 
 And, in the pontiffs sacred cause grown cold. 
 Carries her frenzied insolence so high, 
 
 They hang him like a puppet on a tree, 
 
 And burn his holiness in efligy. 
 
 XLIV. 
 
 This year Lothario lays the purple down. 
 
 And from an emperor turns monk at Prome. 
 Louis, his sou, successor to the crown 
 
 (He who before was styled the Count of Rome, 
 And king of Italy), prefers the town 
 Of Pavi^ fixing there his royal home. 
 
 Unto which place the holy father sends 
 To him hia benediction and his friends. (**) 
 
XLV. 
 
 Louis, by John to be anointed, made 
 An early visit to the holy see. 
 
 Escorted by a pompous cavalcade : 
 
 ’Twas then a century’s prescription he 
 Both for himself and for the emperors prayed, 
 ^Vho might hereafter rule in Germany. 
 
 In Gratian you may read it, if you please. 
 Among the pontiffs’ councils and decrees. (2«) 
 
 XLVI. 
 
 I know that many authors have profest 
 Much incredulity respecting Joan ; — 
 
 The Jesuit fathers more than all the rest : 
 
 . And with the acts which should be hers alone, 
 Either the pope preceding they invest. 
 
 Or have them else as her successor’s shown. 
 And Joan is thus by their manoeuvres tricked 
 To honour Leon or else Benedict. 
 
 XLVII. 
 
 With suck as come disposed to contradiction, 
 
 I shall not take the trouble to dispute 
 '^Jl^ther the matter’s genuine or a fiction : 
 fasti of the church are absolute. 
 
 Tl^ authors I have quoted bring conviction 
 Surely on minds the most irresolute. 
 
 But that which is not called our creed may still 
 Be not believed, or be believed, at will.(27) 
 
 Thus deeply in dissimulation versed, 
 
 Joan played her pantomime with wondrous skill 
 ■iT/af* u ^ papal show rehearsed, 
 
 V\ hich, being first, she was unique to fill. 
 
 ^o mortal hand the veil of mystery burst — 
 
 She gained men’s approbation and goodwill: 
 
 ^or ever had hypocrisy (disguised 
 In truth’s fair mantle) such deceit devised. 
 
 r> X ALIX. 
 
 But nature, though by force she is comprest. 
 Sooner or later will break out again. 
 
 And with new strength her bias manifest. 
 
 So when a gardener would a tree retain, 
 
 And guide its tender shoots as suits him best, 
 
 TTnr o and pegs ; but all in vain. 
 
 For as it grows restraint it soon defies, 
 
 nd points its branches upwards to the skies. 
 
L. 
 
 By fortune raised to that prodigious height 
 To which her fondest hopes had ne’er aspired, 
 In pomp and luxury she took delight, 
 
 And to a life of indolence retired. 
 
 Whose lap would seem a female to invite. 
 
 Her languid hours soft sentiments inspired, 
 And reminiscences delightful raise. 
 
 The dreams of happiness of former days. 
 
 LI. 
 
 Pleasure became her only occupation — 
 
 Her former zeal had vanished by degrees : 
 
 For state affairs she lost all inclination : 
 
 Since posts of honour and high dignities, 
 
 That viewed afar inspire our admiration. 
 
 When once obtained have power no more to please. 
 ’Tis only from a distance they allure us ; 
 
 Experience is the remedy to cure us. 
 
 LII. 
 
 Ambition gilds the object we pursue. 
 
 And decks it in the most seducing dress, 
 
 Lessens the bad, or hides it from our view. 
 
 Whilst, ardent in the chase, we onward press. 
 
 But when we reach it, and the veil’s seen through. 
 And truth appears in all her nakedness. 
 
 The promised charm, that round it seemed to play, 
 Just like a phantom vanishes away. 
 
 , LIII. 
 
 Of studies, troubled by no discontent. 
 
 Across her mind the recollection darts ; 
 
 The days, when with philosophers she went, 
 Surrounded by the muses and the arts. 
 
 Then the delicious nights in Athens spent 
 With her young lover! — everything imparts 
 A painful contrast with her present state, 
 
 Whenever she begins to ruminate. 
 
 LIV. 
 
 And whilst she recollects that much-loved spot, 
 
 That joyful age, it seems as though she were 
 Once happy, once contented with her lot. 
 
 But now a slave, and overwhelmed with care. 
 
 And then the sacrilege, by which she got 
 The throne — the usurpation — thus to wear 
 The triple crown — with fears her mind annoy. 
 
 And change to discontent her former joy. 
 

 LV. 
 
 And, in the tempest of her troubled mind, 
 
 “ What boots” (cries she) “ to me this outward show? 
 “ What worth is all the homage that I find, 
 
 “ If peace within my breast I cannot know ?” 
 
 Thus — by ambition for awhile consigned 
 To slumber — love afresh began to glow. 
 
 And inwardly she feels her blood ferment. 
 
 Seeking in pleasure for another vent. 
 
 liVI. 
 
 Meanwhile she sees herself on every side. 
 
 By persons grave hemmed in, in whom she traces, 
 Painted in colours art hath deeply died. 
 
 Imposture, hypocritical grimaces, 
 
 Fictitious worth and piety belied. 
 
 But as she looked upon the prelates’ faces. 
 
 Who came to pay their court with silver tongue. 
 
 Her most bewitching smiles were for the young. 
 
 LVII. 
 
 Among the bishops, who were daily seen 
 About her court, her wistful eyes discover 
 A prelate, whose appearance yet was green. 
 
 Bearing a likeness to her former lover. 
 
 And here the dreams of mem’ilry intervene. 
 
 And pictures new of ancient passion hover. 
 
 '^e bishop in the struggle gains the day, 
 lor he was near, and Fulda was away. 
 
 LVIII. 
 
 Writers have little of this prelate said. 
 
 We only know that he was called Boldello. 
 
 If in Perugia he was born and bred— 
 
 Or, as some others say, if in Mugello, 
 
 Matters but little. Him, in Fulda’s stead. 
 
 As being, like the monk, a handsome fellow. 
 
 She destined for the honour of her bed ; 
 
 But to no living soul a word she said. 
 
 However, from that hour marks honorific 
 Of sovereign favour poured upon him thick, 
 JNot empty all, and one the most prolific 
 Was that she raised him to a bishoprick. 
 I^ext that his service might be more specific, 
 (As love 18 ever at inventions quick), 
 
 Ihe usual courtly title was selected, 
 
 And he was private chamberlain elected. 
 
All the petitions he presented to her 
 It might be said were never sent in vain. 
 
 Unconscious of the motives of the doer, 
 
 The public found no reason to complain ; 
 
 For his solicitations were no fewer 
 Than afterwards in nepotism’s reign, 
 
 AVhen popes gave coaches, houses, footmen, dresses, 
 
 And then a blind man sees what that expresses. 
 
 LXI. 
 
 And for his dwelling chambers she assigned him 
 Contiguous to her private rcsi<lence. 
 
 Ostensibly to guard the briefs consigned him, 
 
 The circulars, the bulls, the documents. 
 
 And, in unrobing, she the charge designed him 
 Of the pontifical habiliments. 
 
 Hoping thereby to stop the courtiers’ chat. 
 
 And lull suspicion as to what she’s at. 
 
 LXII. 
 
 Whether by accident or by design. 
 
 One day the bishop, helping off her vest. 
 
 Saw peeping out a very feminine 
 Appearance of a nipple and a breast. 
 
 He drew back thunderstruck — a gentle sign 
 She made, and his astonishment repressed. 
 
 “What makes you stare?” she cried; “why should the sight 
 Of what you now behold a man afiright ?” 
 
 LXIIl. 
 
 This observation with a laughing air 
 
 She dropped, then let Baldello take his leave, 
 
 From an untimely summons to prepare 
 A neighbouring prince’s envoy to receive, 
 
 Who, suddenly arrived on some affair. 
 
 Had charged the usher of the court to give 
 Immediate notice to the pope that he 
 Was there on some important embassy. 
 
 LXIV. 
 
 Prince Adelgiso, Lord of Benevent, 
 
 Had from the Saracens met fierce resistance ; 
 
 And, when he found the danger imminent. 
 
 Despatched an envoy to demand assistance. 
 
 The messenger, who thus in haste was sent. 
 
 Completed at that very hour the distance, 
 
 Just as the pope and prelate were engaged 
 Together, which his holiness enraged. 
 

 liXV. 
 
 AVhat the conclusion was of the debate 
 Between the BeneVentan messenger 
 And pope, and what they said when tete-a-tete, 
 Ladies, I can’t, so help me God, aver. 
 Nothing, I guess ; and this from rules of state 
 Laid down by clever writers I infer. 
 
 But, be it what it might, their interview 
 Has little with our narrative to do. 
 
 T X* 
 
 Baldello, left alone, in vain essays 
 To drive the scene just acted from his mind : 
 He turns and thinks it o’er a hundred ways, 
 
 T»r V***® I’™ “Ot yet blind 
 
 Myself I saw it— wonderful !” he cries : 
 
 .< he feels inclined. 
 
 His holiness a woman ! Fie, fie, fie ! 
 
 The very thought is like insanity. 
 
 JLiJi. V J.X« 
 
 “ i^d may not males be born effeminate 
 And have a pair of plump and pouting breasts ? 
 And may not God Almighty men create 
 Like women, furnished with projecting chests? 
 E^uchs, at least, are often in that state . 
 
 The fact, I know, past refutation rests. 
 
 A woman-pope ! I’m not quite such a bumpkin : 
 My head, thank God 1 at least is not a pumpkin. 
 
 * proofs these reasons I propine 
 
 I o show ’tis not a woman, facts agree — 
 beardless chin, the voice so feminine — 
 lo show the pope may yet a^ eunuch be. 
 It wrong I judge, then be the error mine ; 
 
 A what I for the present see ; 
 
 And that which might a part inferior deck, 
 buits just as well appended to the neck.” 
 
 B^dello in prodigious wonderment 
 
 1 f .u® quite dismayed : 
 
 caused astonishment) 
 
 AIu^ less than Midas on the barber made, 
 stupefaction underwent 
 Tf ° his long ears the royal ass betrayed. 
 
 And if ‘here the nipples seem, 
 
 he sleeps, the nipple is his dream. 
 
LXX. 
 
 Next ni"ht the ringing of a silver bell 
 Baldello to the pontiff’s chamber brought, 
 
 Who, waiting for the sound he knew so well. 
 
 Had instantly the gentle signal caught. 
 
 With hurried footsteps on the carpet fell 
 
 The handsome prelate’s tread, who quick besought 
 The pope’s commands: but hardly had he broke 
 The silence when his holiness thus spoke : — 
 
 LXXI. 
 
 “ Come hither, simpleton, let’s see to-day 
 Whether that downcast look again thou shew’st.” 
 
 The favoured priest assumed an air more gay. 
 
 And answered promptly, “ Sire, full well thou know’st 
 All things that happen in a sudden way 
 Will at first sight surprise us always most ; 
 
 But as familiarity increases 
 
 Little by little our repugnance ceases.” 
 
 LXXII. 
 
 “ Bravo !” she said, “ that’s spoken like a man. 
 
 Approach, and learn what others ne’er may know. 
 
 On this her clothes the papal harridan 
 Further undid her naked breast to show. 
 
 And stood without disguise no other than 
 A wom^n, choosing her cicesbeo. 
 
 The prelate felt astonished at the act, 
 
 But could no longer doubt the glaring fact. 
 
 I.XXIII. 
 
 The pope resumed. “ Recover from your dream ; 
 
 No longer let appearances deceive you : 
 
 Necessity has made me what I seem;^- 
 As Joan, not John, in future I receive you ; 
 
 And if the truth you yet uncertain deem, 
 
 Here place your hand, and let that undeceive you.” 
 And, saying this, his hand she grasped, and pressed 
 Without resistance to her naked breast. 
 
 nxxiv. 
 
 Although eight lustres Joan had sometime seen 
 Her flesh was plump and firm, her skin was white. 
 Still pleasant and attractive was her mien ; 
 
 Her manners still were charming and polite. 
 
 In fine, she was a lovely evergreen — 
 
 Such ever and anon still meet our sight. 
 
 So soft and fine her skin was to the touch. 
 
 It seemed that age had not impaired it much. 
 
LXXV. 
 
 The prelate, therefore, not at all displeased 
 To find his hand in gentle durance held, 
 
 Still kept it there, and smiled, and harder squeezed. 
 
 But this lascivious wanton ness compelled 
 Still more advances, and since both were pleased 
 All farther backwardness was now repelled. 
 
 For at the point at which things had proceeded 
 Great risk it was for both to have receded. 
 
 JLXXVI. 
 
 The breast, exposed without a spark of shame. 
 
 The wanton look, the handling unrestrained. 
 
 The strong excitements to the sensual flame. 
 
 The open challenge, on the prelate gained 
 So fast a hold, he could no longer tame 
 The passion which he much more felt than feigned. 
 All further bashfulness had been a sin, 
 
 And kisses glue his lips upon her skin. 
 
 nxxvii. 
 
 Her holiness no longer lets time slip 
 In preludes frivolous and empty wishes. 
 
 But leans, embraces him, puts lip to lij) ; 
 
 And shows she means to taste more solid dishes. 
 Her hands in search of hidden treasures dip, 
 
 Like one who knows the waters where she fishes, 
 And even makes preliminaries tend 
 To bring her matters to a proper end. 
 
 LXXVIII. 
 
 In both their veins lust strongly efl^ervesces, 
 
 Bubbles, boils over, and disdains delay. 
 
 The place is opportune, the mon)ent presses ; 
 
 ^ No obstacle retards their amorous play. 
 
 Cupid at hand the papal cushion dresses; 
 
 Beneath its gilded canopy they lay. 
 
 ^ hat followed .... busy fancy may supply — 
 
 The muse is silent out of decency. 
 
 nxxix. 
 
 never seen 
 
 The pope s tiara on a woman’s head, 
 
 Nosooner had observed the act obscene 
 Than, as the chamber trembled, off he fled. 
 
 A crucifix fell piecemeal from chagrin; 
 
 i^ainted virgin blushed a crimson red : 
 
 M. Peter s statue suddenly was blackened. 
 
 And 3*et his work the prelate never slackened. 
 
Meanwhile a little Love, with wicked haste, 
 
 On tiptoe steals away St. Peter’s keys 
 And tied them round the amorous prelate’s waist 
 The Queen of Paphos, who the frolick sees 
 (The goddess with celestial beauty graced). 
 
 Girds on the papal apron o’er her knees ; 
 
 And thus attired, and joking at the sight. 
 
 Points at the loving pair and laughs outright. 
 
 liXXXI. 
 
 And had the time been day, and weather fair. 
 Horror had veiled the radiance of the sun; 
 
 As on the day when God obscured its glare 
 In pity for the sufferings of his Son. 
 
 But touching such a scandalous affair. 
 
 The matter must be clear to every one. 
 
 That, as it was transacted in the night, 
 
 The moon, and not the sun, eclipsed her light. 
 
O' 
 
 PART THE THIRD. 
 
 I could not help observing, lovely creatures 
 (As unaccustomed to such naughty names), 
 What scorn you manifested in your features 
 
 On hearing that a pope could play such games 
 
 A pope and true successor of St. Peter’s ! 
 
 A trust me, ’tis a tale by halves that shames : 
 And, howsoever bad a thing may be, 
 
 Pis best to tell it with fidelity. 
 
 Some things I would much rather have preferred 
 (tu order to avoid a bad example). 
 
 Much rather that they never had occurred ; 
 
 But, when occuring, as a useful sample, 
 Compelled I feel to make them plainly heard. 
 
 1 in vain we hope to trample. 
 
 It lemales have been popes we can’t conceal it; 
 Much more, if popes are big, we must reveal it. 
 
 III. 
 
 This was the only instance (if Pm right) 
 lhat ever pope was passive in such cases. 
 Ihe bout revives Joan’s dormant appetite, 
 
 cu ^^1. paramour’s embraces, 
 
 She felt disposed to try him through the night. 
 
 She told the prelate, who, without wry faces, 
 As not a novice at such sports as these. 
 
 Was charmed to take his pleasures at his ease. 
 
 IV, 
 
 Next night, when wrapped in silence and repose 
 
 Bv a .seemed, and everything was stUl, 
 
 Obid^enf favourite knows, 
 
 Ubedient to her hohness’s will, 
 
 ® chamberlain on tiptoe goes. 
 
 iney share the livelong night without alloy 
 Ecciprocal reiterated joy. ^ 
 
V. 
 
 And in this state quite unsophisticated 
 They lay in close embraces so compact, 
 
 And with delight were so intoxicated, 
 
 That very nearly, in the very act. 
 
 He was by Joan a cardinal created. 
 
 Meanwhile no soul was privy to the fact ; 
 
 Whilst Joan, who took much pleasure in the freak, 
 Resolved to play it over twice a week. 
 
 VI. 
 
 At length to business growing disaffected 
 She laid all serious matters on the shelf. 
 
 And church and state w^ere equally neglected. 
 
 Her greedy ministers for filthy pelf 
 No longer either trust or charge respected : 
 
 AMiilst, lolling on the sofa, she herself 
 To lewdness and to indolence a prey. 
 
 Wastes in her lover’s arms jllfthinight and day. 
 
 VII. 
 
 The vulgar, who nor saw nor knew all this, 
 
 And seldom exercise a iudgment sound, 
 
 Fancy meantime she’s making homilies, 
 
 Or meditating matters most profound, 
 
 All for the holy faith and church’s bliss. 
 
 And for the benefit of nations round. 
 
 So things went then, and so continue still. 
 
 And 80 I prophesy they ever will. 
 
 vm. 
 
 Thus Joan continuing her wanton play 
 Which with the chosen lover was begun. 
 
 Met with an interruption in her way 
 That never happened with her former one : 
 Although it wants no conjuror to say 
 
 Such risks incontinence must always run.(^) 
 Now ladies guess a little her complaint — 
 
 What do you think it was ? She proved enceinte — 
 
 IX. 
 
 Yet, having means so various at command. 
 
 She thought her secret safe as in a tomb. 
 But when in bed the prelate passed his hand, 
 And found the daily swelling of her womb, 
 
 “ Dear holiness,” he said, “ I can’t command 
 My fears of what will be our future doom 
 And she, who saw how frightened he appeared. 
 Mocked his alarms and at his terrors jeered. 
 
 D 
 

 “ Why conjure up,” cried she, “ such vain inventions, 
 Embittering both my pleasure and your own ? 
 Why am I pope, with sovereign pretensions, 
 
 If all the mischief that was ever known 
 To vex good Christian souls with apprehensions 
 I cannot hinder, or avert alone, 
 
 With that commanding universal sway 
 The papal throne bestows ? Fear not— be gay.” 
 
 XI. 
 
 As they coversing lay in bed one night 
 The prelate broached a very odd conceit. 
 
 “ Tell me, dear holiness, I think we might 
 Hereditary make the papal seat; 
 
 For then our offspring would succeed by right.” 
 
 “ True,” J oan replies, “the thought’s with sense replete. 
 I grant therein great obstacles arise, 
 
 But not indeed impossibilities. 
 
 XII. 
 
 “ And that I’m not a braggadocio, 
 
 As this idea might make some surmise. 
 
 The Babylonian caliphs (thou must know) 
 
 Authority as pontiffs exercise ; 
 
 And, without conclaves, as the fathers go 
 The sons succeed ; nor hence does harm arise. 
 
 But then their prophet gave the caliph scope. 
 
 More than by Christ was granted to a pope. 
 
 XIII. 
 
 “ But all comparisons, like this of mine 
 And others that might easily be stated. 
 
 Would still refer to pontiffs masculine. 
 
 For whom alone that dignity’s created : 
 
 But as to popes, whose sex is feminine. 
 
 Let not that obstacle be underrated ; 
 
 Because the church presumes that no one can 
 Be made a pope unless he be a man. 
 
 xrv. 
 
 “ All opposition therefore to prevent. 
 
 On introducing such an innovation, 
 
 V> e must some clever miracle invent. 
 
 Or else some superhuman revelation 
 
 exprpsly for our purpose sent, 
 
 >\ ith angels giving us God’s approbation ; 
 
 Jb or any time when we such juggling use 
 I he people never our requests refuse. 
 
XV. 
 
 “ And let me now a thought communicate, 
 
 Whereon thy sentiments I wish to know. 
 
 Which of two wonders seems to thee most great, 
 
 A virgin pregnant or a pope that’s so ? 
 
 A virgin’s child the Christians venerate, 
 
 (A thought which we to eastern brahmins owe). 
 And, if the first is fit for worship reckoned 
 By half the world, pray why should not the second ? 
 
 XVI. 
 
 “ And, not to mention that one person may ? 
 
 At different times be of a different sex, 
 
 ( Since Greece believed Tiresias was one day 
 Changed to a woman) — if the mob expects, 
 
 Which on our sacerdotal word it may. 
 
 That heaven in me has worked the like effects. 
 
 Is that surprising ? Pagans have believed. 
 
 And Christians would too, or I’m much deceived. 
 
 XVII. 
 
 “ And then there’s marriage, which we all suppose 
 So holy — which a sacrament we style — 
 
 And without which the law no children knows — 
 
 ’Tis but a church invention all the while. 
 
 And which the pope, if some good cause arose. 
 
 Could at his pleasure change. But” (with a smile) 
 “ Enough,” she added, “ more of that to-morrow — 
 Age quod agisy and adieu to sorrow.” 
 
 XVIII. 
 
 Baldello, blest with no great erudition. 
 
 To all her dictates perfectly resigned, 
 
 Considered her a wonderful logician — 
 
 A gifted being — a prophetic mind. 
 
 And doubting not that she could at volition 
 The articles of faith both loose and bind. 
 Obediently conceives he can’t do better 
 Than execute the adage to the letter. 
 
 XIX. 
 
 For this and such like conversations were 
 The episodes, in intervals between 
 More serious business, brought in here and there. 
 
 Because the finest tools that e’er were seen 
 In time will blunt by constant wear and tear. 
 Although the temper’s good and edge is keen. 
 And also, ladies, you the proverb know— ^ 
 
 ^ Not always bent the archer keeps his bow. 
 
XX. 
 
 Now let us turn to Fulda, who remained 
 In Bagdad studying a dozen years ; 
 
 And having various information gained, 
 
 He quits the place and home to Europe steers. 
 Where Joan he hoped to find ; as he refrained 
 From writing all this while, she never hears 
 Of his return — all intercourse neglected, 
 
 He reached the gates of Borne quite unexpected. 
 
 XXI. 
 
 The first frequented inn he lights upon. 
 
 Kept by a smart Comascan, he selected. 
 
 This host for news had not his paragon. 
 
 And all the gossip of the town collected. 
 
 Fulda demanded if one English John, 
 
 A friar, thereabouts he recollected ? 
 
 “ Sir,” cries the host, “ your question makes me smile ; 
 Pray where have you been travelling this long while ?” 
 
 xxn. 
 
 “ Why,” Fulda cries, “ from Eastern countries I 
 Have entered Rome but half-an-hour ago. 
 
 And even things of notoriety 
 ^ It is not wonderful that I don’t know : 
 
 I’m quite a stranger,” and the host’s reply 
 Was “ One sees that ; you need not tell me so : 
 However, this I say, for getting news, 
 
 A better source than me you could not choose. 
 
 XXIII. 
 
 “ But first, whoe’er you are, excuse me, pray. 
 
 Good sir, your ignorance quite makes me stare ; 
 
 How any one has lived so far away 
 
 As not to know what’s talked of everywhere ; 
 
 But, since you ask me, then I’m bound to say 
 This John the Englishman ’s a man so rare ; 
 
 Of any other, whether live or dead. 
 
 There cannot be, what can of him, be said. 
 
 XXIV. 
 
 “ Twelve years ago, as I remember well, 
 
 John entered Rome, and, very little known, 
 
 He turned professor in a convent’s cell. 
 
 There, with pope Leon into favour grown. 
 
 His talents made him so remarkable. 
 
 On Leon’s death they raised him to the throne. 
 Where now he reigns as John the Eighth — a pope, 
 
 In whom the clergy put their greatest hope. 
 
“ The early dawn of his administration 
 Was great and glorious, nobody can doubt, 
 
 And gained the people’s love and approbatiou. 
 
 It lasted little ; now he ne’er goes out — 
 
 Performs no more the duties of his station. 
 
 And all the world demands what he’s about. 
 
 ’Tis true his courtiers speak of his exertions — 
 
 But who the devil credits their assertions ? 
 
 XXVI. 
 
 “ Meanwhile affairs get daily worse and worse : 
 
 Each minister consults his private gains : 
 
 Completely empty is the public purse : 
 
 Whilst blind to all our ills the pope remains. 
 
 And if the Saracens should come to curse 
 
 The soil, though sous (where are they ?) for their pains 
 They find not, statues still are no mean prize, 
 
 And all our women to Saracinise» 
 
 xxvii. 
 
 “ For some time past, as rumours go about, 
 
 A certain bishop is his favourite — 
 
 A nephew or a son of his, no doubt. 
 
 The people’s discontent is at its height. 
 
 He manages concerns indoors and out, 
 
 And never can a favour, wrong or right, 
 
 Come from the holy see except through him. 
 
 In fine, good sir, we’re in a pretty trim. 
 
 xxviii. 
 
 “ Yet what has happened(“) with his holiness 
 Was just so in his predecessor’s case. 
 
 When first elected we our fortune bless, 
 
 And say they are a prodigy of grace. 
 
 But by degrees the good grows less and less. 
 
 An d sometimes bad arises in its place ; 
 
 Though, for our comfort, other kingdoms are 
 Governed (they tell us) much upon a par. 
 
 XXIX. 
 
 “ As to the country, origin, or mother. 
 
 Of John the Eighth, no two accounts agree : 
 
 Some say King Ethel vrolf’s his elder brother. 
 
 Who came a pilgrimage the pope to see. 
 
 A cousin of some emperor or other 
 
 I’ve heard him called, of Grecian pedigree. 
 
 Many his genealogy suppose. 
 
 But who the devil’s right there’s no one knows. 
 
XXX. 
 
 “ Of other English Johns Fm nor aware — 
 
 No other have I ever seen or known, 
 
 As sure I should if any such there were. 
 
 But then I hate your boasters, that I own. 
 
 And what I know is neither here nor there. 
 
 Fve spoken with you in a friendly tone, 
 
 Because, good sir, I somehow like your look ” — 
 
 And here a little breath the landlord took. 
 
 XXXI. 
 
 The chattering landlord’s wordy explanation 
 Astonished Fulda ; and although he saw 
 There reigned an air of truth in his narration. 
 
 He still detected here and there a flaw. 
 
 He oscillates in doubt and hesitation. 
 
 And hardly knows what inference to draw : 
 
 But hoping yet to get some further light, 
 
 He asks about the pontiflTs age and height. 
 
 XXXII. 
 
 The host resumes : — “ The pope is handsome still ; 
 
 Then fancy what he must have been before 
 Youth quitted him, for now he goes down hill ; 
 
 I think he must be forty-three or four. 
 
 I may conjecture wrong, and judge him ill.” 
 
 So Fulda, finding he could learn no more, 
 
 Thanked his loquacious landlord, took a light, 
 
 And, to his room retiring, wished good night. 
 
 XXXIII. 
 
 There, all that he had heard his host relate. 
 
 With dates and time, he passes in review ; 
 
 And knowing well how little she would rate 
 The obstacles to what she meant to do — 
 
 “ Dangere for her!” he cried ; “ where find her mate ? 
 
 She sticks at nothing ! If it should be true ! 
 
 But then — by Jove, be pope! that rather poses — 
 
 But what can’t woman do that she proposes ?” 
 
 xxxrv. 
 
 To find out whether all was false or no, 
 
 bira by the Boniface from Como, 
 
 The following morning he resolves to go 
 And ask an audience through the major-domo. 
 
 He wei^, and said, “ An Englishman would know 
 birth who was a sort of gentiluomo) 
 
 H he could see his holiness a minute, 
 
 To speak on what had some importance in it ?” 
 
XXXV. 
 
 The audience was no easy thing to get; 
 
 But, as a Briton and a gentle wight, 
 
 Dispensing with the usual etiquette, 
 
 His holiness admitted him that night. 
 
 As soon as Joan her eyes on Fulda set 
 She knew him instantly ; and he, in spite 
 Of ermine robe and mantle that disguised her, 
 
 Had not looked twice before he recognised her. 
 
 XXXVI. 
 
 “Ye powers !’* exclaimed he, when his first confusion 
 Subsided. “ How ! can this be Joan I see ? 
 
 Is this a dream, a phantom, an illusion ? 
 
 Is it thyself in good reality ? 
 
 Have I my senses r Is it no delusion. 
 
 Upon St. Peter’s stool that thou should’st be ? 
 Zounds I tell me how thou could’st — a woman thou — 
 Usurp the keys celestial — tell me how.” 
 
 xxxvn. 
 
 This burst of wonder, when gone somewhat by. 
 
 Was next succeeded by the recollection 
 In youth of their familiarity. 
 
 To mind he called their juvenile affection 
 With all their early love’s intensity. 
 
 His sentiments assume a new direction : 
 
 And if to kiss her foot ’s enough for others, 
 
 With kisses quite profane her lips he smothers. 
 
 XXXVIII. 
 
 Judge whether such a sudden apparition 
 Must throw poor Joan into a mighty fuss. 
 
 And then she feared, good ladies, in addition. 
 
 Lest her dear prelate should surprise them thus. 
 
 But yet she dared not show her opposition 
 To one of whom she once was amorous. 
 
 So, to divert his thoughts, “ sit down,” said she, 
 
 “ And you shall hear my curious history.” 
 
 XXXIX. 
 
 Still with a boldness that belief defies, 
 
 , Upon the Vicar- General of Christ 
 Fulda proceeds to take gross liberties. 
 
 But Joan repels them with a look so iced 
 That Fulda wonders. Her unusual size 
 His doubts excited, and his hand enticed 
 To press her belly ; when, it proving round 
 And hard, he troubled cried, “ What’s this I’ve found?” 
 
XL, 
 
 “ It is a common swelling,” Joan replies, 
 
 “ In persons of a sedentary life.” 
 
 But Fulda noted how her blushes rise. 
 
 And said, “ a posture with thy words at strife. 
 Supine not sedentary I surmise, 
 
 Has been thy chosen one.” A man and wife 
 Could not retort more warmly. “ ’Tis, ’tis not,” 
 Until the altercation grew quite hot. 
 
 But Fulda, bent on making her disclose 
 The truth, and wroth that she disputes a right 
 Which former friendship made him presuppose. 
 Resolves to verify the case by sight. 
 
 So boldly ripping up her sacred clothes 
 Her criminality he brought to light. 
 
 And though she keeps him off with hands and nails, 
 Audacious Fulda finally prevails. 
 
 XLn. 
 
 Thus Fulda having ascertained the fact 
 
 efforts vainly would conceal, 
 AVhether his breast St. Peter’s honour racked. 
 Or his afironted love had made him feel, 
 
 Or indignation at a shameless act. 
 
 But so it was, inflamed with sudden zeal 
 Against her holiness, who sat quite dumb. 
 
 He vented thus his foul opprobrium. 
 
 therefore, woman, that thy guilty name — 
 
 Tis therefore that thy shameless wickedness. 
 Breathing infection wheresoe’er it came. 
 
 Beneath that sacred venerable dress 
 
 ^ ^Think’st thou o’er thy burning shame 
 lhat heaven’s just vengeance sleeps in idleness ? 
 _^o . Twas of thee the Revelations bore 
 Witness, when speaking of the scarlet whore. 
 
 jlXjI V • 
 
 ^ filthiness debases ! 
 
 Which, like some foul receptacle, has sent 
 Its noisome foetid odours in men’s faces : 
 
 To thee ne^ half a world the knee has bent — 
 Thou hast ^filed the temples, holy places — 
 
 ±nou as Christ’s vicar dar’st thyself present: 
 Thou hast misled the pious Christian flock- 
 inou of the priesthood art the stumbling block.(") 
 
XLV. 
 
 “ The beast art thou, so foul and monstrous shaped, 
 Whereon the fornicating harlot mounted 
 With scarlet robes, on which the wicked gaped, 
 
 As in the Revelations John recounted. 
 
 And from one trunk as seven heads escaped, 
 
 So seven vices are thy sins accounted. 
 
 Ten horns upon the monster’s head had grown. 
 And thou shall see the like upon thine own.(^0 
 
 XLVI. 
 
 “ The rabid dogs shall all thy flesh devour, 
 
 As erst they tore the impious Jezebel, 
 
 And eat thee up ; and thou shall see the hour 
 When rebel crews of spirits damnable 
 Shall flames of brimstone on thy body shower. 
 And hurl thee with their crooked nails to hell ; 
 Where, in a pit of everlasting fire. 
 
 Thou shall consume, but never shall expire.” (®) 
 
 XliVII. 
 
 Whilst thus in tones emphatic Fulda stormed 
 Against poor Joan, with that prophetic zeal 
 Which erst in Patmos an enthusiast warmed. 
 
 And which we common folks can seldom feel. 
 Whose style is not by scripture phrases formed : 
 
 A deadly paleness o’er her seemed to steal. 
 Breathless and mute she sits ; till, cold as clay, 
 Her eyes grow dim, and then she faints away. 
 
 LXVIII. 
 
 Behold ! what cowards conscience can us make. 
 
 Conscience ! in woman ’tis no trifling thing. 
 
 And though, in matters of momentous stake 
 Joan never showed before a wavering, 
 
 In this predicament we see her shake 
 
 With terror— see her writhe beneath its sting. 
 Appalled by fear away go all her wits. 
 
 And in a moment come the fainting fits. 
 
 XLIX. 
 
 But Fulda thought ’twas time for him to go. 
 
 He guessed how great a bustle there would be 
 Among the courtiers, when they came to know 
 His holiness had had a syncope. 
 
 Passing the ante-room in whispers low. 
 
 He bade those present help his sanctity, 
 
 AVho felt, he said, some slight indisposition. 
 
 And might perhaps have need of a physician. 
 
Then to his inn with diligence he goes, 
 
 Calls up the landlord to his room, and there 
 Asks him to bring the bill for what he owes. 
 
 For he must instantly depart elsewhere. 
 
 Marks of astonishment the landlord shows. 
 
 And thinks he’s discontented with his fare ; 
 Then tries with news and talk to make him stay— 
 But Fulda’s deaf, and pays, and goes away. 
 
 And in a street remote he takes a floor. 
 
 And stratagems to hide himself devises : 
 
 ^ wig to veil his features o’er ; 
 
 Changes his dress, and thus himself disguises. 
 Fulda by name he styles himself no moret 
 ^^But Carlo ; and incognito surmises 
 TOe strange results the pregnancy of Joan 
 Will have upon the world, if ever known. 
 
 _ • JuXJL* 
 
 M^nwhile the chamberlains officious pressed 
 give his holiness assistance due. 
 Baldello, hastening among the rest. 
 
 Sat by her side until she was come to. 
 
 She cast a stare around, and then expressed 
 wish to be alone an hour or two. 
 courtiers all immediately retire— 
 Baldello only stays at her desire. 
 
 But though Baldello various ways essayed 
 
 ^ was before, 
 lo all he did she no attention paid. 
 
 Her looks the marks of melancholy wore, 
 e saw some secret on her bosom preyed. 
 Silent she sat for many weeks : no more 
 Could cardinal or officer in waiting 
 Admittance gain where she sat ruminating. 
 
 rrri My. 
 
 A h 'P' during her gestation 
 
 fiend approached her bed one night— 
 of fier damnation!- 
 ^e other held a fiery torch alight. 
 
 "^Kin^ navM just indignation, 
 
 PvM. ® S chastised, the hellisf sprite 
 
 things I offer ; choose your punishment. 
 
LV. 
 
 “ The lighted torch denotes eternal flame ; 
 
 The cup portends man’s foulest obloquy.” 
 
 Joan, from aversion to the devil’s name, 
 
 Chose (and with such conditions so should I) 
 
 To leave her memory consigned to shame. 
 
 So when the author of our psalmody 
 Was told by God to choose, as he liked best. 
 
 Plague, war, or famine, he preferred the pest. 
 
 LVI. 
 
 This story may not ready credence gain. 
 
 And some may choose with fables to confound it ; 
 
 So mind, I do not swear it, but maintain 
 That I in many classic authors found it, 
 
 Who could not fabricate it in their brain. 
 
 Besides, fair dames, though hard the truth may sound, it 
 Is fair to say that kings and popes descry 
 These spectres oftener than you and I. 
 
 liVII. 
 
 The times were ominous with great portents. 
 
 The Tiber swelling overflowed its side. 
 
 And temples swept away and tenements ; 
 
 And, with its turbid and impetuous tide, 
 
 Caused waste around and fearful accidents. 
 
 From its foundations deep the earth untied 
 Tottered, and all these terrors to increase 
 No single element remained in peace. (^) 
 
 nvin. 
 
 Destructive swarms, that hid the solar ray. 
 
 Of baneful locuts, hovering in the air. 
 
 In volumes dense descended every way. 
 
 And laid the verdant fields and vineyards bare. 
 
 The toil of months was ravaged in a day. 
 
 Tradition, from report of persons there, 
 
 Says that their wings were six ; and ’twas a wonder 
 To see what substances they cut asunder.(*) 
 
 ux. 
 
 The people all by such a scourge tormented. 
 Producing pestilence and famine too. 
 
 Against his holiness much discontented. 
 
 Cried, grumbling, “ Will the pontiff nothing do ? 
 God’s power is his, then what has him prevented ? 
 
 Why with his curse such vermin not pursue ? 
 And these destructive myriads why not see, 
 
 At his command, fall lifeless in the sea ? 
 
“ Thinks he God’s wrath so light that he may mock it ? 
 
 And all his hours in indolence consume ? ^ 
 
 His sacred hands thrust in his breeches’ pocket !” 
 
 Thus men and women in a constant fume 
 Flocked round the Vatican, and seemed to block it 
 With angry looks that marked the deepest gloom 
 When, rushing in the room, Baldello broke 
 Upon the pope’s retirement, and thus spoke:— 
 
 LXI. 
 
 “ Alas ! dear holiness, we’re all undone I 
 The mob is in a state of insurrection; 
 backwards and forwards scores of fellows run 
 And hem the palace in in each direction, 
 ohut up within you know not what they’ve done. 
 Nor their sedition hear, nor disaffection. 
 
 knows no bounds, and they conspire 
 Madly to set the Vatican on fire..” 
 
 I-XII. 
 
 w/afTt <=ries Joan, “in such a mood? 
 
 What mean their noisy and rebellious cries ? 
 Unmannered populace !” « The people would 
 thou should’st anathematize 
 The locusts,” said Baldello. Mute she stood 
 Awhile, like those who inwardly devise 
 A profound, or deep reflection cloak, 
 
 And then with firm, unbending tone she spoke. 
 
 _ LXIII. 
 
 Knowest thou the form of prayer we name Rogations ? 
 Let every church that office celebrate. 
 
 processions be, with supplications 
 J.0 bless the pulse on earth that vegetate. 
 
 L tw, one day will in them take my stations 
 
 “Tr»p” late.”(") 
 
 ToV>m’ J^aWello, “ but your size”— “ I hope 
 To hide It with my robes," replied the pope. 
 
 .Pageants were unusual grown, 
 
 T> f ^ streets, in every public place 
 
 To blel days Rogations would take place 
 Anrthat th™ ‘h^°“ghout the count^^ sown. 
 
 His Christian fl P?P® ''^ottld this procession grace. 
 
 moreover was apprised 
 The locusts would be anathematised. 
 
LXV. 
 
 Though poor Baldello, when the day arriv^, 
 
 Ilis sad forebodings could no how restrain, 
 Courageous Joan to comfort him contrived, 
 
 And firmness more than papal entertain. 
 
 And as the warrior, who is newly wived 
 Parts with his spouse when bent on some campaign, 
 The pregnant pope so takes her leave of him. 
 
 And to the church descends the mass to hymn.(*®) 
 
 liXVI. 
 
 Forth from the Vatican as regulated 
 The heads of all the clergy gravely went — 
 Deacons and priests, bishops and monks bald pated — 
 And to the Lateran their footsteps bent, 
 Professionally robed and decorated. 
 
 The mob the air with acclamations rent. 
 
 Beneath the umbrage of a parasol. 
 
 Upon a mule the pope brought up the whole. 
 
 LX VII. 
 
 The mob surrounds her as she moves along. 
 
 And now the sacred symphonies arise. 
 
 The humbler choir make chorus to the song. 
 
 Whores, bigots, vagabonds, with upturned eyes 
 With oras and amens the peal prolong. 
 
 The cbaunts alternate follow in this guise; 
 
 Till at the Lateran, with heat opprest 
 They pause, and in the square awhile take rest. 
 
 XLVIII. 
 
 When standing on this spot, the view combines 
 An ample circuit round, as from a height, 
 
 Over the fields and circumjacent vines. 
 
 The pope, half fainting, hastens to alight. 
 
 And on a sumptuous ottoman reclines. 
 
 Prepared for his repose the former night. 
 
 Then to the courtiers near some words addresses, 
 And tells them how th* unusual heat oppresses. 
 
 LZIX. 
 
 Meanwhile his doctor, who was standing by. 
 
 To offer any necessary aid, 
 
 Said to his holiness with gravity— 
 
 You sufier. Holy Father, Pm afraid. 
 
 Some small restorative ’twere best to try. 
 
 The pope, with condescension, answer made. 
 
 A chamberlain that in attendance stood 
 Brought him a cup of broth, which did him good 
 
LXX. 
 
 Then rising from his ottoman, he takes 
 The lustral water, and midst hymns and psalms 
 A sprinkling west, east, north, and south he makes. 
 
 A crucifix, which heaven’s displeasure calms, 
 And at whose sign a score of locusts quakes. 
 
 He waves in crosses broad at least four palms. 
 Then mounting on his mule, with pomp the same 
 He seeks the Vatican as when he came. 
 
 LXXI. 
 
 In sultry climates at the close of May, 
 
 The sun, approaching to the hour of noon. 
 Shoots vertically down its ardent ray. 
 
 And if, in going, though some hours more soon, 
 Joan suffered much, judge when she went away 
 How heat to her was most inopportune. 
 
 A languor insupportable she feels, 
 
 But still to nobody her pain reveals. 
 
 LXXII. 
 
 The stings of conscience, and her gravid womb, 
 The strange adventures of a life of care, 
 Bulda s reproaches, and her sentenced doom 
 that false spirit, had from constant wear 
 Reduced her to the border of her tomb. 
 
 And near the Coliseum (from a rare 
 Colossal Nero named of wondrous size) 
 
 She s seized with dreadful pains and agonies. 
 
 XT 1 i-xxnr. 
 
 longer can she keep a steady seat ; 
 
 She totters, and seems tumbling from distress. 
 11m prelates haste to place her on her feet — 
 Support her and unlace her tightened dress, 
 oyo® grow dim, till in a swoon complete 
 A lifeless sinks in total helplessness ; 
 
 And at that moment from her clothes unbound 
 A new born infant falls upon the ground. 
 
 rpU X- i-xxiv. 
 
 Ine rnshing crowd with eagerness draws near 
 ^ the hrst rumour from bystanders spread. 
 The tumult thickens when the people hear ; 
 Some push, some fly, and on each other tread; 
 nd some to ^e the incestuous son draw near: 
 ‘heir gaze upon the mother fed; 
 fury the plebeians cry. 
 
 Into the Tiber throw her instantly r 
 
LXXV. 
 
 The grave divines at length with pain control 
 The mob, and turn them from their bloody aim. 
 But the distress of her afflicted soul, 
 
 Her premature delivery, and her shame — 
 
 Her mortal grief which nothing can console. 
 
 Had overcome her now enfeebled frame ; 
 
 And, midst the hootings which the view inspires, 
 
 The thread of life is cut, and she expires (^) 
 
 LXXVl. 
 
 Scarce had her soul thrown off its mortal coil 
 When, with a loud and diabolic cheer. 
 
 Infernal spirits rush to make their spoil. 
 
 In opposition stood the angels near ; 
 
 Betwixt them rose a fierce and deadly broil 
 In the wide regions of the atmosphere. 
 
 The din resounded loud, and in the sky 
 Whirlwinds arose that blew most furiously. 
 
 LXVII. 
 
 Rude was the strife between the adverse bands. 
 When the foul fiend that formerly appeared 
 To Joan, her body grasping in his hands 
 
 (Though how ’twas done to me was never cleared) 
 Around her form a misty cloud expands. 
 
 And, whilst the rest were fighting, disappeared. 
 
 To purge her sins he carried her away. 
 
 But where he took her nobody can say. 
 
 LXXVIII. 
 
 Some plausibly conceive that she was sent 
 To purgatory, there to undergo 
 A wholesome corresponding punishment ; 
 
 But I, for my part, never have thought so, 
 
 And have for this a knock-down argument. 
 
 To purgatory Dante went we know — 
 
 K he had seen her he would so declare — 
 
 He said it not, ergo she was not there. (“*0 
 
 LXXIX. 
 
 Joan and the little offspring of her womb 
 (By special orders in consistory) 
 
 Were buried where she met her awful doom ; 
 
 But as her fate was then no mystery 
 A chapel was erected o’er her tomb, 
 
 With sculpture, where her woful history 
 Narrated stood for ages, to relate 
 Her execrable wickedness and fate.(^) 
 
I.XXX. 
 
 And on her grave for many nights were seen 
 (At least ’twas then a fact beyond suspicion) 
 Devils in either sex in dance obscene, 
 
 And doing acts lascivious in addition. 
 
 Both Fulda and Baldello left the scene 
 Of their amours, and with sincere contrition. 
 To calm the deep remorse that inward burned. 
 Quitted the world, and both to hermits turned. 
 
 LXXXI. 
 
 And well they did, for matters such as these 
 We nowise into ridicule should turn. 
 Since, if the sinner does not God appease/ 
 He may be sent in fiery flames to burnl 
 I hope the Lord, who’s merciful, will please 
 Poor Fulda’s deep contrition not to spurn. 
 I can’t of that Baldello say the same. 
 Because his conduct really was a shame. 
 
 LXXXII. 
 
 And as to Joan, if I may speak my mind,* 
 
 I hope she got a promise from the fiend. 
 Who seized her, not in hell to be consigned. 
 
 And ^ter all, it can’t be contravened, 
 
 A promise even may an angel bind. 
 
 And if she finally the devil queaned. 
 
 And ranked as pope in paradise, she may 
 Pass muster too on earth perhaps some day. 
 
 nxxxiii. 
 
 In what I’ve said of Joan’s two paramours 
 And of herself, good sense will bear me out: 
 A^ touching what the infant soul endures 
 Of the young papal bastard — past a doubt 
 (As every author that I’ve read assures). 
 
 Some one of Gabriel’s lackeys on the scout, 
 Bore him, like other infants, through the air, 
 lo umbo strait, and left him safely there. 
 
 A ,1 y • 
 
 But, to avoid in future, such like scandal, 
 each election of the pontifex, 
 
 A chaise was kept, so pierced that one might handle 
 h rom underneath the tokens of his sex. 
 l^s cardinals were seen each time to dandle 
 Ihe secret signs, and grew (’tis said) adepts. 
 
 But now-a -days the popes are surer men. 
 
 And cannot be suspected like popes then.^^j 
 
LXXXV. 
 
 But future pontiffs (as might be expected) 
 Resolved to leave no trace of Joan behind, 
 And, as the story much disgrace reflected, 
 
 Burned all the documents that they could find. 
 Their writers, too, in all their works affected 
 A style obscure, their readers' eyes to blind ; 
 And kept quite silent, or were inexact, 
 
 Or else they altered or denied the fact. 
 
 ♦ LXXXVI. 
 
 But I J^f Rome thirsts always to abuse 
 Whoever dares to speak but common sense, — 
 Such writing blames— each author must accuse 
 Who differs from he^l make no defence. 
 NaW^to this tale^if she belief refuse, 
 
 I pardon her/ '^or stronger evidence ; / 
 She has resisted knowingly, and will. 
 
 Or I’m mistaken, ever do so still. 
 
 i/ 
 
 LXXXVII. 
 
 And, though it follows not that what’s depicted 
 In writings must perforce be never true. 
 
 Yet will it be by priestcraft interdicted. 
 
 As fatal to the trade which priests pursue. 
 Nature on man this instinct has inflicted, 
 
 In every case to be to self-love true. 
 
 Hence, to a cunning priest, truth gives alarm. 
 Because he knows that truth will do him harm. 
 
 LXXXVIII. 
 
 But this our story never can a jot 
 Profane the holy apostolic seat. 
 
 Or our religion wrong, that has no spot. 
 
 Or make a faith like ours seem incomplete. 
 However foul apparently the blot. 
 
 However diabolical the feat.(^) 
 
 The faith immutable, which we profess. 
 
 Stands fast, and man can’t make it more or less. 
 
 LXXXIX. 
 
 For were it otherwise, pray need we go 
 
 In search of female pontiffs big with child r 
 Perhaps in every age we could not show 
 
 A thousand crimes more scandalous and wild r 
 Which we to authors quite impartial owe. 
 
 Never from truth by interest beguiled. 
 
 Oh ! let — yes, let these bigots cast an eye 
 Upon the annals of church history. 
 
 £ 
 

 xc. 
 
 Among the Roman pontiffs there they might 
 Behold a John,(^) Liberius, or Honorius, 
 
 Turned Atheist, Arian, or Monothelite : — 
 
 See Theodore, Marcutius, men inglorious, 
 
 Make popes and sovereigns of a Catamite ; 
 
 And, by a sacrilege yet more notorious. 
 
 One in adultery receive a wound, (^) 
 
 And one in incest with his daughter found. (^) 
 
 xci. 
 
 Look at the church into a monster made. 
 
 Misshapen, horrid, double triple headed. 
 
 See sacred laws and dogmas disobeyed 
 By anti-popes in heresies imbedded. 
 
 See popes, still worse if they were fairly weighed, 
 
 To pride, extravagance, and lewdness wedded. 
 
 And my authority is from the fount, 
 
 In Cardinal Baronius’s account. 
 
 XCII. 
 
 But w’hat of that ? Is then the church less grand ? 
 
 Less holy is religion ? less respected ? 
 
 Ah I no : she’s like the sun, whose rays expand 
 O’er pools and bogs, and yet is uninfected. 
 
 But catechising thus all day to stand 
 Is more than can from mortal be expected. 
 
 And so the whole affair I now include 
 In one short summary, and then conclude. 
 
 xcm. 
 
 Joan, English John, or John the Englishman, 
 
 Then J ohn the Eighth, when she the mitre wore, 
 
 To reign as pope at fortv-two began. 
 
 And two years held tne crosier, and seven score 
 And nineteen days, when closed her mortal span. 
 
 One year she reigned with honour, and then bore 
 A good repute, a chaste and honoured name : 
 
 Until she changed, and died o’erwhelmed with shame. 
 
 xciv. 
 
 All these events fell out, as we have shown, 
 
 ninth of Christ’s descent from Heaven. 
 Eight hundred fifty-five she reached the throne, 
 
 And died the year eight hundred fifty-seven. 
 
 save the church, some men disown 
 These truths, or mingle \vith them falsehood’s leaven, 
 lo stop their lying mouths I’ve thought it right 
 lo quote the text of every book I cite.(^) 
 
 FINIS. 
 

 
 J 
 
 CHRONICLES AND MANUSCRIPTS WHICH ASSERT 
 THE EXISTENCE OF A POPE JOAN. 
 
 (■) An ancient chronicle in MS. in the library of St. P^ul at 
 Leipsic, first written by Martin the Pole, and which finishes in the 
 year 1261. •Catal p, 314, TVo. 47. . « • 
 
 O The chronicle of Angelusius, 
 
 (ores lirenswicenses. Tome. \.p. 1065, «<*• 
 o MS. chronicle of SefFi ido, a priest of Misma, ^om the bepn- 
 ning of the world to the year 1306, in the Leipsic library. Cat. p. 
 
 '^O^ChVonicle the Franciscan in M.S., enti- 
 
 tled V/ores temporum, anno 1292, in the senatorial l^^^^ry at^ipsic 
 (*) A M3, chronicle in the king’s library at Berlin, which comes 
 down to the year 1313. G. 9, iVb. 11. 
 
 (®) A chronicle entitled Pomarium by Gerv. Pecubaldo 
 rara, canon of Ravenna cathedral, and a cardinal. This Mb. is 
 in the library of Wolffenbuttel, and comes down to the year 1297. 
 
 C) The chronicle of Sozomeno, a priest of Pistoja, quoted by 
 Ptdomy of Lucca. It finishes in the year 1292, and seen by 
 Mabillon in Italy, in two large volumes, {Itin. Ital.p. 1/3,) Mention 
 is made in it of the female pope under the year 853. 
 
 The chronicle of Ptolomy of Lucca, a Mexican, and confessor 
 of pope John xii, afterwards bishop of Torzelli, about t>e year 1320 
 He dwlares that he read the story of the female pope in Martin the 
 
 Chronicle of the popes written by Amalarico 
 the order of St. Augustin, and dedicated 
 
 year 1362. Pietro Scrivario had a copy of it, from which Vossius 
 extracted many Unes; but Leibnitz has particularly preserved what 
 
 regards the female pope and her pregna^y. >.o/.ancA 
 
 C®) Two copies of the chronicle ot Cologne, so called because 
 
 nrinted at that place in old German in 1499 ^ • * j 
 
 (“) The Nuremberg chronicle (so called because it wm Panted 
 theVe in the year 1493), written by Hcrtman Schedel, 
 university of Padua. In both these chronicles there is the portrait 
 of the female pope with her child in her arms. 
 
 (“) The chronicle of Alsace and Strasburg, cited by JVolf and by 
 Zwingerus, and printed by SchcUer at Str^burg, in . 
 
 m The Constance chronicle in old Swiss, of the year 1400 cited 
 by Wolf and Flaccius. It says that the pope was with child by a 
 cardinal. 
 
 
 I 
 
 t r 
 
 ;lr 
 
 
 7tC 
 
in the town of Ingelheim, not far distant from it, and in the palati- 
 nate where Charlemagne was born also. In the annals of Augusta, 
 she is called Gilberta; some have named her Agnes, and some Jutta, 
 as in a German chronicle printed at Cologne, in 1499. 
 
 (®) Elle avoit I’esprit fort aigre, et elle avoit la grace de bien 
 etproraptementparler disputes et lecons publiques, et plusieurs s’em- 
 erveilldrent grandement de son savoir; un chacun fut tant afFectione 
 envers elle, etgagnasi bien le coeur de tous,qu"apres lamortde Leon 
 elle fut elue pape. Du Haillan histoire de France, Paris, 1576, p. 
 279. Nicole Grille^ chroniques et annates de France, an. 852. 
 
 C) Whilst yet a young woman she went from England to Athens 
 with a very learned man, her paramour. Filippo da Bergamo, Sup- 
 plem. Chron. lib, 11, an, 858, This (person) was a woman, who, 
 whilst she was young, being carried to Athens dressed as a man by 
 her lover, made such a proficiency in her different studies, that she 
 had no equal. Gio. Naucleri Chronica, Colon. 1579. Gen. 19, p.713. 
 She was a woman indeed, but disguised as a man, who followed a 
 very learned man, who kept her, to Athens. Coc, Sabellico, Enneadi 
 9, lib. 1. Ed. Ascent, 1517, fo. 207. 
 
 (®) See the Vossian MS. 
 
 (®) See du Ilaillan. 
 
 0®) The second council of Mayence, an. 829. 
 
 (“) See the Aunali d’Augusta, Gianbattista Ignazio, a Venetian, 
 in his book entitled Degli Esempi. 
 
 In the history of the Caliphs of Bagdad, in the Universal His- 
 tory or TArt de verifier les dates. 
 
 See Amlaorico d’Auger, Chassaneo, Tester, Du Ilaillon. 
 
 (“) See Calcocondila Storia dei Turchi lib. 6. That men shaved 
 off their beards as well in Italy as through almost all the western 
 kingdoms. See also Valerian, an author of the sixteenth century, 
 in his work Pro sacerdotum barbis ad Card. Mediceum fo. 21, an. 
 
 1 553. 
 
 PAUT II. 
 
 (**) Malleola Siffrido, Compilazion chronologica, Fulgoso, Curio, 
 bis life of Pope John the VIII. 106, By acute andlearned 
 public lectures and disputations she (^Joan) had procured for her- 
 self so much benevolence and credit, that on the death of Leon, (ac- 
 coding to Martini) she wasioith universal approbation chosen Pon- 
 tiff. See also Chron, Epp. Vevdentium Script. Brunsw, Tome 2, 
 p, 212. She was well brought up in her youth, excellently grounded 
 in liberal studies, and, bearing the clerical character, she was, from 
 her great reputation in the city, chosen pope. Stella, a Venetian 
 priest, (Vi tm. 230, Pont. Bom. papa 108, an. 852,) says she profited so 
 much in her studies by the masters she had at Athens, that when she 
 came to Rome there were very Jew equal to her in sacred literature, 
 and there, by giving lectures and dispensations, by teaching and preach- 
 ing, she acquired the love and good graces of everybody to that degree, 
 that on Leon s death, as many writers affirm, she was chosen by uni- 
 versal consent to succeed him as Pope, In Gio. Nanclero, chron. 
 Colonise 1579. Gen, 19, p. 719, we read, coming then to Rome she 
 gave public lectures, and had a great many celebrated men for her 
 
V. 
 
 scholars and hearers. And she obtained such approbation and ^edity 
 that on Leonas death she was created Pope in his place by universal 
 consent. 
 
 Nicknames given to those Greek emperors. 
 
 (*^) See Anastatiua in the life of Pope Leon IV. Annali di San 
 Bertin di Fulda e di Metz, Sigonio da Regno Italtce lib. v. 
 
 (*®) Sanctissimus Leo papa obdormivit in Domino. (Anast.) 
 
 C'®) Sigonio De Regno ItalicSy lib. v. i j i • 
 
 (») Feminay PetrCy tua quondam ausa sedere cathedra, Urbi 
 terrarum jura verenda dedit. Joh. Pannonius Ep. Quinqueccles. 
 
 («) Elle confera les saints ord res, fit pretres et diacres, ordonna 
 eveques et abbes, chanta messes, consacra temples et antels, admi- 
 nistra sacrcmens, prcsenta ses pieds pour etre baisos, et fit toutes les 
 autres choses que les papes de Rome sont accoutumes de mire, e 
 fut an siege par Tespace de deux ans. Du Haillan, Hist, de France, 
 edit. Paris, 157 Q, p. 279. _ , 
 
 («) Sabellico, la cronaca di Sassonia, Bochio all anno 855, Lard. 
 
 Baronio all’anno 855, num. 28. ^ . a 
 
 Mathew of Westminster, Rodolfo di Diceto, Brompton. and 
 Asserius, the author of the life of Alfred, son of Ethelwoif^, relate 
 this iourney and the tribute paid to St. Peter in the year 
 («) The chronicle of Nuremburg speaks of this donation, and also 
 St. Antonino. The act of donation was inserted in the collection ot 
 councils preserved by Ingulf, Wm. of Malmesbury, and Mathew of 
 
 Westminster. ^ ^ , 
 
 (») Du Haillan, Baleo, Centuriatore of Magdeburg, Grim, ana 
 
 others. 
 
 (») Lewis II., son of Lothario, succeeded his father as emperor, 
 and was consecrated by our best and greatest pontiff, John, me 
 same year the Pope, in the public street, and in a solemn procession 
 to the cathedral of St. John Lateran, being seized with labour pmns, 
 brought forth a child in the open air; she died immediately alter, 
 and it was known from this event that she was a woman and bad 
 Uved disguised as a man. Geo. Fabricii Chemnicensis, Rer. Mem. 
 
 an. 856. . 
 
 C^) Part ii., cans. xvi. 9. in. cap. Nemo. 
 
 (») Mezerai in hia Abrlgi Chronologtque p. 216., 
 the history of Pope Joan has been considered for five hundred years 
 
 as an undoubted fact. , 
 
 (») Amalarico, Boccaccio, Filippo da Bergamo, Teodorico di 
 
 Niem, De privilegiis et juribus imperii, 
 
 PART III. 
 
 The tradition is that this John was a woman, but known to be 
 so by one only of her suite, and that, being pregnant by bim, she 
 bore a child during her pontificate. Sigibert, Chron. ad. an, 854. 
 But afterwards having been familiar with one of her suite, she con- 
 cealed her pregnancy for a long time, until, as she was going to tne 
 Church of St. John Lateran, she was seized with labour pains between 
 the amphitheatre (called the Coliseum after the colossal statue of 
 Nero) and St. Clement’s Church, and gave birth to a child. Platina, 
 
J 
 
 vi. 
 
 vit, di Giov. viii, pont, 106. But afterwards having submitted to the 
 embraces of one of her household, she bore a child whilst she was pope. 
 Stella Sac. Ven. Vit. Pont. Rom. vap, 108 an. 852 and Fil, da Bergamo 
 Sup. Chron. lib. ix. an. 858. But during her pontificate she was 
 impregnated bj one of her household, and as she was going from 
 Bt. Peter’s to the Lateran, between St. Clement’s and the Coliseum, 
 she was taken in travail in the open streets. Gio. Naucleri Chron. 
 ColonicB 1579, Gen. 19, p. 713. 
 
 (^‘) See Revelations^ c, xvii.. v. 3. 
 
 Id.y c. xvii., V. 3. 
 
 (“) Id., c. xviii., V. 16, and c. xxi., v. 8. 
 
 1 A remission of her sins, and where she 
 
 died, there she was buried. Molleolo commonly caUed Hommerlain 
 JJe Jiobiliate et rusticitate, Dial. cap. xxxvii., fo. 99. 
 
 (“) Blanc and Liber Indulgentiarum Rom., No. 44, 80, 81. 
 printed in Rome, an. 1515. 
 
 (^) Sigibert, Schedel, Annales Fuldenses. 
 
 Petrarch. 
 
 ( ) And when on a certain day she had gone with the Roman 
 clergy on the solemn procession of Rogations, as was then usual, 
 eiug dressed out in the papal insignia and jewels, she produced a 
 son, begotten by one of her chamberlains. Theoderic de Niem, lib, 
 e privilegiis et juribus imperii. Rogations correspond with the 
 Koman sacrifices called Ambarvalia, which the Arvali brothers, 
 wno were priests, made to Ceres and Bacchus to implore a 
 iruitlul season, fertile crops, and an abundant harvest. Pro frugibus 
 ret divina causd hostiam cirea arva ducebant. Petiscus, lex. ant. 
 liom. voce Fratres et Ambarvale. 
 
 Terque novas circum felix eat hostia Jruges, 
 
 O/nms quam chorus, et socii comitentur ovantes, 
 
 Cererem clamore vocent in tecta ; neque ante 
 Falcem maturis quisquam supponat aristis 
 Quam Cereri, torta redimitus tempora quercu, 
 motus incompositos, et carmina dicat. 
 
 Virg. Georg, i. v. 345. 
 
 Feimna Joannes triplici procincta corona 
 Pro missa celebrat papa puerperium 
 / 4 o\ p Rom. Pont, vita et mores disticis descripti. 
 
 V. ) r^apa pater patrum peperit papissa papellum. 
 
 runsw. Tome iii, p. 265. John, the Englishman, was a 
 nw ^ and produced between the Coliseum and St. Clement’s 
 cliurcn. Comp. Chron. script. Brunsw. Tome ii., p. 63. But in the 
 T®® "“Pregnated by one of her household, and not 
 nn® ® ^ eone with child, and as she 
 
 wkh lateran, she bore one 
 
 between the Coliseum and St. Clement’s, and 
 
 f f£ o'air W Script. Brwuw. 
 
 St ‘‘®y*“g.go°e from the Vatican to the Basilica of 
 
 and 4 'haunting of Litanies, between the Coliseum 
 
 aSdthere^if’®^® "’“h labour pains, 
 
 and in f®‘ ’'“hout obstetrical assistance, she brought forth, 
 
 and m the same place, whether dead or not, she and her offspring 
 
vii. 
 
 were miserably interred. Stella^ Sac. Ven, Vit. Pont, Rom. pap, 
 108, an. 852. This woman became pregnant from the doings of a 
 cardinal, her chaplain, who, for a long time, had intercourse with 
 her, and as she was going in solemn procession to the Church of St, 
 John Lateran, she produced a child thus conceived in whoredom, 
 between the Coliseum and the church of St. Clement, and died on the 
 spot in childbirth, the year of Our Lord 859. Du Hailian, Histoire de 
 France. Edit. Paris, 1575. p. 279. But as God does not 
 always permit that the wicked and evil-doers should long 
 reign without tearing the mask from their faces, it so 
 happened that being big by her valet de chambre, going on a proces- 
 sion, she bore a child in the streets near the Coliseum of Rome, and 
 died on the spot, two years, one month, and four days after her elec- 
 tion. Claude Fauchet, AntiquiUs Ganloises, liv, ix., an. 854. 
 
 Lenfant, Histoire de la papesse Jeanne fidellement tireC* de 
 la dissertation Latine de M. de Spanheim, tome 1 ch. 1. 
 
 (^) A poet of the country of Virgil and the superior of the Car- 
 melites represents Joan hanged at the gate of hell with her para- 
 mour, so that the damned as they go in may behold them. 
 
 Hie pendebat adhuc sexum mentita virilem 
 Femina, cui triplici phrygiam diademaie mitram 
 Suspendebat apex, et pontijicalis adulter. 
 
 S. B. Mantuano, Alphonsus. T. iii., lib. iii., fo. 44, Edit, Franc, 1573. 
 
 (^) Fillippo da Bergamo de claris mulieribus, Blanc, De Niem, S. 
 Antonio, Nauclerus, Meffie, historiographer of Charles V. She died 
 in the second year and fourth day of her pontificate, and was buried 
 on the same spot without any funeral pomp.— P/afma, vit di 
 Giov. via. pont. 106. On account of her crime, and from having 
 given birth to a child in the street, she was deprived of all honours 
 customarily paid to popes, and interred without any papal pomp, 
 nor is she placed in the catalogue of popes. Du Haitian, Hist, de 
 France, Edit. Paris, 1576, p. 279. Afterwards becoming pregnant 
 by one of her confidential servants, and going from St, Peter’s to 
 St. John Lateran’s, she was suddenly seized with labour pains, and 
 although she had not gone her full time, she produced in the pre- 
 sence of the crowd between the Coliseum and St. Clement’s and died 
 in labour, and was privately buried. Cronica di Marco Guazzo, 
 Fen. 1553 p. 11. 
 
 (^) The horror at the time and the scandal was so great that a 
 female should have intruded herself into the chair of St. Peter, have 
 administered the sacraments, and have celebrated the mass pontifi- 
 cally, that Benedict IIL, her immediate successor, established the 
 usage and ceremony of a chair of white marble with a hole, placed 
 under the portico of the ftastVico of St, John Lateran s, where the 
 elected pope took possession in seating himself, and in the act of 
 receiving the pastoral crosses and the keys, the last cardinal 
 deacon felt under the pontifical robes to make sure of his sex, 
 and to be on their guard against another female pope. Et 
 ejusdem viiandi erroris causa, genitalia ab ultimo diacono attrectantur. 
 Platina, nelle vita di Giov. viii. pont. 106. And to avoid the like 
 mistake in future it was decreed that no one hereafter should 
 be placed on the holy chair of St. Peter, before he had 
 
J 
 
 viii. 
 
 been examined through a hole in the chair he sat in by the 
 last deacon cardinal. Stella^ sac. Venet. Vit. Pont. Rom. papa 
 108, an, 852. Filippo da Berg, Sup. Chron, lib. ix. an^ 858. The 
 cardinal deacon feels his shameful parts to be sure of his sex. 
 Claud Fauchet, Antiq. Gauloises, lib. ix, an. 854. 
 
 Post hac Roma diu simili sibi cavit ah astu^ 
 
 Pontijicum arcanos querere sueta sinus/ 
 
 Non poterat quisquam reserantes cethera claves 
 Non exploratis sumere testicolis. 
 
 Cur igitur nostro mos hie nunc tempore cessat^ r 
 
 Ante probat quod se quilibet esse marem. ' 
 
 Joa Pannonius, Epis. Quinq^c. Du Plessis Hist de la Papaute, 
 p. 164. They order the pontiff elect to sit on a chair with a hole in 
 it, that a person appointed for the purpose may feel his dangling 
 
 testicles, by which it may be clear that the pope is a man 
 
 Wherefore, that they may not bo taken in again, but may 
 have a clear assurance of the matter, they handle the elected 
 pope, and he who does it exclaims “ Odr Lord is a Male.” 
 Chalcocondila, de reb. Turc. 1. iv.y Parisy p. 160. This custom of 
 feeling the virile parts of the elected pope and of proclaiming with a 
 loud voice We have a male pope, prevailed until the xiv. century. 
 Urban VI. was installed with the same formalities according to the 
 rites of the Roman church. Luc d'Acheri, spicil. T. iv. Misc, Ep, 
 p. 306. Alexander VI. Borgia, although he had children, and 
 among them a daughter, named Lucretia, famous for being at the 
 same time both wife and (sposa e nuora) daughter-in-law (Lucretia 
 nomine, sed re Thais, Alexandri Jilia, sponsa, nurus), was neverthe- 
 less, like the other pontiffs, subjected to the same formality and 
 ceremony of the recognition of his virility. The words of Bernardino 
 Corio are, in his Hist. Mediol. fol. R. iv. et seq , where he elegantly 
 describes the solemnities of his taking possession of the papal throne 
 on August 26th, 1492, at the Vatican and St. John Lateran’s. The 
 customary solemnities having finally been complied with, and his iesti^ 
 cles having been dimesticamente felt, and the blessing having been 
 given, Alexander VI. returned to his palace, and entered on his ponti- 
 ficate as mild as a bull, to administer it like a lion. The same allu- 
 sion was made by the bishop Pannonio to Paul II., a handsome man, 
 who led an indolent life, and who was chosen in the year 1464. 
 
 Pontificis Pauli testes ne Roma requiras. 
 
 The poet Marullo, in a satirical epigram against Innocent VIIL, 
 whose family name was Cibo, a pontiff devoted to pleasnre, and 
 burthened with spurious children and bastards on whom he heaped 
 riches and titles, said that this pope had no occasion to be exposed 
 to give proofs of his manhood. 
 
 Quid quReis testes, sit mas an femina, Cibo? 
 
 Kespice natorum, pignora certa, gregem. 
 
 Consult, moreover, on this head Relazione del maestro di ceremonie 
 di Leone X. Paris Cassio sulW consecratione di detto papa, Sabellico 
 Enneadi, Tarcagnota Storia del mondo, Martino Franco, secretary of 
 Pope Felix V. Cerimoniale Romano, edit. Colonia 1557, made by 
 order of Gregory X. Cardinal Giacobazio in his life of Celestine V., 
 and Cardinal Pandolfo, who speaks of this in the consecration of 
 Honorius II., and Pasquale II. 
 

 (^) I find in the manner in which this historj is related, she does 
 more honour to the Roman See than it deserves. They tell us that 
 this female pope had studied successfully; that she was learned, clever, 
 eldquent; that her fine talents caused her to be admired at Rome. I 
 say that all this does great honour to the See of Rome. In the age 
 in which this female pope is placed, the title of bardache, or of lover 
 to some Roman lady, was the only kind of merit that led to the 
 pontificate. Jurieu, Hist du papismcy part Hi. ch. 2. 
 
 (^) John the XXIII. 
 
 Alexander VL 
 
 (^) John XIL _ , , 
 
 W) Pope Leo IV. died on the l^ends of August. To him suc- 
 ceeded Joan, a woman, and reigned two years, five months, and foi^ 
 days. Marianff^Scotaflib. fffr, ad an, 854. After this 
 
 Leo came John the Englishman, born at Mayence. and sat on the 
 throne two years, five months, and four days. Martin Folaccoxn^ 
 Chron. ad an, 855. 
 
 (®®) The notes above are understood. 
 
 oSSo