Our blessed Pius IX had a tender sympathy for poor debtors, and often came to their assistance. He was constantly in money difficulties himself—as generous people so often are—during the earlier part of his career. When he became Archbishop of Spoleto he had to borrow a goodly sum, on his brother’s security, from a Roman money-lender, to defray the expenses of his installation, and he was so recklessly charitable that again and again there was not wherewithal to buy food. His old housekeeper at Spoleto used to weep over the bare shelves of her larder—everybody was fed, she declared, except her master and his household! It was hoped that things would be better when he moved to Imola, where the Episcopal revenue was double that of Spoleto, but the master’s ways were hopeless, and he only laughed when his people remonstrated with him. There came a day at Imola when the distracted steward, ready to tear his hair, exclaimed, “Eminenza, there was a hundred dollars in the treasury this morning, and _it is all gone_! I have not a cent for the _spese_” (the current expenses); “what shall we do?” The Cardinal reminded him that the Good God had promised daily bread to his children. “That is true, Eminenza,” said the poor man, “but—I am in terrible difficulty, all the same!” “Well,” said his master, “to-morrow is a fast day. I know you have some cheese in the house. Serve that for dinner.” “But the next day, Eminenza?” “Oh, I will take care to leave enough for the next day!” was the Cardinal’s reply. On another occasion he was about to entertain a distinguished party at dinner. The gentlemen were already gathered in the drawing-room when their host was informed that a man wished to speak with him on urgent business. He excused himself, and came into the dining-room, where he found one of his parishioners in frantic distress. He wanted a loan to save him from immediate bankruptcy. “I have not a single dollar in my possession, my poor friend,” said the Cardinal, “but——” he glanced round the room, where all his best plate was laid out in preparation for the coming feast, and pounced on a great gold soup-tureen, a cherished gift from his mother. “Take this,” he said, putting it into the man’s hands, “it will pay your debts.” With sublime carelessness he returned to his guests, and they and he soon began to wonder why dinner was not served. A long time passed, and then the steward, pale as death and with tears in his eyes, came and informed him that somebody had stolen the gold soup-tureen! He had looked everywhere, searched the servants’ rooms—the household was in an uproar—but the tureen was gone! “Oh, is that all?” he laughed. “I stole it myself! Get the old china one and let us eat.” CHAPTER VII CAPTIVITY OF POPE PIUS VII