After sailing on the sea for six days on a sailing ship, Jerome Bonaparte could no longer endure the damp, moldy, and fishy-smelling environment in the cabin. He closed his book and left the room.
Proceeding along the corridor of the ship’s cabin until he reached the end, the staircase connecting the cabin and the deck appeared at the right side of the corridor’s end.
Jerome Bonaparte, holding a hardcover book under his left arm, ascended the stairs to the deck, gripping the wooden railing.
On the deck, the captain in charge of directing and dispatching the crew saw the "financial backer" Jerome Bonaparte and hurriedly ran over to greet him warmly: "Honored guest, is there anything you need?"
"Captain!" Enjoying the sea breeze on his face and listening to the rhythmic "splashing" of waves hitting the right side of the ship, Jerome Bonaparte shed the cabin’s long-standing gloom, and felt exhilarated: "May I ask when we will arrive at Civitavecchia Port? I am eager to experience the charm of Ancient Rome!"
He finished with a roguish grin, softly whistling as he added: "And of course, the tenderness of Roman women!"
Alas! Another wanton noble!
The captain looked at the debonair demeanor of Jerome Bonaparte in front of him with seven parts envy mixed with three parts jealousy, showing a regretful expression on his face as he said: "Guest, you should have gone to Rome two months ago! Rome isn’t as fun now!"
"Hmm?" Jerome Bonaparte asked puzzled: "Why do you say that?"
"The liveliest time in Rome is on February 22 every year! The Rome Carnival begins on that day, and only then can you see the passion of Rome!" The captain swallowed and showed a vulgar smile on his face, saying: "Whenever the Rome Carnival starts, the residents of Rome walk the streets and alleys wearing masks! Melancholic young men and women, and eager noblewomen all become active at that time, and someone like you will surely receive warm attention."
The captain’s flattery did not bring joy to Jerome Bonaparte; rather, it added to his confusion.
"Hmm? Hasn’t the war on the Apennine Peninsula already started? How do they still have the mood for a carnival?" Jerome Bonaparte asked inquisitively.
"Guest!" The captain explained: "The progress of the war has nothing to do with Rome! Everyone who comes to Rome must follow Rome’s rules! Because His Holiness the Pope is in Rome!"
The captain’s matter-of-fact expression made Jerome Bonaparte realize once again the "power" of the Holy See.
The 18th and 19th centuries were the last glorious moments of the Holy See’s secular influence. The Pope, holding dual authority in the religious and secular worlds, had more prestige in the Central Italy region than Napoleon did in France at his height, let alone the devout followers outside the Pope State who yearned to personally visit the Holy Land to hear His teachings.
"However, the Rome of today..." The captain hesitated for a moment, rearranging his words: "Seems even more fanatical than before! But, I think, with His Holiness the Pope’s prestige, there shouldn’t be too much of an issue!"
As he said this, the captain’s confidence evidently waned, as the enthusiasm for revolution seemed to have begun conflicting with the Pope’s authority.
"Honored Captain, I do not want to know what Rome will become like, what I want to know now is how long it will take us to reach Civitavecchia Port!" Jerome Bonaparte inquired again.
"Guest, we have already passed through the Gibraltar Strait! We are now in the Mediterranean region! We expect to reach Civitavecchia by tomorrow! I hope you don’t worry!" the captain replied promptly.
"That’s good!" Jerome Bonaparte nodded slightly, moved to the bow of the deck, and sat down to continue reading the book he hadn’t finished.
The captain, too, continued issuing tasks to the crew.
As dusk fell, Jerome Bonaparte gazed back at the sunset about to dip below the horizon from the ship’s stern, he rose and sighed; he would have to return to that fish-smelling cabin again.
Even though his heart was filled with reluctance, Jerome Bonaparte still slowly moved his body step by step from the deck stairs back to his room.
Not long after, a sailor knocked on Jerome Bonaparte’s door, delivered a small portion of seasoned salted pork knuckle, a few slightly darkened slices of bread, and an orange on a tray into Jerome Bonaparte’s hands.
This was Jerome Bonaparte’s dinner.
"Enjoy your meal, sir!" the sailor respectfully shut the door and left.
With the aid of the flickering and swinging kerosene lamp overhead, Jerome Bonaparte consumed his last supper on the bed.
Chewing the hard-to-swallow salted pork jerky, Jerome Bonaparte silently vowed: from now on, he would personally prepare his food before boarding any ship!
After hastily finishing his dinner, Jerome Bonaparte once again perused his book, and it wasn’t until the lamp oil ran out in the kerosene lamp that Jerome Bonaparte finally closed his eyes to rest.
At dawn the next day, the sailing ship finally reached within three or four leagues of Civitavecchia Port, and as the ship approached, the wind gradually diminished, forcing the sailboat to move slowly.
At 9 am, the sailing ship anchored at the outskirts of Civitavecchia Port.
At half past nine, Captain Letty woke Jerome Bonaparte from his dream, and the two stepped onto the deck, where, under a sailor’s guidance, Jerome Bonaparte and Captain Letty boarded a small boat and reached the land of Civitavecchia Port.
At the moment Jerome Bonaparte’s feet touched the land of the Pope State, a surge of heroic spirit welled up inside him, and he clenched his fist, shouting in his heart: "Pope State, here I come!"
However, Jerome’s journey was far from over, as he needed to reach Rome. As the war was confined to Northern Italy, the Pope State still maintained a complete post station system, so Jerome Bonaparte and Captain Letty rented a carriage to head to Rome.
Perhaps due to the influence of the Apennine unrest, the previously bustling post road was now occupied by only a few carriages. The carriage carrying the fourth-generation leader of the Bonaparte Clan sped down the wide post road, covering the nearly 70 kilometers from Civitavecchia to Rome in less than six hours, reaching the outskirts of Rome.
Seeing the hills slowly emerging from the horizon and the magnificent buildings sitting atop them, a joyful smile appeared on Jerome’s face.
"Your Highness, should we perhaps find a place to stay now?" Captain Letty inquired of Jerome Bonaparte.
"Of course!" Jerome Bonaparte replied without hesitation.