Gerald Fitzgerald: The Chevalier Part 54

When the baronet had ceased to laugh at the anecdote, Purcell resumed: 'And now for the application. It is always a good thing in life to be able to become _un beau vert_, even though the colour should not quite suit you. I say this, because for the present project I can augur no success. The world has lived wonderfully fast, Sir Capel, since you and I were boys. That same Revolution in France that has cut off so many heads, has left those that still remain on men's shoulders very much wiser than they used to be. Now n.o.body in Europe wants this family again; they have done their part; and they are as much bygones as chain-armour or a battle-axe.'

'The rightful and the legitimate are never bygone--never obsolete,' said the other resolutely.

'A'n't they, faith! The guillotine and the lantern are the answers to that. I do not mean to say it must be always this way. There may, though I see no signs of it, come a reaction yet; but for the present men have taken a practical turn, and they accept nothing, esteem nothing, employ nothing that is not practical. Mirabeau's last effort was to give this colour to the Bourbons, and _he_ failed. Do not tell me, then, that where Gabriel Riquetti broke down, a Jesuit father will succeed!'

The other shook his head in dissent, but without speaking.

'Remember, baronet, these convictions of mine are all opposed to my interest. I should be delighted to see your fairy palace made habitable, and valued for the munic.i.p.al taxes. Nothing could better please me than to behold your Excellency Master of the Horse except to see myself Chancellor of the Exchequer. But here we are, and a fine princely-looking pile it is!'

They both stopped suddenly, and gazed with wondering admiration at one n.o.ble facade of the palace right in front of them. A wide terrace of white marble, ornamented with groups or single figures in statuary, stretched the entire length of the building, beneath which a vast orangery extended, the trees loaded with fruit or blossom, gave but slight glimpses of the rockwork grottoes and quaint fountains within.

'This is not the Cardinal's property,' said Purcell. 'Nay, I know well what I am saying; this belongs, with the entire estate, down to San Remo, yonder, to the young Countess Ridolfi. Nay more, she is at this very moment in bargain with Caesare Piombino for the sale of it. Her price is five hundred thousand Roman scudi, which she means to invest in this bold scheme.'

'She, at least, has faith in a Stuart,' exclaimed the baronet eagerly.

'What would you have? The girl's in love with your Prince. She has paid seventy thousand piastres of Albizzi's debts that have hung around his neck these ten or twelve years back, all to win him over to the cause, just because his brother-in-law is Spanish Envoy here. She destined some eight thousand more as a present to Our Lady of Ravenna, who, it would seem, has a sort of taste for bold enterprises; but Ma.s.soni stopped her zeal, and suggested that instead of candles she should lay it out in muskets.'

'You scoff unseasonably, sir,' said the baronet, indignant at the tone he spoke in.

'Nor is that all,' continued Purcell, totally heedless of the rebuke; 'her very jewels, the famous Ridolfi gems, the rubies that once were among the show objects of Rome, are all packed up and ready to be sent to Venice, where a company of Jews have contracted to buy them. Is not this girl's devotion enough to put all your patriotism to the blush?'

A slight stir now moved the leaves of the orange-trees near where they were standing. The evening was perfectly still and calm: Purcell, however, did not notice this, but went on--

'And she is right. If there were a means of success, that means would be money. But it is growing late, and this, I take it, is the chief entrance. Let us present ourselves, if so be that we are to be honoured with an audience.'

Though the baronet had not failed to remark the sarcastic tone of this speech, he made no reply but slowly ascended the steps toward the terrace.

Already the night was closing in, and as the strangers reached the door they did not perceive that a figure had issued from the orangery beneath, and mounted the steps after them. This was the Chevalier, who usually pa.s.sed the last few moments of each day wandering among the orange-trees. He had thus, without intending it, heard more than was meant for his ears.

The travellers had but to appear to receive the most courteous reception from a household already prepared to do them honour. They were conducted to apartments specially made ready for them; and being told that the Countess hoped to have their company at nine o'clock, when she supped, were left to repose after their journey.

CHAPTER XX. A WAYWORN ADVENTURER

It was by this chance alone that Gerald knew of the sacrifices Guglia had made and was making for his cause. In all their intercourse, marked by so many traits of mutual confidence, nothing of this had transpired.

By the like accident, too, did he learn how some men, at least, spoke and thought of his fortunes; and what a world of speculation did these two facts suggest! They were as types of the two opposing forces that ever swayed him in life. Here, was the n.o.ble devotion that gave all; there, the cold distrust that believed nothing. Delightful as it had been for him to dwell on the steadfast attachment of Guglia Ridolfi, and think over the generous trustfulness of that n.o.ble nature, he could not turn his thoughts from what had fallen from Purcell; the ill-omened words rankled in his heart, and left no room for other reflections.

All that he had read of late, all the letters that were laid before him, were filled with the reiterated tales of Highland devotion and attachment. The most touching little episodes of his father's life were those in which this generous sentiment figured, and Gerald had by reading and re-reading them got to believe that this loyalty was but sleeping, and ready to be aroused to life and activity at the first flutter of a Stuart tartan on the hills, or the first wild strains of a pibroch in the gorse-clad valleys.

And yet Purcell said--he had heard him say--the world has no further need of this family; the pageant they moved in has pa.s.sed by for ever. The mere chance mention, too, of Mirabeau's name--that terrible intelligence which had subjugated Gerald's mind from very boyhood--imparted additional force to this judgment. 'Perhaps it is even as he says,' muttered Gerald; 'perhaps the old fire has died out on the altars, and men want us not any more.'

Whenever in history he had chanced upon the mention of men who, once great by family and pretension, had fallen into low esteem and humble fortunes, he always wondered why they had not broken with the old world and its traditions at once, and sought in some new and far-off quarter of the globe a life untrammelled by the past. 'Some would call this faint-heartedness; some would say that it is a craven part to turn from danger; but it is not the danger I turn from; it is not the peril that appalls me; it is the sting of that sarcasm that says, Who is he that comes on the pretext of a name, to trouble the world's peace, unfix men's minds and unhinge their loyalty? What does he bring us in exchange for this earthquake of opinion? Is he wiser, better, braver, more skilled in the arts of war or peace than those he would overthrow?'

As he waged conflict with these thoughts, came the summons to announce that the Countess was waiting supper for him.

'I cannot come to-night. I am ill--fatigued. Say that I am in want of rest, and have lain down upon my bed.' Such was the answer he gave, uttered in the broken, interrupted tone of one ill at ease with himself.

The Cardinal's physician was speedily at his door, to offer his services, but Gerald declined them abruptly and begged to be left alone.

At length a heavy step was heard in the corridor, and the Cardinal himself demanded admission.

In the hurried excuses that Gerald poured forth, the wily churchman quickly saw that the real cause of his absence was untouched.

'Come, Prince,' said he good-humouredly, 'tell me frankly, you are not satisfied with Guglia and myself for having permitted this man to come here; but I own that I yielded only to Ma.s.soni's earnest desire.'

'And why should Ma.s.soni have so insisted,' asked Gerald.

'For this good reason, that they are both devoted adherents of your house; men ready to hazard all for your cause.'

Gerald smiled superciliously, and the Cardinal seeing it, said--

'Nay, Prince, distrust was no feature of your race, and, from what the Pere Ma.s.soni says, these gentlemen do not deserve it.' He paused to let Gerald reply, but, as he did not speak, the Cardinal went on: 'The younger of the two, who speaks out his mind more freely, is a very zealous partisan of your cause. He has worn a miniature of your father next his heart since the memorable day at Preston, when he acted as aide-de-camp to his Royal Highness; and when he had shown it to us he kissed it with a devotion that none could dare to doubt.'

'This is he that is called Purcell,' asked Gerald.

'The same. He held the rank of colonel in the Scottish army, and was rewarded with a patent of n.o.bility, too, of which, however, he has not availed himself.'

Again there flashed across Gerald's mind the words he had overhead from the orangery, and the same cold smile again settled on his features, which the Cardinal noticed and said--

'If it were for nothing else than the close relation which once bound him to his Royal Highness, methinks you might have wished to see and speak with him.'

'And so I mean to do, sir; but not to-night.'

'Chevalier,' said the Cardinal resolutely, 'it is a time when followers must be conciliated, not repulsed; flattered instead of offended.

Reflect, then, I entreat you, ere you afford even a causeless impression of distance or estrangement. On Monday last, an old Highland chief, the lord of Barra, I think they called him, was refused admittance here, on the plea that it was a day reserved for affairs of importance. On Wednesday, the Count D'Arigny was told that you only received envoys, and not mere Charges d'Affaires; and even yesterday, I am informed, the Duc de Terracina was sent away because he was a few minutes behind the time specified for his audience. Now these are trifles, but they leave memories which are often disastrous.'

'If I _had_ to render an account of my actions, sir,' said Gerald haughtily, 'a humiliation which has not yet reached me--I might be able to give sufficient explanation for all you have just mentioned.'

'I did but speak of the policy of these things,' said the Cardinal, with an air of humility.

'It is for _me_ to regard them in another light,' said Gerald hastily.

He paused, and, after a few minutes, resumed in a voice whose accents were full and well weighed: 'When men have agreed together to support the cause of one they call a Pretender, they ever seem to me to make a sort of compromise with themselves, and insist that he who is to be a royalty to all others, invested with every right and due of majesty, must be to them a plaything and a toy; and then they gather around him with fears, and threats, and hopes, and flatteries--now menacing, now bribing--forgetting the while that if fortune should ever destine such a man to have a throne, they will have so corrupted and debased his nature, while waiting for it, that not one fitting quality, not one rightful trait would remain to him. If history has not taught me wrongly, even usurpers have shown more kingly conduct than restored monarchs.'

'What would you, Prince?' said the Cardinal sorrowfully. 'We must accept the world as we find it.'

'Say, rather, as we make it.'

The Cardinal rose to take his leave, but evidently wis.h.i.+ng that Gerald might say something to detain him. He was very reluctant to leave the young man to ponder in solitude such sentiments as he had avowed.

'Good-night, sir, good-night. Your Eminence will explain my absence, and say that I will receive these gentlemen tomorrow. What are the papers you hold in your hand--are they for _me_?'

'They are some mere routine matters, which your Royal Highness may look over at leisure--appointments to certain benefices, on which it has been the custom to take the pleasure of the Prince your father; but they are not pressing; another time will do equally well.'

There was an adroitness in this that showed how closely his Eminence had studied the Stuart nature, and marked that no flattery was ever so successful with that house as that which implied their readiness to sacrifice time, pleasure, inclination, even health itself to the cares and duties of station. To this blandishment they were never averse or inaccessible, and Gerald inherited the trait in all its strength.

'Let me see them, sir,' said Gerald, seating himself at the table, while he gave a deep sigh--fitting testimony of his sense of sacrifice.

'This is the nomination of John Decloraine Hackett to the see of Elphin; an excellent priest, and a sound politician. He has ever contrived to impress the world so powerfully with his religious devotion, that there are not twelve men in Europe know him to be the craftiest statesman of his time.'