CHAPTER XX. A WAYWORN ADVENTURER
It was by this chance alone that Gerald knew of the sacrifices Gugliahad made and was making for his cause. In all their intercourse, markedby so many traits of mutual confidence, nothing of this had transpired.By the like accident, too, did he learn how some men, at least, spokeand thought of his fortunes; and what a world of speculation did thesetwo facts suggest! They were as types of the two opposing forces thatever swayed him in life. Here, was the noble devotion that gave all;there, the cold distrust that believed nothing. Delightful as it hadbeen for him to dwell on the steadfast attachment of Guglia Ridolfi, andthink over the generous trustfulness of that noble nature, he couldnot turn his thoughts from what had fallen from Purcell; the ill-omenedwords rankled in his heart, and left no room for other reflections.
All that he had read of late, all the letters that were laid beforehim, were filled with the reiterated tales of Highland devotion andattachment. The most touching little episodes of his father's lifewere those in which this generous sentiment figured, and Gerald had byreading and re-reading them got to believe that this loyalty was butsleeping, and ready to be aroused to life and activity at the firstflutter of a Stuart tartan on the hills, or the first wild strains of apibroch in the gorse-clad valleys.
And yet Purcell said--he had heard him say--the world has no furtherneed of this family; the pageant they moved in has passed by forever. The mere chance mention, too, of Mirabeau's name--thatterrible intelligence which had subjugated Gerald's mind from veryboyhood--imparted additional force to this judgment. 'Perhaps it is evenas he says,' muttered Gerald; 'perhaps the old fire has died out on thealtars, and men want us not any more.'
Whenever in history he had chanced upon the mention of men who, oncegreat by family and pretension, had fallen into low esteem and humblefortunes, he always wondered why they had not broken with the old worldand its traditions at once, and sought in some new and far-off quarterof the globe a life untrammelled by the past. 'Some would call thisfaint-heartedness; some would say that it is a craven part to turn fromdanger; but it is not the danger I turn from; it is not the peril thatappalls me; it is the sting of that sarcasm that says, Who is he thatcomes on the pretext of a name, to trouble the world's peace, unfixmen's minds and unhinge their loyalty? What does he bring us in exchangefor this earthquake of opinion? Is he wiser, better, braver, moreskilled in the arts of war or peace than those he would overthrow?'
As he waged conflict with these thoughts, came the summons to announcethat the Countess was waiting supper for him.
'I cannot come to-night. I am ill--fatigued. Say that I am in want ofrest, 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 hisservices, but Gerald declined them abruptly and begged to be left alone.At length a heavy step was heard in the corridor, and the Cardinalhimself demanded admission.
In the hurried excuses that Gerald poured forth, the wily churchmanquickly saw that the real cause of his absence was untouched.
'Come, Prince,' said he good-humouredly, 'tell me frankly, you are notsatisfied with Guglia and myself for having permitted this man to comehere; but I own that I yielded only to Massoni's earnest desire.'
'And why should Massoni have so insisted,' asked Gerald.
'For this good reason, that they are both devoted adherents of yourhouse; 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 thePere Massoni says, these gentlemen do not deserve it.' He paused tolet Gerald reply, but, as he did not speak, the Cardinal went on: 'Theyounger of the two, who speaks out his mind more freely, is a veryzealous partisan of your cause. He has worn a miniature of your fathernext his heart since the memorable day at Preston, when he acted asaide-de-camp to his Royal Highness; and when he had shown it to us hekissed 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 wasrewarded with a patent of nobility, too, of which, however, he has notavailed himself.'
Again there flashed across Gerald's mind the words he had overhead fromthe 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 boundhim to his Royal Highness, methinks you might have wished to see andspeak with him.'
'And so I mean to do, sir; but not to-night.'
'Chevalier,' said the Cardinal resolutely, 'it is a time when followersmust be conciliated, not repulsed; flattered instead of offended.Reflect, then, I entreat you, ere you afford even a causeless impressionof distance or estrangement. On Monday last, an old Highland chief, thelord of Barra, I think they called him, was refused admittance here,on the plea that it was a day reserved for affairs of importance. OnWednesday, the Count D'Arigny was told that you only received envoys,and not mere Charges d'Affaires; and even yesterday, I am informed, theDuc de Terracina was sent away because he was a few minutes behind thetime specified for his audience. Now these are trifles, but they leavememories which are often disastrous.'
'If I _had_ to render an account of my actions, sir,' said Geraldhaughtily, 'a humiliation which has not yet reached me--I might be ableto give sufficient explanation for all you have just mentioned.'
'I did but speak of the policy of these things,' said the Cardinal, withan 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 accentswere full and well weighed: 'When men have agreed together to supportthe cause of one they call a Pretender, they ever seem to me to make asort of compromise with themselves, and insist that he who is to be aroyalty 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 himwith fears, and threats, and hopes, and flatteries--now menacing, nowbribing--forgetting the while that if fortune should ever destine sucha man to have a throne, they will have so corrupted and debased hisnature, while waiting for it, that not one fitting quality, not onerightful trait would remain to him. If history has not taught mewrongly, even usurpers have shown more kingly conduct than restoredmonarchs.'
'What would you, Prince?' said the Cardinal sorrowfully. 'We must acceptthe world as we find it.'
'Say, rather, as we make it.'
The Cardinal rose to take his leave, but evidently wishing that Geraldmight say something to detain him. He was very reluctant to leave theyoung man to ponder in solitude such sentiments as he had avowed.
'Good-night, sir, good-night. Your Eminence will explain my absence, andsay that I will receive these gentlemen tomorrow. What are the papersyou hold in your hand--are they for _me_?'
'They are some mere routine matters, which your Royal Highness may lookover at leisure--appointments to certain benefices, on which it has beenthe custom to take the pleasure of the Prince your father; but they arenot pressing; another time will do equally well.'
There was an adroitness in this that showed how closely his Eminencehad studied the Stuart nature, and marked that no flattery was everso successful with that house as that which implied their readiness tosacrifice time, pleasure, inclination, even health itself to the caresand duties of station. To this blandishment they were never averse orinaccessible, and Gerald inherited the trait in all its strength.
'Let me see them, sir,' said Gerald, seating himself at the table, whilehe 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 toimpress the world so powerfully with his religious devotion, that thereare not twelve men in Europe know him to be the craf
tiest statesman ofhis time.'
'It is, then, a good appointment,' said Gerald, taking the pen. 'Butwhat is this? The Cardinal York has already signed this.'
In Caraffa's eagerness to play out his game he had forgotten this fact,and that the Irish bishops had always been submitted to the approval ofhis Royal Highness.
'I say, sir,' reiterated Gerald, 'here is the signature of my uncle.What means this, or who really is it that makes these appointments?'
The Cardinal began with a sort of mumbled apology about a dividedauthority and an ecclesiastical function; but Gerald stopped himabruptly--
'If we are to play this farce out, let our parts be assigned us; and letnone assume that which is not his own. Take my word for it, Cardinal,that if the day comes when the English will carry me to the scaffold,at Smithfield or Tyburn, or wherever it be, you will not find any one soready to be my substitute. There, sir, take your papers, and henceforthlet there be no more mockeries of office. I will myself speak of this tomy uncle.'
The Cardinal bowed submissively and moved toward the door.
'You will receive these gentlemen to-morrow?' said he interrogatively.
'To-morrow,' said Gerald, as he turned away.
The Cardinal bowed deeply, and retired. Scarcely, however, had hisfootsteps died out of hearing, when Gerald rang for his valet, andsaid--
'When these visitors retire for the night, follow the Signor Purcell tohis room, and desire him to come here to me; do it secretly, and so thatnone may remark you.'
The valet bowed, and Gerald was once more alone.
It was near midnight when the door again opened, and Mr. Purcell wasintroduced. Making a low and deep obeisance, but without any otherdemonstration of deference for Gerald's rank, he stood patientlyawaiting to be addressed.
'We have met before, sir,' said Gerald, flushing deeply.
'So I perceive, sir,' was the quiet reply given with all the ease of onenot easily abashed, 'and the last time was at a pleasant supper-table,of which we are the only survivors.'
'Indeed!' sighed Gerald sadly, and with some astonishment.
'Yes, sir; the "Mountain" devoured the Girondists, and the reactiondevoured the "Mountain." If the present people have not sent the_reactionnaires_ to the guillotine, it is because they prefer to makesoldiers of them.'
'And how did you escape the perils of the time?' asked Gerald eagerly.
'Like Monsieur de Talleyrand sir, I always treated the party in disgraceas if their misfortune were but a passing shadow, and that the day oftheir triumph was assured. For even this much of consideration men inadversity are grateful.'
'How heartily you must despise humanity!' burst out Gerald, more struckby the cold cynicism of the other's look than even by his words.
'Not so,' replied he, in a half careless tone; 'Jean Jacques expectedtoo much; Diderot thought too little of men. The truth lies midway, andthey are neither as good nor as bad as we deem them.'
'And now, what is your pursuit? what career do you follow?' asked Geraldabruptly.
'I have none, sir; the attraction that binds the ruined gambler to sitat the table and watch the game at which others are staking heavily,ties me to any enterprise wherein men are willing to risk much. I haveseen so much high play in life, I cannot stand by petty ventures. Theytold me at Venice of the plot that was maturing here, and I agreed withold Sir Capel Crosbie to come over and hear about it.'
'You little suspected, perhaps, who was the hero of the adventure?' saidGerald half doubtingly.
'Nay, sir, I saw your picture, and recognised you at once.
'I never knew there had been a portrait of me!' cried Gerald, inastonishment.
'It was taken, I fancy, during your illness; but the resemblance isstill complete, and recalls to those who knew the Prince, your father,every trait and lineament of his face.'
'You yourself knew him?' said Gerald feelingly.
A deep, cold bow was the only acknowledgment of this question.
'They told me you were one of his trusted and truest friends?'
'We wore each other's miniature for many a year; our happiness was totalk of what might have chanced to be our destiny had he won back thethrone that was his right, and I succeeded to what my father's goldshould have purchased. I see I am alluding to what you never heard of.You see before you one who might have been a King of Poland.'
Gerald stared in half-credulous astonishment, and the other went on--
'You have heard of the Mississippi scheme, and of Law, its founder?'
'Yes.'
'My grandfather was Law's friend and confidant. By their united talentsand zeal the great plot was first conceived and matured. Law was atfirst but an indifferent French scholar, and even a worse courtier. Mygrandfather was an adept in both, and knew, besides, the Duke of Orleanswell. They were as much companions as the distance of their stationscould make them; and by my grandfather's influence the Duke was inducedto listen to the scheme. On what mere accident the great events of lifedepend! It was a party of quinze decided the fate of Europe. The Dukelost a hundred and seventy thousand livres to my grandfather, and couldnot pay him. While he was making excuses for the delay, my grandfatherthought of Law, and said--"Let me present to your Royal Highnessto-morrow morning a clever friend of mine, and it will never be yourfortune again to own that you have not money to any extent at yourdisposal." Law appeared at the Duke's levee the next morning. It is notnecessary to tell the rest, only that among the deepest gamblers in thatmemorable scheme, and the largest winners, my grandfather held the firstplace. Such was the splendour of his retinue one day at Versailles thatthe rumour ran it was some sovereign of Southern Europe had suddenlyarrived at Paris, and the troops turned out to render royal honours tohim. When the Duke heard the story he laughed heartily, and said, "Ehbien, c'est un Gage du succes "--a _mot_ upon our family name, which wasGage, my uncle being afterward a viscount by that title.
'Within a very short time after that incident--which, some say, had socaptivated my grandfather's ambition that he became feverish and restlessfor greatness--he offered three millions sterling for the crown ofPoland. You may remember Pope's allusion to it:
"The Crown of Poland, venal twice an age, To just three millions stinted modest Gage."
'The contract was broken off by my grandfather's refusal to marry acertain Countess Boratynski, a natural daughter of the king. He thenmade a bidding for the throne of Sardinia; but, while the negotiationwas yet pending, the great edifice of Law began to tremble; and withinthree short weeks my grandfather, from the owner of six millionssterling, was reduced to actual beggary.
'He attained a more lasting prosperity later on, and died a grandee ofSpain of the first class, having highly distinguished himself in counciland the field.
'It is not in any vaingloriousness, sir, I have related this story. Ofall the greatness that once adorned my house, these threadbare clothesare sorry relics. We were talking of life's reverses, however, andprobably my case is not without its moral.'
Gerald sat silently gazing with a sort of admiration at one who couldwith such seeming calm discuss the most calamitous accident of fortune.
'How thoroughly you must know the world!' exclaimed he at last.
'Ay, sir; in the popular acceptation of the phrase I _do_ know it.Plenty of good and plenty of bad is there in it, and so mingled andblended that there is nothing rarer in life than to find any natureeither all lovable or all detestable. There are dark stains in thefairest marble, so are there in natures the world deems utterly depravedtouches of human sentiment whose tenderness no poet ever dreamed of. Andif I were to give you a lesson, it would be--never be over-sanguine, butnever despair of humanity!'
'As you drew nigh the villa this evening,' said Gerald slowly, and withall the deliberation of one approaching a theme of interest, 'I chancedto be in the orangery beneath the terrace. You were speaking to yourcompanion in confidence, and I heard you say what augured but badly forthe success of my cause. Your words made so d
eep an impression on methat I have asked to see and speak with you. Tell me, therefore, in allfrankness, what you know, and in equal candour what you think about thisenterprise.'
'What claim have I upon your forbearance if I say what may beungracious? How shall I hope to be forgiven if I tell you what is notpleasant to hear?'
'The word of one who is well weary of delusions shall be yourguarantee.'
'I accept the pledge.'
He walked three or four times up and down the room, to all seeming indeep deliberation with himself, and then facing full round in front ofGerald, said--
'You were educated at the convent of the Jesuits--are you a member ofthe order?'
'No.'
'Have they made no advances to you to become such?'
'None.'
'It is as I suspected,' muttered he to himself; then added aloud: 'Theymean to employ _you_ as the French king did your father. You are to bethe menace in times of trouble, and the sacrifice in the day of termsand accommodations. Be neither!'
With this he waved his hand in farewell, and hastily left the room.
Gerald Fitzgerald, the Chevalier: A Novel Page 45