Within less than half an hour after his arrival at home, Massini
received an order from the Cardinal to repair to the palace. It was
a verbal message, and couched in terms to make the communication seem
scarcely important.
Massoni smiled as he prepared to obey; it amused him to think, that in a
game of craft and subtlety his Eminence should dare to confront him, and
yet this was evidently his policy.
The Cardinal’s carriage stood ready horsed in the courtyard as the Père
passed through, and a certain air of impatience in the servants showed
that the time of departure had been inconveniently delayed.
‘That thunder-storm will break over us before we are half way across the
Campagna,’ cried one.
‘We were ordered for one, and it is now past three, and though the
horses were taken from their feed to get in readiness, here we are
still.’
‘And all because a Jesuit is at his devotions!’
The look of haughty rebuke Massoni turned upon them as he caught these
words, made them shrink back abashed and terrified; and none knew when
nor in what shape might come the punishment for this insolence.
‘You have forgotten an appointment, Père Massoni,’ said the Cardinal as
the other entered his chamber, with a deep and respectful reverence, ‘an
appointment too, of your own making. There is an opinion abroad, that we
Cardinals are men of leisure, whose idle hours are at the discretion of
all; I had hoped, that to this novel theory the Père Massoni would not
have been a convert.’
‘Nor am I, your Eminence. It would ill become one who wears such a frock
as this to deny the rights of discipline and the benefits of obedience.’
‘But you are late, sir?’
‘If I am so, your Eminence will pardon me when I give the reason. The
entire of last night was passed by me in watching for the arrival of a
certain youth, who did not come till nigh daybreak, and even then, so
ill, so worn out and exhausted, that I have been in constant care of him
ever since.’
‘And he is come--he is actually here,’ cried the Cardinal eagerly.
‘He is, at this moment, in the college.’
‘How have you been able to authenticate his identity,--the rumour goes
that he died years ago?’
‘It is a somewhat entangled skein, your Eminence, but will stand the
test of unravelment. Intervals there are, indeed, in his story, unfilled
up; lapses of time, in which I am left to mere conjecture, but his
career is traceable throughout; and I can track him from the days in
which he stood an acolyte beside our altars to the hour we now talk in.’
‘It is to your sanguine hopes you have been listening rather than cold
reason, Père.’
‘Look at me, Eminence--scan me well, and say, do I look like those who
are slaves to their own enthusiasm?’
‘The strongest currents are often calm on the surface.’
The Père sighed heavily, but did not answer.
‘The youth himself, too, may have aided the delusion: he is, probably,
one well suited to inspire interest: in a varied and adventurous life,
men of this stamp acquire, amid their other worldly gifts, a marvellous
power of persuasiveness.’
The Père smiled half sadly.
‘You would tell me, by that smile, Père Massoni, that you are not to be
the victim of such seductions; that you understand mankind in a spirit
that excludes such error.’
‘Far be it from me to indulge such boastfulness,’ said the other meekly.
‘At all events,’ said the Cardinal, half peevishly, ‘he who has courage
and ambition enough to play this game is, doubtless, a fellow of
infinite resource and readiness, and will have, at least, plausibility
on his side.’
‘Would that it were so!’ exclaimed Massoni eagerly.
‘What do you mean by that?’
‘Would that he were one who could boldly assert his own proud cause,
and vindicate his own high claims; would that he had come through the
terrible years of his suffering life with a spirit hardened by trials,
and a courage matured by exercise; would, above all, that he had not
come from the conflict broken in health, shattered and down-stricken!
Ay, sir, this youth of bold pretensions, of winning manners, and
persuasive gifts is a poor fellow so stunned by calamity as to be
helpless!’
‘Is he dying?’ cried the Cardinal with intense anxiety.
‘It were as well to die as live what he now is!’ said the Père solemnly.
‘Have the doctors seen him?--has Fabrichette been with him?’
‘No, sir. It is no case for their assistance, my own poor skill can
teach me so much. His is the malady of the wounded spirit and the
injured mind.’
‘Is his reason affected?’ asked Caraffa quickly.
‘I trust not; but it is a case where time and care can be the only
physicians.’
‘And so, therefore, falls to the ground the grand edifice you have so
long been rearing. The great foundation itself is rotten.’
‘He may recover, sir,’ said Massoni slowly.
‘To what end, I ask you, to what end?’
‘At least to claim a princely heritage,’ said Massoni boldly.
‘Who says so?--of what heritage do you speak? You are surely too wise to
put faith in the idle stories men repeat of this or that legacy left by
the late Prince.’
‘I know enough, sir, to be sure that I speak on good authority; and I
repeat that when this youth can prove his descent, he is the rightful
heir to a royal fortune. It may be, that he will have higher and nobler
ambitions: he may feel that a great cause is ever worthy a great effort;
that the son of a prince cannot accept life on the same humble terms as
other men. In short, sir, it may chance that the dream of a poor Jesuit
father should become a grand reality.’
‘If all be but as real as the heritage, Massoni,’ said the Cardinal
scoffingly, ‘you called it by its true name, when you said “dream.”’
‘Have you, then, not heard of this legacy?’
‘Heard of it! Yes: all Rome heard of it; and, for that matter, his Royal
Highness may have left him St. James’s and the royal forest of Windsor.’
‘Your Eminence, then, doubts that there was anything to bequeath?’
‘There is no need to canvass what I _doubt_. I ‘ll tell you what I
_know_. The rent of the Altieri for the last two years is still unpaid;
the servants at Albano have not received their wages, and the royal
plate is at this moment pledged in the hands of the Jew Alcaico.’
The Père was silent. The sole effect these stunning tidings had on him
was to speculate to what end and with what object the Cardinal said all
this. It was not the language he had used a short hour ago with Kelly.
Whence, therefore, this change of tone? Why did he now disparage the
prospects he had then upheld so highly? These were questions not easily
solved in a moment, and Massoni pondered them deeply. The Cardinal
had begun with hinting doubts of the youth’s identity, and then he had
scoffed at the prospect of his inheritance. Was it that by these he
meant to discourage the scheme of which he should have been the head, or
was it that some deeper and more subtle plan occupied his mind? And if
so, what could it be?
‘I see how I have grieved and disappointed you, Père Massoni,’ said
his Eminence, ‘and I regret it. Life is little else than a tale of such
reverses.’
The Jesuit’s dark eyes glanced forth a gleam of intense intelligence.
It was the light of a sudden thought that flashed across his brain. He
remembered that when the Cardinal moralised he meant a treachery, and
now he stood on his guard.
‘I had many things to tell your Eminence of Ireland,’ he began in a
calm, subdued voice. ‘The priest Carrol has just come from thence, and
can speak of events as he has witnessed them. The hatred to England
and English rule increases every day, and the great peril is that this
animosity may burst forth without guidance or direction. The utmost
efforts of the leaders are required to hold the people back.’
‘They never can wish for a fitter moment. England has her hands full,
and can scarcely spare a man to repress rebellion in Ireland.’
‘The Irish have not any organisation among them. Remember, your
Eminence, that they have been held like a people in slavery: the gentry
discredited, the priests insulted. The first efforts of such a race
cannot have the force of union or combination. They must needs be
desultory and partisan, and if they cannot obtain aid from others, they
will speedily be repressed.’
‘What sort of aid?’
‘Arms and money; they have neither. Of men there is no want. Men of
military knowledge and skill will also be required; but more even than
these, they need the force that foreign sympathy would impart to their
cause. Carrol, who knows the country well, says that the bare assurance
that Rome looked on the coming struggle with interest would be better
than ten thousand soldiers in their ranks. Divided, as they are, by
seas from all the world, they need the encouragement of this sympathy to
assure them of success.’
‘They are brave, are they not?’
‘Their courage has never been surpassed.’
‘And true and faithful to each other?’ ‘A fidelity that cannot be
shaken.’
‘Have they no jealousies or petty rivalries to divide them?’
‘None--or next to none. The deadly hatred to the Saxon buries all
discords between them.’
‘What want they more than this, then, to achieve independence? Surely no
army that England can spare could meet a people thus united?’
‘The struggle is far from an equal one between a regular force and a
mere multitude. But let us suppose that they should conquer: who is to
say to what end the success may be directed? There are fatal examples
abroad. Is it to establish the infidelity of France men should thus
sell their lives? Is it standing here as we do now, in the city and
stronghold of the Church, that we can calmly contemplate a conflict that
may end in worse than a heresy?’
‘There cannot be worse than some heresies,’ broke in the Cardinal.
‘Be it so; but here might be the cradle of many. The sympathy long
entertained toward France would flood the land with all her doctrines;
and this island, where the banner of faith should be unfurled, may
become a fastness of the infidel.’
‘_Magna est Veritas et prevalebit?_ exclaimed the Cardinal
sententiously.
‘Anything will “prevail” if you have grape and canister to enforce it.
Falsehood as well as truth only needs force to make it victorious.’
‘For a while--for a short while--holy father.’
‘What is human life but a short while? But to our theme. Are we to aid
these men or not? It is for our flag they are fighting now. Shall we
suffer them to transfer their allegiance?’
‘The storm is about to break, your Eminence,’ said the Cardinal’s
major-domo, as he presented himself suddenly. ‘Shall I order the
carriages back to the stables?’
‘No; I am ready. I shall set out at once. You shall hear from me
to-morrow or next day, Massoni,’ said he, in a low whisper; ‘or, better
still, if you could come out to Albano to see me.’
The Père bowed deeply without speaking.
‘These are not matters to be disposed of in a day or an hour; we must
have time.’
The Père bowed again and withdrew. As he turned his steps homeward his
thoughts had but one subject. ‘What was the game his Eminence was bent
on? What scheme was he then revolving in his mind?’
Once more beside the sick-bed of young Gerald, all Massoni’s fears for
the future came back. What stuff was there in that poor, broken-spirited
youth, whose meaningless stare now met him, of which to make the leader
in a perilous enterprise? Every look, every gesture, but indicated a
temperament soft, gentle, and compliant; and if by chance he uttered a
stray word, it was spoken timidly and distrustfully, like one who feared
to give trouble. Never did there seem a case where the material was less
suited for the purpose for which it was meant; and the Père gazed
down at him as he lay in deep and utter despondency. In the immense
difficulty of the case all its interest reposed; and he felt what a
triumph it would be could he only resuscitate that dying youth, and make
him the head of a great achievement. It was a task that might try all
his resources, and he resolved to attempt it.
We will not weary our reader with the uneventful story of that recovery:
the progress so painfully slow that its steps were imperceptible, and
the change which gradually converted the state of fatuity to one
of speculation, and finally brought the youth out of sickness and
suffering, and made him--weak and delicate, of course--able to feel
enjoyment in life and eager for its pleasures. If Gerald could never
fathom the mystery of all the care bestowed upon him, nor guess why he
was thus tended and watched, as little could the Père Massoni comprehend
the strange features of that intellect which each day’s experience
continued to reveal to him. Through all the womanly tenderness of
his character there ran a vein of romantic aspiration, undirected and
unguided, it is true, but which gave promise of an ambitious spirit.
That some great enterprise had been the dream of his early youth--some
adventurous career--seemed a fixed notion with himself; and why, and
how, and wherefore its accomplishment had been interrupted, was the
difficulty that often occupied his thoughts for hours. In his vain
endeavours to trace back events, snatches of his early life would rise
to his memory: his sick-bed at the Tana; his wanderings in the Maremma;
the simple songs of Marietta; the spirit-stirring verses of Alfieri;
and through these, as dark clouds lowering over a sunny landscape, the
bitter lessons of Gabriel Riquetti--his cold sarcasm and his disbelief.
For all vicissitudes of the youth’s life the Père was prepared, but not
for that strange discursive reading of which his memory was filled; and
it was not easy to understand by what accident his mind had been stored
with snatches of Jacobite songs, passages from Pascal, dreary reveries
of Jean Jacques, and heroic scenes of Alfieri.
Led on to study the singular character of the youth’s mind, Massoni
conceived for him at length a strong affection; but though recognising
how much of good and amiable there was in his disposition, he saw, too,
that the intellect had been terribly disturbed, and that the dreadful
scenes he had gone through had left indelible traces upon him.
Scarcely a day passed that the Père did not change his mind about him.
At one moment he would feel confident that Gerald was the very stuff
they needed--bold, highhearted, and daring; at the next, he would sink
in despondency over the youth’s childlike waywardness, his uncertainty,
and his capriciousness. There was really no fixity of character about
him; and even in his most serious moods, droll and absurd images would
present themselves to his mind, and turn at once all the current of his
thoughts. While weeks rolled over thus, the Père continued to assure
the Cardinal that the young man was gradually gaining in health and
strength, and that even his weakly, convalescent state gave evidence of
traits that offered noble promise of a great future.
Knowing all the importance of the first impression the youth should make
on his Eminence, the Père continued by various pretexts to defer the day
of the meeting; and the Cardinal, though anxious to see Gerald, feared
to precipitate matters.