The Pere 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 Ma.s.soni pondered them deeply. The Cardinal had begun with hinting doubts of the youth's ident.i.ty, 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, Pere Ma.s.soni,' 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 a.s.surance 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 a.s.sure them of success.'

'They are brave, are they not?'

'Their courage has never been surpa.s.sed.'

'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 mult.i.tude. 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, Ma.s.soni,' said he, in a low whisper; 'or, better still, if you could come out to Albano to see me.'

The Pere bowed deeply without speaking.

'These are not matters to be disposed of in a day or an hour; we must have time.'

The Pere 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 Ma.s.soni'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 Pere 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 Pere Ma.s.soni 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, s.n.a.t.c.hes 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 Pere 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 s.n.a.t.c.hes of Jacobite songs, pa.s.sages from Pascal, dreary reveries of Jean Jacques, and heroic scenes of Alfieri.

Led on to study the singular character of the youth's mind, Ma.s.soni 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 pa.s.sed that the Pere 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 Pere continued to a.s.sure 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 n.o.ble promise of a great future.

Knowing all the importance of the first impression the youth should make on his Eminence, the Pere continued by various pretexts to defer the day of the meeting; and the Cardinal, though anxious to see Gerald, feared to precipitate matters.

CHAPTER XII. A JESUIT'S STROKE OF POLICY

Although Ma.s.soni desired greatly to inform his young guest on all the circ.u.mstances of his parentage and his supposed rights, he perceived all the importance of letting that communication come from the Cardinal Caraffa. It was not merely that the youth would himself be more impressed by the tidings, but that the Cardinal would be so much the more pledged to the cause in which he had so far interested himself.

To accomplish this project, the Jesuit had recourse to all his address, since his Eminence continued to maintain a policy of strict reserve, pledging himself to nothing, and simply saying: 'When I have seen him, and spoken with him, it will be time enough to give an opinion as to the future.'

To this Ma.s.soni objected, by alluding to the evil effect of such want of confidence.

'He will be a prince with royal rights and belongings one of these days; and he will not forget the cold reserve of all this policy; whereas, on the other hand, he would never cease to remember with grat.i.tude him from whose lips he first learned his good fortune.'

He urged these and similar arguments with all his zeal, but yet unsuccessfully; and it was only at last, when he said that he would appeal to the Cardinal York, that Caraffa yielded, and agreed to concede to his wishes.

The Pere had procured copies of various doc.u.ments which established the marriage of Prince Charles Edward with Grace Fitzgerald of Cappa Glynn; a record of the baptism of Gerald, who was born at Marne, in Brittany; several letters in the handwriting of the Prince, acknowledging his marriage, and speaking of his child as one some day or other to enjoy a princely state; and a fragment of a letter from Grace herself, in which she speaks of the cruelty of asking her to surrender the proofs of her marriage, and pleads in the name of her boy for its recognition. Another letter from her, evidently in answer to one from the Cardinal York, whose intercession she had entreated, gave some most touching details of her life of poverty and privation, and the straits by which she avoided the discovery of a secret which to herself would have been the source of greatness and high station. Numerous letters in the handwriting of the Cardinal Gualterio also showed the unavailing efforts made by the Prince's family to induce her to give a formal denial to the reputed marriage: in these, frequent mention was made of the splendid compensation that would be made to Grace Fitzgerald if she relinquished her claim, and the total inutility of persisting to sustain it.

All these doc.u.ments had been obtained by Carrol, either original or copied, from the Fitzgeralds of Cappa Glynn. Most of these had been in Grace's own possession, and some had been brought from Rome by Fra Luke, when he left that city for Ireland. A list of these papers, with their contents, had been furnished to the Cardinal Caraffa, accompanied by a short paper drawn up by Ma.s.soni himself. In this 'memoir,' the Pere had distinctly shown that the question of the youth's legitimacy was indisputable, and that even if his Eminence demurred to the project of making him the head of a great political movement, his right as heir to the Prince could not be invalidated.

The Cardinal bestowed fully three weeks over these records before he gave any reply to Ma.s.soni, and then he answered in a tone of half-careless and discouraging meaning, 'that the papers were curious--interesting too--from the high station of many of the writers, but evidently deficient as proofs of a matter so pregnant with great results.' He hinted also, that from the wayward, adventurous kind of life Charles Edward led, a charge of this nature would not be difficult to make, and even support by every plausible evidence of its truth; and lastly, he a.s.sured the Pere that the will of his Royal Highness contained no allusion to such an heir, nor any provision for him.

'You seem to make a point of my seeing the youth, to which I do not perceive there is any objection, but that you couple it with the condition of my making him the momentous communication of his birth and rank. Surely, you cannot mean that on the vague evidence now before me, I am to pledge myself to these facts, and indorse doc.u.ments so unsubstantiated as these are? As to your opening any communication with the Cardinal York, I cannot listen to it. His Eminence is in the most precarious state of health, and his nervous irritability so intense, that any such step on your part would be highly indiscreet. If, therefore, it be your determination to take this course, mine is as firmly adopted, to withdraw altogether from any interest in the affair.

The earlier I learn from you which line you intend to pursue, the more agreeable it will be to--Your very true friend,

Caraffa, Cardinal.'

Ma.s.soni returned no reply to this letter. The crafty father saw that the threat of addressing the Cardinal York had so far affrighted Caraffa, that he was sure to come to any terms that might avoid this contingency.

To leave this menace to work slowly, gradually, and powerfully into his mind, Ma.s.soni at once decided.

When, therefore, after a week's silence, the Cardinal sent him a few lines to intimate that his former letter remained unanswered, the Pere simply said, that his Eminence's letter was one which, in his humility, he could only reflect over, and not answer.