Gerald Fitzgerald: The Chevalier Part 52

'So much I know, sir; but it is your counsel that I am now asking; what would you advise?'

'So far as I can guess,' answered the Pere cautiously, 'it is her marvellous gift to exert influence over those with whom she comes in contact--a direct palpable sway. Even I, cold, impa.s.sive, as I am, unused to feel, and long beyond the reach of such fascination--even _I_ have known what it is to confront a nature thus strangely endowed,'

'These are mere fancies, Ma.s.soni.'

'Fancies that have the force of convictions. For my own part, depositary as I am of much that the world need not, should not, know, I would not willingly expose my heart to one like her.'

'Were it even as you say, Ma.s.soni, of what could the knowledge avail her? Bethink you for a moment of what strange mysteries of the human heart every village curate is the keeper; how he has probed recesses, dived into secret clefts, of which, till revealed by strict search, the very possessor knew not the existence; and yet how valueless, how inert, how inoperative in the great game of life does not this knowledge prove.

If this were power, the men who possessed it would sway the universe.'

'And so they might,' burst in Ma.s.soni, 'if they would adapt to the great events of life the knowledge which they now dissipate in the small circle of family existence. If they would apply to statecraft the same springs by which they now awaken jealousies, kindle pa.s.sions, lull just suspicions, and excite distrusts! With powder enough to blow up a fortress, they are contented to spend it in fireworks! The order of which I am an unworthy member alone conceived a different estimate of the duty.'

'The world gives credit to your zeal,' said the Cardinal slyly.

'The world is an ungrateful taskmaster. It would have its work done, and be free to disparage those who have laboured for it.'

A certain tone of defiance in this speech left an awkward pause for several minutes. At last Caraffa said carelessly--

'Of what were we speaking a while ago? Let us return to it.'

'It was of the Count Delia Rocca and his mission, your Eminence.'

'True. You said that he wished to see the Chevalier, to present his letters. There can be no objection to that. The road to Orvieto is an excellent one, and my poor house there is quite capable of affording hospitality for even a visitor so distinguished.' With all his efforts to appear tranquil, the Cardinal spoke in a broken, abrupt way, that betrayed a mind very ill at ease.

'I am not aware, Ma.s.soni,' resumed he, 'that the affair concerns _me_, nor is there occasion to consult me upon it.' This address provoked no reply from the Pere, who continued patiently to scan the speaker, and mark the agitation that more and more disturbed him.

'I conclude, of course,' said the Cardinal again, 'that the Chevalier's health is so firmly re-established this interview cannot be hurtful to him; that he is fully equal to discuss questions touching his gravest interests. You who hear frequently from him can give me a.s.surance on this point.'

'I am in almost daily correspondence----''

'I know it,' broke in Caraffa.

'I am in almost daily correspondence with the Chevalier, and can answer for it that he is in the enjoyment of perfect health and spirits.'

'They who speculated on his being inferior to his destiny will perhaps feel disappointed!' said Caraffa, in a low, searching accent.

'They acknowledge as much already, your Eminence. In the very last despatches Sir Horace Mann sent home there is a gloomy prediction of what trouble a youth so gifted and so ambitious may one day occasion them in England.'

'Your friend the Marchesa Balbi, then, still wields her influence at the British legation?' said Caraffa, smiling cunningly; 'or you had never known these sentiments of the Minister.'

'Your Eminence reads all secrets,' was the submissive reply, as the Pere bowed his head.

'Has she also told you what they think of the youth in England?'

'No further than that there is a great anxiety to see him, and a.s.sure themselves that he resembles the House of Stuart.'

'Of that there is no doubt,' broke in Caraffa; 'there is not a look, a gesture, a trait of manner, or a tone of the voice, he has not inherited.'

'These may seem trifles in the days of exile and adversity, but they are t.i.tle-deeds fortune never fails to adduce when better times come round.'

'And do you really still believe in such, Ma.s.soni? Tell me, in the sincerity of man to man, without disguise, and, if you can, without prejudice--do you continue to cherish hopes of this youth's fortune?'

'I have never doubted of them for a moment, sir,' said the Pere confidently. 'So long as I saw him weak and broken, with weary looks and jaded spirits, I felt the time to be distant; but when I beheld him in the full vigour of his manly strength, I knew that his hour was approaching; it needed but the call, the man was ready.'

'Ah! Ma.s.soni, if I had thought so--if I but thought so,' burst out the Cardinal, as he leaned his head on his hand, and lapsed into deep reflection.

The wily Pere never ventured to break in upon a course of thought, every motive of which contributed to his own secret purpose. He watched him therefore, closely, but in silence. At last Caraffa, lifting up his head, said--

'I have been thinking over this mission of Delia Rocca, Ma.s.soni, and it were perhaps as well--at least it will look kindly--were I to go over to Orvieto myself, and speak with the Chevalier before he receives him.

Detain the Count, therefore, till you hear from me; I shall start in the morning.' The Pere bowed, and after a few moments withdrew.

CHAPTER XVII. THE GARDEN AT ORVIETO

Soon after daybreak on the following morning the Cardinal's courier arrived at Orvieto with tidings that his Eminence might be expected the same evening. It was a rare event, indeed, which honoured the villa with a visit from its princely owner; and great was the bustle and stir of preparation to receive him. The same activity prevailed within doors and without. Troops of men were employed in the gardens, on the terraces, and the various pleasure-grounds; while splendid suites of rooms, never opened but on such great occasions, were now speedily got in readiness and order.

Gerald wandered about amid this exciting turmoil, puzzled and confused.

How was it that he fancied he had once seen something of the very same sort, exactly in the self-same place? Was this, then, another rush of that imagination which so persisted in tormenting him, making life a mere circle of the same events? As he moved from place to place, the conviction grew only stronger and stronger: this seemed the very statue he had helped to replace on its pedestal; here the very fountain he had cleared from weeds and fallen leaves; the flowers he had grouped in certain beds; the walks he had trimly raked; the rustic seats he had disposed beneath shady trees; all rose to his mind and distracted him by the difficulty of explaining them. As he walked up the great marble stairs and entered the s.p.a.cious hall of audience, a whole scene of the past seemed to fill the s.p.a.ce. The lovely girl--a mere child as she was, with golden hair and deep blue eyes--rose again before his memory, and his heart sank as he bethought him that the whole vision must have had no reality.

The rapid tramp of horses' feet suddenly led him to the window, and he now saw the outriders, as they dashed up at speed, followed quickly after by three travelling carriages, each drawn by six horses, and escorted by mounted dragoons. Gerald did not wait to see his Eminence descend, but hastened to his room to dress, and compose his thoughts for the approaching interview.

The Chevalier had grown to be somewhat vain of his personal appearance.

It was a Stuart trait, and sat not ungracefully upon him; and he now costumed himself with more than ordinary care. His dress was of a dark maroon velvet, over which he wore a scarf of his own tartan; the collar and decoration presented by the Cardinal York ornamenting the front of the dress, as well as the splendidly embossed dagger which once had graced the belt of the Prince Charles Edward. Though his toilet occupied him a considerable time, no summons came from his Eminence, either to announce his arrival or request a meeting; and Gerald, half pained by the neglect, and half puzzled lest the fault might possibly be ascribed to some defect of observance on his own part, at length took his hat and left the house for a stroll through the gardens.

As he wandered along listlessly, he at last gained a little gra.s.sy eminence, from which a wide view extended over a vast olive plain, traversed by a tiny stream. It was the very wood through which, years before, he had journeyed when he had fled from the villa to seek his fortune. Some indistinct, flitting thoughts of the event, the zigzag path along the river, the far-away mountains of the Maremma, were yet puzzling him, when he heard a light step on the gravel-walk near. He turned, and saw a young girl coming toward him, smiling, and with an extended hand. One glance showed him that she was singularly beautiful, and of a demeanour that announced high station.

'Which of us is to say, "welcome here," Chevalier? at all events, let one of us have the courage to speak it. I am your guest, or your host, whichever it please you best.'

'The Contessa Ridolfi,' said Gerald, as he kissed her hand respectfully.

'I perceive,' said she, laughing, 'you have heard of my boldness, and guess my name at once; but, remember, that if I had waited to be presented to you by my uncle, I should have been debarred from thus clearing all formality at a bound, and asking you, as I now do, to imagine me one you have known long and well.'

'I am unable to say whether the honour you confer on me or the happiness, be greater,' said Gerald warmly.

'Let it be the happiness, since the honour must surely come from your side,' said she, in the same light, half-careless tone. 'Give me your arm, and guide me through these gardens; you know them well, I presume.'

'I have been your guest these four months and more, Contessa,' said he, bowing.

'So that this poor villa of ours may have its place in history, and men remember it as the spot where the young Prince sojourned. Nay, do not blush, Chevalier, or I shall think that the shame is for _my_ boldness.

When you know me better you will learn that I am one so trained to the licence of free speech that none are offended at my frankness.'

'You shall never hear me complain of it,' said Gerald quickly.

'Come, then, and tell me freely, has this solitude grown intolerable; is your patience well-nigh worn out with those interminable delays of what are called "your friends"?'

'I know not what you allude to. I came here to recover after a long illness, weak and exhausted. My fever had left me so low in energy, that I only asked rest and quietness: I found both at the villa. The calm monotony that might have wearied another, soothed and comforted _me_.

Of what was real in my past life--what mere dreamland--I never could succeed in defining. If at one moment I seemed to any one's eyes of princely blood and station, at the next I could not but see myself a mere adventurer, without friends, family, or home. I would have given the world for one kind friend to steady the wavering fabric of my mind, to bring back its wandering fancies, and tell me when my reason was aright.'