Gerald Fitzgerald, the Chevalier: A Novel

‘Prince Charles Edward failed, with all the aid of France to back him; and how is his son – if he be his son – to succeed, who has no ally, no wealth, and no prestige?’

‘And do you not know that it was France and French treachery that wrecked the cause of the Stuarts? Did not the Cardinal Gualterio detect the secret correspondence between the Tuileries and St. James’s? Is it not on record that the expedition was delayed three days in sailing, to give time to transmit intelligence to the English government?’

‘These are idle stories, Massoni; Gualterio only dreamed them.’

‘Mayhap it was also a dream that the Prince was ordered to quit Paris in twenty-four hours, and the soil of France within a week, at the express demand of England?’

‘What you now speak of was a later policy, ignoble and mean, I admit.’

‘But why waste time on the past? Has your Eminence read the memoir I sent you?’

‘I have.’

‘Have you well and duly weighed the importance attached to the different character of the present scheme from all that has preceded it, and how much that character is likely to derive support from the peculiarity of the Irish temperament?’

‘Yes. It is a people eminently religious: steadfast in the faith.’

‘Have you well considered that if this cause be not made our own it will be turned against us; that the agents of Irish independence – Tone, Teeling, Jackson, and other – are in close communication with the French government, and earnestly entreating them to despatch an expedition to Ireland?’

‘This would be indeed fatal to us,’ said Caraflfa despondingly.

‘And yet it is what will assuredly happen if we do not intervene.’

‘But can we prevent it?’

‘I believe we can. I believe there is even yet time to make the struggle our own. But if there is not – if it be too late – we shall have a great game to play. A Protestant rising must never have our support! Better far for us to turn to the government and by this ostentatious show of our allegiance, lay foundation for future demands and concessions.’

The Cardinal bent his head twice in approval.

‘All these things, however, combine to show that we must be up and stirring. Many who would be with us, if they were sure of our going forward, will take service with Tone and his party, if we delay. Carrol himself was pledged to report in person to the secret committee at Waterford by the eighth of the month, and we are now at the seventeenth. These delays are serious! This letter from Hussey, which only reached me last night, will show your Eminence how eagerly our answer is awaited.’

The Cardinal made a gesture of impatience, as he declined the proffered letter.

‘It is not,’ said he, ‘by such considerations we are to be swayed, Massoni.’

‘Hussey insists on knowing whether or not your Eminence is with them,’ said the Père boldly, ‘and if you have recognised the young Prince.’

‘So, then, he knows of your secret,’ said the Cardinal with a sly malice.

‘He knew of this youth’s birth and station ere I did myself: he was the confessor of the Fitzgerald family, and attended Grace on her deathbed.’

‘Hussey, then, believes this story?’

‘He would swear to its truth, your Eminence.’

‘He is a crafty fellow, and one not easily to be deceived,’ said Caraffa, musing. ‘Let me see his letter.’

He took the letter from the Père, and perused it carefully.

‘I see little in this,’ said he, handing it back, ‘that you have not already told me.’

‘I have endeavoured to make your Eminence acquainted with everything that occurred,’ said Massoni with downcast eyes, but yet contriving to watch the countenance of the other attentively.

‘Monsignor Hussey, then, recommends in case of any backwardness – such is his phrase – that you yourself should reveal to this youth the story of his descent. Have you thought over this counsel?’

‘I have, your Eminence.’

‘Well, and to what conclusion has it led you?’

‘That there was no other course open to me,’ said Massoni firmly.

The Cardinal’s brow darkened, and he turned upon the Père a look of insolent defiance.

‘So, then, Père Massoni, this is to be a trial of skill between us; but I will not accept the challenge, sir. It is without shame that I confess myself unequal to a Jesuit in craftiness.’

The Père never spoke, but stood with arms crossed and bent-down head as if in thought.

‘It must be owned, sir,’ continued Caraffa scoffingly, ‘that you have no craven spirit. Most men, situated as you are, would have hesitated ere they selected for their adversary a Prince of the Church.’

Still was Massoni silent.

‘While, as to your protégé, with one word of mine to the Minister of Police, he would be driven out of Rome – out of the States of the Church – as a vagabond.’

The word had scarcely been uttered, when the door opened, and Gerald stood before them. For an instant he hesitated, abashed at his intrusion; but Massoni stepped hastily forward, and taking his hand, said —

‘Your Eminence, this is the Chevalier!’

Caraffa, who had known Charles Edward in his early life, stood actually like one thunderstruck before the youth, so exactly was he his counterpart. His full and soft blue eyes, the long silky hair of a rich brown colour, falling heavily on his neck, the mouth, half pouting and half proud, and the full chin, roundly moulded as a woman’s, were all there; while in his air and mien a resemblance no less striking was apparent. By artful thoughtfulness of the Jesuit father, the youth’s dress was made to assist the schemes, for it was a suit of black velvet, such as Charles Edward used to wear when a young man; a blue silk under-vest, barely appearing, gave the impression that it was the ribbon of the garter, which the young Prince rarely laid aside.

Not all the eloquence and all the subtlety of Massoni could have accomplished the result which was in a moment effected by that apparition; and as Gerald stood half timidly, half haughtily there, Caraffa bowed low, and with all the deference he would have accorded to superior rank. For a second the dark eyes of the Jesuit flashed a gleam of triumph, but the next moment his look was calm and composed. The crafty Père saw that the battle was won if the struggle could be but concluded at once, and so, addressing Gerald in a tone of marked deference, he said —

‘I have long wished for the day when I should see this meeting; that its confidence may be unbroken and undisturbed, I will withdraw,’ and with a separate reverence to each, the Père backed to the door and retired.

Whatever suspicions might have occurred to the Cardinal’s mind had he but time for reflection, there was now no opportunity to indulge. All had happened so rapidly, and above all there was still the spell over him of that resemblance, which seemed every moment to increase; such indeed was its influence, that it at once routed all the considerations of his prudent reserve, and made him forget everything save that he stood in the presence of a Stuart.

‘If I am confused, sir, and agitated,’ began he, ‘at this our first meeting, lay it to the account of the marvellous resemblance by which you recall my recollection of the Prince, your father. I knew him when he was about your own age, and when he graciously distinguished me by many marks of his favour.’

‘My father!’ said Gerald, over whose face a deep crimson blush first spread, and then a pallor equally great succeeded – ‘did you say my father?’

‘Yes, sir. It was my fortune to be associated closely with his Royal Highness at St. Germains and afterward in Auvergne.’

Overcome by his feeling of amazement at what he heard, and yet unable to summon calmness to inquire further, Gerald sank into a chair, vainly trying to collect his faculties. Meanwhile Caraffa continued —

‘As an old man and a priest I may be forgiven for yielding slowly to convictions, and for what almost would seem a reluctance to accept as fact the evidence of your birth and station; but your presence, sir – your features as you sit there, the image of your father – appeal to something more subtle than my reason, and I feel that I am in the presence of a Stuart. Let me, then, be the first to offer the homage that is, or at least one day will be, your right’; and so saying, the Cardinal took Gerald’s hand and pressed it to his lips.

‘Is this a dream?’ muttered Gerald, half aloud – ‘is my brain wandering?’

‘No, sir, you are awake; the past has been the dream – the long years of sorrow and poverty – the trials and perils of your life of accident and adventure – this has been the dream; but you are now awake to learn that you are the true-born descendant of a Royal House – a Prince of the Stuarts – the legitimate heir to a great throne!’