CHAPTER IV. THE PRINCE'S CHAMBER
Brief as Kelly's absence had been, it was enough to have obliteratedfrom the Prince's mind all the reasons for his going. No sooner was healone than he drank away, muttering to himself, as he filled his glass,snatches of old Jacobite songs--words of hope and encouragement; orat times, with sad and broken utterance, phrases of the very deepestdespondency.
It was in this half-dreamy state that Kelly found him as he entered.Scotland--Rome--the court of France--the chateau at St. Germains--theshelling where he sought refuge in Skye--the deck of the Frenchprivateer that landed him at Brest--were, by turns, the scenes of hisimagination; and it was easy to mark how, through all the windings ofhis fancy, an overweening sense of his own adventurous character upheldand sustained him. If he called up at times traits of generous devotionand loyalty--glorious instances wherein his followers rose to the heightof heroes--by some artful self-complacency he was ever sure to ascribethese to the great cause they fought for; or, oftener still, to his owncommanding influence and the fascination of his presence. In the midstof all, however, would break forth some traits that bespoke a noblernature. In one of these was it that he alluded to the proposition ofCardinal Tencin, to make the cession of Ireland the price of the Frenchadhesion to his cause. 'No, no, Monsieur le Cardinal,' cried he severaltimes energetically; '_tout ou rien!_ _tout ou rien!_... Must not mycause have been a poor one, when he dared to make me such an offer? Ay,Kelly, and I swear to you he did so!'
These last words were the first that showed a consciousness of theother's presence.
'The Dutchman was better than that, George, eh?--a partition of thekingdom!--never, never. Ireland, too! The very men who stood truest tome--the very men who never counselled retreat. Think of Lovatt, George.If you had but seen him that day! He could not bide the time I took toeat a morsel of breakfast, so eager was he to be rid of me. I laughedoutright at his impatience, and said that he remembered but the worsthalf of the old Highland adage which tells you "to speed the partingguest." He never offered me a change of linen, George, and I had wornthe same clothes from the day before Culloden. "Wae's me for PrinceCharlie!"'
'It's a proud thing for me to hear how you speak of my countrymen,sire,' said Kelly.
'Glorious fellows they were, every man of them!' cried the Prince withenthusiasm. 'Light-hearted and buoyant, when all others looked sad anddowncast; always counselling the bold course, and readier to do than sayit! I never met--if I ever heard of--but one Irishman who was not a manof honour. _He_ was enough, perhaps, to leaven a whole nation--a low,mean sycophant, cowardly, false, and foul-tongued; a fellow to belie youand betray you--to track you into evil that others might stare at youthere. I never thought ill of mankind till I knew him. Do you know whomI mean--eh, George?'
'Faith, if the portrait be not intended for myself, I am at a loss toguess,' said Kelly good-humouredly.
'So it is, you arch-scoundrel; and, shameless though you be, does itnever occur to you how you will go down to posterity? The corrupter of aPrince; the fellow who debauched and degraded him!'
'Isn't it something that posterity will ever hear of me at all?' saidKelly. 'Is it not fame, at any rate? If there should be any records ofour life together, who knows but a clever commentator will find outthat but for me and my influence the Prince of Wales would have been adownright beast?--"that Kelly humanised your Royal Highness, kept youfrom all the contamination of cardinals and scheming Monsignori, ralliedyour low spirits, comforted your dark hours, and enjoyed your brightones."'
'For what--for what? what was his price?' cried Charles eagerly.
'Because he felt in his heart that, sooner or later, you 'd be back,King of England and Ireland, and George Kelly wouldn't be forgotten. No,faith; Archbishop of Westminster; and devil a less I'd be--that's theprice, if you wish to hear it!'
The Prince laughed heartily, as he ever did when the friar gave way tohis impertinent humour, and then, sitting up in his bed, told Kellyto order coffee. To his last hour, coffee seemed to exercise the mostpowerful effect on him, clearing his faculties after hours of debauch,and enabling him to apply himself to business when he appeared to beutterly exhausted. Kelly, who well knew how to adapt himself toeach passing shade of temperament, followed the Prince into a smalldressing-room in silence, and remained standing at a short distancebehind his chair.
'Tell Conway,' said he, pointing to a mass of papers on the table, 'thatthese must wait. I 'll go down to Albano tomorrow or next day fora change of air. I 'll not hear of anything till I return. CardinalAltieri knows better than I do what Sir Horace Mann writes home toEngland. This court is in perfect understanding with St. James's. As tothe Countess, Kelly, let it not be spoken of again; you hear me? Whatpaper is that in your hand?'
'A petition, I believe, sire; at least, the quarter it comes from wouldso bespeak it.'
'Throw it on the fire, then. Is it not enough to live thus, but that Imust be reminded thirty, forty times a day of my poverty and incapacity?Am I to be flouted with my fallen fortune? On the fire with it, atonce!'
'Poor Luke's prayers were offered at an untimely moment,' said Kelly,untying the scroll, as if preparing to obey. 'Maybe, after all, he isasking for a new rosary, or a pair of sandals. Shall I read it, sire?'
The Prince made no reply, and Kelly, who thoroughly understood hishumour, made no further effort to obtain a hearing for his friend; but,tearing the long scroll in two, he muttered the first line that caughthis eye:
'"Petition of Mary Fitzgerald."'
'What--of--whom? Fitzgerald! what Fitzgerald?' cried Charles, catchingthe other's wrist with a sudden grasp.
'"Sister of Grace Geraldine."'
The words were not well uttered when Charles snatched the paper fromKelly's hand, and drew near to the lamp.
'Leave me; wait in the room without, Kelly!' said he; and the tone ofhis voice implied a command not to be gainsaid. The Prince now flattenedout the crumpled document before him, holding the fragments closetogether; but, although he bent over them attentively for severalminutes, he made little progress in their contents, for drop by drop thehot tears rose to his eyes, and fell heavily on the paper. Gradually,too, his head declined, till at last it fell forward on the table, wherehe lay, sobbing deeply. It was a long time before he arose from thisattitude; and then his furrowed cheeks and glazed eyes told of intensesorrow. 'What ruin have I brought everywhere!' was the exclamation thatbroke from him, in a voice tremulous with agony. 'Kinloch said truly:"We must have sinned heavily, to be so heavily cursed!"' Again and againdid he bend over the paper, and, few as were the lines, it was longbefore he could read them through, such was the gush of emotion theyexcited. 'Was there ever a cause so hallowed by misfortune?' cried he,in an accent of anguish. 'Oh! Grace, had you been spared to me, I mighthave been other than this. But, if it were to be--if it were indeedfated that I should become the thing I am, thank God you have not livedto see it! George,' cried he suddenly, 'who brought this paper?'
Kelly came at once at his call, and replied that the bearer was a poorfriar, by name MacManus.
'Let me see him alone,' said the Prince; and the next moment Fra Lukeentered the chamber, and, with a low and deferential gesture, stoopeddown to kiss his hand. 'You are an Irishman.' said Charles, speakingwith a thick but rapid utterance; 'from none of your countrymen haveI met with anything but loyalty and affection. Tell me, then, frankly,what you know of this paper--who wrote it?'
'I did, myself, your Royal Highness,' said Luke, trembling all over withfear.
'Its contents are all true--strictly true?'
'As the words of this holy Book.' said Luke, placing his hand on hisbreviary.
'Why were they not made known to me before--answer me that?' criedCharles angrily.
'I'll tell your Royal Highness why,' replied Luke, who gained courageas he was put upon the defensive. 'She that 's gone--the Heavens be herbed!--made her sister promise, in her last hour, never to ask nor lookfor favour or benefit from your Royal Highne
ss.'
'I will not believe this,' broke in Charles indignantly; 'you are morethan bold, sir, to dare to tell me so.'
''Tis true as Gospel,' replied the friar. 'Her words were: "Let there beone that went down to the grave with the thought that loving him was itsbest reward! and leave me to think that I live in his memory as I usedin his heart."'
The Prince turned away, and drew his hand across his eyes.
'How came she here--since when?' asked he suddenly.
'Four years back; we came together. I bore her company all the way fromIreland, and on foot too, just to put the child into the college here.'
'And she has been in poverty all this while?'
'Poverty! faith, you might call it distress!--keeping a little trattoriain the Viccolo d'Orso, taking sewing, washing--whatever she could;slaving and starving, just to get shoes and the like for the boy.'
'How comes it, then, that she has yielded at last to write me this?'said Charles, who, in proportion as his self-accusings grew morepoignant, sought to turn reproach on any other quarter.
'She didn't, nor wouldn't,' said the Fra; ''twas I did it myself. I toldher that she might ease her conscience, by never accepting anything;that I'd write the petition and go up with it, and that all I 'd ask wasa trifle for the child.'
'She loves him, then,' said Charles tenderly. The friar nodded his headslowly twice, and muttered, 'God knows she does.'
'And does he repay her affection?'
'How can he? Sure he doesn't know her; he never sees her. When we wereon the way here, he always thought it was his nurse she was; and fromthat hour to this he never set eyes on her.'
'What motive was there for all this?'
'Just to save him the shame among the rest, that they couldn't say hismother's sister was in rags and wretchedness, without a meal to eat.'
'She never sees him, then?'
'Only when he walks out with the class, every Friday; they come down thehill from the Capitol, and then she's there, watching to get a look athim.'
'And he--what is he like?'
The friar stepped back, and gazed at the Prince from head to foot insilence, and then at length said: 'He's like a Prince, sorrow less! Theblack serge gown, the coarse shoes, the square cap, ugly as they are,can't disfigure him; and though they cut off his beautiful hair, thatcurled half-way down his back, they couldn't spoil him. He has the greatdark blue eyes of his mother, and the long lashes, almost girlish tolook at.'
'He's mild and gentle, then?' said Charles pensively.
'Indeed and I won't tell you a lie,' said Luke, half mournfully, 'butthat 's just what I believe he isn't. The sub-rector says there'snothing he couldn't learn, either in the sciences or the humanities.He can write some of the ancient and three of the modern tongues. Hisdisputations got him the medal; but somehow----'
'Well--go on. Somehow----'
'He's wild--wild,' said the friar, and as if he was glad to have foundthe exact word he wanted; 'he 'd rather go out on the Campagna thereand ride one of the driver's ponies all day, than he 'd walk in fullprocession with all the cardinals. He 'd like to be fighting theshepherds' dogs, wicked as they are, or goading their mad cattle tillthey turn on him. Many a day they 've caught him at that sport; and, ifI 'm not mistaken, he's in punishment now, though Mrs. Mary doesn't knowit, for putting a ram inside the railings of a fountain, so that theneighbours durstn't go near to draw water. 'Tis diversions like thesehas made him as ragged and tattered as he is.'
'Bad stuff for the cloister,' said Charles, with a faint smile.
'Who knows? Sure Cardinal Guidotti was at every mischief when a boy; andthere's Gardoni, the secretary of the Quirinal, wasn't he the terror ofthe city with his pranks?'
'Can I see this boy--I mean, could he be brought here without hisknowing or suspecting to whom he was presented?'
'Sure, if Kelly was to----'
'Ay, ay, I know as well as you do.' broke in the Prince, 'George Kellyhas craft and cunning enough for more than that; but supposing, myworthy Fra, that I did not care to intrust Kelly with this office:supposing that, for reasons known to myself, I wished this matter asecret, can you hit upon the means of bringing the lad here, that Imight see and speak with him?'
'It should be after dark, your Royal Highness, or he would know thepalace again, and then find out who lived in it.'
'Well, be it so.'
'Then there's the rules of the college; without a special leave astudent cannot leave the house, and even then he must have a professorwith him.'
'A cardinal's order would, of course, be sufficient,' said the Prince.
'To be sure it would, sir,' said the friar, with a gesture that showedhow implicitly his confidence was given to such a conjuncture.
'The matter shall be done then, and thus: on Tuesday next Kelly goes toAlbano, and will not return till Wednesday or Thursday evening. At seveno'clock on Tuesday evening you will present yourself at the college, andask for the president: you will only have to say that you are come forthe youth Fitzgerald. He will be at once given into your charge; drivethen at once to the Corso, where you can leave the carriage, and proceedhither on foot. When you arrive here, you shall be admitted at once.One only caution I have to give you, friar, and it is this: upon yourreserve and discretion it depends whether I ever befriend this boy,or cast him off for ever. Should one syllable of this interviewtranspire--should I ever discover that, under any pretence or fromany accident, you have divulged what has passed between us here--anddiscover it I must, if it be so--from that instant I cease to takeinterest in him. I know your cloth well; you can be secret if you will:let this be an occasion for the virtue. I need not tell you more; norwill I add one threat to enforce my caution. The boy's own fortune inlife is on the issue; that will be enough.'
'Is Mrs. Mary to be intrusted with the secret?' said the Fra timidly.
'No; not now at least.' The Prince sat down, and leaned his forehead onhis hand in thought. At length he said: 'The boy will ask you, in alllikelihood, whither you are leading him. You must say that a countrymanof his own, a man of some influence, and who knew his friends, desiresto see and speak with him. That he is one with whom he may be frankand open-hearted; free to tell whatever he feels; whether he likes hispresent life or seeks to change it. He is to address me as the Count,and be careful yourself to give me no higher title. I believe I havesaid all.'
'If Kelly asks me what was my business with your Royal Highness?'
'Ay; well thought of. Say it was a matter of charity; and take these fewcrowns, that you may show him as you pass out.'
'Well, did you succeed?' asked Kelly, as the poor friar, flushed andexcited from the emotion of his interview, entered the antechamber.
'I did indeed; and may the saints in heaven stand to _you_ for the same!It 's a good work you done, and you 'll have your reward!'
'Egad,' cried Kelly, in a tone of levity, 'if I had any friends amongthe saints, I must have tried their patience pretty hard these lasteight or nine years; but who is this Mary Fitzgerald--I just caught thename on the paper?'
'She's--she's--she's--a countrywoman of our own,' stammered out FraLuke, while he moved uneasily from foot to foot, and fumbled with hishands up the sleeves of his robe.
'It was lucky for you, then, we were just talking about Ireland beforeyou went in. He was saying how true and staunch the Irish always showedthemselves.'
'And does he talk of them times?' asked the Fra in astonishment.
'Ay, by the hour. Sometimes it's breaking day before I go to bed, hetelling me about all his escapes and adventures. I could fill a bookwith stories of his.'
'Musha! but I'd like to hear them,' cried Luke with honest enthusiasm.
'Come up here, then--let me see what evening--it mustn't be Tuesday--norWednesday--maybe, indeed, I won't be back before Friday. Oh, there's thebell now; that's for _me,_' cried he; and before he could fix the timehe hurried off to the Prince's chamber.