Gerald Fitzgerald, the Chevalier: A Novel

  CHAPTER XIX. TWO VISITORS

  A FEW days after, and just as evening was falling, a travelling-carriagehalted at the park gate of the Cardinal's villa. Some slight injury tothe harness occasioned a brief delay, and the travellers descended andproceeded leisurely at a walk towards the house. One was a very large,heavily-built man, far advanced in life, with immense bushy eyebrowsof a brindled grey, giving to his face a darksome and almost forbiddingexpression, though the mouth was well rounded, and of a character thatbespoke gentleness. He was much bent in the shoulders, and moved withconsiderable difficulty; but there was yet in his whole figure and aira certain dignity that announced the man of condition. Such, indeed, wasSir Capel Crosbie, once a beau and ornament of the French court in thedays of the Regency. The other was a spare, thin, but yet wiry-lookingman of about sixty-five or six, deeply pitted with small-pox, anddisfigured by a strong squint, which, as the motions of his face werequick, imparted a character of restless activity and impatience to hisappearance, that his nature, indeed, could not contradict. He was knownas--that is, his passport called him--Mr. Simon Purcell; but he hadmany passports, and was frequently a grandee of Spain, a French abbe, acabinet courier of Russia, and a travelling monk, these travesties beingall easy to one who spoke fluently every dialect of every continentallanguage and seemed to enjoy the necessity of a deception. You couldmark at once in his gestures and his tone as he came forward the stampof one who talked much and well. There was ready self-possession, thatjaunty cheerfulness dashed with a certain earnest force, that bespokethe man who had achieved conversational success, and felt his influencein it.

  The accident to the harness had seemingly interrupted an earnestconversation, for no sooner was he on the ground than Purcell resumed:'Take _my_ word for it, baronet; it is always a bad game that does notadmit of being played in two ways---the towns to which only one roadleads are never worth visiting.'

  The other shook his head; but it was difficult to say whether in doubtof the meaning or dissent from the doctrine.

  'Yes,' resumed the other, 'the great question is what will you dowith your Prince if you fail to make him a king? He will always be apuissance; it remains to be seen in whose hands and for what objects.'

  The baronet sighed, and looked a picture of hopeless dullness.

  'Come, I will tell you a story, not for the sake of the incident, butfor the illustration; though even as a story it has its point. You knewGustave de Marsay, I think?'

  '_Le beau Gustave_? to be sure I did. Ah! it was upwards of forty yearsago,' sighed he sorrowfully.

  'It could not be less. He has been living in a little Styrian villageabout that long, seeing and being seen by none. His adventure was this:He was violently enamoured of a very pretty woman whom he met by chancein the street, and discovered afterward to be the wife of a "dyer," inthe Rue de Marais. Whether she was disposed to favour his addresses oracted in concert with her husband to punish him, is not very easy tosay; the result would recline to the latter supposition. At allevents, she gave him a rendezvous at which he was surprised by the dyerhimself--a fellow strong as a Hercules and of an ungovernable temper. Herushed wildly on De Marsay, who defended himself for some time with hisrapier; a false thrust, however, broke the weapon at the hilt, and thedyer springing forward, caught poor Gustave round the body, and actuallycarried him off over his head, and plunged him neck and heels into anenormous tank filled with dye-stuff. How he escaped drowning--how heissued from the house and ever reached his home he never was able totell. It is more than probable the consequences of the calamity absorbedand obliterated all else; for when he awoke next day he discovered thathe was totally changed--his skin from head to foot being dyed a deepblue! It was in vain that he washed and washed, boiled himself in hotbaths, or essayed a hundred cleansing remedies, nothing availed in theleast--in fact, many thought that he came out only bluer than before.The most learned of the faculty were consulted, the most distinguishedchemists--all in vain. At last a dyer was sent for, who in an instantrecognised the peculiar tint, and said, "Ah! there is but one man inParis has the secret of this colour, and he lives in the Rue de Marais."

  'Here was a terrible blow to all hope, and in the discouragement itinflicted three long months were passed, De Marsay growing thin andwretched from fretting, and by his despondency occasioning his friendsthe deepest solicitude. At length, one of his relatives resolved on abold step. He went direct to the Rue de Marais and demanded to speakwith the dyer. It is not very easy to say how he opened a negotiation ofsuch delicacy; that he did so with consummate tact and skill there canbe no doubt, for he so worked oh the dyer's compassion by the pictureof a poor young fellow utterly ruined in his career, unable to facethe world, to meet his regiment, even to appear before the enemy, beingblue! that the dyer at last confessed his pity, but at the same timecried out, "What can I do? there is no getting it off again!"

  '"No getting it off again! do you really tell me that?" exclaimed thewretched negotiator.

  '"Impossible! that's the patent," said the other with an ill-dissembledpride. "I have spent seven years in the invention. I only hit upon itlast October. Its grand merit is that it resists all attempts to effaceit."

  '"And do you tell me," cries the friend, in terror, "that this poorfellow must go down to his grave in that odious--well, I mean nooffence--in that unholy tint?"

  '"There is but one thing in my power, sir."

  '"Well, what is it, in the name of mercy? Out with it, and name yourprice."

  '"I can make him a very charming green! _un beau vert_, monsieur."'

  When the baronet had ceased to laugh at the anecdote, Purcell resumed:'And now for the application. It is always a good thing in life to beable to become _un beau vert_, even though the colour should not quitesuit you. I say this, because for the present project I can augur nosuccess. The world has lived wonderfully fast, Sir Capel, since you andI were boys. That same Revolution in France that has cut off so manyheads, has left those that still remain on men's shoulders very muchwiser than they used to be. Now nobody in Europe wants this familyagain; they have done their part; and they are as much bygones aschain-armour or a battle-axe.'

  'The rightful and the legitimate are never bygone--never obsolete,' saidthe other resolutely.

  'A'n't they, faith! The guillotine and the lantern are the answers tothat. I do not mean to say it must be always this way. There may, thoughI see no signs of it, come a reaction yet; but for the present men havetaken a practical turn, and they accept nothing, esteem nothing, employnothing that is not practical. Mirabeau's last effort was to give thiscolour to the Bourbons, and _he_ failed. Do not tell me, then, thatwhere Gabriel Riquetti broke down, a Jesuit father will succeed!'

  The other shook his head in dissent, but without speaking.

  'Remember, baronet, these convictions of mine are all opposed to myinterest. I should be delighted to see your fairy palace made habitable,and valued for the municipal taxes. Nothing could better please methan to behold your Excellency Master of the Horse except to seemyself Chancellor of the Exchequer. But here we are, and a fineprincely-looking pile it is!'

  They both stopped suddenly, and gazed with wondering admiration at onenoble facade of the palace right in front of them. A wide terrace ofwhite marble, ornamented with groups or single figures in statuary,stretched the entire length of the building, beneath which a vastorangery extended, the trees loaded with fruit or blossom, gave butslight glimpses of the rockwork grottoes and quaint fountains within.

  'This is not the Cardinal's property,' said Purcell. 'Nay, I know wellwhat I am saying; this belongs, with the entire estate, down to SanRemo, yonder, to the young Countess Ridolfi. Nay more, she is at thisvery moment in bargain with Caesare Piombino for the sale of it. Herprice is five hundred thousand Roman scudi, which she means to invest inthis bold scheme.'

  'She, at least, has faith in a Stuart,' exclaimed the baronet eagerly.

  'What would you have? The girl's in love with your Prince. She has paidseventy thou
sand piastres of Albizzi's debts that have hung around hisneck these ten or twelve years back, all to win him over to the cause,just because his brother-in-law is Spanish Envoy here. She destined someeight thousand more as a present to Our Lady of Ravenna, who, it wouldseem, has a sort of taste for bold enterprises; but Massoni stopped herzeal, and suggested that instead of candles she should lay it out inmuskets.'

  'You scoff unseasonably, sir,' said the baronet, indignant at the tonehe spoke in.

  'Nor is that all,' continued Purcell, totally heedless of the rebuke;'her very jewels, the famous Ridolfi gems, the rubies that once wereamong the show objects of Rome, are all packed up and ready to be sentto Venice, where a company of Jews have contracted to buy them. Is notthis girl's devotion enough to put all your patriotism to the blush?'

  A slight stir now moved the leaves of the orange-trees near wherethey were standing. The evening was perfectly still and calm: Purcell,however, did not notice this, but went on--

  'And she is right. If there were a means of success, that means wouldbe money. But it is growing late, and this, I take it, is the chiefentrance. Let us present ourselves, if so be that we are to be honouredwith an audience.'

  Though the baronet had not failed to remark the sarcastic tone ofthis speech, he made no reply but slowly ascended the steps toward theterrace.

  Already the night was closing in, and as the strangers reached thedoor they did not perceive that a figure had issued from the orangerybeneath, and mounted the steps after them. This was the Chevalier, whousually passed the last few moments of each day wandering among theorange-trees. He had thus, without intending it, heard more than wasmeant for his ears.

  The travellers had but to appear to receive the most courteous receptionfrom a household already prepared to do them honour. They were conductedto apartments specially made ready for them; and being told that theCountess hoped to have their company at nine o'clock, when she supped,were left to repose after their journey.