We must ask of our reader to pass over both time and space, and accompany us, as night is falling, to a small chamber in the house of the Cardinal Caraffa at Rome, where his Eminence is now closeted in secret converse with a tall, sickly, but still handsome man, in a long robe of black serge, buttoned almost to his feet, and wearing on his head a low square cap, of the same coarse material; he is the PÈre Massoni, superior of the College of Jesuits.

The Cardinal had but just returned from a conclave, and had not taken time to change a dress, whose splendour formed a strong contrast with the simple attire of his guest.

‘It is, happily, the last council for the season,’ said his Eminence, as he seated himself in a deep easy-chair. ‘His Holiness leaves for Gaeta to-morrow, the Cardinal Secretary Piombino retires to Albano during the hot weather, and I am free to confer with my esteemed friend the PÈre Massoni, and discuss deeper themes than the medallions in the nave of San Giovanni di Laterano. There were to have been fourteen on either side last Tuesday; on Friday, we came down to twelve; to-day, we deemed eleven enough; in fact, Massoni, we are less speculative as to the future, and have left but four spaces to be filled up; but enough of this,—have your letters arrived?’

‘Yes, your Eminence, the Priest Carroll from Ireland has brought me several, and much information besides of events in England.’

‘It is of France I want to hear,’ broke in the Cardinal impatiently. ‘It is of the man in the throes of death I would learn tidings, not of him lingering in the long stages of a chronic malady. Did this priest pass through Paris?’

‘He did, your Eminence; he was two days there. The fever of blood still rages. ‘Twas but Monday week, thirty-two nobles of La VendÉe were guillotined, and, worse still, eight priests, old and venerable men, curÉs of the several parishes. They met their death as became true sons of the holy Church, declaring with their last breath that the sacrifice would bring a blessing on the faith.’

‘So it will—they are right—truth must triumph at last, Massoni,’ said the Cardinal hurriedly; ‘but we are passing through a fiery ordeal; sparks of the same fire have been seen among ourselves too. Grave fears exist that all is not well at Viterbo.’

‘The flame must be trodden out quickly and completely, your Eminence; deal with traitors with speed, and you can treat true men with justice. The AbbÉ Guescard, whose book on private judgments you have seen, was buried this morning.’

‘I had not heard that he was ill.’

‘It was a sudden seizure, your Eminence, but the convulsions resisted all treatment, and death closed his sufferings about midnight. The doctrines of Diderot and Jean Jacques form but sorry homilies. They who preach them go to a heavy reckoning hereafter.’

‘And meet with sudden deaths besides,’ said the Cardinal, with a glance in which there was fully as much jollity as gloom.

The Jesuit Father’s pale face remained calm and passionless as before, nor did a syllable escape from him in reply. At length the Cardinal said, ‘All accounts agree in one thing, the pestilence is spreading, At Aranguez, in Spain, a secret society has been discovered in correspondence with Des-moulins. At Leipsic a record for future proscription throughout Germany has been found, exactly fashioned after the true Paris model; and even in sluggish England the mutter-ings of discontent are heard, but with them we have less sympathy—or rather we might say, God speed the hand that would pull down the heretic Church!’ ‘Carroll tells me that Ireland is ripe, though for what, it is yet hard to pronounce. The cry of “Liberty” in France has awakened her to the memory of all her hatred to England. Men of great ability and daring are eagerly feeding the flame; the difficulty will be to direct its ravages when once it breaks out. If the principles of France sway them, the torrent that will overwhelm the heretic will also sweep away the faith.’

‘Much will depend upon the men who direct the movement.’

‘No, no,’ said the Jesuit, ‘next to nothing. Each in his turn will be the victim of the event he seems to control. It is not the riven tree carried along by the current that directs the stream. It is to human passions and their working we must look, to see the issue out of these troubles. Once men emerge out of the storm-tossed ocean of their excesses, they strain their eyes to catch some haven—some resting-place. Some find it in religion; some in ambition, which is the religion of this world. The crime of France has been that no such goal has ever existed. In their lust to destroy, they have forfeited the power to rebuild. As well endeavour to reanimate the cold corpses beneath the guillotine as revive that glorious monarchy. For men like these there is no hope—no hereafter. Have no trust in them.’

‘But you yourself told me,’ cried the Cardinal, ‘how vain it were to pledge men to the cause of the Church.’

‘And truly did I say so. Men will serve no cause but that which secures them a safe recompense. In France they have that recompense—there is vengeance and there is pillage; but both will be exhausted after a time—there will be satiety for one and starvation for the other, and then woe to those who spirited them on to this pursuit. The convulsion in Ireland, if it should come, need not have this peril; there, there is a race to expel and a heresy to exterminate; in both the prospect of the future is implied. Let us aid this project.’

‘Ah! it is your old project lurs there,’ cried the Cardinal; ‘I see a glimpse of it already; but what a dream is the restoration of that house!’

‘Nor do I mean it should be more; the phantom of a Stuart in the procession is all I ask for. By that dynasty the Church is typified. Instead of encountering the thousand enemies of a faith, we rally to us the adherents of a monarchy. If we build up this throne, he who sits on it is our viceroy; we have made, and can unmake him.’

‘And how can the Cardinal York serve these plans?’

‘I never intended that he should; his gown alone would exempt him, even had he—which he has not—personal qualities for such a cause.’

‘Yet with him the race is extinct.’

‘Of that I am not so certain, and it is precisely the point on which I want to confer with you.’ So saying, the PÈre drew a packet of papers from the breast of his robe, and placed it on the table. ‘I have there beneath my hand, said he, ‘the copy of a marriage certificate between Charles Edward, Prince of Wales, and Grace GÉraldine, of Cappa Glyn, County Kildare, Ireland. It is formally drawn up, dated, signed, and witnessed with due accuracy. The Father Ignatius, in whose hand the document is, is dead; but there are many alive who could recognise his writing. One of the witnesses, too, is believed still to be living in a remote part of Ireland; I have his name and can trace him; but even better than this, the Cardinal York admits the fact, and owns that he retains in his possession a last legacy of the Prince for the child born of this marriage.

‘Your Eminence smiles incredulously; but what will you say when I add that the same child was inscribed in our College under the name of Gerald Fitzgerald; was well known to my predecessor, the present Bishop of Orvieto; quitted the College to acquire the protection of the Prince, from which he most unaccountably strayed or was withdrawn, and ultimately reached France.’

‘Where he has, doubtless, been guillotined for his royal blood,’ broke in the Cardinal.

‘No, your Eminence; he lives, and I have traced him. Nay, more, I have found that he is one in every way adapted for such an enterprise as I speak of; possessed of the most heroic courage, with a character fertile in resources; all the winning graces of his father are united in him, with a steadfast energy that few of the Stuarts could ever have laid claim to. In a life of struggle and adversity—for he has never known his rank, nor has the slightest suspicion of his birth—he has never once descended to a single act that could impugn the highest station. In a word, to declare him a Prince to-morrow needs not that we should obliterate his past life or conceal its vicissitudes.’

‘Be it so as you say. Is it such pretensions you would oppose to the recognised and established monarchy of England? A youth of at least highly questionable legitimacy, friendless and penniless; and this, too, in an age when thrones propped up by all that can aid their prestige are tottering to their fall!’

‘We want him but as the banner to rally around; we need him as the standard which will draw Scotland to the side of Ireland, and both for one cause—the Church. A Prince of the House of Stuart is the emblem of all that defies the heresy when the day of trouble comes. It is vital that Ireland should not follow in the steps of France, and Christian blood be shed to establish the reign of the infidel! If the pestilence that now rages in France extend through Europe, as many wise heads predict it will, the day will come that the last resting-place of our faith will be that small island in the west. Think, then, how important it is that we should give to the struggle that is approaching a guidance and direction. If the Irish insurrection be capable of a royalist colouring, we can take advantage of that feature to awaken the dormant chivalry of those who would risk nothing in the cause of a Republic. The old Catholic families of England, the Scottish chiefs, men who can bring into the field the fiercest partisans and the most intrepid followers; all Ireland, save that small garrison which assumes to subject it to English rule, will rally round a Stuart: and that Stuart will be in our hands to deal with—to elevate to a throne on the claim of his birth; or, if need be, to proclaim an illegitimate pretender!’

The soft, mild eyes of the Jesuit grew darker and deeper in colour, and his pale cheeks flushed, while the last words came from him with an utterance thick and almost guttural from passion. Nor was the Cardinal unmoved: partly in sympathy with the emotion of the speaker, partly stimulated by the great proportions of the scheme displayed before him, he sat, with hurried, breathing and a heated brow, gazing steadfastly at the other.

‘There are immense difficulties, Father,’ he began.

‘I know them all,’ broke in Massoni. ‘For some I have provided, for many more I am still reflecting; but still remember, that to launch the project is our great care. When the rock is riven from its base, no man can tell by what course it will descend the mountain, over what precipice gain new force, or in what hollow lie spent and motionless. Let us be satisfied if we start the game, and leave to destiny the pursuit!’

‘Much money will be needed——’

‘The great families of England are rich. It will not require deep calculation to satisfy them that the cost of supporting a loyalist cause will be little in comparison with the consequences of a revolution to end in a republic; a loan is ever lighter than confiscation!’

‘There is much in that if the alternative be well put and well understood.’

‘From what I learn,’ continued the PÈre, ‘men of influence and fortune will grasp eagerly at what offers any issue to the coming trouble, save to follow in the footsteps of France. The Terror there has done us good service, and the lesson may be still further improved. They who would imitate Marat and Robespierre will have a short reign.’

‘Better they should have none!’

‘There must be the baptism of blood,’ said the PÈre, in a low but firm voice.

‘And who is to prepare the plan of this great campaign, to gather together the leaders, to applot the several duties, to arrange details, conciliate interests, and reconcile rivalries? He must be one, doubtless, of commanding ability and vast resources.’

Massoni bowed a deep and reverential assent.

‘A man of station sufficient to make his influence felt without dispute—one whose counsel none dare gainsay.’

Again did a humble bow give acquiescence.

‘Nor,’ continued the speaker, ‘must it be from his exalted station alone that men yield deference to him. He must needs be one well versed in human nature; who can read the heart in its mood of strength or weakness; a master of all the secret springs that sway motives; in a word, he ought to combine the wide views and grand conceptions of the politician with the deep and subtle knowledge of a churchman—where will you find such?

‘He can be found, was the calm reply. ‘I know of one who answers to each demand of your description.

‘You are mistaken, PÈre Massoni,’ said the Cardinal in a voice slightly tremulous with agitation. ‘I know his Eminence of York well, and he is ill fitted for a charge so vast and momentous.’

‘I never thought of him, sir,’ was the prompt answer. ‘My eyes were fixed upon one scarcely his inferior in high descent, infinitely above him in all the qualities of mind and intellect, one whose name in the cause would half ensure success, and whose vast resources of thought would be a more precious mine than the wealth of Peru.

‘And he—who is this great and transcendent genius?’ asked the Cardinal, half angrily.

‘His Eminence the Cardinal Leo Gonzales Caraffa!’ said the PÈre, as he dropped on his knees and pressed his lips fervently to the other’s hand.

The Cardinal’s florid features flushed till they were crimson; and though he tried to speak, no sound came from his lips. A sense of overwhelming astonishment, even more than gratified vanity, had mastered him, and, with a gesture of modest dissent, he raised the priest from the ground.

‘No, no, Massoni,’ said he, in a soft, low tone; ‘these are the promptings of your own affectionate regard for me, not the fruit of that calm reason with which you know so well how to judge your fellow-men.’

‘Read these letters, then, sir,’ said Massoni, placing a packet on the table, ‘and see if my sentiments are not as strong in the hearts of others.’

The Cardinal hesitated to open the documents before him; there was a sort of modest reluctance in his manner which Massoni seemed to understand; for, taking up one of the letters himself, he glanced his eyes along the lines till he came to a particular passage, pointing out which with his finger, he read: ‘“You have among the Cardinals, however, one fully equal to this great task, the Cardinal Caraffa, a man whose political sagacity is not surpassed in Europe, and who, by a good fortune, rare among churchmen, possesses a mind capable of comprehending and directing great military measures. I am informed that he served in Spain.”’

‘Who writes this?’ broke in the Cardinal.

‘The writer is Prince Charles of Hesse.’

‘A brave soldier and an honest man,’ said the Cardinal, with evident pleasure in the words.

‘This is from the Viscount de Noe,’ resumed Massoni, opening another letter and reading: ‘“It is essentially the cause of the Church, and demands a churchman at its head. Who, then, so fit as he who may, one day or other, occupy the throne of St. Peter!”’ Here he paused as if having concluded.

‘The expression is vague, nor has it any the least application to me,’ said Caraffa, reddening.

‘Then hear what follows,’ cried Massoni. ‘“Even if there were personal peril, which there is not, the Cardinal Caraffa would not refuse us his aid, nor must he remain the only man in Europe unconscious of the great qualities which stamp him as our leader.” This,’ continued the priest, with increased rapidity, ‘this is from Sir Godefry Wharton, an English Catholic noble of great wealth and influence. “From all that I can learn it must be Caraffa, not York, to lead us in this enterprise; all agree in representing him as a man of resolute action, gifted with every quality of statesmanship.” Troverini writes thus from Venice: “When the day of restoration”—it is of the Church he speaks—“when the day of restoration arrives, we shall need a man equal to the great task of reconstructing society, without employing too ostentatiously the old materials. I am assured that Caraffa is such a man; tell me your opinion of him.” This,’ resumed Massoni, holding up a large letter in a strange, rough, and irregular hand, ‘this is from the Marquis d’Allonville, secretary to the Count d’Artois. “We all feel that if it be our fate to return, it must be as following in the procession of the Church. Nothing but the faith can successfully combat this infidelity baptized in crime. To give, therefore, the impulse of religion to any of these movements, no matter among what people, must be the first care of those who look forward to better things. Legitimacy is the doctrine of the Gospel.”... This is what I was in search of. “Ireland is well adapted for the experiment. A people of believers under the sway of a nation they detest will eagerly grasp at what will alike establish the Church they revere and the nationality they covet. If you really have a legitimate descendant of the Stuarts, and if he be one equal to the demands of the crisis, it signifies little in what quarter of Europe the first essay be made, and we will throw all our efforts into the scale with you, always provided that you can show us some great political head, some man of foresight and reflection, among your party concurring in this view—such a one, for example, as the Cardinal Caraffa. We have money, men of action and daring, only longing for occasions to employ them, but we are sadly in want of such capacities as Caraffa represents; so at least the Prince tells us, for I have no personal knowledge of the Cardinal.”’

‘I am flattered by his Royal Highness’s remembrance of me,’ said Caraffa proudly.

‘And this,’ said Massoni, showing a few lines on a simple slip of paper, ‘this came enclosed within D’Allonville’s letter.

“I am willing to open direct relations with his Eminence the Cardinal Caraffa on the subjects herein discussed.—D’Artois.”

Are these enough, sir?’

‘More than enough to gratify a loftier pride than mine,’ said Caraffa, with a flushed cheek; ‘but let us turn to a worthier theme. What is it that is proposed?’

‘The project, in one word, is this—to make the rising now about to take place in Ireland a royalist, and not a revolutionary movement; to overbear the men of destruction by the influence of wiser and safer guides; to direct the wild energies of revolt into the salutary channels of a restoration; and to build up once more, in all its plenitude, the power of the Church.’

‘Remember, Massoni, what Mirabeau said; and though I do not love the authority, the words are those of wisdom: “Revolutions are not the work of men—they make themselves.”’

‘It is from men’s hands, however, they receive their first impulses. It is also by a secret and firm alliance of men—steady to one purpose, and constant to one idea—that revolutions catch their tone and colour. None of us could expect that, in a great national struggle, there will not be many acts to deplore—grievous crimes committed gratuitously—vain and useless cruelties. To every great vicissitude in this world there is an amount of power applied totally dis-proportioned to the effect produced. To wreck one solitary ship, a whole ocean is convulsed, and desolate shores in faraway lands are storm-lashed for days. So is it in revolutions The unchained winds of men’s passions sweep over a larger space than is needed. This must be borne. Let us remember, too, that the blood thus, to all seeming, gratuitously shed has also its profit. Terror is a great agency of revolt. Many must be intimidated. It is when people are paralysed by fear that they who are to reconstruct society have time to mature their plans, just as the surgeon awaits the moments of his patient’s insensibility to commence his operation. But, above all, your Eminence, bear in mind that where the object is good and great, a blessing goes with those who sustain it.’

If the Cardinal bowed a submissive assent to this devout assertion, there was something like a half motion of impatience in his manner as he said—

‘And the men who are to lead this movement?’

‘The details are somewhat lengthy, your Eminence, but I have them here,’ said Massoni, as he laid his hand on the papers before him.

‘And this is Ireland?’ said Caraffa, as he bent over a map and gazed on the small spot which represented the island. ‘How small it looks, and how far away!’