Tony Butler Part 76

Almost overlooking the terraced garden where Damer and Tony dined, and where they sat smoking till a late hour of the night, stood a large palace, whose vast proportions and s.p.a.cious entrance, as well as an emblazoned shield over the door, proclaimed it to belong to the Government. It was the Ministry of Foreign Affairs; and here, now, in a room projecting over the street beneath, and supported on arches, sat the Minister himself, with our two acquaintances, Mait-land and Caffarelli.

Maitland was still an invalid, and rested on a sofa, but he had recovered much of his former looks and manner, though he was dressed with less care than was his wont.

The Minister--a very tall thin man, stooped in the shoulders, and with a quant.i.ty of almost white gray hair streaming on his neck and shoulders--walked continually up and down the room, commenting and questioning at times, as Maitland read forth from a ma.s.s of doc.u.ments which littered the table, and with which Caffarelli supplied him, breaking the seals and tearing open the envelopes before he gave them to his hand.

Though Maitland read with ease, there was yet that half-hesitation in the choice of a word, as he went on, that showed he was translating; and indeed once or twice the Prince-Minister stopped to ask if he had rightly imparted all the intended force to a particular expression.

A white canvas bag, marked "F. O., No. 18," lay on the table; and it was of that same bag and its possible fortunes two others, not fully one hundred yards off, were then talking: so is it that in life we are often so near to, and so remote from, the inanimate object around which our thoughts and hopes, and sometimes our very destinies, revolve.

"I am afraid," said the Prince, at last, "that we have got nothing here but the formal despatches, of which Ludolf has sent us copies already.

Are there no 'Private and Confidential'?"

"Yes, here is one for Sir Joseph Trevor himself," said Caffarelli, handing a square-shaped letter to Maitland. Maitland glanced hurriedly over it, and muttered: "London gossip, Craddock's divorce case, the partridge-shooting,--ah, here it is! 'I suppose you are right about the expedition, but say nothing of it in the despatches. We shall be called on one of these days for a blue-book, and very blue we should look, if it were seen that amidst our wise counsels to Caraffa we were secretly aware of what G. was preparing.'"

"It must be 'C. was preparing,'" broke in Caraffa; "it means Cavour."

"No; he speaks of Garibaldi," said Maitland.

"Garibaldi!" cried Caraffa, laughing. "And are there still _gobemouches_ in England who believe in the Filibuster?"

"I believe in him, for one," said Maitland, fiercely, for the phrase irritated him; "and I say, too, that such a Filibuster on our side would be worth thirty thousand of those great hulking grenadiers you pa.s.sed in review this morning."

"Don't tell the King so when you wait on him to-morrow, that's all!"

said the Minister, with a sneering smile.

"Read on," broke in Caffarelli, who was not at all sure what the discussion might lead to.

"Perhaps, too, you would cla.s.s Count Cavour amongst these _gobemouches_," said Maitland, angrily; "for he is also a believer in Garibaldi."

"We can resume this conversation at Caserta to-morrow before his Majesty," said Caraffa, with the same mocking smile; "pray, now, let me hear the remainder of that despatch."

"'It is not easy to say,'" read he aloud from the letter, "'what France intends or wishes. C. says--'"

"Who is C.?" asked Caraffa, hastily.

"C. means Cowley, probably,--'that the Emperor would not willingly see Piedmontese troops at Naples; nor is he prepared to witness a new map of the Peninsula. We, of course, will do nothing either way--'"

"Read that again," broke in Caraffa.

"'We, of course, will do nothing either way; but that resolve is not to prevent your tendering counsel with a high hand, all the more since the events which the next few months will develop will all of them seem of our provoking, and part and parcel of a matured and long meditated policy.'"

"_Bentssimo!_" cried the minister, rubbing his hands in delight. "If we reform, it is the Whigs have reformed us. If we fall, it is the Whigs have crushed us."

"'Caraffa, we are told,'" continued Maitland, "'sees the danger, but is outvoted by the Queen-Dowager's party in the Cabinet,--not to say that, from his great intimacy with Pietri, many think him more of a Muratist than a Bourbon.'"

"_Per Bacco!_ when your countryman tries to be acute, there is nothing too hazardous for his imagination; so, then, I am a French spy!"

"'What you say of the army,'" read on Maitland, "'is confirmed by our other reports. Very few of the line regiments will be faithful to the monarchy, and even some of the artillery will go over. As to the fleet, Martin tells me they have not three seaworthy ships in the fifty-seven they reckon, nor six captains who would undertake a longer voyage than Palermo. Their only three-decker was afraid to return a salute to the "Pasha," lest her old thirty-two-pounders should explode; and this is pretty much the case with the monarchy,--the first shock must shake it, even though it only come of blank cartridge.

"'While events are preparing, renew all your remonstrances; press upon Caraffa the number of untried prisoners, and the horrid condition of the prisons. Ask, of course in a friendly way, when are these abuses to cease? Say that great hopes of amelioration--speak generally--were conceived here on the accession of the new King, and throw in our regrets that the liberty of the press with us will occasionally lead to strictures whose severities we deplore, without being able to arraign their justice; and lastly, declare our readiness to meet any commercial exchanges that might promise mutual advantage. This will suggest the belief that we are not in any way cognizant of Cavour's projects.

In fact, I will know nothing of them, and hold myself prepared, if questioned in the House, to have had no other information than is supplied by the newspapers. Who is Maitland? None of the Maitlands here can tell me.'" This sentence he read out ere he knew it, and almost crushed the paper when he had finished in his pa.s.sion.

"Go on," said Caraffa, as the other ceased to read aloud, while his eyes ran over the lines,--"go on."

"It is of no moment, or, at least, its interest is purely personal.

His Lordship recommends that I should be bought over, but still left in intimate relations with your Excellency."

"And I see no possible objection to the plan."

"Don't you, sir?" cried Maitland, fiercely; "then I do. Some little honor is certainly needed to leaven the rottenness that reeks around us."

"_Caro Signor Conte_," said the Prince, in an insinuating voice, but of which insincerity was the strong characteristic, "do not be angry with my Ultramontane morality. I was not reared on the virtuous benches of a British Parliament; but if there is anything more in that letter, let me hear it."

"There is only a warning not to see the Count of Syracuse, nor any of his party, who are evidently waiting to see which horse is to win. Ah, and here is a word for your address, Carlo! 'If Caffarelli be the man we saw last season here, I should say, Do not make advances to him; he is a ruined gambler, and trusted by no party. Lady C--------believes in him, but none else!'"

This last paragraph set them all a-laughing, nor did any seem to enjoy it more than Caffarelli himself.

"One thing is clear," said Caraffa, at last,--"England wishes us every imaginable calamity, but is not going to charge herself with any part of the cost of our ruin. France has only so much of good-will towards us as is inspired by her dislike of Piedmont, and she will wait and watch events. Now, if Bos...o...b.. only true to his word, and can give us a 'good account' of his treatment of Garibaldi, I think all will go well."

"When was Garibaldi to set out?" asked Caffarelli.

"Brizzi, but he is seldom correct, said the 18th."

"That Irish fellow of ours, Maitland, is positive it will be by the 13th at latest. By the way, when I asked him how I could reward this last piece of service he rendered us in securing these despatches, his reply was, 'I want the cordon of St. Januarius.' I, of course, remonstrated, and explained that there were certain requisites as to birth and family, certain guarantees as to n.o.bility of blood, certain requirements of fortune. He stopped me abruptly, and said, 'I can satisfy them all; and if there be any delay in according my demand, I shall make it in person to his Majesty.'"

"Well," cried Caffarelli,--"well, and what followed?"

"I yielded," said the Prince, with one of his peculiar smiles. "We are in such a perilous predicament that we can't afford the enmity of such a consummate rascal; and then, who knows but he may be the last knight of the order!" In the deep depression of the last words was apparent their true sincerity, but he rallied hastily, and said, "I have sent the fellow to Bosco with despatches, and said that he may be usefully employed as a spy, for he is hand-and-glove with all the Garibaldians.

Surely he must have uncommon good luck if he escapes a bullet from one side or the other."

"He told me yesterday," said Caffarelli, "that he would not leave Naples till his Majesty pa.s.sed the Irish Legion in review, and addressed them some words of loyal compliment."

"Why did n't he tell you," said the Prince, sarcastically, "that seventy of the scoundrels have taken service with Garibaldi, some hundreds have gone to the hills as brigands, and Castel d'Ovo has got the remainder; and it takes fifteen hundred foot and a brigade of artillery to watch them?"

"Did you hear this, Maitland?" cried Caffarelli; "do you hear what his Excellency says of your pleasant countrymen?"

Maitland looked up from a letter that he was deeply engaged in, and so blank and vacant was his stare that Caffarelli repeated what the Minister had just said. "I don't think you are minding what I say. Have you heard me, Maitland?"

"Yes; no--that is, my thoughts were on something that I was reading here."

"Is it of interest to us?" asked Caraffa.

"None whatever. It was a private letter which got into my hands open, and I had read some lines before I was well aware. It has no bearing on politics, however;" and, crushing up the note, he placed it in his pocket, and then, as if recalling his mind to the affairs before him, said: "The King himself must go to Sicily. It is no time to palter.

The personal daring of Victor Emmanuel is the bone and sinew of the Piedmontese movement. Let us show the North that the South is her equal in everything."

"I should rather that it was from _you_ the advice came than from _me_,"

said Caraffa, with a grin. "I am not in the position to proffer it."