Cerise: A Tale of the Last Century

by G. J. Whyte-Melville

Alice, still crouching behind the close-cut hedge, might well be alarmed at the scraps she overheard of such a dialogue as this. Malletort, on the contrary, watched his junior with the well-satisfied air of a cook who perceives the dish on which his skill is concentrated bubbling satisfactory towards projection. He allowed the young man’s emotion to exhaust itself ere he plied him again with argument, and knowing that all strong feelings have their ebb and flow like the tide, trusted to find him more malleable than ever after his late outbreak.

It was difficult to explain to Florian that his superiors desired him to make love to Lady Hamilton, in order that he might bring her husband into their hands; and the task was only rendered the more delicate by the young Jesuit’s hopeless yet sincere attachment to his hostess—an attachment which had in it the germ of ruin or salvation according to his own powers of self-control—such an attachment as the good call a trial and the weak a fatality.

At times the Abbé almost wished he had selected some less scrupulous novice for the execution of this critical manœuvre—one like Brother Jerome or Brother Boniface, who would have disposed himself to it with all the relish and good-will of those who resume a favourite occupation which circumstances have obliged them, for a time, to forego. Such tools would have been easier to manipulate; but perhaps, he reflected, their execution would not be so effectual and complete. The steel was dangerously flexible and elastic, but then it was of the truest and finest temper forged. He flattered himself it was now in the hands of a workman.

“Let us talk matters over like men of the world my dear Florian,” said the Abbé, after they had made two turns of the walk in silence, approaching within a foot of Alice while he spoke. “We are neither of us boys, but men playing a game at bouillote, ombre, picquet, what you will, and holding nearly all the winning cards in our hands. You are willing, I think, to believe I am your friend?”

Florian shuddered, but nodded assent.

“Well, then, as friends,” continued the Abbé, “let there be no concealment between us. I have already gone over the details of our programme. I need not recapitulate the plan of the campaign, nor, to a man of intelligence like yourself, need I insist on the obvious certainty of success. All dispositions of troops and such minor matters are left to our commanders, and they number some of the first soldiers of the age. With such affairs we need not meddle. Intellect confines itself to intrigue, and leaves hard knocks to the hard-fisted, hard-headed fools whose business it is to give and take them. I have been busy since I came here—busier almost than you could believe. I have made acquaintance with —, and —, and —.”

Here the Abbé sank his voice to a cautious whisper, so that Alice, straining her ears to listen, could not catch the names he enumerated.

“Although they seemed lukewarm at first, and are esteemed loyal subjects of King George, they are ripe for a restoration now. By the by with these people never forget to call it a Restoration. Nothing affects an Englishman so strongly as a phrase, if it be old enough. I have seen a red-nosed squire of to-day fidget uneasily in his chair, and get quite hot and angry if you mentioned the Warrant of the Parliament; call it the law of the land and he submits without a murmur. They eat beef, these islanders, and they drink ale, muddy ale, so thick, my dear Florian, you might cut it with a knife. Perhaps that is what makes them so stupid. It is hard work to drive an idea into their heads; but when once there, it must be admitted, you cannot eradicate it. If they are the most obstinate of opponents, they are also the staunchest of partisans. Well, I have a score of names here in my pocket—men who have pledged themselves to go through with us, even if it comes to cold steel, sequestration—ay, hanging for high treason! Not a man of them will flinch. I can undertake to say so much; and this, you observe, my dear Florian, would greatly facilitate our escape in the event of a failure. But in the entire list I have none fit to be a leader—none whose experience would warrant him in taking command of the others, or whose adventurous spirit would urge him to assume such authority. Sir George Hamilton is the very man I require. He is bold, reckless, ambitious, not entirely without brains, and has been a soldier of France. Florian, we must have him at the head of the movement. It is your duty to put him there.”

Florian bowed submissively.

“I can only persuade,” said he; “but you do not know your man as well as I do. Nothing will induce Sir George so much as to have a horse saddled until he can see for himself that there is a reasonable prospect of success. I have heard him say a hundred times, ‘Never show your teeth till your guns are shotted;’ and he has acted up to his maxim, ever since I have known him, in all the relations of life. It is, perhaps, presumptuous in me to advise one of your experience and abilities, but I warn you to be careful in this instance. On every account I am most anxious that our undertaking should not miscarry. I am pledged to you myself, but, believe me, I must have something more than empty assurances to enlist my friend.”