III
It was just before noon next day that the travellers arrived. I wassitting in the shady loggia of the inn, reading a volume of De Thou,when there drove up to the door two coaches. Out of the firstdescended very slowly and stiffly four gentlemen; out of the secondfour servants and a quantity of baggage. As it chanced there was noone about, the courtyard slept its sunny noontide sleep, and the onlymovement was a lizard on the wall and a buzz of flies by the fountain.Seeing no sign of the landlord, one of the travellers approached mewith a grave inclination.
"This is the inn called the Tre Croci, sir?" he asked.
I said it was, and shouted on my own account for the host. Presentlythat personage arrived with a red face and a short wind, havingascended rapidly from his own cellar. He was awed by the dignity ofthe travellers, and made none of his usual protests of incapacity. Theservants filed off solemnly with the baggage, and the four gentlemenset themselves down beside me in the loggia and ordered each a modestflask of wine.
At first I took them for our countrymen, but as I watched them theconviction vanished. All four were tall and lean beyond the average ofmankind. They wore suits of black, with antique starched frills totheir shirts; their hair was their own and unpowdered. Massive bucklesof an ancient pattern adorned their square-toed shoes, and the canesthey carried were like the yards of a small vessel. They were fourmerchants, I had guessed, of Scotland, maybe, or of Newcastle, buttheir voices were not Scotch, and their air had no touch of commerce.Take the heavy-browed preoccupation of a Secretary of State, add thedignity of a bishop, the sunburn of a fox-hunter, and something of thedisciplined erectness of a soldier, and you may perceive the manner ofthese four gentlemen. By the side of them my assurance vanished.Compared with their Olympian serenity my Person seemed fussy andservile. Even so, I mused, must Mr. Franklin have looked when baitedin Parliament by the Tory pack. The reflection gave me the cue.Presently I caught from their conversation the word "Washington," andthe truth flashed upon me. I was in the presence of four of Mr.Franklin's countrymen. Having never seen an American in the flesh, Irejoiced at the chance of enlarging my acquaintance.
They brought me into the circle by a polite question as to the lengthof road to Verona. Soon introductions followed. My name intriguedthem, and they were eager to learn of my kinship to Uncle Charles. Theeldest of the four, it appeared, was Mr. Galloway out of Maryland.Then came two brothers, Sylvester by name, of Pennsylvania, and lastMr. Fish, a lawyer of New York. All four had campaigned in the latewar, and all four were members of the Convention, or whatever they calltheir rough-and-ready parliament. They were modest in their behaviour,much disinclined to speak of their past, as great men might be whosereputation was world-wide. Somehow the names stuck in my memory. Iwas certain that I had heard them linked with some stalwart fight orsome moving civil deed or some defiant manifesto. The making ofhistory was in their steadfast eye and the grave lines of the mouth.Our friendship flourished mightily in a brief hour, and brought me theinvitation, willingly accepted, to sit with them at dinner.
There was no sign of the Duchess or Cristine or Oliphant. Whatever hadhappened, that household to-day required all hands on deck, and I wasleft alone with the Americans. In my day I have supped with theMacaronies, I have held up my head at the Cocoa Tree, I have avoidedthe floor at hunt dinners, I have drunk glass to glass with TomCarteron. But never before have I seen such noble consumers of goodliquor as those four gentlemen from beyond the Atlantic. They drankthe strong red Cyprus as if it had been spring-water. "The dust ofyour Italian roads takes some cleansing, Mr. Townshend," was their onlyexcuse, but in truth none was needed. The wine seemed only to thawtheir iron decorum. Without any surcease of dignity they grewcommunicative, and passed from lands to peoples and from peoples toconstitutions. Before we knew it we were embarked upon high politics.
Naturally we did not differ on the war. Like me, they held it to havebeen a grievous necessity. They had no bitterness against England,only regrets for her blunders. Of his Majesty they spoke with respect,of his Majesty's advisers with dignified condemnation. They thoughthighly of our troops in America; less highly of our generals.
"Look you, sir," said Mr. Galloway, "in a war such as we have witnessedthe Almighty is the only strategist. You fight against the forces ofNature, and a newcomer little knows that the success or failure ofevery operation he can conceive depends not upon generalship, but uponthe confirmation of a vast country. Our generals, with this in mindand with fewer men, could make all your schemes miscarry. Had theEnglish soldiers not been of such stubborn stuff, we should have beenvictors from the first. Our leader was not General Washington butGeneral America, and his brigadiers were forests, swamps, lakes,rivers, and high mountains."
"And now," I said, "having won, you have the greatest of humanexperiments before you. Your business is to show that the Saxon stockis adaptable to a republic."
It seemed to me that they exchanged glances.
"We are not pedants," said Mr. Fish, "and have no desire to disputeabout the form of a constitution. A people may be as free under a kingas under a senate. Liberty is not the lackey of any type of government."
These were strange words from a member of a race whom I had thoughtwedded to the republicanism of Helvidius Priscus.
"As a loyal subject of a monarchy," I said, "I must agree with you.But your hands are tied, for I cannot picture the establishment of aHouse of Washington and--if not, where are you to turn for yoursovereign?"
Again a smile seemed to pass among the four.
"We are experimenters, as you say, sir, and must go slowly. In themeantime, we have an authority which keeps peace and property safe. Weare at leisure to cast our eyes round and meditate on the future."
"Then, gentlemen," said I, "you take an excellent way of meditation invisiting this museum of old sovereignties. Here you have the relics ofany government you please--a dozen republics, tyrannies, theocracies,merchant confederations, kingdoms, and more than one empire. You haveyour choice. I am tolerably familiar with the land, and if I canassist you I am at your service."
They thanked me gravely "We have letters," said Mr. Galloway; "one inespecial is to a gentleman whom we hope to meet in this place. Haveyou heard in your travels of the Count of Albany?"
"He has arrived," said I, "two days ago. Even now he is in the chamberabove us at dinner."
The news interested them hugely.
"You have seen him?" they cried. "What is he like?"
"An elderly gentleman in poor health, a man who has travelled much,and, I judge, has suffered something from fortune. He has a fondnessfor the English, so you will be welcome, sirs; but he was indisposedyesterday, and may still be unable to receive you. His daughtertravels with him and tends his old age."
"And you--you have spoken with him?"
"The night before last I was in his company. We talked of many things,including the late war. He is somewhat of your opinion on matters ofgovernment."
The four looked at each other, and then Mr. Galloway rose.
"I ask your permission, Mr. Townshend, to consult for a moment with myfriends. The matter is of some importance, and I would beg you toawait us." So saying, he led the others out of doors, and I heard themwithdraw to a corner of the loggia. Now, thought I, there is somethingafoot, and my long-sought romance approaches fruition. The company ofthe Marjolaine, whom the Count had sung of, have arrived at last.
Presently they returned and seated themselves at the table.
"You can be of great assistance to us, Mr. Townshend, and we would faintake you into our confidence. Are you aware who is this Count ofAlbany?"
I nodded. "It is a thin disguise to one familiar with history."
"Have you reached any estimate of his character or capabilities? Youspeak to friends, and, let me tell you, it is a matter which deeplyconcerns the Count's interests."
"I think him a kindly and pathetic old gentleman. He naturally bearsth
e mark of forty years' sojourn in the wilderness."
Mr. Galloway took snuff.
"We have business with him, but it is business which stands in need ofan agent. There is no one in the Count's suite with whom we coulddiscuss affairs?"
"There is his daughter."
"Ah, but she would scarcely suit the case. Is there no man--a friend,and yet not a member of the family who can treat with us?"
I replied that I thought that I was the only being in Santa Chiara whoanswered the description.
"If you will accept the task, Mr. Townshend, you are amply qualified.We will be frank with you and reveal our business. We are on no lessan errand than to offer the Count of Albany a crown."
I suppose I must have had some suspicion of their purpose, and yet therevelation of it fell on me like a thunderclap. I could only stareowlishly at my four grave gentlemen.
Mr. Galloway went on unperturbed. "I have told you that in America weare not yet republicans. There are those among us who favour arepublic, but they are by no means a majority. We have got rid of aking who misgoverned us, but we have no wish to get rid of kingship.We want a king of our own choosing, and we would get with him all theancient sanctions of monarchy. The Count of Albany is of the mostillustrious royal stock in Europe--he is, if legitimacy goes foranything, the rightful King of Britain. Now, if the republican partyamong us is to be worsted, we must come before the nation with apowerful candidate for their favour. You perceive my drift? What morepotent appeal to American pride than to say: 'We have got rid of KingGeorge; we choose of our own free will the older line and KingCharles'?"
I said foolishly that I thought monarchy had had its day, and that'twas idle to revive it.
"That is a sentiment well enough under a monarchical government; butwe, with a clean page to write upon, do not share it. You know yourancient historians. Has not the repository of the chief power alwaysbeen the rock on which republicanism has shipwrecked? If that power isgiven to the chief citizen, the way is prepared for the tyrant. If itabides peacefully in a royal house, it abides with cyphers who dignify,without obstructing, a popular constitution. Do not mistake me, Mr.Townshend. This is no whim of a sentimental girl, but the reasonedconclusion of the men who achieved our liberty. There is every reasonto believe that General Washington shares our views, and Mr. Hamilton,whose name you may know, is the inspirer of our mission."
"But the Count is an old man," I urged; for I knew not where to beginin my exposition of the hopelessness of their errand.
"By so much the better. We do not wish a young king who may befractious. An old man tempered by misfortune is what our purposedemands."
"He has also his failings. A man cannot lead his life for forty yearsand retain all the virtues."
At that one of the Sylvesters spoke sharply. "I have heard suchgossip, but I do not credit it. I have not forgotten Preston andDerby."
I made my last objection. "He has no posterity--legitimateposterity--to carry on his line."
The four gentlemen smiled. "That happens to be his chiefestrecommendation," said Mr. Galloway. "It enables us to take the Houseof Stuart on trial. We need a breathing-space and leisure to lookaround; but unless we establish the principle of monarchy at once therepublicans will forestall us. Let us get our king at all costs, andduring the remaining years of his life we shall have time to settle thesuccession problem.
"We have no wish to saddle ourselves for good with a race who mightprove burdensome. If King Charles fails he has no son, and we can lookelsewhere for a better monarch. You perceive the reason of my view?"
I did, and I also perceived the colossal absurdity of the wholebusiness. But I could not convince them of it, for they met myobjections with excellent arguments. Nothing save a sight of the Countwould, I feared, disillusion them.
"You wish me to make this proposal on your behalf?" I asked.
"We shall make the proposal ourselves, but we desire you to prepare theway for us. He is an elderly man, and should first be informed of ourpurpose."
"There is one person whom I beg leave to consult--the Duchess, hisdaughter. It may be that the present is an ill moment for approachingthe Count, and the affair requires her sanction."
They agreed, and with a very perplexed mind I went forth to seek thelady. The irony of the thing was too cruel, and my heart ached forher. In the gallery I found Oliphant packing some very shabby trunks,and when I questioned him he told me that the family were to leaveSanta Chiara on the morrow. Perchance the Duchess had awakened to thetrue state of their exchequer, or perchance she thought it well to gether father on the road again as a cure for his ailment.
I discovered Cristine, and begged for an interview with her mistress onan urgent matter. She led me to the Duchess's room, and there theevidence of poverty greeted me openly. All the little luxuries of themenage had gone to the Count. The poor lady's room was no better thana servant's garret, and the lady herself sat stitching a rent in atravelling cloak. She rose to greet me with alarm in her eyes.
As briefly as I could I set out the facts of my amazing mission. Atfirst she seemed scarcely to hear me. "What do they want with him?"she asked. "He can give them nothing. He is no friend to theAmericans or to any people who have deposed their sovereign." Then, asshe grasped my meaning, her face flushed.
"It is a heartless trick, Mr. Townshend. I would fain think you noparty to it."
"Believe me, dear madame, it is no trick. The men below are in soberearnest. You have but to see their faces to know that theirs is nowild adventure. I believe sincerely that they have the power toimplement their promise."
"But it is madness. He is old and worn and sick. His day is long pastfor winning a crown."
"All this I have said, but it does not move them." And I told herrapidly Mr. Galloway's argument. She fell into a muse. "At theeleventh hour! Nay, too late, too late. Had he been twenty yearsyounger, what a stroke of fortune! Fate bears too hard on us, toohard!"
Then she turned to me fiercely. "You have no doubt heard, sir, thegossip about my father, which is on the lips of every fool in Europe.Let us have done with this pitiful make-believe. My father is a sot.Nay, I do not blame him. I blame his enemies and his miserabledestiny. But there is the fact. Were he not old, he would still beunfit to grasp a crown and rule over a turbulent people. He flees fromone city to another, but he cannot flee from himself. That is hisillness on which you condoled with me yesterday."
The lady's control was at breaking-point. Another moment and Iexpected a torrent of tears. But they did not come. With a greateffort she regained her composure.
"Well, the gentlemen must have an answer. You will tell them that theCount, my father--nay--give him his true title if you care--is vastlyobliged to them for the honour they have done him, but would decline onaccount of his age and infirmities. You know how to phrase a decentrefusal."
"Pardon me," said I, "but I might give them that answer till doomsdayand never content them. They have not travelled many thousand miles tobe put off by hearsay evidence. Nothing will satisfy them but aninterview with your father himself.
"It is impossible," she said sharply.
"Then we must expect the renewed attentions of our American friends.They will wait till they see him."
She rose and paced the room.
"They must go," she repeated many times. "If they see him sober hewill accept with joy, and we shall be the laughing-stock of the world.I tell you it cannot be. I alone know how immense is theimpossibility. He cannot afford to lose the last rags of his dignity,the last dregs of his ease. They must not see him. I will speak withthem myself."
"They will be honoured, madame, but I do not think they will beconvinced. They are what we call in my land 'men of business.' Theywill not be content till they get the Count's reply from his own lips."
A new Duchess seemed to have arisen, a woman of quick action and sharpwords.
"So be it. They shall see him. Oh, I a
m sick to death of finesentiments and high loyalty and all the vapouring stuff I have livedamong for years. All I ask for myself and my father is a little peace,and, by Heaven! I shall secure it. If nothing will kill yourgentlemen's folly but truth, why, truth they shall have. They shallsee my father, and this very minute. Bring them up, Mr. Townshend, andusher them into the presence of the rightful King of England. You willfind him alone." She stopped her walk and looked out of the window.
I went back in a hurry to the Americans. "I am bidden to bring you tothe Count's chamber. He is alone and will see you. These are thecommands of madame his daughter."
"Good!" said Mr. Galloway, and all four, grave gentlemen as they were,seemed to brace themselves to a special dignity as befitted ambassadorsto a king. I led them upstairs, tapped at the Count's door, and,getting no answer, opened it and admitted them.
And this was what we saw. The furniture was in disorder, and on a couchlay an old man sleeping a heavy drunken sleep. His mouth was open andhis breath came stertorously. The face was purple, and large purpleveins stood out on the mottled forehead. His scanty white hair wasdraggled over his cheek. On the floor was a broken glass, wet stainsstill lay on the boards, and the place reeked of spirits. The fourlooked for a second--I do not think longer at him whom they would havemade their king. They did not look at each other. With one accordthey moved out, and Mr. Fish, who was last, closed the door very gentlybehind him.
In the hall below Mr. Galloway turned to me. "Our mission is ended,Mr. Townshend. I have to thank you for your courtesy." Then to theothers, "If we order the coaches now, we may get well on the way toVerona ere sundown."
An hour later two coaches rolled out of the courtyard of the Tre Croci.As they passed, a window was half-opened on the upper floor, and a headlooked out. A line of a song came down, a song sung in a strangequavering voice. It was the catch I had heard the night before:
"Qu'est-ce qui passe ici si tard, Compagnons de la Marjolaine--e!"
It was true. The company came late indeed--too late by fortyyears. . . .