It was just before noon next day that the travellers arrived. I was
sitting 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 first
descended very slowly and stiffly four gentlemen; out of the second
four servants and a quantity of baggage. As it chanced there was no
one about, the courtyard slept its sunny noontide sleep, and the only
movement 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 me
with 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. Presently
that personage arrived with a red face and a short wind, having
ascended rapidly from his own cellar. He was awed by the dignity of
the travellers, and made none of his usual protests of incapacity. The
servants filed off solemnly with the baggage, and the four gentlemen
set themselves down beside me in the loggia and ordered each a modest
flask of wine.
At first I took them for our countrymen, but as I watched them the
conviction vanished. All four were tall and lean beyond the average of
mankind. They wore suits of black, with antique starched frills to
their shirts; their hair was their own and unpowdered. Massive buckles
of an ancient pattern adorned their square-toed shoes, and the canes
they carried were like the yards of a small vessel. They were four
merchants, I had guessed, of Scotland, maybe, or of Newcastle, but
their voices were not Scotch, and their air had no touch of commerce.
Take the heavy-browed preoccupation of a Secretary of State, add the
dignity of a bishop, the sunburn of a fox-hunter, and something of the
disciplined erectness of a soldier, and you may perceive the manner of
these four gentlemen. By the side of them my assurance vanished.
Compared with their Olympian serenity my Person seemed fussy and
servile. Even so, I mused, must Mr. Franklin have looked when baited
in Parliament by the Tory pack. The reflection gave me the cue.
Presently I caught from their conversation the word "Washington," and
the truth flashed upon me. I was in the presence of four of Mr.
Franklin's countrymen. Having never seen an American in the flesh, I
rejoiced at the chance of enlarging my acquaintance.
They brought me into the circle by a polite question as to the length
of road to Verona. Soon introductions followed. My name intrigued
them, and they were eager to learn of my kinship to Uncle Charles. The
eldest of the four, it appeared, was Mr. Galloway out of Maryland.
Then came two brothers, Sylvester by name, of Pennsylvania, and last
Mr. Fish, a lawyer of New York. All four had campaigned in the late
war, and all four were members of the Convention, or whatever they call
their rough-and-ready parliament. They were modest in their behaviour,
much disinclined to speak of their past, as great men might be whose
reputation was world-wide. Somehow the names stuck in my memory. I
was certain that I had heard them linked with some stalwart fight or
some moving civil deed or some defiant manifesto. The making of
history was in their steadfast eye and the grave lines of the mouth.
Our friendship flourished mightily in a brief hour, and brought me the
invitation, willingly accepted, to sit with them at dinner.
There was no sign of the Duchess or Cristine or Oliphant. Whatever had
happened, that household to-day required all hands on deck, and I was
left alone with the Americans. In my day I have supped with the
Macaronies, I have held up my head at the Cocoa Tree, I have avoided
the floor at hunt dinners, I have drunk glass to glass with Tom
Carteron. But never before have I seen such noble consumers of good
liquor as those four gentlemen from beyond the Atlantic. They drank
the strong red Cyprus as if it had been spring-water. "The dust of
your Italian roads takes some cleansing, Mr. Townshend," was their only
excuse, but in truth none was needed. The wine seemed only to thaw
their iron decorum. Without any surcease of dignity they grew
communicative, and passed from lands to peoples and from peoples to
constitutions. Before we knew it we were embarked upon high politics.
Naturally we did not differ on the war. Like me, they held it to have
been 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 thought
highly of our troops in America; less highly of our generals.
"Look you, sir," said Mr. Galloway, "in a war such as we have witnessed
the Almighty is the only strategist. You fight against the forces of
Nature, and a newcomer little knows that the success or failure of
every operation he can conceive depends not upon generalship, but upon
the confirmation of a vast country. Our generals, with this in mind
and with fewer men, could make all your schemes miscarry. Had the
English soldiers not been of such stubborn stuff, we should have been
victors from the first. Our leader was not General Washington but
General America, and his brigadiers were forests, swamps, lakes,
rivers, and high mountains."
"And now," I said, "having won, you have the greatest of human
experiments before you. Your business is to show that the Saxon stock
is adaptable to a republic."
It seemed to me that they exchanged glances.
"We are not pedants," said Mr. Fish, "and have no desire to dispute
about the form of a constitution. A people may be as free under a king
as 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 thought
wedded 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 a
House of Washington and--if not, where are you to turn for your
sovereign?"
Again a smile seemed to pass among the four.
"We are experimenters, as you say, sir, and must go slowly. In the
meantime, we have an authority which keeps peace and property safe. We
are at leisure to cast our eyes round and meditate on the future."
"Then, gentlemen," said I, "you take an excellent way of meditation in
visiting this museum of old sovereignties. Here you have the relics of
any government you please--a dozen republics, tyrannies, theocracies,
merchant confederations, kingdoms, and more than one empire. You have
your choice. I am tolerably familiar with the land, and if I can
assist you I am at your service."
They thanked me gravely "We have letters," said Mr. Galloway; "one in
especial is to a gentleman whom we hope to meet in this place. Have
you heard in your travels of the Count of Albany?"
"He has arrived," said I, "two days ago. Even now he is in the chamber
above 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 fondness
for the English, so you will be welcome, sirs; but he was indisposed
yesterday, and may still be unable to receive you. His daughter
travels 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 of
government."
The four looked at each other, and then Mr. Galloway rose.
"I ask your permission, Mr. Townshend, to consult for a moment with my
friends. The matter is of some importance, and I would beg you to
await us." So saying, he led the others out of doors, and I heard them
withdraw to a corner of the loggia. Now, thought I, there is something
afoot, and my long-sought romance approaches fruition. The company of
the 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 fain
take you into our confidence. Are you aware who is this Count of
Albany?"