“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 who answered 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 less an errand than to offer the Count of Albany a crown.”
I suppose I must have had some suspicion of their purpose, and yet the revelation of it fell on me like a thunderclap. I could only stare owlishly at my four grave gentlemen.
Mr. Galloway went on unperturbed. “I have told you that in America we are not yet republicans. There are those among us who favour a republic, but they are by no means a majority. We have got rid of a king 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 the ancient sanctions of monarchy. The Count of Albany is of the most illustrious royal stock in Europe—he is, if legitimacy goes for anything, the rightful King of Britain. Now, if the republican party among us is to be worsted, we must come before the nation with a powerful candidate for their favour. You perceive my drift? What more potent appeal to American pride than to say: ‘We have got rid of King George; we choose of our own free will the older line and King Charles’?”
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; but we, with a clean page to write upon, do not share it. You know your ancient historians. Has not the repository of the chief power always been the rock on which republicanism has shipwrecked? If that power is given to the chief citizen, the way is prepared for the tyrant. If it abides peacefully in a royal house, it abides with ciphers who dignify, without obstructing, a popular constitution. Do not mistake me, Mr. Townshend. This is no whim of a sentimental girl, but the reasoned conclusion of the men who achieved our liberty. There is every reason to 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 begin in my exposition of the hopelessness of their errand.
“By so much the better. We do not wish a young king who may be fractious. An old man tempered by misfortune is what our purpose demands.”
“He has also his failings. A man cannot lead his life for forty years and retain all the virtues.”
At that one of the Sylvesters spoke sharply. “I have heard such gossip, but I do not credit it. I have not forgotten Preston and Derby.”
I made my last objection. “He has no posterity—legitimate posterity—to carry on his line.”
The four gentlemen smiled. “That happens to be his chiefest recommendation,” said Mr. Galloway. “It enables us to take the House of Stuart on trial. We need a breathing-space and leisure to look around; but unless we establish the principle of monarchy at once the republicans will forestall us. Let us get our king at all costs, and during the remaining years of his life we shall have time to settle the succession problem.
“We have no wish to saddle ourselves for good with a race who might prove burdensome. If King Charles fails he has no son, and we can look elsewhere for a better monarch. You perceive the reason of my view?”
I did, and I also perceived the colossal absurdity of the whole business. But I could not convince them of it, for they met my objections with excellent arguments. Nothing save a sight of the Count would, 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 the way for us. He is an elderly man, and should first be informed of our purpose.”
“There is one person whom I beg leave to consult—the Duchess, his daughter. It may be that the present is an ill moment for approaching the Count, and the affair requires her sanction.”
They agreed, and with a very perplexed mind I went forth to seek the lady. The irony of the thing was too cruel, and my heart ached for her. In the gallery I found Oliphant packing some very shabby trunks, and when I questioned him he told me that the family were to leave Santa Chiara on the morrow. Perchance the Duchess had awakened to the true state of their exchequer, or perchance she thought it well to get her father on the road again as a cure for his ailment.
I discovered Cristine, and begged for an interview with her mistress on an urgent matter. She led me to the Duchess’s room, and there the evidence of poverty greeted me openly. All the little luxuries of the ménage had gone to the Count. The poor lady’s room was no better than a servant’s garret, and the lady herself sat stitching a rent in a travelling 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. At first she seemed scarcely to hear me. “What do they want with him?” she asked. “He can give them nothing. He is no friend to the Americans or to any people who have deposed their sovereign.” Then, as she grasped my meaning, her face flushed.
“It is a heartless trick, Mr. Townshend. I would fain think you no party to it.”
“Believe me,
