II
An American Invades
WHEN his Rembrandts came, Grafton took the package to his hotel, opened it, assured himself that they were in good condition, sealed it, and left it with Candace Brothers. “I may telegraph you to forward it,” he said. But he did not tell them what was in it nor where he was going; they might betray him or forestall him, and so deprive him of the pleasure of a successful campaign in person and unaided.
He reached the town of Zweitenbourg at noon on a Monday, five days after his Spaniard. At half-past two he was in a walking suit and on his way to the Grand Ducal Palace, “The Castle,” to reconnoitre. It was July, and the air of that elevated valley was both warm and bracing. From the beautiful road hills and mountains could be seen on every side—the frontiers of the Grand Duchy.
It had once been almost a kingdom. It was now shrunk, through the bad political and matrimonial management of the reigning house, to less than two hundred and fifty square miles. But the Zweitenbourgians were proudly patriotic—they disdained mere size; they were all for quality, not quantity. Besides, they were as vague in general geography as the average human being; they thoroughly knew only the internal geography of Zweitenbourg. In their text-books the Grand Duchy posed as the central state of civilization. In their school histories its grand dukes cut a great figure. For example, it was their Grand Duke Godfrey who, slightly assisted by a Prussian general, Blücher, won the battle of Waterloo. Wellington comes in for a mere mention, as a sort of “among those present”—“a small force of English under a Lord Wellington,” so runs the account, “was defeated in the first day’s engagement and almost caused the rout of the Grand Duke Godfrey and his allies; but on the second day, after the English had been beaten, and when they were about to run, the Grand Duke and Blücher came up with the main army and Napoleon was overthrown.” In the Zweitenbourg atlases the map of each country was printed on a separate plate, and all were apparently of about the same size. And, finally, all Zweitenbourgians knew that their men were the bravest and their women the most beautiful in the world, and that all foreign nations were inhabited by peoples who were ignorant, foolish, and perfidious.
After two miles between garden-like farms, Grafton found himself at the entrance to what seemed a wilderness. There were two huge stone pillars, each capped with a grand-ducal crown. There were two great bronze gates with a large C under a crown in the centre of each. The gates were open, and between the pillars went the military road, clean, smooth, perfect, to plunge into the wilderness. Beside the entrance was an ivy-covered lodge, in front of it a soldier in the blue and white uniform of the Grand Duke’s Household Guards. He was marching up and down, his rifle at shoulder arms. As Grafton advanced he halted and shifted his rifle to a challenge.
“Show your passport,” he commanded, in a queer dialect of German.
“I have no passport,” replied Grafton.
The soldier looked at him stupidly. “But every foreigner has a passport,” he said.
“I have none.”