OF THE STOCK OF THE EMPERORS.
“Oh, Maurice!” gasped Zoe, almost voiceless in her excitement.
“Well,” said Maurice, perhaps with greater carelessness than he felt,
“it sounds very nice, but plenty of people are the rightful something
or other, and it makes no difference to practical politics. Besides,
there’s almost certain to be some flaw.”
“Flaw!” cried the Professor, “no flaw is possible. Here is the table
of your descent, as kept by your family, agreeing exactly with that
which I have compiled from old local histories and the registers and
monuments at Penteffan. Every member of the family in direct descent
is buried there, except one.”
“And there the chain breaks, I suppose?” said Maurice.
“By no means, sir. The missing Nicholas is buried in Westminster
Abbey. Doubtless he died when on a visit to London.”
“Westminster Abbey!” breathed Zoe softly. “Think of having a relation
buried there, and not knowing it!”
“This will interest you,” said the Professor, passing her a paper. It
was the copy of a seventeenth-century entry in a marriage register,
and she read the name of the bride aloud.
“‘_Eugenia Theophanes, de stirpe imperatorum_.’ Oh, and that----”
“That is what you are,” said the Professor, with a bow.
“_Zoe Theophanes, de stirpe imperatorum_,” she murmured under her
breath.
“Don’t be ecstatic, Zoe,” said Maurice sharply. “What difference can
it make, our knowing this? It’s quite clear that our grandfather knew
it, and it made no difference to him.”
“Yes, he knew it,” agreed Professor Panagiotis, glancing from the
pedigree on the table to the decorations of the room, in which the
family crest, a golden eagle with its feet resting on two gates, was
unobtrusively repeated again and again. Zoe had been her grandfather’s
assistant in designing the frieze and the carvings of the high
mantelshelf, little guessing the meaning attaching to them in the old
man’s mind, or that the two gates were those of Rome and of Czarigrad.
“He spent his life quietly here, doing his duty to his tenants,”
persisted Maurice, as though combating something that had been said.
“He did,” responded the Professor; “but when he reached manhood, and
learned for the first time of his lofty ancestry, the present kingdom
of Morea had long been established under a German prince. In the
crisis of 1862, his countrymen, ignorant of his existence, made no
attempt to summon him to their head, and a constitutional
reticence--resembling, shall I say, that of his grandson?--withheld
him from putting himself forward, so that the crown passed without
opposition to the present Cimbrian ruler.”
“I presume you are not suggesting that I should deprive King William
of Morea of his throne?” asked Maurice, with an angry laugh.
“No,” said the Professor emphatically. “The Morean kingdom, grievously
as it has disappointed the hopes fixed upon it, may be disregarded
until the day comes for it to take its place among the federal States
of the revived Empire. It is Unredeemed Greece which claims your
attention--the only portion of Europe still groaning under the Roumi
yoke.”
“I see; you are an Emathian agitator,” was the chilling answer.
“I am and I am not,” replied the Professor. “I am an Emathian Greek,
cherishing warm hopes of the deliverance of my country; but I have
nothing in common with those bands of miscreants which, financed and
directed by interested committees in Thracia and Dardania, have
brought the name of Emathia into discredit throughout Europe by their
wholesale assassinations. I hold them in the utmost detestation. Even
the Roumis are less to be feared.”
“No connection with any one else in the same line of business,”
murmured Maurice. “Surely,” he observed aloud, “you would do better if
you could unite into one body all who had the same object in view?
Then you could moderate the Balkan passion for assassination, and they
would bring you a welcome accession of numbers and money.”
Professor Panagiotis laughed bitterly. “Your words prove that you
share the usual English ignorance of the state of affairs in Emathia,”
he said. “To the schismatic Thracians and Dardanians, an Orthodox
Christian is equally hateful with a Roumi, and the same treatment is
meted out to him.”
“A pleasant prospect for the future!” said Maurice. The Professor
turned upon him almost savagely.
“Joke, jest, mock, Mr Teffany--anything to drive away from your mind
the conviction that you are called upon to espouse the cause of your
country, your subjects! This is the difference between your case and
your grandfather’s--that the crisis which had not arisen in his day
now confronts you. We Emathian Greeks are faced by an organised
conspiracy to despoil us, slay us, make renegades of us--in fact, to
wipe us out, as you would say, from our own country.”
“But how is it? who is doing it?” cried Zoe.
“The schismatics, with Scythia working behind them,” was the reply.
“By immemorial right and tradition Emathia is a Greek country, but
agitators are being sent among the people--ours predominantly by race,
converted, shepherded, educated by us--to persuade them by bribes and
threats to declare themselves Thracians, Dardanians, even
Dacians--anything that may give colour to the fiction of Slav descent,
and consequently alienate them from us.”
“But which are they really? Or are they so mixed that they may be
anything?”
“The mixture of races and languages is extraordinary,” conceded the
Professor unwillingly. “But in the incredible confusion that exists,
we Greeks alone present a clear issue. Until recently, every Christian
in the Roumi dominions was styled a Greek without question, and if our
people are not tampered with, we can continue to supply them with
education and religious ministrations, and confine their agitation for
release from Roum within legal limits. But this unites against us all
the aspiring nationalities--as they call themselves--that covet
Emathian territory, and the result is that our churches are
desecrated, and whole families massacred for the sole crime of
fidelity to Orthodoxy. I dare not recount in the presence of your
sister the fate that has befallen young Greek schoolmistresses, living
unprotected in the villages of the parents of their pupils.”
“Why send unprotected girls to run such risks?”
“The girls accepted them of their own free will,” returned the
Professor smartly. “They placed the Greek cause--the cause of their
race--above life itself.”
“What do you want me to do?” demanded Maurice.
“Your countrymen in Emathia need a rallying-point, a hope. Inevitably
many of them succumb, less to the temptations held out than to the
reign of terror that surrounds them, and declare themselves Thracians
or Dardanians. A Thracian or Dardanian priest takes charge of them, a
school follows, and the next generation will actually be Thracians or
Dardanians by education. But let it be whispered among them secretly
that a deliverer is at hand, that the descendant of their ancient
rulers is waiting to place himself at their head, and they will hold
out. At the same time, the minds of the wealthy Greeks in the cities,
in Czarigrad itself, will also be prepared, and when the outrages of
the revolutionary committees have stirred Europe from its lethargy, we
shall appeal against them. The impossibility of discovering a suitable
ruler for Emathia, who would also be acceptable to its inhabitants,
has been the great difficulty of the past, but when a man appears who
has actually the right to rule, and yet is willing to stand as the
nominee of the Powers, as Vali, Commissioner, Prince--what you
will--they must accept the solution with relief, from pure weariness
of the subject. It has been the case already in Minoa. Once you were
established, the Roumis could not long hold Czarigrad. For four
centuries they have occupied European soil, though only as birds of
passage. They will leave no monuments, their very houses are temporary
lodging-places. They have always kept one eye on Asia, and when the
moment comes they will return thither--perhaps without striking a
blow. You will have delivered Europe from its most shameful stain.”
“Oh, Maurice, you will do it?” entreated Zoe.
“You don’t understand,” said Maurice harshly. “The Professor is
talking of success, but what about failure? And this is not the kind
of thing that can be lightly begun, and laid down if it seems to be
going to fail. If we once take it up, we can never drop it.”
Zoe would have remonstrated, but the Professor stopped her.
“Your brother is right, Miss Teffany,” he said, “and I rejoice at the
spirit in which he approaches the matter. That he should perceive so
clearly that the contest can end only with his life, and yet
contemplate entering upon it, gives me the most vivid hope for the
future. But as I have been instrumental in placing this choice before
him, may I be permitted to make a suggestion? Do not decide at once,
sir. Pay a visit to Emathia, and do me the honour of being my guest at
my villa near Therma. My house in the city itself is untenanted during
the summer, but in the hills you and your sister will find the climate
pleasant and salubrious. My wife, a most estimable woman, with the
heart of a cook and the form of the Niederwald Germania, will rejoice
to display for your benefit the resources of her skill.”
“But if you are constantly exposed to these revolutionary raids, a
country house can scarcely be safe for ladies,” said Maurice,
frowning.
“There is a Roumi garrison not far off, and I am on good terms with
the officers. You must understand that, before quitting my
professorial chair at Benna, I had become heir to the very
considerable possessions of a relative. All that I own is consecrated
to the Greek cause, and a portion of it smoothes my way with the Roumi
authorities, and thus enables me to maintain communication with the
Greeks scattered throughout Emathia. The Committees accuse us, of
course, of being traitors to the Christian faith, but can they wonder
that we should prefer the Roumis to such Christians as they are? But
come and visit me at Kallimeri, and you shall see the state of things
for yourself. You shall meet the leaders of the Greek party, and you
shall have every opportunity I can contrive to become acquainted with
the methods of the Slav propagandists. You are committed to nothing
unless you choose.”
“I will think about it, and give you an answer to-morrow.”
“Oh, Maurice, to-night, to-night!” entreated Zoe. “Think of the copy I
could get! I shan’t sleep a wink.”
“To-morrow,” replied Maurice inexorably, and Zoe went to bed murmuring
“_Zoe Theophanes, de stirpe imperatorum_,” with loving iteration.
“You mustn’t think that Maurice is slack or cold-hearted,” she said to
the Professor, meeting him in the garden the next morning. “He won’t
be hurried into anything, and he never lets any one make up his mind
for him, but when once he sees that a thing is right, he holds on to
it like grim death.”
“Precisely my own reading of your brother’s character,” agreed the
Professor. “Shall I confess that I was at first a little disappointed
at not finding in Mr Teffany that enthusiasm for our persecuted
compatriots which is so manifest in his sister? But I perceived
quickly the tenacity of his purpose--a quality which it is even more
important to enlist on our side.”
“Yes,” said Zoe warmly, “if he once decides to join you, you will
never be disappointed in him. He is so thoroughly dependable. Of
course, I never let him know what I think of him,” she added
inconsequently--“it wouldn’t be good for him--but he is splendid. Very
few men would have gone to college, as he did, at a good deal over the
usual age, after practically managing the estate for my grandfather
for years. But he felt it was the right thing to do, and as soon as he
was free he did it.”
“But surely you did the same?”
“Yes, I went up to Girtham at the same time. But a girl is always
thankful to get an education, you know, just as a boy is always
thankful to escape it. So you won’t hurry Maurice, will you, or try to
influence his judgment?”
“My lips are sealed, unless Mr Teffany himself addresses me on the
subject. But I am infinitely indebted to Miss Teffany for her
warning.”
The Professor’s thanks gave Zoe an uncomfortable feeling of disloyalty
to Maurice, and, in flat contradiction of the advice she had just
given, she attacked her brother on the momentous subject when she saw
him next.
“Oh, Maurice, you will do it, won’t you? It is so splendid to think of
your driving the Roumis from Czarigrad, and establishing peace in
Emathia.”
“The question at present before the House is that of our summer trip,”
was the discouraging reply.
“But that shows you are inclined to take up the matter, doesn’t it? If
it doesn’t, why hesitate about going to Therma?”
“Because I can’t bring myself to trust the Professor absolutely. I
should object to be entirely in his hands.”
“I know; I saw you were not quite satisfied. But why?”
“Did you like the way he spoke of his wife? I should have thought that
would have rubbed you the wrong way at once.”
“Why, Maurice, it was a whole life’s tragedy compressed into two
lines! I thought how artistically he did it, revealing the state of
affairs without unduly obtruding his sorrows upon us. I do adore a
light touch.”
“Oh, don’t talk shop! Well, then, didn’t it strike you how determined
he was that we should see everything in Emathia from one side--his
side, of course? It isn’t reasonable that the Greek Emathians should
possess all the virtues and the other fellows all the vices. I want to
know what the Thracians and Dardanians have to say for themselves.”
“Well, perhaps you will be able to manage that.”
“Not if I am exhibited from the very beginning as the private property
of Professor Panagiotis. The man may be perfectly straight, but it’s
unlikely, to say the least, that he doesn’t expect to reap a full
equivalent for any services he may render.”
“Oh, you think he would want to be Premier or something?”
“Something a good deal more, I should say. Keeper of my conscience,
power behind the throne, and that sort of thing. And you see, he has
the game in his hands. I have nothing but my name, he has the sinews
of war, the local knowledge, the political organisation, and he thinks
that corners me. ‘Such cunning they who dwell on high Have given unto
the Greek.’ No, I haven’t decided, Zoe. I’m thinking it out, and if I
can see a way of going to Therma without delivering myself over body
and soul to Panagiotis, you shall have your trip. I know that ‘copy’
is more important than anything in heaven or earth.”
Somewhat abashed, Zoe retired, and if she said little, thought the
more until, after dinner, Maurice again suggested a move into the
library. She waited in breathless suspense.
“My sister and I have been talking over your kind invitation, sir,” he
said, rather formally, “and if you can assure us on one or two points,
we shall accept it with pleasure. It is understood that we come purely
as your private guests, and that we are at liberty to cultivate the
society of the opposite party, as well as of your own friends, as far
as opportunity offers?”
“You shall enjoy every opportunity that I can give you,” returned the
Professor heartily. “I will not pretend that Committee leaders are
often to be found near Kallimeri, for the Roumi garrison close at hand
is too strong, but their dupes, the peasants, you will be able to
question. And as for your first condition, I shall surprise you by
asking for a greater degree of privacy than you expect. I am going to
request that you will conceal your too-significant surname under an
alias.”
“I don’t see the necessity,” said Maurice stiffly.
“Without this precaution, I cannot guarantee your safety. Consider, my
dear sir; the difference between Theophanis and Teffany is not so
great but that their identity may occur to a watchful enemy--or to
many at once. Then you and your sister are at once set up as a target
for the efforts of the many whose interest it is to have you removed.”
“Then there are other claimants?” asked Maurice, conscious that Zoe
had turned a little pale.
“Who is not a claimant? The King of Thracia would like to add Emathia
to his dominions, but we need not fear him since he has got rid of his
English Prime Minister. That firebrand, the Princess Dowager of
Dardania, who filched from us the province of Rhodope a few years ago,
intended to merge her son’s petty principality in a State comprising
the whole of Emathia. She has now quarrelled with him, but she
continues her intrigues on behalf of her younger son, an officer in
the Scythian army. I need not remind you of the desires of Scythia,
Pannonia, and Morea, and you have always to consider the revolutionary
committees, many of whose members are fanatical republicans. No, Mr
Teffany, I cannot accept the responsibility of your visit unless you
will consent to pass by a less distinctive name.”
“Very well,” said Maurice reluctantly, this sudden turning of the
tables upon him serving, perhaps, to stimulate his unfixed resolution.
“Then we will be Smiths, of course,” said Zoe joyfully. “We have a
hereditary right to the name, and it is splendid for an alias, because
no one will think it is one.”
“Moreover,” proceeded the Professor, “you must remember that you are
not altogether unprovided with relations, outside the limits of that
pedigree there. For instance, your ancestor Alexius Theophanis, the
first of the name to settle in England, came to Cornwall from Italy,
where many of the Greek families preserved their nationality and faith
for more than a century. He left there a sister, Eudoxia, who married
Romanos Christodorides, and became the ancestress of the powerful
family of Christodoridi, Despots of the island of Strio. Her
descendants would not succeed until after those of her brother, of
course.”
“And they would naturally not be sorry to see the brother’s
descendants wiped out, you mean?” suggested Maurice.
“Hardly that. Prince Christodoridi would probably prefer to base his
claim on the invalidity of the marriage of Alexius Theophanis with a
foreigner and a member of another church, contrary to the law of the
Imperial house.”
“If that’s true, he holds a pretty strong card,” said Maurice.
“The law was disregarded several times,” said Zoe quickly. “Gibbon
says so.”
The Professor regarded her approvingly. “Quite so. But as we do not
wish to incite the Christodoridis to take action, we will not bring
your existence to their ears before it is necessary. In any case,
Prince Christodoridi’s claims are unimportant. The Emperor John, your
heroic ancestor, left another son and two daughters besides your
progenitor Basil. Anna, the eldest daughter, married Boris, Grand
Prince of Scythia, and carried the blood of the Cæsars into the
Scythian Imperial house. Helena, the younger, married into the Dacian
family of Gratianco, from which is descended the mother of Prince
Timoleon Malasorte, the Neustrian Imperial claimant. But these claims
through females are merely curious. The only person whose right at all
approaches yours is the descendant of Leo, second son of John
Theophanis. About forty years ago the officiousness of Scythian agents
ferreted out in Dacia an obscure landed proprietor directly descended
from Leo. He was invited to Pavelsburg, decorated, given the title of
Royal Highness, with estates and a pension to support it, and
complimented with the hope of being restored to his ancestor’s throne.
Of course there was no thought of fulfilling the promises made him;
the only intention was to keep him under surveillance. He wore out his
life in fruitless attempts to get his cause adopted, and when I
managed to approach him, as I have now approached you, he had not the
energy to take the steps to which my advice and the detestation he had
conceived for Scythia would have urged him. He left only a daughter,
and it was this disappointment which sent me to England to make one
more attempt to trace the descendants of Basil. A male heir in the
male line is what we want. The work before us is not for women.”
“This man was a Theophanis, then?” asked Maurice.
“Prince Nicolai Andréivitch Féofan--so they call it in Scythia. It
seems that his family had preserved the memory of their Imperial
descent through the centuries, though fear of the Roumis kept them
from disclosing it. When he was summoned to Pavelsburg, he thought it
only an ante-room to Czarigrad, and when he found himself deceived, he
wished to retire to Dacia again, but this was not permitted. At his
death, he was little better than a State prisoner, and he left his
daughter in the same position. No doubt a marriage will be arranged
for her with one of the less important Grand Dukes, that her claim
also may be safely vested in the Imperial family.”
“Poor thing!” said Zoe. Now that Maurice’s claim was incontestably
established to be the strongest, she felt a curious pity for the girl
who must believe herself to be what Maurice actually was, the rightful
inheritor of the glories of the Empire of the East.