GREEK AND GREEK.
It was Angeliké who at last broke desperately into the flood of
complaint. “Lady, are you on my father’s side, or ours?”
“How can you be so foolish, daughter mine?” was the querulous reply.
“Have I ever been on any side but your father’s? How could I be
anything else?”
“But you don’t agree with him, my mother? You don’t think it fair that
Danaë, who has missed all her own chances, should come back and steal
my bridegroom?”
“I’m not stealing him! I don’t want him!” cried Danaë.
“It is no use asking me to oppose your father,” said Princess
Christodoridi, and this was obviously true.
“No, but if we can manage to get things right, you won’t prevent us?
It’s all very well for Danaë to stand there and say she won’t marry
Narkissos, but our father will force the ring on her finger and the
crown on her head. But I have a plan. My mother, I will not tell you
what it is, lest my father should suspect, but you will do what I
ask?”
“If you are sure your father will not find out,” said her mother
nervously.
“You will have done nothing for him to find out. His anger will be
terrible, of course, but we are used to that, and it is worth it this
time. Once the blessed rings are exchanged, no one can break the
betrothal. My mother, Danaë and I must be dressed exactly alike.
Leave the embroidered robe for the Sunday after the wedding, and let
Danaë have a long coat like mine. And you were going to lend me your
own veil.”
“Yes, but your father said it was too large--like a Roumi woman’s. I
told him it was what everyone wore in my island, and he said we were
ignorant heathen. I dare not let you wear it, child. He would pull it
off you and tear it to pieces.”
“Ah, but we will cut it in two, my mother. Then it will be quite
small, and we shall be alike.”
“But what waste! It is good muslin, real English. And when your father
sees two brides----”
“He will not have time to think about it. And you will sacrifice your
veil to save your daughter, mother mine? Ah, I knew it!” She kissed
the Princess’s hand. “Danaë, can you faint?”
“I don’t know. Yes, I fainted once, not long ago.”
“Well, you must be able to do it properly. You had better practise.
When is the betrothal to be, my mother?”
“Your father said it was no use wasting more time. He has sent word to
Kyrios Smaragdopoulos and his son, and Danaë’s godfather, to be here
in three days.”
“I must let Narkissos know at once,” mused Angeliké, under her
breath. “He must be sullen, but not refuse to accept the change. And
you, my mother, you will tell the Despot that Danaë is obstinate and
swears she will not marry Narkissos, but girls are often like that,
and very likely she will be all right on the day. And we will both
offer gifts to the Fates, that all may be well. Let us go and make
honey cakes at once.”
“At Klaustra, they said that there were no such things as the Fates,”
said Danaë hesitatingly. Her mother sat up.
“Never let me hear you say such a thing again, Danaë,” she said, with
unusual decision. “Wretched girl, are you not afraid what will happen
to you? No Fates, indeed? One would think you had been born in a house
where the proper ceremonies were not observed. Did not your father
himself tie up the dogs on the third night after you were born, that
the august ladies might not be disturbed while they partook of the
banquet prepared for them, and decided upon your future? Those
unbelievers at Klaustra, whoever they may be, will say there is no
such thing as witches next.”
As this was exactly what Zoe had said, Danaë held her peace.
Angeliké laughed.
“Even if we were not sure of the Fates, it would be prudent to
propitiate them in case they existed,” she said. “So I shall give them
honey cakes, and if things go wrong with you and right with me,
Danaë, we shall know why. And I shall also weep. My father calls me
the weeper. Holy Marina! he shall see quite as many tears as he
expects!”
And in truth, during the next two days, red eyes and perpetual weeping
met Prince Christodoridi’s gaze whenever he glanced towards his
younger daughter. They made him impatient, but he did not really
object to them nearly as much as to Danaë’s set, tearless face. He
was vaguely conscious of a conflict of wills between his elder
daughter and himself, and he was determined that this should be the
decisive battle. Once Danaë was betrothed, there was no help for her,
and the greater her objection to the proposed bridegroom, the more
signal her father’s triumph. It was no business of his to forecast the
course of a loveless marriage between an unwilling couple. Its
working-out might safely be left to Narkissos and his parents.
As for Danaë, the fact of her dependence upon Angeliké galled her
almost as much as her father’s summary disposal of her hand. But for
the assurance that Angeliké’s heart was firmly set upon Narkissos,
she would have feared being left in the lurch at the last moment. It
was a consolation to feel that Angeliké was working solely in her own
interests, since that ensured a certain amount of loyalty on her part,
but it was not pleasant to be so deeply indebted to her, while to
Angeliké the bitterest drop in her cup was undoubtedly the reflection
that in securing her own happiness she was working temporary
deliverance for Danaë. How to counteract this involuntary boon was a
problem at which her busy brain was hard at work whenever it was not
perfecting the details of the original scheme.
* * * * * * * *
“Danaë, wake up! There is a ship lying off the shore--a
_pamporaki_!” [steamer] It was the morning of the betrothal day, and
Danaë, who had lain awake the night before, was still plunged in
heavy sleep when her sister’s voice summoned her to the window. Out at
sea, beyond the network of rocks and shoals which had formed an
important part of the Striotes’ stock-in-trade in their palmy days as
pirates and wreckers, lay a trim vessel, very unlike usual visitors to
the island.
“I have only seen a _pamporaki_ twice--no, three times--before, when
we went to Tortolana,” mused Angeliké. “Certainly none has ever come
so near Strio. Do you think it is the English lord’s ship, Danaë?”
“Certainly not--why should it be? How can I tell? I have never seen
Milordo’s ship,” replied Danaë, in such confusion that Angeliké was
emboldened to make a further attempt.
“Oh, sister mine, tell me about Milordo! Why did he break off the
marriage?”
“There was no talk of a marriage, therefore no breaking-off,” said
Danaë harshly. “I have told you before that Milordo never dreamed of
marrying me.”
This ought to have been decisive, but to Angeliké the blush and the
sudden eager look called up by her suggestion as to the vessel’s
ownership were far more eloquent than words. Still, it was evidently
hopeless to get anything more out of Danaë, so she turned to another
informant. This was Petros, who was still hanging about, though not at
all by his own wish. By way of accounting at once plausibly and
concisely for the various events that had occurred at Therma--a large
proportion of which were quite unintelligible to himself--he had told
Prince Christodoridi that it had been discovered too late that the
Lady was Orthodox by religion and royal by descent, and that she was
now openly acknowledged to have been the wife of Prince Romanos.
Thereupon the Despot turned upon him furiously, and charging him with
having brought a false report at first, drove him from his presence,
ordering him to leave the island. But his master had ordered him to
stay in Strio, and he felt it highly inadvisable to return to Therma
without a protector of some kind, so that his position was most
unenviable. Angeliké had first come upon him--in sufficient
secrecy--two days before, and by the sacrifice of the least
conspicuous coin from her cap had drawn from him a statement to the
effect that the marriage-broker had certainly been busy, at the
instance of Prince Romanos, in arranging a marriage between Milordo
and Lady Danaë, but that the English lord had suddenly and
insultingly broken off the negociations. Pressed as to the reason, he
replied--with a lumping together of cause and effect, and a confusion
of times, that were truly magnificent--that the Lady Danaë had chosen
to masquerade for a while as a servant in the household at Klaustra,
and it was the discovery of this that had made her suitor alter his
mind. To-day Angeliké managed to get hold of Petros again. He
answered her question almost before it was asked.
“Yes, lady, that is Milordo’s ship. I have seen it in Therma harbour.”
“But why does he come here? Does he wish to renew the treaty of
marriage?” demanded Angeliké.
“How can I tell, lady?” Petros assumed a deep air of wisdom. “At any
rate, it can hardly be very agreeable for the Lady Danaë to meet him
after what happened.”
“But did it happen?” flashed forth Angeliké.
Petros looked grieved. “Lady, you have asked, and I have answered. You
know best whether the Lady Danaë desired to return to Strio. To me in
my humility it appeared that she did not. If Milordo thought so too,
may he not be visiting the island to show her what she has lost?”
“But that is insulting to us!” cried Angeliké.
“The English are like that, lady. They will take infinite pains to
insult those they dislike. Nay, I have seen them show atrocious
rudeness for mere wantonness.”
Angeliké went slowly away, a new plan beginning to shape itself in
her mind. As a preliminary step, she took the precaution of a
whispered warning to Princess Christodoridi. “Keep Danaë with you in
the kitchen all the morning, my mother. If my father sees her, he will
know that she does not intend to submit, and we don’t want him to be
angry beforehand.”
Her mother agreed with nervous readiness, and as a result Danaë was
kept hard at work making cakes and sweetmeats, with no opportunity of
stealing upstairs to look at the distant ship. For herself Angeliké
had reserved the task of preparing the pillared loggia, which served
as an open-air sitting-room, for the afternoon’s ceremony. Sweeping
and dusting, erecting a temporary altar for the blessing of the rings,
and overseeing the servants as they beat up and arranged the cushions
on the divan for the expected guests, she was elaborately busy, and
constantly in her father’s sight. Her cheerful aspect forced itself
upon his attention at last, and was no doubt welcome, since even
Prince Christodoridi could scarcely deny that Angeliké had been
hardly treated. He caught one of her plaits as she hurried past him,
and pulled it with something like approval.
“What, weeper! are the tears dried?”
“Quite dried up, lord!” showing a saucy and absolutely tearless face.
“Are there not plenty of bridegrooms to be had besides Narkissos
Smaragdopoulos?”
“Oh, that’s what makes you so cheerful, is it? And you don’t even mind
your sister’s getting him?”
She laughed, with gleeful appreciation of an absurdity. “Why, lord, it
is Danaë who minds! She declares she won’t marry him, and my mother
is keeping her under her own eye lest she should try to run away.
There is that ship, you know----”
“And what of that ship, girl?” His tone was thunderous, but Angeliké
smiled innocently into his face.
“Why, lord, they say it belongs to a great and rich English lord, who
is a friend of my brother. Now what I think is that this lord has been
drawn to Strio by the report of the beauty of your second daughter. So
there will be a marriage for me after all!”
“You are an impudent little minx!” said Prince Christodoridi, but
without any show of anger. “But suppose it is Danaë he comes after?”
“Lord, you would not let her rob me of two bridegrooms?” The pretty
face was so innocently grieved, the eyes so near tears, that Prince
Christodoridi laughed and pinched Angeliké’s ear encouragingly.
“One bridegroom will be quite enough for her, I warrant, and once
betrothed she is out of your way. But suppose the English lord doesn’t
think you come up to the report he has heard?”
“Oh, do you think he will be disappointed, lord?” breathed Angeliké,
with such anxious misery that her father’s heart was melted.
“Suppose we let him see you, girl? Shall I ask him to the betrothal?
It is well to be courteous to strangers.”
“Ah, lord, if you would! And then nothing need be said unless--unless
you should feel that you would like an English son-in-law. All the
English are very rich, I have heard Danaë or some one say.”
“What does Danaë know about the English?” suspiciously.
“I don’t know, lord. She has never seen any of them, has she? I
daresay,” meekly, “that it was not Danaë who told me. But why should
he come to Strio at all, if he did not desire to present himself for
your approval?”
Curiously enough, Armitage was asking himself much the same
question--what was he doing off Strio? He had been restless at
Klaustra, and had gravely given utterance to the opinion that the sea
was calling him. A short cruise in the Egean, and he would return to
see what he had long promised himself as a rare delight--the unfolding
of spring in the great beech-woods on the mountain slopes. His hosts
acquiesced in the most understanding way, and Zoe begged him, if he
found himself anywhere in the neighbourhood of Strio, to make a point
of visiting the island and seeing how poor Kalliopé was getting on.
At Therma it was only polite to pay his respects to Prince Romanos,
and ask if he could do anything for him in the islands, and as the
Prince wished to send an important parcel to his sister, it was only
natural that Armitage, not guessing that it contained the various
little clothes and toys which Danaë had made for Janni at different
times during her career as his nurse, and was designed to emphasize
the completeness of her separation from him for the future, should
volunteer to carry it. Thus there was really no choice about the
yacht’s destination, but all the same, Armitage had a lurking fear
that he was making a fool of himself when his boat took him ashore,
and he noticed the critical way in which the inhabitants regarded him.
Emancipation had not been by any means wholly a boon to the
inhabitants of Strio--rather it had brought about a distinct
diminution both of their liberties and their prosperity, owing to the
restraints imposed by their union with the mainland kingdom. Therefore
the friendliness for England and individual Englishmen, so noticeable
in most Greek communities, was conspicuous by its absence, and the
truculent looks of the swarthy loafers on the quay made Armitage feel
as if he was venturing into a pirates’ lair.
But after all, this was the environment in which his island
princess--as he always called Danaë in his thoughts--had grown up,
and in which it ought to be possible to see her free and happy,
untrammelled by the conventions which had suited her so ill, and he
rambled through the tortuous lanes of the little town with great
contentment, noting endless subjects for sketches. Then he came
suddenly on Prince Christodoridi, on his way to the harbour to visit
him on board, and they renewed the acquaintance begun years ago at
Bashi Konak, and fraternised cordially. The Despot would hear of
nothing but the Englishman’s accompanying him home at once to spend
the day, preparatory to coming on shore for a regular visit. He should
sketch as much as he liked, examine the Venetian work still extant in
the fortress, and there was a little family ceremony that afternoon
which he might find it interesting to attend--the betrothal of Prince
Christodoridi’s daughter. Armitage was conscious of a distinct shock
at first, but he recollected that there were two daughters, and
reasoned that it was not likely they would be marrying Danaë off so
soon after her return home. Therefore he sent his boat, which was to
fetch him off at a certain time, back to the yacht, and returned up
the hill to the fortress with his host.
Everything was now ready for the betrothal, and presently the guests
began to drop in. Kyrios Smaragdopoulos had rather the appearance of a
policeman haling an unwilling prisoner, so sullen was the handsome
face of his son, and so unsuited his bearing to his festal attire,
which included the widest and whitest and stiffest kilt Armitage had
ever seen, and a jacket rich with gold embroidery. Narkissos sat apart
and brooded, his father taking no notice of him except to see that he
did not run away, and it was a relief when a burly jovial man
swaggered in, who was introduced to Armitage as Parthenios Chalkiadi.
He had been Prince Christodoridi’s best man and his elder daughter’s
godfather, it seemed, and not only took an important part in to-day’s
proceedings, but was also to be best man at his goddaughter’s wedding.
It was natural he should be in the family secrets, and he whispered
loudly behind his hand to Armitage, with a nod towards the gloomy
bridegroom, “Wanted the other one!” which caused the guest to regard
Narkissos with more interest, as a rejected suitor of Danaë’s.
Meanwhile a priest, with flowing hair and beard and a frayed purple
robe, had made his appearance with a youthful assistant, and there was
a great sound of whispering and giggling through a doorway across
which female forms sometimes flitted. Then an old woman looked out and
called in an agitated voice for Kyrios Parthenios, and the godfather
rolled across the room with great pomp. Above the whisperings of the
women his rich voice was clearly audible somewhere in the back
regions.
“Well, little one, back just in time to keep your sister from getting
married first! She has plenty of time before her. But mercy on us!
she’s as tall as you are. Two brides instead of one! We must take care
the wrong one doesn’t get betrothed.”
Then it was Danaë! Armitage was conscious of a feeling--not of
disappointment; he assured himself it was not disappointment--but of
flatness, as if a promising romance had come to an unexpectedly sudden
end. But Kyrios Smaragdopoulos had marched his reluctant son to the
extemporised altar, on which two gold rings were placed, and a
procession was entering the doorway--Parthenios Chalkiadi leading a
veiled figure by the hand, another veiled figure supporting the first
one closely, and an indeterminate throng of girls and women behind. It
was Danaë! Armitage must have started or made a movement of some
kind, for her eyes met his with a look which made him turn away as if
he had seen something he had no business to see. Shame, misery,
reproach, unavailing protest--he read them all in that one glance and
the movement of recoil which accompanied it, and he half rose, with a
wild impulse to save the girl somehow, though how he had no idea. But
attention was diverted from his action by a shriek from the
bridesmaid.
“She is fainting! Help, quick! Carry her back!”
Armitage had seen no sign of fainting, but Danaë was undoubtedly
lying limp in her sister’s arms, and Kyrios Chalkiadi was looking down
at the two in amazement. The women closed round them and hustled them
back, and presently the godfather reappeared grumbling.
“The Pappas had better cut things as short as possible,” he said, the
radiance of his face eclipsed. “The girl is overwrought--joyful
occasion--too much excitement---- But in our young days who ever heard
of a bride fainting at her betrothal?”
“Girls are poor creatures nowadays,” growled Prince Christodoridi.
“Leave out the exhortation, Pappa,” he added to the priest, who had
prepared a flowery one, and was naturally reluctant to omit it. While
he and his patron argued together in low tones, Kyrios Chalkiadi sat
down again by Armitage.
“I verily believe the bride dislikes the match as much as the
bridegroom,” he said, in his roaring whisper, with a glance of
contempt at the stolid Narkissos. “A nasty, sulky fellow--I don’t
wonder she doesn’t want him.”
“Can nothing be done?” asked Armitage involuntarily.
His neighbour looked at him in astonishment, then laughed. “You show
yourself indeed a perfect stranger here, lord. What could be done,
when the parents have arranged matters? You may be sure that in a case
like this the young people would rebel, if they thought it would be
any use. But they’ll settle down. And let me advise you to exhibit
less interest, friend Englishman,” he added warningly. “We know that
you English have a taste for interfering in other people’s affairs,
but it will do no good to the girl. Ah, I am wanted again!”
The warning he had received held Armitage fast in his place, but it
seemed to him like a horrible dream as the veiled figure was brought
in once more, supported by the strong arm of Kyrios Parthenios on one
side, and by her sister on the other, Princess Christodoridi following
anxiously close behind, and keeping back the other women, who were
inclined to press unduly close. Narkissos was brought into position
again, the rings were blessed, and a reluctant hand was disinterred
from under the bride’s draperies. Parthenios Chalkiadi was clearly
resolved to do his duty to the utmost. He put the rings on, took them
off, and exchanged them, with strict attention to the words the priest
was gabbling, and callous disregard of the attitude of the betrothal
pair, while his left arm held the bride in a grip which suggested
constraint at least as much as support. When the brief ceremony was
over, he gave a laugh of relief.
“Sorry to have done you out of your sermon, Pappa. Better keep it for
the wedding. Lady Danaë will have got used to the thought of her
bridegroom by that time---- Why, what’s this? All-Holy Mother of God!
we have betrothed the wrong one after all!”
For the shrinking form on his left had suddenly recovered strength,
and stepped forward with extreme confidence to join the bridegroom,
from whose countenance the clouds had instantaneously disappeared.
Princess Christodoridi, running forward in obvious horror to lift the
veil, disclosed the features of Angeliké, and dropped it with a
shriek.
“Holy Nicholas! what is this?” roared Prince Christodoridi, charging
at the triumphant pair like a wild bull. Angeliké sheltered herself
immediately behind the stalwart form of her betrothed, with a
trustfulness very pretty to see, and left him to answer, which he did
with admirable courage.
“I engaged myself to marry the Lady Angeliké, lord, and I am now
betrothed to her.”
“Oh, are you?” cried his prospective father-in-law. “Take off those
rings! Here, Pappa!” to the retreating priest, “come back and do the
service over again. My stick shall make acquaintance with your
shoulders for this foolishness, you hussy! Take off that ring!” he
shouted to his daughter.
But Angeliké kept her hand behind her, and remained coyly in the
shadow, and Narkissos rose magnificently to the occasion.
“You may take the Lady Angeliké’s ring from my dead hand, lord, but
while I live it does not leave me.”
“Come out, girl!” roared Prince Christodoridi, making a dash at his
daughter. “I will have that ring off if I have to cut off your finger
to get it,” but the priest, still sore on account of his wasted
eloquence, interposed.
“That would be sacrilege, lord. Once the handfasting has taken place,
the _symphonia_ [contract] is as binding as marriage itself. None can
break it. Carry the case to the Bishop--to the Œcumenical Patriarch
himself, and he will tell you the same.”
“I will go to the Patriarch, dog, and you shall see!” cried the irate
father, and ceased perforce, foaming with rage. While he was still
muttering inarticulately, Parthenios Chalkiadi, with considerable
courage, stepped forward as peacemaker.
“I was as much taken aback as you, friend Agesilaos,” he said frankly,
laying his hand on the Prince’s shoulder, “but I can’t say that I am
altogether sorry for what has happened. It seems to me that these two
young people are a good deal happier than they were half an hour ago.
The only one who seems to have been badly treated is my goddaughter.
What says the Lady Danaë? Does she wish the betrothal broken, if it
can be done?”
“Nothing less so, lord,” cried Danaë eagerly. “I had no desire to
marry the Lord Narkissos.”
“Then it looks as if everyone was satisfied,” said Kyrios Parthenios
gravely. “Let us have the coffee, Danaë,” in the most audible of
whispers. “Come, friend Agesilaos,” to Prince Christodoridi, “let the
young folks kiss your hand. I’m sure I never saw a handsomer couple
since the day I was best man to yourself and my friend Kyria Xantippe
there. Ah, that’s right!”