THE PRINCESS IRENE [Footnote: This name is of three syllables, and is
pronounced as if spelled E-ren-ay; the last syllable to rhyme with day,
say, may.]
During the reign of the last Manuel, in 1412, as a writer has placed
the incident--that is to say, about thirty-nine years prior to the
epoch occupying us--a naval battle occurred between the Turks and
Christians off Plati, one of the Isles of the Princes. The issue was of
interest to all the peoples who were in the habit of commercial resort
in the region, to the Venetians and Genoese as well as the Byzantines.
To the latter it was of most vital moment, since defeat would have
brought them a serious interruption of communication with the islands
which still remained to the Emperor and the powers in the West upon
which their dependency grew as year after year their capacity for
self-defence diminished.
The Turkish ships had been visible in the offing several days. At last
the Emperor concluded to allow his mariners to go out and engage them.
His indecision had been from a difficulty in naming a commander. The
admiral proper was old and inexperienced, and his fighting impulses,
admitting they had ever really existed, had been lost in the habitudes
of courtierly life. He had become little more than a ceremonial marker.
The need of the hour was a genuine sailor who could manoeuvre a
squadron. On that score there was but one voice among the seamen and
with the public--
"Manuel--give us Manuel!"
The cry, passing from the ships to the multitude in the city, assailed
the palace.
The reader should understand the Manuel wanted was not the Emperor, but
one of his brothers who could lay no claim to birth in the purple. His
mother had not been a lawful spouse; yet the Manuel thus on the tongues
of the many had made a hero of himself. He proved his temper and
abilities in many successful affairs on the sea, and at length became a
popular idol; insomuch that the imperial jealousy descended upon him
like a cloud, and hid him away. Nor could his admirers say he lived; he
had a palace and a family, and it was not known that any of the
monasteries in the city or on the Isles of the Princes had opened to
receive him.
On these shreds of evidence, affirmative and negative, slender as they
may appear, it was believed he was yet alive. Hence the clamor; and
sooth to say it sufficed to produce the favorite; so at least the
commonalty were pleased to think, though a sharper speculation would
have scored the advent quite as much to the emergency then holding the
Empire in its tightening grip.
Restored to active life, Manuel the sailor was given a reception in the
Hippodrome; then after a moment of gladness with his family, and
another in which he was informed of the situation and trial before him,
he hurried to assume the command.
Next morning, with the rising of the sun, the squadron under oar and
sail issued gallantly from its retreat in the Golden Horn, and in order
of battle sought the boastful enemy of Plati. The struggle was long and
desperate. Its circumstances were dimly under view from the seaward
wall in the vicinity of the Seven Towers. A cry of rejoicing from the
anxious people at last rose strong enough to shake the turrets massive
as they were--"Kyrie Eleison! Kyrie Eleison!" Christ had made his cause
victorious. His Cross was in the ascendant. The Turks drew out of the
defeat as best they could, and made haste to beach the galleys
remaining to them on the Asiatic shore behind the low-lying islands.
Manuel the sailor became more than a hero; to the vulgar he was a
savior. All Byzantium and all Galata assembled on the walls and water
along the famous harbor to welcome him when, with many prizes and a
horde of prisoners, he sailed back under the sun newly risen over the
redeemed Propontis. Trumpets answered trumpets in brazen cheer as he
landed. A procession which was a reminder of the triumphs of the
ancient and better times of the Empire escorted him to the Hippodrome.
The overhanging gallery reserved for the Emperor there was crowded with
the dignitaries of the court; the factions were out with their symbols
of blue and green; the scene was gorgeous; yet the public looked in
vain for Manuel the Emperor; he alone was absent; and when the
dispersion took place, the Byzantine spectators sought their homes
shaking their heads and muttering of things in store for their idol
worse than had yet befallen him. Wherefore there was little or no
surprise when the unfortunate again disappeared, this time with his
whole family. The victory, the ensuing triumph, and the too evident
popularity were more than the jealous Emperor could overlook.
There was then a long lapse of years. John Palaeologus succeeded Manuel
on the throne, and was in turn succeeded by Constantine, the last of
the Byzantine monarchs.
Constantine signalized his advent, the great Greek event of 1448, by
numerous acts of clemency, for he was a just man. He opened many prison
doors long hopelessly shut. He conferred honors and rewards that had
been remorselessly erased from account. He condoned offences against
his predecessors, mercifully holding them wanting in evil against
himself. So it came to pass that Manuel, the hero of the sea fight off
Plati, attained a second release, or, in better speech, a second
resurrection. He had been all the years practically buried in certain
cells of the convent of St. Irene on the island of Prinkipo, and now he
came forth an old man, blind and too enfeebled to walk. Borne into
private audience, he was regarded by Constantine with tender sympathy.
"And thou art that Manuel who made the good fight at Plati?"
"Say rather I am he who was that Manuel," the ancient replied. "Death
despises me now because he could not call my decease a victory."
The inquisitor, visibly affected, next spoke in an uncertain voice.
"Is what I have heard true, that at thy going into the Monastery thou
hadst a family?"
The eyes of the unfortunate were not too far gone for tears; some
rolled down his cheeks; others apparently dropped into his throat.
"I had a wife and three children. It is creditable to the feeling
called love that they chose to share my fate. One only survives,
and"--he paused as if feebly aware of the incoherency--"and she was
born a prisoner."
"Born a prisoner!" exclaimed Constantine. "Where is she now?"
"She ought to be here."
The old man turned as he spoke, and called out anxiously:
"Irene--Irene, where art thou, child?"
An attendant, moved like his master, explained.
"Your Majesty, his daughter is in the ante-room."
"Bring her here."
There was a painful hush in the chamber during the waiting. When the
daughter appeared, all eyes were directed to her--all but the father's,
and even he was instantly aware of her presence; for which, doubtless,
the sensibility known only to the long-time blind was sufficiently
alive.
"Where hast thou been?" he asked, with a show of petulance.
"Calm thee, father, I am here."
She took his hand to assure him, and then returned the look of the
Emperor; only his was of open astonishment, while hers was
self-possessed.
Two points were afterwards remembered against her by the courtiers
present; first, contrary to the custom of Byzantine women, she wore no
veil or other covering for the face; in the next place, she tendered no
salutation to the Emperor. Far from prostrating herself, as immemorial
etiquette required, she did not so much as kneel or bow her head. They,
however, excused her, saying truly her days had been passed in the
Monastery without opportunity to acquire courtly manners. In fact they
did not at the time notice the omissions. She was so beautiful, and her
beauty reposed so naturally in an air of grace, modesty, intelligence,
and purity that they saw nothing else. Constantine recovered himself,
and rising from his seat, advanced to the edge of the dais, which in
such audiences, almost wholly without state, raised him slightly above
his guests and attendants, and spoke to the father:
"I know thy history, most noble Greek--noble in blood, noble in
loyalty, noble by virtue of what thou hast done for the Empire--and I
honor thee. I grieve for the suffering thou hast endured, and wish
myself surrounded with many more spirits like thine, for then, from my
exalted place, I could view the future and its portents with greater
calmness of expectation, if not with more of hope. Perhaps thou hast
heard how sadly my inheritance has been weakened by enemies without and
within; how, like limbs lopped from a stately tree, the themes
[Footnote: Provinces.] richest in their yield of revenue have been
wrested from the body of our State, until scarce more than the capital
remains. I make the allusion in apology and excuse for the meagreness
of what I have to bestow for thy many heroic services. Wert thou in the
prime of manhood, I would bring thee into the palace. That being
impossible, I must confine myself to amends within my power. First,
take thou liberty."
The sailor sunk to his knees; then he fell upon his hands, and touched
the floor with his forehead. In that posture, he waited the further
speech. Such was the prostration practised by the Greeks in formally
saluting their Basileus.
Constantine proceeded.
"Take next the house here in the city which was thine when the judgment
fell upon thee. It has been tenantless since, and may be in need of
repairs; if so, report the cost they put thee to, and I will charge the
amount to my civil list." Looking then at the daughter, he added: "On
our Roumelian shore, up by Therapia, there is a summer house which once
belonged to a learned Greek who was the happy possessor of a Homer
written masterfully on stainless parchment. He had a saying that the
book should be opened only in a palace specially built for it; and,
being rich, he indulged the fancy. He brought the marble from the
Pentelic quarries; nothing grosser was permitted in the construction.
In the shade of a portico of many columns of Corinthian model he passed
his days reading to chosen friends, and living as the Athenians were
wont to live in the days of Pericles. In my youth I dwelt much with
him, and he so loved me that at dying he gave me the house, and the
gardens and groves around it. They will help me now to make partial
amends for injustice done; and when will a claimant appear with better
right than the daughter of this brave man? In speaking but now, did he
not call thee Irene?"
A flush overspread her neck and face, but she answered without other
sign of feeling:
"Irene."
"The house--it may be called a palace--and all that pertains to it, are
thine," he continued. "Go thither at will, and begin thy life anew."
She took one step forward, but stopped as suddenly, her color coming
and going. Never had Constantine seen wife or maid more beautiful. He
almost dreaded lest the spell she cast over him would be broken by the
speech trembling upon her lips. She moved quickly to the dais then, and
taking his hand, kissed it fervently, saying:
"Almost I believe we have a Christian Emperor."
She paused, retaining the hand, and looking up into his face.
The spectators, mostly dignitaries of high degree, with their
attendants, were surprised. Some of them were shocked; for it should be
remembered the court was the most rigidly ceremonial in the world. The
rules governing it were the excerpt of an idea that the Basileus or
Emperor was the incarnation of power and majesty. When spoken to by
him, the proudest of his officials dropped their eyes to his
embroidered slippers; when required to speak to him, they fell to their
knees, and kept the posture till he was pleased to bid them rise. Not
one of them had ever touched his fingers, except when he deigned to
hold them out to be most humbly saluted. Their manner at such times was
more than servility; in appearance, at least, it was worship. This
explanation will enable the reader to understand the feeling with which
they beheld the young woman keep the royal hand a prisoner in hers.
Some of them shuddered and turned their faces not to witness a
familiarity so closely resembling profanation.
Constantine, on his part, looked down into the eyes of his fair
kinswoman, knowing her speech was not finished. The slight inclination
of his person toward her was intended for encouragement. Indeed, he
made no attempt to conceal the interest possessing him.
"The Empire may be shorn, even as thou hast said," she resumed
presently, in a voice slightly raised. "But is not this city of our
fathers by site and many advantages as much the capital of the world as
ever? A Christian Emperor founded it, and his name was Constantine; may
it not be its perfect restoration is reserved for another Constantine,
also a Christian Emperor? Search thy heart, O my Lord! I have heard how
noble impulses are often prophets without voices."
Constantine was impressed. From a young person, bred in what were
really prison walls, the speech was amazing. He was pleased with the
opinion she was evidently forming of himself; he was pleased with the
hope she admitted touching the Empire; he was pleased with the
Christian faith, the strength of mind, the character manifested. Her
loyalty to the old Greek regime was unquestionable. The courtiers
thought she might at least have made some acknowledgment of his
princely kindness; but if he thought of the want of form, he passed it;
enough for him that she was a lovely enthusiast. In the uncertainty of
the moment, he hesitated; then, descending from the dais, he kissed her
hand gracefully, courteously, reverently, and said simply:
"May thy hope be God's will."
Turning from her, he helped the blind man to his feet, and declared the
audience dismissed.
Alone with his secretary, the Grand _Logothete_, he sat awhile musing.
"Give ear," he at length said. "Write it, a decree. Fifty thousand gold
pieces annually for the maintenance of Manuel and Irene, his daughter."
The secretary at the first word became absorbed in studying his
master's purple slippers; then, having a reply, he knelt.
"Speak," said Constantine.
"Your Majesty," the secretary responded, "there are not one thousand
pieces in the treasury unappropriated."
"Are we indeed so poor?"
The Emperor sighed, but plucking spirit, went on bravely:
"It may be God has reserved for me the restoration, not only of this
city, but of the Empire. I shall try to deserve the glory. And it may
be that noble impulses _are_ speechless prophets. Let the decree stand.
Heaven willing, we will find a way to make it good."