THE STERN PARENT.
“Dear Zeto, why are you so unkind to poor Apolis?”
“I wish I could be, Principessina; it would do him good. But he sees
nothing that he doesn’t wish to see.”
“Oh, but he feels it dreadfully. That poem which he addressed to
you--how could you have the heart to read it aloud? It brought the
tears to my eyes.”
“But it wasn’t addressed to me personally, you know. It was to the
ideal love whom he sees in all women that are not actually old and
ugly.”
“Ah, now you are unjust, and I can prove it to you. He has confessed
to me that he knew before he came who Zeto was, and that he consented
to conceal his identity because he hoped to win your favour before you
had been prejudiced against him.”
“There is no prejudice whatever. The man doesn’t appeal to me. Can’t
you realise that he hasn’t a chance? Why, I must be much more romantic
than you really. You think one ought to be able to settle down
comfortably with the second-best when one has missed the best, but
that’s what I can’t do. The better the thing one has lost, the worse
is the punishment of wanting it when one can’t have it, but that’s
only fair, when the loss was one’s own fault.” There was a kind of
soothing finality in speaking as if the loss in question had been
irrevocably incurred a long time ago, not left hanging in doubt until
quite lately, but it led Princess Emilia astray, very naturally.
“Yes, but the punishment need not last for ever,” she said eagerly.
“You can never be quite so happy as you might have been, of course,
but there is something in making another person happy. Apolis himself
does not pretend that he never loved before----” Zoe’s lip curled
involuntarily. “His first love married some one else. He can never
forget her, of course, but he does not steel his heart against
happiness. He quoted to me so pathetically--
‘I saw him stand
Before an Altar--with a gentle bride;
Her face was fair, but was not that which made
The Starlight of his Boyhood;’
and he quite agreed with me what a beautiful idea it was for the two
wounded hearts to console one another. He was only afraid that the
opposition of your family would prevent your ever listening to him,
and I was so glad to be able to tell him how favourably Prince and
Princess Theophanis regarded the idea.”
“Favourably?” cried Zoe. “Why, Maurice will have no more to do with
him than he can possibly help. He just tolerates him as an opponent,
but he could not stand him as a friend. But Eirene---- Ah, I see!” a
light breaking in upon her, “this is Eirene’s doing. She thinks it
would further her plans in some way if I married Prince Romanos. Very
well, I will talk to her.”
“But you will be kind to the poor man?” pleaded Princess Emilia.
Zoe could not trust herself to reply. She was eager to get back to
Eirene and reproach her with her duplicity, for it was evident that
she had, to say the least, allowed the Princess to believe that
Maurice favoured the pretensions of Prince Romanos. When she succeeded
in finding her sister-in-law alone, and poured forth her accusation,
Eirene quailed at first before the storm.
“If you knew my difficulties, Zoe!” she said deprecatingly. “Our plans
are threatened on every side, and I am perfectly distracted--ready to
catch at a straw.”
“But what possible good could it do if I did marry Prince Romanos?”
demanded Zoe.
Eirene dissembled, for her true reason must at all costs be hidden
both from Zoe and from Maurice. To her uneasy conscience, it was
extraordinary that they did not divine it, and she lived in constant
dread of its suddenly occurring to them. “Of course it would be to
Maurice’s advantage,” she said. “Prince Romanos could not go to any
lengths in opposing him if you were his wife. You might even prevail
upon him to withdraw his claim altogether.”
“And what if I prevailed upon him to push his claim strongly, and
helped him to win?”
“Zoe, you couldn’t! No, you are English. You could never turn traitor
to your own family, and support the cause of a stranger against
Maurice!”
“Turning traitor to my husband would not signify, of course.”
“It is not as if you cared for him,” said Eirene inadvertently.
“No, it is not. But I am to pretend to care for him, simply that I may
betray him better! And you suggest it, you who know that there is only
one man I would ever marry, and that therefore I shall not marry at
all!”
“I thought you were old enough now to be willing to sacrifice your
feelings for the sake of your family,” said Eirene, with deliberation.
“_Noblesse oblige_, Zoe. It is part of a princess’s duty to make a
political marriage. It is not as if I was asking you to give up any
one on whom you had set your heart. As you say, that other episode is
over--one need only look at Colonel Wylie to be sure of it. Besides,
he told Lord Armitage that you had cured him, and he hadn’t the
slightest thought of asking you again. So there is merely a memory to
sacrifice,--a romantic idea of faithfulness,--and think what it may
mean to Maurice. He and I have made sacrifices, too----”
“Maurice’s being entirely involuntary,” broke in Zoe, the impulse to
return blow for blow strong upon her. “You have sacrificed his home
and his domestic peace for him, which certainly ought to count in his
favour. But you are not going to sacrifice my conscience for me. At
any rate I am old enough to have learnt not to do evil that good may
come, and I prefer to remain faithful to what you call my romantic
ideas. For your own sake I would advise you not to make use of
Princess Emilia to put any more false notions into young
Christodoridi’s head, for if he speaks to me I shall certainly tell
him the truth--and Maurice will support me.”
And with this Parthian shot--the sting of which to Eirene lay in the
fact that it was only too literally true--Zoe departed. The next few
days were marked, so far as politics went, by aimless rushings to and
fro, conferences between groups, abortive negotiations, and other
devices of the Professor for postponing that general meeting of the
delegates which would lead to the adverse vote he feared. Then a
stupendous fact precipitated itself like a landslip to dam up the
stream of talk. The annual spring disturbances in Emathia began
without showing Europe the courtesy of waiting for the melting of the
snows. From the balcony of a house in the Christian quarter of Therma
bombs were thrown at a passing body of Roumi troops, killing several
men and horses, and producing a momentary panic. But the stout old
Mohammedan military governor, Jalal-ud-din Pasha, was not a good
subject for panic. He drew a cordon round the neighbourhood, and
rumours crept about that the whole street in which the incident had
occurred was to be razed to the ground. Before there was time either
for this to be done, or for his soldiers to convert into facts, if
such was their intention, the tales of murder and outrage which ran
concurrently with the rumour, the bells of a church outside the
threatened area rang violently, and hell was let loose. Bands of
excited revolutionaries, armed with weapons hastily brought forth from
concealment, attacked the soldiers, and were themselves attacked by
the Mohammedan mob of the rest of the city, who had demanded arms from
Jalal-ud-din to protect their lives,--a plea the justice of which that
astute politician recognised instantly. Bomb explosions occurred in
innumerable places, all the shops closed as if automatically, the
churches and the foreign Consulates became a seething mass of
refugees, and the Consuls telegraphed wildly in all directions for
warships. That night a glow that lit up the sky for many miles
proclaimed to seafarers that something larger than the ordinary
nightly fires, which might be said to be epidemic in Therma, was in
progress. A great part of the city was in flames, and by the light of
the burning houses men fought like demons, or broke into buildings as
yet untouched in quest of plunder and victims. The ships in the
harbour put out to sea hurriedly, lest the conflagration should reach
them, and every road and path leading from the city had its stream of
fugitives, who had dropped from the walls, or bribed the guard with
such valuables as they had saved to let them pass the gates. In the
morning an indignant body of foreign representatives, shepherded
through the roaring streets by an escort furnished by Jalal-ud-din,
presented themselves at the residence of the Vali, who was a Greek by
race, and demanded an interview. To their stupefaction they were
received, not by Skopiadi Pasha, but by Jalal-ud-din himself, who
explained that the Vali had disappeared during the course of the
outbreak, whereupon he himself had taken up the duties of acting-Vali,
pending instructions from Czarigrad, which could not be expected
immediately, since all the telegraph-wires were destroyed. He promised
protection and a speedy restoration of order; and the Consuls, knowing
that Skopiadi Pasha could not have said more, and would probably have
done less, went home convinced that Jalal-ud-din, though almost
certainly responsible for his superior’s disappearance, was not
without his good points. Poor Skopiadi, always anxious to please, but
vacillating between the demands of the Powers and the directions of
his own government, nominally free to act, but in reality fettered by
a deadly fear of Jalal-ud-din and his troops, had worn out most
people’s patience. For the more frivolous officials of the various
Consulates it became an agreeable relief to the tedium of the day to
exchange bets as to whether his military governor had had him murdered
or only imprisoned.
The latest news that reached Bashi Konak from Therma, before the
destruction of the telegraphs, was that the city was on fire and the
troops engaged in a general massacre, and the excitement among the
Emathian delegates and their sympathisers rose to fever-heat. Eirene
durst not meet the eye of Professor Panagiotis, lest she should read
there that all the horrors now occurring were a part of the plan she
had concerted with him, nor was her conscience quieted by his vigorous
denunciation of _agents provocateurs_ and unauthorised
revolutionaries. She knew that he was continually receiving and
sending messages, and that his protestations did not ring quite true,
and she had a horrible fear that in his eyes the untimeliness of the
outbreak was atoned for by the severity it had evoked from
Jalal-ud-din. With the inconsistency which Zoe was wont to call
Eirene-ish, she made no attempt to undo what she had done, and found
her comfort in refusing to let her boy out of her sight. Clasping him
in her arms, regardless of his unconcealed preference for the toys
from which she had snatched him, she could remind herself that it was
all for his sake. Out of the blood and fire of the present would rise
the imperial throne on which he should sit in the future.
It was at first suggested that the games, now drawing towards their
close, should be discontinued in consequence of the news from Therma,
but the Prince of Dardania decided otherwise. His little capital was
filled with a motley crowd of competitors from all parts of the
Balkans and sightseers from many parts of Europe, and to leave these
without the occupation for which they had come to Bashi Konak would
inevitably tend to turn their thoughts to politics. Then would come
heated discussions and inflammatory speeches, and the correctness of
attitude on which Prince Alexis prided himself as characteristic of
his state would be imperilled. He had sacrificed much in order to give
no offence to any one, allowing Princess Emilia to feed daily a large
company of refugees from Emathia at great expense and in a highly
inefficient manner, and refusing to allow volunteers or warlike stores
to be conveyed across his frontier into the disturbed districts, and
he had no mind to lose his reward. When the general break-up came, who
would be so fit to receive an accession of territory as the ruler who
had resisted every temptation to take part in hostilities, who had
contrived, as far as mortal man could, to live peaceably with each of
his neighbours and yet alienate none of the others? Therefore the
Prince decreed that the aquatic sports, with which the festival was to
end, should take place as had been announced, and the Court and its
guests prepared to migrate from the capital to the port for the
purpose.
The day before the move, Zoe went to the Palace as usual by way of the
garden, and was surprised to find Princess Emilia in a highly
disturbed state. Her flushed face and agitated manner suggested that
she had just gone through a trying scene, and Zoe ascribed the trouble
mentally to the Dowager Princess, whose visit was certainly not
proving an unmixed success. Princess Emilia looked up at her friend’s
entrance, and ran to her impulsively.
“Zeto, dearest Zeto, tell me; you have learnt to care for him, haven’t
you? You are going to make me happy?”
“Not in that way, Principessina. But you mustn’t let it make you
miserable. He is happy enough.”
“Oh, _he_!” cried the Princess viciously, dismissing the absent
Romanos with an emphatic gesture. “I don’t care about him; it is you.
That he should have dared----! Oh, but I promised I would say nothing.
But assure me that you don’t care for him, Zeto. Comfort me in that
way, if not in the other. If you do care for him, he shall still----
But you wouldn’t like that. Oh, I don’t know what I am saying!”
“Most certainly I don’t care for him, if that will comfort you,” said
Zoe, bewildered. “But what has he done--or is it I? I always told you
I should never think of marrying him, so please don’t try to bring him
reluctantly to my feet. Of course I knew he didn’t really care, but
you wouldn’t believe me. How have you found out now that I was right?”
“Oh, it was a revelation--a detestable revelation! It was my
mother-in-law who brought it about, of course; all the disagreeable
things happen through her. Pretending to gratify my dear romantic
heart, too! But, Zeto, he is to ask you formally to marry him, and
abide by your answer. I insisted on that.”
“My dear child, what was the necessity?” cried Zoe impatiently, but
Princess Emilia drew herself up.
“It was due to me. I will have it done, and he understands perfectly.
You will find him in the garden. I sent her--Olimpia--to tell him to
wait for you on the terrace. Don’t go near the orange walk, for my
mother-in-law is there. She retired there to weep over my ingratitude,
she said, so keep to the other end of the terrace.”
Zoe was conscious of a strong wish that both Princess Emilia and her
mother-in-law would confine themselves to their own affairs, but as
nothing would satisfy the former but that she should immediately
receive and refuse the formal proposal of Prince Romanos, without
betraying any knowledge of his alleged perfidy, she went out into the
garden again. A graceful figure in white, with a large parasol, passed
her on the steps of the terrace, and Zoe thought with surprise that
she had never known before that Donna Olimpia disliked her. Perhaps
she was jealous of her Princess’s favour for the stranger. On the
terrace was Prince Romanos, leaning in an interesting attitude upon
the marble balustrade. He turned with a start as she appeared at the
top of the steps, and she wondered once more that this _poseur_, with
his instinctive knowledge of the artistic effect of his every word and
action, should even care to enter upon the rough-and-tumble strife for
supremacy in Emathia, and far more that he should be able to intervene
with the decision and shrewdness he had already displayed. With a wave
of the hand, as he met her, he indicated the view upon which he had
been gazing.
“Is it not characteristic of this land of ours?” he asked her. “Hills
barren almost to bareness, intersected by lines of unsurpassable
verdure wherever water is to be found. Do we not see in it also a type
of the Emathian character, Princess--strength, even rigidity of
outline, united with a peculiar tenderness in the region of the
affections?”
“How very original!” said Zoe, much entertained as she realised the
accomplished way in which he was leading up to the performance of his
task. “In those few words you have given me quite a new view of the
Emathian nature.”
“Have you not studied it too little, Princess? Forgive my suggesting
it, but don’t you isolate yourself unduly from your own race,--from
its Greek portion, at any rate? A closer knowledge--the companionship
of one who would as humbly teach as he would proudly learn from
you--might not this----?”
He paused, with speaking eyes fixed upon her face, and she perceived
that he had so thrown himself into his part that for the moment he was
living in it. The dramatic strain in her own nature responded to his
success.
“Some people are too old to learn,” she replied, with a touch of
suitable melancholy; “and some have already had such hard lessons that
they don’t care to take more.”
“But not such natures as yours, Princess! Or at least your kind heart
would overrule the promptings of your wounded spirit. I also have
suffered. We are linked by the kinship of sorrow; why not then----”
“Stop, rascal!” The startling words, in Greek, broke in upon the
murmured conference, causing Prince Romanos to spring away from Zoe,
of whose hand he had been trying to possess himself. Across the
stage--this was how Zoe, already impressed with the theatrical nature
of the occasion, phrased it to herself--swaggered a venerable
gentleman who might have stepped out of an opera, so gay was he with
stiff white kilt, embroidered jacket and tasselled cap, and so warlike
with his sashful of bristling weapons.
“You, lord!” responded Prince Romanos mechanically.
“Yes, I!” replied the apparition, speaking now in bad but vigorous
French, evidently for Zoe’s benefit; “and it is high time I came. I
find my only son, the heir to the imperial heritage, saying soft
things to a schismatic woman, who hopes to beguile him into marrying
her.”
“Sir, you insult the lady!” broke forth his son. “Permit me to present
you to the Princess Zoe Theophanis.”
“What! one of the English impostors? Why, this is worse than I
believed. Miserable boy, have you no pride of race? is the honour of
your house nothing to you? Can’t you see that it is the one chance of
these--these----” Prince Christodoridi choked back the word upon his
lips, and replaced it weakly with “these impostors--to draw you into
their coils, to make it appear that we--we the Christodoridis--think
them fit to marry with? You, who can show an unbroken Greek and
Orthodox descent from Eudoxia Theophanis, think it no shame to seek in
marriage the daughter of a race of schismatics!”
“Perhaps I may as well say that I have no intention whatever of
marrying your son. In fact, the question had not arisen,” said Zoe. “I
will leave you to discuss your family matters together.”
“Wait one moment!” cried the old man, placing himself in her way. “I
know how you and this degenerate son of mine think to laugh at me
behind my back and carry out your plans, but remember this. I will
acknowledge no such marriage, and if you venture to set foot on the
island of Strio, you may land, but you will never leave it again. I am
lord of life and death on my own ground. When the first King of Morea
tried to enforce the conscription among the Striotes, my father sent
him back a boat-load of his soldiers’ heads, and if I furnish twenty
sailors yearly to the Morean navy, it is by virtue of a treaty as
between equals. Therefore bear in mind that Strio has dungeons as well
as a palace.”
“It sounds interesting,” said Zoe, with a sigh; “but if marrying your
son is the only way of getting there, I am never likely to see Strio,
I fear. Would you kindly----?”
Prince Christodoridi obeyed the gesture and stood aside, and Zoe
descended the steps slowly. A change seemed to have passed over Prince
Romanos with her departure, and he beckoned authoritatively to his
father.
“Come to the other end of the terrace and let us talk. You are
satisfied now, I suppose? You renounce the prospect of the imperial
throne rather than disgorge a few of the hoarded coins which my
grandfather gained by piracy----”
“Hush, hush!” said his father, looking round apprehensively.
“Oh, I am not accusing you of piracy--you know the Powers would blow
Strio out of the water if you tried it. You refuse even to allow me
any help towards asserting our rights, and when I lay a plan for
profiting by the efforts of these people here, you come to spoil it.”
“You shall not marry a schismatic,” was the obstinate reply.
Prince Romanos shrugged his shoulders hopelessly. “Must I point out to
you in so many words that I have never had the faintest intention of
marrying the impostor’s sister? But I had every intention of
accounting for my presence here, and keeping them all in good temper,
by making love to her. Now that is ruined.”
“She would have trapped you into marrying her. A man is no match for a
woman.”
“Not some men, perhaps,” with scarcely veiled contempt. “But this
woman cares for some one else. Otherwise, most excellent lord, you
would not have had the chance to interrupt us to-day, for we should be
betrothed already, and I should be on the point of success.”
“I have done nothing,” grumbled Prince Christodoridi.
“You have created an atmosphere of suspicion and hostility, whereas,
under cover of the general friendliness, I was about to step into
possession of all the advantages our enemies have secured, and oust
them with their own weapons, without spending a drachma. Was not that
worth doing?”
“I don’t know what you mean.”
“It is quite true, though you would not believe it two years ago, that
Panagiotis has honeycombed southern Emathia with Greek societies. They
are supplied with arms, and are under orders to assemble when he gives
them the signal, and seize a number of positions, which can easily be
fortified, about Hagiamavra. He means to direct them from here, with
Theophanis, but I mean to throw myself among them, and take the lead
in the fighting. Which Prince is more likely to win the suffrages of
the Emathians--the one who remained safe at a distance, or the one who
has fought for freedom at their head?”
Prince Christodoridi looked at his son with grudging admiration. “That
is indeed a plan!” he said. “To make use of the impostor’s own
preparations to defeat him, and without any expense! Is there--must
you give it up now?”
“Can you show yourself friendly to all--even to the impostor--while I
try to soothe Princess Zoe and convey to her that my devotion is
unchanged? It will only be for a few days.”
“Did not your grandfather welcome the King of Morea’s officer and set
wine before him an hour before he stabbed him to the heart? Fear not,
son; I can do as well as he.”