GREEK MEETS GREEK
So excited did Atlee feel about meeting the father of Nina Kostalergi--of
whose strange doings and adventurous life he had heard much--that he
scarcely slept the entire night. It puzzled him greatly to determine in
what character he should present himself to this crafty Greek. Political
amateurship was now so popular in England, that he might easily enough
pass off for one of those ‘Bulls’ desirous to make himself up on the Greek
question. This was a part that offered no difficulty. ‘Give me five
minutes of any man--a little longer with a woman--and I’ll know where
his sympathies incline to.’ This was a constant boast of his, and not
altogether a vain one. He might be an archæological traveller eager about
new-discovered relics and curious about ruined temples. He might be a
yachting man, who only cared for Salamis as good anchorage, nor thought of
the Acropolis, except as a point of departure; or he might be one of those
myriads who travel without knowing where, or caring why: airing their ennui
now at Thebes, now at Trolhatten; a weariful, dispirited race, who rarely
look so thoroughly alive as when choosing a cigar or changing their money.
There was no reason why the ‘distinguished Mr. Atlee’ might not be one of
these--he was accredited, too, by his Minister, and his ‘solidarity,’ as
the French call it, was beyond question.
While yet revolving these points, a kavass--with much gold in his jacket,
and a voluminous petticoat of white calico--came to inform him that his
Excellency the Prince hope to see him at breakfast at eleven o’clock; and
it now only wanted a few minutes of that hour. Atlee detained the messenger
to show him the road, and at last set out.
Traversing one dreary, ill-built street after another, they arrived at last
at what seemed a little lane, the entrance to which carriages were denied
by a line of stone posts, at the extremity of which a small green gate
appeared in a wall. Pushing this wide open, the kavass stood respectfully,
while Atlee passed in, and found himself in what for Greece was a garden.
There were two fine palm-trees, and a small scrub of oleanders and dwarf
cedars that grew around a little fish-pond, where a small Triton in the
middle, with distended cheeks, should have poured forth a refreshing jet of
water, but his lips were dry, and his conch-shell empty, and the muddy tank
at his feet a mere surface of broad water-lilies convulsively shaken by
bull-frogs. A short shady path led to the house, a two-storeyed edifice,
with the external stair of wood that seemed to crawl round it on every
side.
In a good-sized room of the ground-floor Atlee found the prince awaiting
him. He was confined to a sofa by a slight sprain, he called it, and
apologised for his not being able to rise.
The prince, though advanced in years, was still handsome: his features had
all the splendid regularity of their Greek origin; but in the enormous
orbits, of which the tint was nearly black, and the indented temples,
traversed by veins of immense size, and the firm compression of his lips,
might be read the signs of a man who carried the gambling spirit into every
incident of life, one ready ‘to back his luck,’ and show a bold front to
fortune when fate proved adverse.
The Greek’s manner was perfect. There was all the ease of a man used to
society, with a sort of half-sly courtesy, as he said, ‘This is kindness,
Mr. Atlee--this is real kindness. I scarcely thought an Englishman would
have the courage to call upon anything so unpopular as I am.’
‘I have come to see you and the Parthenon, Prince, and I have begun with
you.’
‘And you will tell them, when you get home, that I am not the terrible
revolutionist they think me: that I am neither Danton nor Félix Pyat, but
a very mild and rather tiresome old man, whose extreme violence goes no
further than believing that people ought to be masters in their own house,
and that when any one disputes the right, the best thing is to throw him
out of the window.’
‘If he will not go by the door,’ remarked Atlee.
‘No, I would not give him the chance of the door. Otherwise you make no
distinction between your friends and your enemies. It is by the mild
methods--what you call “milk-and-water methods”--men spoil all their
efforts for freedom. You always want to cut off somebody’s head and spill
no blood. There’s the mistake of those Irish rebels: they tell me they have
courage, but I find it hard to believe them.’
‘Do believe them then, and know for certain that there is not a braver
people in Europe.’
‘How do you keep them down, then?’
‘You must not ask _me_ that, for I am one of them.’
‘You Irish?’
‘Yes, Irish--very Irish.’
‘Ah! I see. Irish in an English sense? Just as there are Greeks here
who believe in Kulbash Pasha, and would say, Stay at home and till your
currant-fields and mind your coasting trade. Don’t try to be civilised, for
civilisation goes badly with brigandage, and scarcely suits trickery. And
you are aware, Mr. Atlee, that trickery and brigandage are more to Greece
than olives or dried figs?’
There was that of mockery in the way he said this, and the little
smile that played about his mouth when he finished, that left Atlee in
considerable doubt how to read him.
‘I study your newspapers, Mr. Atlee,’ resumed he. ‘I never omit to read
your _Times_, and I see how my old acquaintance, Lord Danesbury, has been
making Turkey out of Ireland! It is so hard to persuade an old ambassador
that you cannot do everything by corruption!’
‘I scarcely think you do him justice.’
‘Poor Danesbury,’ ejaculated he sorrowfully.
‘You opine that his policy is a mistake?’
‘Poor Danesbury!’ said he again.
‘He is one of our ablest men, notwithstanding. At this moment we have not
his superior in anything.’
‘I was going to say, Poor Danesbury, but I now say, Poor England.’
Atlee bit his lips with anger at the sarcasm, but went on, ‘I infer you are
not aware of the exact share subordinates have had in what you call Lord
Danesbury’s Irish blunders--’
‘Pardon my interrupting you, but a really able man has no subordinates. His
inferior agents are so thoroughly absorbed by his own individuality
that they have no wills--no instincts--and, therefore, they can do no
indiscretions They are the simple emanations of himself in action.’
‘In Turkey, perhaps,’ said Atlee, with a smile.
‘If in Turkey, why not in England, or, at least, in Ireland? If you are
well served--and mind, you must be well served, or you are powerless--you
can always in political life see the adversary’s hand. That he sees yours,
is of course true: the great question then is, how much you mean to mislead
him by the showing it? I give you an instance: Lord Danesbury’s cleverest
stroke in policy here, the one hit probably he made in the East, was to
have a private correspondence with the Khedive made known to the Russian
embassy, and induce Gortschakoff to believe that he could not trust the
Pasha! All the Russian preparations to move down on the Provinces were
countermanded. The stores of grain that were being made on the Pruth were
arrested, and three, nearly four weeks elapsed before the mistake was
discovered, and in that interval England had reinforced the squadron at
Malta, and taken steps to encourage Turkey--always to be done by money, or
promise of money.’
‘It was a _coup_ of great adroitness,’ said Atlee.
‘It was more,’ cried the Greek, with elation. ‘It was a move of such
subtlety as smacks of something higher than the Saxon! The men who do these
things have the instinct of their craft. It is theirs to understand that
chemistry of human motives by which a certain combination results in
effects totally remote from the agents that produce it. Can you follow me?’
‘I believe I can.’
‘I would rather say, Is my attempt at an explanation sufficiently clear to
be intelligible?’
Atlee looked fixedly at him, and he could do so unobserved, for the other
was now occupied in preparing his pipe, without minding the question.
Therefore Atlee set himself to study the features before him. It was
evident enough, from the intensity of his gaze and a certain trembling of
his upper lip, that the scrutiny cost him no common effort. It was, in
fact, the effort to divine what, if he mistook to read aright, would be an
irreparable blunder.
With the long-drawn inspiration a man makes before he adventures a daring
feat, he said: ‘It is time I should be candid with you, Prince. It is time
I should tell you that I am in Greece only to see _you_.’
‘To see me?’ said the other, and a very faint flush passed across his face.
‘To see you,’ said Atlee slowly, while he drew out a pocket-book and took
from it a letter. ‘This,’ said he, handing it, ‘is to your address.’ The
words on the cover were M. Spiridionides.
‘I am Spiridion Kostalergi, and by birth a Prince of Delos,’ said the
Greek, waving back the letter.
‘I am well aware of that, and it is only in perfect confidence that I
venture to recall a past that your Excellency will see I respect,’ and
Atlee spoke with an air of deference.
‘The antecedents of the men who serve this country are not to be measured
by the artificial habits of a people who regulate condition by money.
_Your_ statesmen have no need to be journalists, teachers, tutors;
Frenchmen and Italians are all these, and on the Lower Danube and in Greece
we are these and something more.--Nor are we less politicians that we are
more men of the world.--The little of statecraft that French Emperor ever
knew, he picked up in his days of exile.’ All this he blurted out in short
and passionate bursts, like an angry man who was trying to be logical in
his anger, and to make an effort of reason subdue his wrath.
‘If I had not understood these things as you yourself understand them, I
should not have been so indiscreet as to offer you that letter,’ and once
more he proffered it.
This time the Greek took it, tore open the envelope, and read it through.
‘It is from Lord Danesbury,’ said he at length. ‘When we parted last, I
was, in a certain sense, my lord’s subordinate--that is, there were things
none of his staff or secretaries or attachés or dragomen could do, and I
could do them. Times are changed, and if we are to meet again, it will be
as colleagues. It is true, Mr. Atlee, the ambassador of England and the
envoy of Greece are not exactly of the same rank. I do not permit myself
many illusions, and this is not one of them; but remember, if Great Britain
be a first-rate Power, Greece is a volcano. It is for us to say when there
shall be an eruption.’
It was evident, from the rambling tenor of this speech, he was speaking
rather to conceal his thoughts and give himself time for reflection, than
to enunciate any definite opinion; and so Atlee, with native acuteness,
read him, as he simply bowed a cold assent.
‘Why should I give him back his letters?’ burst out the Greek warmly.
‘What does he offer me in exchange for them? Money! mere money! By what
presumption does he assume that I must be in such want of money, that the
only question should be the sum? May not the time come when I shall be
questioned in our chamber as to certain matters of policy, and my only
vindication be the documents of this same English ambassador, written
in his own hand, and signed with his name? Will you tell me that the
triumphant assertion of a man’s honour is not more to him than bank-notes?’
Though the heroic spirit of this speech went but a short way to deceive
Atlee, who only read it as a plea for a higher price, it was his policy to
seem to believe every word of it, and he looked a perfect picture of quiet
conviction.
‘You little suspect what these letters are?’ said the Greek.
I believe I know: I rather think I have a catalogue of them and their
contents,’ mildly hinted the other.
‘Ah! indeed, and are you prepared to vouch for the accuracy and
completeness of your list?’
‘You must be aware it is only my lord himself can answer that question.’
‘Is there--in your enumeration--is there the letter about Crete? and the
false news that deceived the Baron de Baude? Is there the note of my
instructions to the Khedive? Is there--I’m sure there is not--any mention
of the negotiation with Stephanotis Bey?’
‘I have seen Stephanotis myself; I have just come from him,’ said Atlee,
grasping at the escape the name offered.
‘Ah, you know the old Paiikao?’
‘Intimately; we are, I hope, close friends; he was at Kulbash Pasha’s while
I was there, and we had much talk together.’
‘And from him it was you learned that Spiridionides was Spiridion
Kostalergi?’ said the Greek slowly.
‘Surely this is not meant as a question, or, at least, a question to be
answered?’ said Atlee, smiling.
‘No, no, of course not,’ replied the other politely. ‘We are chatting
together, if not like old friends, like men who have every element to
become dear friends. We see life pretty much from the same point of view,
Mr. Atlee, is it not so?’
‘It would be a great flattery to me to think it.’ And Joe’s eyes sparkled
as he spoke.
‘One has to make his choice somewhat early in the world, whether he will
hunt or be hunted: I believe that is about the case.’
‘I suspect so.’
‘I did not take long to decide: _I_ took my place with the wolves!’ Nothing
could be more quietly uttered than these words; but there was a savage
ferocity in his look as he said them that held Atlee almost spell-bound.
‘And you, Mr. Atlee? and you? I need scarcely ask where _your_ choice
fell!’ It was so palpable that the words meant a compliment, Atlee had only
to smile a polite acceptance of them.
‘These letters,’ said the Greek, resuming, and like one who had not
mentally lapsed from the theme--‘these letters are all that my lord deems
them. They are the very stuff that, in your country of publicity and free
discussion, would make or mar the very best reputations amongst you. And,’
added he, after a pause, ‘there are none of them destroyed, none!’
‘He is aware of that.’
‘No, he is not aware of it to the extent I speak of, for many of the
documents that he believed he saw burned in his own presence, on his own
hearth, are here, here in the room we sit in! So that I am in the proud
position of being able to vindicate his policy in many cases where his
memory might prove weak or fallacious.’
‘Although I know Lord Danesbury’s value for these papers does not bear out
your own, I will not suffer myself to discuss the point. I return at once
to what I have come for. Shall I make you an offer in money for them,
Monsieur Kostalergi?’
‘What is the amount you propose?’
‘I was to negotiate for a thousand pounds first. I was to give two thousand
at the last resort. I will begin at the last resort and pay you two.’
‘Why not piastres, Mr. Atlee? I am sure your instructions must have said
piastres.’
Quite unmoved by the sarcasm, Atlee took out his pocket-book and read
from a memorandum: ‘Should M. Kostalergi refuse your offer, or think it
insufficient, on no account let the negotiation take any turn of acrimony
or recrimination. He has rendered me great services in past times, and it
will be for himself to determine whether he should do or say what should in
any way bar our future relations together.’
‘This is not a menace?’ said the Greek, smiling superciliously.
‘No. It is simply an instruction,’ said the other, after a slight
hesitation.
‘The men who make a trade of diplomacy,’ said the Greek haughtily, ‘reserve
it for their dealings with Cabinets. In home or familiar intercourse they
are straightforward and simple. Without these papers your noble master
cannot return to Turkey as ambassador. Do not interrupt me. He cannot come
back as ambassador to the Porte! It is for him to say how he estimates the
post. An ambitious man with ample reason for his ambition, an able man with
a thorough conviction of his ability, a patriotic man who understood and
saw the services he could render to his country, would not bargain at the
price the place should cost him, nor say ten thousand pounds too much to
pay for it.’
‘Ten thousand pounds!’ exclaimed Atlee, but in real and unfeigned
astonishment.
‘I have said ten thousand, and I will not say nine--nor nine thousand nine
hundred.’
Atlee slowly arose and took his hat.
‘I have too much respect for yourself and for your time, M. Kostalergi, to
impose any longer on your leisure. I have no need to say that your proposal
is totally unacceptable.’
‘You have not heard it all, sir. The money is but a part of what I insist
on. I shall demand, besides, that the British ambassador at Constantinople
shall formally support my claim to be received as envoy from Greece, and
that the whole might of England be pledged to the ratification of my
appointment.’
A very cold but not uncourteous smile was all Atlee’s acknowledgment of
this speech.
‘There are small details which regard my title and the rank that I lay
claim to. With these I do not trouble you. I will merely say I reserve them
if we should discuss this in future.’
‘Of that there is little prospect. Indeed, I see none whatever. I may say
this much, however, Prince, that I shall most willingly undertake to place
your claims to be received as Minister for Greece at the Porte under Lord
Danesbury’s notice, and, I have every hope, for favourable consideration.
We are not likely to meet again: may I assume that we part friends?’
‘You only anticipate my own sincere desire.’
As they passed slowly through the garden, Atlee stopped and said: ‘Had
I been able to tell my lord, “The Prince is just named special envoy at
Constantinople. The Turks are offended at something he has done in Crete or
Thessaly. Without certain pressure on the Divan they will not receive him.
Will your lordship empower me to say that you will undertake this, and,
moreover, enable me to assure him that all the cost and expenditure of his
outfit shall be met in a suitable form?” If, in fact, you give me your
permission to submit such a basis as this, I should leave Athens far
happier than I feel now.’
‘The Chamber has already voted the outfit. It is very modest, but it is
enough. Our national resources are at a low ebb. You might, indeed--that
is, if you still wished to plead my cause--you might tell my lord that I
had destined this sum as the fortune of my daughter. I have a daughter, Mr.
Atlee, and at present sojourning in your own country. And though at one
time I was minded to recall her, and take her with me to Turkey, I have
grown to doubt whether it would be a wise policy. Our Greek contingencies
are too many and too sudden to let us project very far in life.’
‘Strange enough,’ said Atlee thoughtfully, ‘you have just--as it were by
mere hazard--struck the one chord in the English nature that will always
respond to the appeal of a home affection. Were I to say, “Do you know why
Kostalergi makes so hard a bargain? It is to endow a daughter. It is the
sole provision he stipulates to make her--Greek statesmen can amass no
fortunes--this hazard will secure the girl’s future!” On my life, I cannot
think of one argument that would have equal weight.’
Kostalergi smiled faintly, but did not speak.
‘Lord Danesbury never married, but I know with what interest and affection
he follows the fortunes of men who live to secure the happiness of their
children. It is the one plea he could not resist; to be sure he might say,
“Kostalergi told you this, and perhaps at the time he himself believed it;
but how can a man who likes the world and its very costliest pleasures
guard himself against his own habits? Who is to pledge his honour that the
girl will ever be the owner of this sum?”’
‘I shall place _that_ beyond a cavil or a question: he shall be himself her
guardian. The money shall not leave his hands till she marries. You have
your own laws, by which a man can charge his estate with the payment of a
certain amount. My lord, if he assents to this, will know how it may be
done. I repeat, I do not desire to touch a drachma of the sum.’
‘You interest me immensely. I cannot tell you how intensely I feel
interested in all this. In fact, I shall own to you frankly that you have
at last employed an argument, I do not know how, even if I wished, to
answer. Am I at liberty to state this pretty much as you have told it?’
‘Every word of it.’
‘Will you go further--will you give me a little line, a memorandum in your
own hand, to show that I do not misstate nor mistake you--that I have your
meaning correctly, and without even a chance of error?’
‘I will write it formally and deliberately.’
The bell of the outer door rang at the moment. It was a telegraphic message
to Atlee, to say that the steamer had perfected her repairs and would sail
that evening.
‘You mean to sail with her?’ asked the Greek. ‘Well, within an hour, you
shall have my packet. Good-bye. I have no doubt we shall hear of each other
again.’
‘I think I could venture to bet on it,’ were Atlee’s last words as he
turned away.