Chapter II: 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.