Kitabı oku: «Lord Kilgobbin», sayfa 33

CHAPTER LXIV

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.