# The Vintage/Part 3/Chapter 7

CHAPTER VII
THE RULE OF THE SENATE
From this conversation among the three sprang into being the Peloponnesian Senate, than which no more futile apparatus has ever been devised to guide the affairs of a nation. From the first harmony was impossible between the two parties, and the only result it achieved worth mentioning was that it diverted the time and energies of the military leaders from the work to which every muscle should have been strained—the fall of Tripoli. So far from reconciling the divisions among the soldiers, it merely encouraged partisanship, for it was known that the senate could not agree on any point worth the deliberation. Petrobey was more than once tempted to resign his seat, but to do that was only to throw the wavering balance of power firmly into the hands of the primates, while between Nicholas and Germanos there ripened, as bitter as a Dead-Sea apple, an enmity only to be reconciled at a death-bed, for Germanos, so Nicholas considered, and did not scruple to say, had deceived both him and his colleague. He had professed the highest, most altruistic aims; what guided his conduct was the most selfish and personal policy. This, it is to be feared, was partly true, though not entirely, for Germanos had been sincere when he opened to the two his scheme for the glory of the church; but finding supremacy, like the fruit of Tantalus, still dang​ling beyond, but seemingly only just beyond, his reach, and stung intolerably at his failure, the personal motive crept in, and before long usurped the place of the other.
Nicholas had hoped great things from the arrival of the prince; but they, too, were doomed to be disappointed. He was given an enthusiastic welcome by the army, the majority of whom were sickened with this atmosphere of intrigue, and Petrobey instantly took his place as his subordinate; but the prince gave him to understand that it was his wish that the conduct of the siege should continue in the same hands. Germanos, too, welcomed him cordially, with a due recognition of his position, for he hoped to win him over to the side of the church. For the time it seemed that some solution of their difficulties was imminent, and in the hands of a stronger man, no doubt, such universally recognized authority would have found a means of reconciliation.
But Prince Demetrius was terribly unfitted for the responsibility. His principles were honorable, but by nature he was weak and undecided. He inclined first to one party, then to another, with no diplomatic yielding, which will give an inch to gain a yard, but with the pitiful futility of one who has no knowledge of men, no habit of command, and no certainty of himself. To the soldiers this weakness manifested itself openly, and unhappily not erroneously, in his personal appearance. He was under middle height; his manner, always stiff and awkward, was sometimes insolent, sometimes timid—an unfortunate demeanor, for he was neither the one nor the other, but only excessively self-conscious and shy. His face was thin and pinched, and his hair, although he was only thirty-two, was already gray and scanty, giving him a look of premature old age. Being ​short-sighted, he blinked and peered, as Mitsos said, like a noonday owl, and his voice was querulous and high-pitched. Yet he was of an upright mind, indifferent to danger, and free from the besetting sin of his race, avarice. All these outward defects corresponded but too well with the inadequacy of his nature; a strong man with not so honorable a heart as he had might easily have filled his post better, and the uprightness of his character, at a crisis where uprightness was the quality wanted, could not make itself felt, but which to the army and the council was but the bubbling that came from a man half drowned, when what was wanted was a firm voice and a loud and no drowning cry. Moreover, he was morbidly sensitive about his own dignity and position, and there was something comically tragical to see that puny frame with bent shouldors presiding over a company of strong men, and hear that little screechy voice prating of "My wish" and "My command." On one side of him sat Germanos, courtier-like and full of deference, plying him with his titles, as the nurse gives suck to a baby, while the prince, drinking like a child, would be well pleased, and pipe, "What you say is very true. It is my wish that the church should be fully recognized. Yes, quite so, my dear archbishop; but I think our friend, the gallant commander of this army, of which I, as the commander-in-chief, as the viceroy by the wish of the Hetairia—yes, exactly—has something to say on the subject."
Then Petrobey would lay before the prince the argent need of doing one thing before all others. Tripoli must be taken; surely the claims of the two parties could be settled afterwards, That was the work most important to them. For three weeks now since the beginning of June had they waited at Trikorpha, and the ​provisions of the army were already beginning to be exhansted. The herds were being thinned, the lower pasture was drying up in the summer heat. Must not steps be taken here at once? And Prince Demetrius would answer something in this manner:
"What you say is very true, my dear Petrobey, and I quite agree with you that there is no time to be lost. Would you not form a committee and deliberate what is to be done, and then submit your results to me to receive my sanction? You spoke, I remember, about the formation of some cavalry corps; a very wise plan I thought it, and I meant to have some talk with you about it. But really the days haye slipped by so. Yes, we must, indeed, be up and doing, and my orderly has just informed me, gentlemen, that dinner is ready; and I shall be pleased to see you, my dear archbishop, and you, commander, at my table. Dinner will be served immediately, and our deliberations, gentlemen, in which I think we may say we have made some solid progress, will be adjourned till to-morrow at the usual hour."
Nicholas saw that there was no help here, and he set himself to thwart Germanos with all his power. He considered that the presence of the primates in the camp rendered the army powerless, for it was eaten up with intrigue, slander, and incessant accusation, provoking counter-accusation. At the meetings of the senate he opposed Germanos on every, point, whether or no his suggestions were honorable or expedient, and allying himself with any one who would join him in upholding the army against the church, ranged himself side by side with crooked and unscrupulous men like Poniropoulos and Anagnostes, mere brigands and adventurers, who, without any motive but their own greed, had got together a band of peasants, and were in command of a ​mere disorderly rabble; men who in his soberer moments he knew were as detestable as, in his furious anger against Germanos, he thought the primate to be. Every day the meetings of the senate grew more and more disorderly, and gradually Prince Demetrius saw that he was no more than a cypher in the eyes of these men. Of personal ambition Nicholas had none; honestly and with his whole heart he cared for nothing but the success of the revolution and the extermination of the Turk, and he used his great power and influence for the defeat of the intriguing primates, being convinced that till the question between the two parties was settled nothing could be done. At any rate, he was free from all stings of conscience; his conduct might be unwise, but he acted from impeccable motives, and there was enough truth in his allegations against Germanos to give them a sting that was wellnigh unforgivable.
It was already more than half-way through June, and still the army remained inactive. Petrobey had so far succeeded in rousing the prince as to permit him to make arrangements for regular supplies being sent to the camp; but there was still no talk of an assault on Tripoli, or indeed any preparations for ensuring its success. The senate had met as usual that morning, and the meeting had degenerated into a fierce brawl between Anagnostes and Nicholas on the one side, and Germanos and Charalambes on the other. It was in vain that the prince tried to restore order; they listened to him no more than to a buzzing fly, when at length Germanos, bitten to the quick by some intolerable taunt of Nicholas's, rose from the table, saying he would take no further part in the deliberations of the senate.
"There must be an end," he said, "to this. How long ago is it, Nicholas, since you swore allegiance to me?"
​"Allegiance in all things in your jurisdiction," replied Nicholas, "and to the glory of God, not to the glory of Germanos."
The heat of his anger did not excuse the words, and the moment afterwards every better feeling within him would have had them unsaid, but Anagnostes, sitting at his elbow, applauded vehemently.
"Silence, you there," said Germanos, in a white anger. "You will hear my voice no more here; but let me tell you, you are not rid of me. We will see what the people say to such treatment as that I have been subjected to."
"Go to the people," shonted Nicholas; "see how the Mainats receive you!"
"The Mainats?" said Germanos; "the Mainats, whom I hold a degree only above the Turks?"
"My dear archbishop—my dear archbishop," piped the prince.
"But there are true and loyal men in Greece besides these hounds," continued Germanos, not even hearing the prince speak.
"Archbishop," said the prince again, with a certain dignity, "I command you, I order you, to be silent."
Germanos turned round on him, still mad with rage.
"You order, you command?" he said, with infinite scorn, and broke into a sudden, unnatural laugh.
Prince Demetrius flushed, and on all the senate fell a dead hush. For once the man showed the dignity of birth and breeding, and standing up, he faced the angry prelate. His nervous, weak manner had left him; he rose to the occasion.
"You will please to take your seat, archbishop," he said, "I have a few words to say."
Germanos looked round and saw on all sides eager, attentive faces bent, not on him, but on the prince. ​His anger still burned like fire within him, and he paused not to consider.
"I prefer to leave the room," he said. "I take no further part in these proceedings."
"You choose to disregard my request," said the prince, and with that his voice rose sudden and screaming and fierce; "I will therefore order— Sit down!" he cried.
Germanos's anger went out as suddenly as lightning at night is followed by darkness, and he realized what he had done. The prince's favor he had forfeited hopelessly, and though the prince was nothing, he had forgotten in the man's insignificance the power he represented. Henceforth he would have to fight without the expectancy of help from there; and feeling his schemes already threatening to totter and fall about his head, in sheer blank bewilderment he sat down.
The prince stood silent a moment and then spoke.
"I feel," he said, "that all the good I hoped to do, and all the efforts I wished to make for the great cause, are not to be fulfilled. With the exception of the commander of this army, the senate generally have chosen to disregard my presence here. From Petrobey, however, I have always had courtesy and respect. The party of the church, in particular, has chosen to adopt an insolent demeanor towards me, the like of which I accept from no man. You have seen, gentlemen, the example their head has given them. I regret the decision which I have long thought was possible, but which has been forced upon me. Gentlemen, I leave the camp to-day. The meeting is adjourned."
Then turning to Petrobey, and bowing to the rest:
"Come with me," he said; "we will leave this assembly together," and taking his arm, he left the room.
Half an hour later he quitted the camp with a small ​guard, leaving the rest of his retinue to follow as quickly as they could get ready. But the news of his departure and the reason for it spread like wildfire through Trikorpha, and the men, who still regarded him, partly because of the marked favor he showed to Petrobey, partly from the prestige of the revolutionary Hetairia which he represented, as their champion, were wildly indignant with the primates. A riot nearly ensued, and had not Petrobey and other commanders, notably Nicholas himself, had them guarded in a place of safety, it is not improbable that some would have been murdered. Germanos, however, who, whatever his faults were, was perfectly fearless, refused all protection, and when one of the Mainats passing near him, spit at him, the archbishop dealt the man a blow which knocked him off his feet, and passed on without hurry or discomposure, though he was in the middle of the clan. But the Mainats, who were without a particle of reverence for him, but had a deep respect for personal pluck, appreciated the act fully and made no attempt to stop him, though a minute before it was very doubtful whether he would have reached his quarters alive.
All day the feeling in the camp against the primates rose higher and higher, for, from the soldiers' point of view, the prince was their protector not only against them, but their own commanders, who, as the primates had told them, rousing suspicion if not belief in their minds, were employed in making private arrangements with the Turks, promising them their lives in exchange for their property. No one, it is true, had breathed a suspicion about either Petrobey or Nicholas, for they stood beyond any shadow of scandal, and for the time the ugly thoughts the primates had suggested were cast aside in the fierce indignation excited by the immediate cause of the with​drawal of the prince, for which the primates alone were to be thanked. A knot of angry men assembled outside the building where primates and muskets were stored, demanding that they should be given up to be dealt with as they deserved; and, indeed, such a fate was not unmerited, and it would have saved a world of trouble to Petrobey. For they were responsible for all this doubt and division; they were traitors in the camp, and in time of war a traitor is worse than a regiment of foes. Next day there was no abatement of popular feeling, and in the afternoon the whole body of commanders and captains went to Petrobey, after exacting a promise from their men of quietude in their absence, asking that the prince might be petitioned to return, for his absence could but end in one thing, the death of all the primates, either with the authority of the commanders, or, in default of that, by mutiny.
Petrobey readily consented to go in person, for things were at an absolute impasse, and without the prince's co-operation and presence he was really afraid that the worst might happen, and in the name of the entire army, and with the earnest appeals of the primates, he waited upon him at Leondari, a revolted town not far from Megalopolis. The prince at first hesitated, or seemed to hesitate, but privately he was very much gratified at what seemed so universal a mark of confidence; for on thinking his action over, it had appeared to him that he must cut but a sorry figure if he returned to the Hetairia, saying that the army disregarded his authority and met his commands with insolence, while if he came back, his withdrawal assumed the aspect of a most successful piece of diplomacy. Accordingly, at the end of the week he returned amid the welcoming acclamations of the army, and was pleased to accept—having insisted on the ​same—the apology of Germanos, which was bitter herbs to that proud man, but to Nicholas as sweet as honey in the mouth.
Throughout July, but waning with the moon, continued the reign of that incompetent, but honest man, Prince Demetrius. His indecision amounted to a disease of the mind; he seemed morally incapable of acting, or, through his pretentious viceregal claims, of letting others act for him; a creature afflicted with acute paralysis of will. Inside Tripoli there was still no famine of food or water, and though Achmet Bey saw that escape was impossible, for the weakness of the troops inside would have rendered an attempt to cut through the occupations on the hills quite hopeless, yet he was in no mind to surrender when no attempts were made to induce him to do so. There were provisions in the camp which would last three months more, for the harvest had been got in before the occupation of Valtetzi; the ravages of the Greeks had destroyed only the villages and the winter crops, and Mehemet Salik remarked one morning that one seemed safer in Tripoli than anywhere else.
And the hot month throbbed by, while to the Greeks every day's close saw another day lost.