Gentle, and burning, and bright—Sun, Moon, and Star I declare them.
Let others adore Sun and Moon, but give me my Star, my belovéd!"
When the Moon quits the sky, sleep falls on the eyes of her lovers.
But the fall of the Star is the death of the man who adores her—
And oh! if my load-star doth fall, Machallah! I cease from the living!"
General applause rewarded the song, which it was difficult to believe had not been made expressly for the occasion.
"Who would think," said Paul Béldi to the Pasha, "that your people not only cut darts from reeds, but pens also, pens worthy of the poets of love?"
"Oh!" replied Achmed, "in the hands of our poets, blades and harps are equally good weapons; and if they bound the laurel-wreath round the brows of Hariri it was only to conceal the wounds which he received in battle."
When the banquet was over, Tököly, with courteous affability, parted from his fair neighbour, whom he immediately saw disappear in a window recess, arm-in-arm with Flora. He himself made the circuit of the table in order that he might meet the fair Aranka, but was stopped in mid-career by his host, who was so full of compliments that by the time Tököly reached the girl, he found her leaning on her mother's arm engaged in conversation with the Prince. Aranka, feeling herself out of danger when she had only a married man to deal with, had quite regained her childish gaiety, and was making merry with the bridegroom.
Tököly, with insinuating grace, wormed his way into the group, and gradually succeeded in so cornering the Prince, that he was obliged to confine his conversation to Dame Béldi, while Tököly himself was fortunate enough to make Aranka laugh again and again at his droll sallies.
The Prince was boiling over with venom, and was on the verge of forgetting himself and exploding with rage. Fortunately, Dame Béldi, observing in time the tension between the two men, curtseyed low to them both, and withdrew from the room with her daughter. Whereupon, the Prince seized Tököly's hand, and said to him with choleric jocosity: "If your Excellency's own bride is not sufficient for you, will you at least be satisfied with throwing in mine, and do not try to sweep every girl you see into your butterfly-net?"
Tököly quite understood the bitter irony of these words, and replied, with a soft but offensively condescending smile: "My dear friend, your theory of life is erroneous. I see, from your face, that you are suffering from an overflow of bile. You have not had a purge lately, or been blooded for a long time."
The Prince's face darkened. He squeezed Tököly's hand convulsively, and murmured between his teeth:
"One way is as good as another. When shall we settle this little affair?"
Tököly shrugged his shoulders. "To-morrow morning, if you like."
"Very well, we'll meet by the cross."
The two men had spoken so low that nobody in the whole company had noticed them, except Feriz Beg, who, although standing at the extreme end of the room with folded arms, had followed with his eagle eyes every play of feature, every motion of the lips of the whole group, including Dame Béldi and the girl, and who now, on observing the two men grasp each other's hands, and part from each other with significant looks, suddenly planted himself before them, and said simply: "Do you want to fight a duel because of Aranka?"
"What a question?" said the Prince evasively.
"It will not be a duel," said Feriz, "for there will be three of us there," and, with that, he turned away and departed.
"How foolish these solemn men are," said Tököly to himself, "they are always seeking sorrow for themselves. It would require only a single word to make them merry, and, in spite of all I do, they will go and spoil a joke. Why, such a duel as this—all three against each other, and each one against the other two—was unknown even to the famous Round Table and to the Courts of Love. It will be splendid."
At that moment the courier, who had brought the letters, forced his way right up to Tököly, and said that he had got two important despatches for him.
"All right, keep them for me, I'll read them to-morrow. I won't spoil the day with tiresome business."
And so he kept it up till late at night with the merriest of the topers. Only after midnight did he return to his room, and ordered the soldier who had brought the letters to wake him as soon as he saw the red dawn.
CHAPTER III.
THREE MEN.
Tököly's servant durst not go to sleep on the off-chance of awaking at dawn in order to arouse his master, and so the sky had scarcely begun to grow grey when he routed him up. Emeric hastily dressed himself. A sort of ill-humour on his pale face was the sole reminder of the previous night's debauch.
"Here are the letters, sir," said the soldier.
"Leave me in peace with your letters," returned Emeric roughly, "I have no time now to read your scribble. Go down and saddle my horse for me, and tell the coachman to make haste and get the carriage ready, and have it waiting for me near the cross at the slope of the hill, and find out on your way down whether the old master of the house is up yet."
The soldier pocketed the letter once more, and went down grumbling greatly, while Emeric buckled on his sword and threw his pelisse over his shoulders. Soon after the soldier returned and announced that Master Michael had been up long ago, because many of his guests had to depart before dawn, amongst them the Prince, also the Turkish gentleman; the bride was to follow them in the afternoon.
"Good," said Emeric; "let the coachman wait for me in front of the Dragmuili csarda.4 You had better bring with you some cold meat and wine, and we'll have breakfast on the way." And with that he hastened to the father of the bride, who, after embracing him heartily and repeatedly, with a great flux of tears, and kissing him again and again, and sending innumerable greetings through him to every eminent Transylvanian gentleman, took an affectionate leave of him.
4 An inn.
Tököly hastened to bestride his horse on hearing that his adversaries had been a little beforehand with him, and, putting spurs to his horse, galloped rapidly away. Master Michael looked after him in amazement so long as he could see him racing along the steep, hilly way, till he disappeared among the woods. A soldier followed him at a considerable distance.
Emeric, on reaching the cross, found his adversaries there already. Feriz Beg had brought with him Achmed Pasha's field-surgeon. Tököly had only thought of breakfast, the Prince had thought of nothing.
"Good morning," cried the Count, leaping from his horse. The Beg returned his salute with a solemn obeisance; the Prince turned his back upon him.
"Let us go into the forest to find a nice clear space," said Tököly; and off he set in silence, leading the way, while the soldiers followed at some distance, leading the horses by the bridles.
After going about a hundred yards they came to a clear space, surrounded by some fine ash-trees. The Prince signified to the soldiers to stop here, and, without a word, began to take off his dolman and mantle and tuck up his sleeves.
It was a fine sight to behold these men—all three of them were remarkably handsome fellows. The Prince was one of those vigorous, muscular shapes, whom Nature herself seems specially to have created to head a host. As he rolled up the flapping sleeves of his gold-embroidered, calf-skin shirt, he displayed muscles capable of holding their own single-handed against a whole brigade, and the defiant look of his eye testified to his confidence in the strength of his arms, whose every muscle stood out like a hard tumour, while his fists were worthy of the heavy broadsword, whose blade was broadest towards its point.
Feriz Beg, on discarding his dolman, rolled up the sleeves of his fine shirt of Turkish linen to his shoulders, and drew from its sheath his fine Damascus scimitar, which was scarce two inches broad, and so flexible that you could have bent it double in every direction like a watch-spring. His arms did not seem to be over-encumbered with muscles, but at the first movement he made, as he lightly tested his blade, a whole array of steel springs and stone-hard sinews, or so they seemed to be, suddenly started up upon his arm, revealing a whole network of highly-developed sinews and muscles. His face was fixed and grave.
Only Emeric seemed to take the whole affair as a light joke. With a smile he drew up his lace-embroidered shirt of holland linen, bound up his hair beneath his kalpag, and folded his well-rounded arms, whose feminine whiteness, plastic, regular symmetry, and slender proportions, gave no promise whatever of anything like manly strength. His sword came from a famous Newcastle arms manufactory, and was made of a certain dark, lilac-coloured steel, somewhat bent, and with a very fine point.
"My friends," said Emeric, turning towards his opponents, "as there are three of us in this contest, and each one of the three must fight the other two, let us lay down some rule to regulate the encounter."
"I'll fight the pair of you together," said the Prince haughtily.
"I'll also fight one against two," retorted Feriz.
"Then each one for himself and everybody against everybody else," explained Tököly. "That will certainly be amusing enough; in fact, a new sort of encounter altogether, though hardly what gentlemen are used to. Now, I should consider it much nobler if we fought against each other singly, and when one of us falls, the victor can renew the combat with the man in reserve."
"I don't mind, only the sooner the better," said the Prince impatiently, and took up his position on the ground.
"Stop, my friend; don't you know that we cannot commence this contest without Feriz?"
"Pooh! I didn't come here as a spectator," cried the Prince passionately; "besides, I have nothing to do with the Beg."
"But I have to do with you," interrupted Feriz.
"Well," said Tököly, "I myself do not know what has offended him, but he chose to intervene, and such challenges as his are wont to be accepted without asking the reason why. No doubt he has private reasons of his own."
"You may stop there," interrupted Feriz. "Let Fate decide."
"By all means," observed the Count, drawing forth three pieces of money impressed with the image of King Sigismund—a gold coin, a silver coin, and a copper coin—and handed them to the Turkish leech. "Take these pieces of money, my worthy fellow, and throw them into the air. The gold coin is the Prince, the copper coin is myself. Whichever two of the three coins come down on the same side, their representatives will fight first."
The leech flung the pieces into the air, and the gold and silver pieces came down on the same side.
The Prince beckoned angrily to Feriz.
"Come, the sooner the better. Apparently I must have this little affair off my hands before I can get at Tököly."
Tököly motioned to the leech to keep the pieces of money and have his bandages ready.
"Bandages!" said the Prince ironically. "It's not first blood, but last blood, I'm after."
And now the combatants stood face to face.
For a long time they looked into each other's eyes, as if they would begin the contest with the darts of flashing glances, and then suddenly they fell to.
The Prince's onset was as furious as if he would have crushed his opponent in the twinkling of an eye with the heavy and violent blows which he rained upon him with all his might. But Feriz Beg stood firmly on the self-same spot where he had first planted his feet, and though he was obliged to bend backwards a little to avoid the impact of the terrible blows, yet his slender Damascus scimitar, wove, as it were, a tent of lightning flashes all around him, defending him on every side, and flashing sparks now hither, now thither, whenever it encountered the antagonistic broadsword.
The Prince's face was purple with rage. "Miserable puppy!" he thundered, gnashing his teeth; and, pressing still closer on his opponent, he dealt him two or three such terrible blows that the Beg was beaten down upon one knee, and, the same instant, a jet of blood leaped suddenly from somewhere into the face of the Prince, who thereupon staggered back and let fall his sword. In the heat of the duel he had not noticed that he had been wounded. Whilst raining down a torrent of violent blows upon his antagonist, he incautiously struck his own hand, so to speak, on the sword of Feriz Beg, just below the palm where the arteries are, and the wound which severed the sinews of the wrist constrained him to drop his sword.
Tököly at once rushed forward.
"You are wounded, Prince!" he cried.
The leech hastened forward with the bandages, the dark red blood spurted from the severed arteries like a fountain, and the Prince's face grew pale in an instant. But scarcely had the surgeon bound up his wounded right hand than his eye kindled again, and, turning to Emeric, he cried: "I have still a hand left, and I can fight with it. Put my sword into my left hand, and I'll fight to the last drop of my blood."
"Don't be impatient, Prince," said Emeric courteously; "ill-luck is your enemy to-day, but as soon as you are cured you may command me, and I will be at your service."
The Prince, who was already tottering, leaned heavily on his soldiers, who hastened towards him and conveyed him half unconscious to the carriage awaiting him. His wound was much worse than it had seemed at first, and there was no knowing whether it would not prove mortal.
Only two combatants now remained in the field—Emeric and Feriz. The Beg was still standing in his former place, and beckoned in dumb show to Emeric to come on.
"Pardon me, my worthy comrade," said the Count, "you are a little fatigued, and a combat between us would be unfair if I, who have rested, should fight with you now. Come, plump down on the grass for a little beside me. My man has brought some cold provisions for the journey; let us have a few mouthfuls together first, and then we can fight it out at our ease."
This nonchalant proposal seemed to please Feriz, and, leaning his sword against a tree, he sat down in the grass, whilst Emeric's servant unpacked the cold meat and the fruit which he had brought for his master, together with a silver calabash-shaped flask full of wine.
Emeric returned the flask to the soldier. "Look you, my son," said he, "you can drink the wine, and then fill the flask with spring water, for Feriz Beg does not drink wine, and there are no other drinking utensils; I, therefore, will also drink water, and so we shall be equal." Feriz Beg was pleased with his comrade's free and easy behaviour, took willingly of the food piled up before him, and not only drank out of the same flask, but even answered questions when they were put to him.
A faint scar was visible on the forehead of the young Beg, which the fold of his turban did not quite conceal.
"Did you get that wound from a Magyar?" inquired the Count.
"No, from an Italian, on the isle of Candia."
"I thought so at once. A Magyar does not cut with the point of his sword. I see the hand of an Italian fencing-master in it. I can even tell you the position you were in when you received it. The enemy was beside you, in front of you, on your right hand, and on your left. Now you employed that masterly circular stroke which you have just now displayed, whereby you can defend yourself on all sides at once. Then the foe in front of you suddenly rose in his saddle, and with a blow which you did not completely ward off, scarred your forehead with the point of his sword."
"It was just like that."
"It is one of the master-strokes of Basanella, and very carefully you have to watch it, for there is scarce any defence against it; the sword seems to strike up and down in the same instant, as if it were a sickle, and however high you may hold your own sword, the blow breaks through your defence. There is, indeed, only one defence against it, and that the simplest in the world—dodge back your head."
"You are quite right," said Feriz Beg smiling, and after washing his hands, he again took up his sword, "let us make an end of it."
"I don't mind," said Tököly; and lightly drawing his own sword with his delicate white hand, just as if it were a gewgaw which he was disengaging from its case to present to a lady, he took up his position on the ground.
"Just one word more," said Tököly with friendly candour. "When you fight with a single opponent, do not rush forward as if you were on a battlefield and had to do with ten men at least, for in so doing you expend much force uselessly, and allow your opponent to come up closer; rather elongate your sword and allow only your hand to play freely."
"I thank you for the advice," said Feriz smiling. Had it been anybody else he would probably have thrust back the advice into his face. But Emeric imparted it to him with such a friendly, comrade-like voice as if they had only come there for the fun of the thing.
Then the combat began. Feriz Beg, with his usual impetuosity, pressed upon his adversary as if he would pay him back his amicable counsels in kind; while Tököly calmly, composedly smiling, flung back the most violent assaults of his rival as if it were a mere sport to him, so lightly, so confidently did his sword turn in his hand, with so much finished grace did he accompany every movement—in fact, he hardly seemed to make any exertion. The most violent blows aimed at him by Feriz Beg he parried with the lightest twist of his sword, and not once did he counter, so that at last Feriz Beg, involuntarily overcome by rage, fell back and lowered his sword.
"You are only playing with me. Why don't you strike back?"
"Twice you might have received from me Basanella's master-stroke, so impetuously do you fight."
In a duel nothing is so wounding as the supercilious self-restraint of an opponent. Feriz Beg grew quite furious at Tököly's cold repose, and flung himself upon his opponent as if absolutely beside himself.
"Let us see whether you are the Devil or not," he cried.
At the same instant, when he had advanced a pace nearer to Tököly, the latter suddenly stretched forth his sword and at the instant when he parried his opponent's blow, he made a scarce perceptible backward and upward jerk with the point of his sword, and at that same instant a burning red line was visible on the temples of Feriz Beg. The young Turk lowered his sword in surprise as his face, immediately after the unnoticed stroke, began to bleed. Tököly flung away his sword and, tearing out his white pocket-handkerchief, rushed suddenly towards his opponent, stanched the wound with the liveliest sympathy, and said, in a voice tremulous with the most naïve apprehension: "Look now! didn't I tell you all along to watch for that stroke?"
By this time the leech had also come up with the bandages, and examining the wound, observed consolingly:
"A soldierly affair. Only the skin is pierced. In three days you will be all right."
Tököly, full of joy, pressed the hand of Feriz Beg.
"Henceforth we will be good friends," said he. "Before God, I protest I never gave you the slightest cause of offence."
"I shall rejoice in your friendship," said Feriz solemnly, "but if you wish it to last, listen to my words: never approach a girl whom you do not love in order to make her love you, and if you are loved, love in return and make her happy."
"You have my word of honour on it, Feriz," replied Tököly. "Of all the girls whom I have seen since I knew you, not one of them have I loved, and by none of them do I want to be loved."
Feriz Beg could not refrain from shaking his head and smiling.
"Apparently you forget that your own bride was among them."
Tököly bit his lips in some confusion, and answered nothing; he thought it best to pass off this slip of the tongue as a mere jest. Then the two reconciled antagonists embraced and returned to the roadside cross. Tököly constrained the Beg to take his coach and go on to Ibraila, while he himself mounted his horse, and taking leave of Feriz, took the road leading to the Pass of Bozza.
The soldier-courier now fancied it was high time that the urgent letters, of which he was the bearer, should be read, and accordingly asked his master about it.
"Well, where are your two letters?" asked the Count very languidly.
"There are not two, sir, but three."
"Miss Flora gave me the third half an hour before she took coach to go home."
"Then she has gone on before, eh? Well, let us see what they write about."
Teleki's was the first letter which Emeric perused; he glanced through it rapidly, as if it had no very great claim upon his attention. When he came to that part of it where he was told to look after Flora, he paused for a little. "Well, I can easily overtake her," he thought, and he took the second letter, which was subscribed with the name of Helen. Twice he perused it, and then he returned to it a third time, and his face grew visibly redder. Involuntarily he sighed as he thrust the letter into his breast pocket just above his heart, and looked sadly in front of him, as if he were listening to the beating of his own heart.
Then he broke open the third letter.
It contained an engagement ring, nothing else. That was all—not a single accompanying word or letter.
For an instant Emeric held it in his hand in blank amazement; his steed stopped also. For some minutes his face was pale and his head hung down.
But in another instant he was again upright in his saddle, and he exclaimed in a voice loud enough to be heard afar:
"Well, it's not coming off then, so much the better!"
Then he threw away the envelope in which the ring had been, and drawing out the letter which he had thrust into his bosom, he put the ring into it and then returned it to his bosom; then, with a glowing face, he turned his horse's head and, in the best of humours, called to his soldier: "We will not go to Transylvania. Back to Mehadia!"
CHAPTER IV.
AFFAIRS OF STATE.
The year was a few weeks older since we saw Tököly depart from Rumnik, after reading the three letters, and behold, Michael Teleki still lingered at Gyulafehervár, and had not gone with the Transylvanian forces to Déva.
He had been feeling ill for some days, and had not been able to leave his room. A slow fever tormented his limbs, his face had lost its colour, he was hardly able to hold himself up, and every joint ached whenever he moved. He had need of repose, but not a single moment could he have to himself, and just when he would have liked to have shown the door to every worry and bother, the Prince at one moment, and the Turkish Ambassador at another, were continually pressing their affairs upon him.
At that moment his crony Nalaczi was with him, standing at the window, while Teleki sat in an arm-chair. All his members were shaken by the ague, his breath was burning hot, his face was as pale as wax, and he could scarce keep his lips together.
By his chair stood his page—young Cserei—whilst huddled up in a corner on one side was a scarce visible figure which clung close to the wall with as miserable, shamefaced an expression as if it would have liked to crawl right into it and be hidden. What with the darkness and its own miserableness, we should scarce recognise this shape if Teleki did not chance to give it a name, railing at it, from time to time, as if it were a lifeless log, without even looking at it, for, in truth, his back was turned upon it.
"I tell you, Master Szénasi, you are an infinitely useless blockhead——"
"I humbly beg——"
"Don't beg anything. Here have I, worse luck, been entrusting you with a small commission, in order that you might impart some wholesome information to the people, and instead of that you go and fool them with all sorts of old wives' stories."
"Begging your Excellency's pardon, I thought——"
"Thought? What business had you to think? You thought, perhaps, you were doing me a service with your nonsense, eh?"
"Mr. Nalaczi said as much, your Excellency."
Mr. Nalaczi seemed to be sitting on thorns all this while.
"Now just see what a big fool you are," interrupted Teleki. "Mr. Nalaczi may have told you, for what I know, that it might be well for you to use your influence with the common people by mentioning before them the wonders which have recently taken place, and thereby encouraging them to be loyal and friendly to each other, but I am sure he did not tell you to manufacture wonders on your own account, and terrify the people by spreading abroad rumours of coming war."
"I thought——" Here he stopped short, the worthy man was quite incapable at that moment of completing his sentence.
"Thought! You thought, I suppose, that just as I was collecting armies, you would do me a great service by preaching war? So far as I am concerned, I should like to see every sword buried in the earth."
"Begging your Excellency's pardon——"
"Get out of my sight. Never let me see you again. In three days you must leave Transylvania, or else I'll send you out, and you won't thank me for that."
"May I humbly ask what I am to do if your Excellency withdraws your favour from me?" whined the fellow.
"You may do as you like. Go to Szathmár and become the lacquey of Baron Kopp, or the scribe of Master Kászonyi. I'm just going to write to them. I'll mention your name in my letter, and you can take it."
"And if they won't accept me?"
"Then you must tack on to someone else, anyhow you shan't starve. Only get out of my sight as quickly as possible."
The "magister" withdrew in fear and trembling, wiping his eyes with his pocket-handkerchief.
"Sir," said Nalaczi, when they were alone together, "this violence does harm."
"The only way with such fellows is to bully them whatever they do, for they are deceivers and traitors at heart, and would otherwise do you mischief. Kick and beat them, chivy them from pillar to post, and make them feel how wretched their lot is, if you don't want them to play off their tricks upon you."
"I don't see it in that light. This irritability will do you no good."
"On the contrary it keeps me up. If I had not always given vent to my feelings I should have been lying on a sick-bed long ago. Take these few thalers, go after that good-for-nothing, and tell him that I am very angry with him, and therefore he must try in future to deserve my confidence better, in which case I shall not forget him. Tell him to wait in the gate for the letter I am about to write, and when once he has it in his hand let him get out of Transylvania as speedily as he can. Remind him that I don't yet know about what happened in the square at Klausenberg, and if I did know I would have him flogged out of the realm; so let him look sharp about it."
Nalaczi laughed and went out.
Teleki sank back exhausted on his pillows, and made his page rub the back of his neck violently with a piece of flannel.
At that instant the Prince entered. His face was wrath, and all because of his sympathy. He began scolding Teleki on the very threshold.
"Why don't you lie down when I command you? Does it beseem a grown-up man like you to be as disobedient as a capricious child? Why don't you send for the doctor; why don't you be blooded?"
"There is nothing the matter with me, your Highness. It is only a little hæmorrhoidalis alteratio. I am used to it. It always plagues me at the approach of the equinoxes."
"Ai, ai, Michael Teleki, you don't get over me. You are very ill, I tell you. Your mental anxiety has brought about this physical trouble. Does it become a Christian man, I ask, to take on so because my little friend Flora cannot have one particular man out of fifteen wooers, and a fellow like Emeric, too—a mere dry stick of a man."
"I don't give it any particular importance."
"You are a bad Christian, I tell you, if you say that. You love neither God nor man; neither your family, nor me——"
"Sir!" said Teleki, in a supplicating voice.
"For if you did love us, you would spare yourself and lie down, and not get up again till you were quite well again."
"But if I lie down——"
"Yes, I know—other things will have a rest too. The bottom of the world isn't going to fall out, I suppose, because you keep your bed for a day or two. Come! look sharp! I will not go till I see you lying on your bed."
What could Teleki do but lie down at the express command of his Sovereign.
"And you won't get up again without my permission, mind," said the Prince, signalling to young Cserei, and addressing the remainder of his discourse to him. "And you, young man, take care that your master does not leave his bed, do you hear? I command it, and, till he is quite well, don't let him do any hard work, whether it be reading, writing, or dictation. You have my authorisation to prevent it, and you must rigorously do your duty. You will also allow nobody to enter this room, except the doctor and the members of the family. Now, mind what I say! As for you, Master Teleki, you will wrap yourself well up and get yourself well rubbed all over the body with a woollen cloth, clap a mustard poultice on your neck and keep it there as long as you can bear it, and towards evening have a hot bath, with salt and bran in it; and if you won't have a vein opened put six leeches on your temples, and the doctor will tell you what else to do. And in any case don't fail to take some of these pilulæ de cynoglosso. Their effect is infallible." Whereupon the Prince pressed into Teleki's hand a box full of those harmless medicaments which, under the name of dog's-tongue pills, were then the vogue in all domestic repositories.
"All will be well, your Highness."
"Let us hope so! Towards evening I will come and see you again."
And then the Prince withdrew with an air of satisfaction, thinking that he had given the fellow a good frightening.
Scarce had he closed the door behind him than Teleki beckoned to Cserei to bring him the letters which had just arrived.
The page regarded him dubiously. "The Prince forbade me to do so," he observed conscientiously.
"The Prince loves to have his joke," returned the counsellor. "I like my joke, too, when I've time for it. Break open those letters and read them to me."
"But what will the Prince say?"
"It is I who command you, my son, not the Prince. Read them, I say, and don't mind if you hear me groan."
Cserei looked at the seal of one of the letters and durst not break it open.
"Your Excellency, that is a secretum sigillum."
"Break it open like a man, I say. Such secrets are not dangerous to you; you are a child to be afraid of such things."
Cserei opened the letter, and glancing at the signature, stammered in a scarce audible voice: "Leopoldus."5
5 i.e. the Emperor Leopold.
Teleki, resting on his elbows, listened attentively.
"Your Highness and my well-disposed Friend—I have heard from Baron Mendenzi Kopp and worthy Master Kászonyi of your Excellency's good dispositions towards me and Christendom, and your readiness to help in the present disturbances. All my own efforts will be directed to the preservation of the rights and liberties of the Christian Princes, so that there may not be the slightest occasion that the Turkish War should extend, and that the whole power of the Ottoman Empire should be hurled on me and my dominions. But I hope that the fury of these barbarians, by the combination of the foreign kings and princes, shall, with God's assistance, be so opposed and thwarted as to make them turn back from the league of the combined faithful hosts. Meanwhile, I assure your Excellency and the Estates of Transylvania of my protection, so long as you continue well-disposed towards me, and I entrust the maintenance of this good understanding between us to Messrs. the illustrious Baron Kopp and the Honourable Mr. Kászonyi. Wishing your Excellency good health and all manner of good fortune, etc., etc."
Cserei looked at the doors and windows in terror, for fear someone might be listening.
"And now let us read the second letter."
Cserei's top-knot regularly began to sweat when he recognised at the bottom of the opened letter the signature of the Grand Vizier, who thus wrote to the Prince:
"Most illustrious Prince, hearty love and greeting!—We would inform thee of our grace and favour that we have sent a part of our army to the assistance of the imprisoned heroes in our most mighty master the Sultan's fortress of Nyitra, where the faithless foe are besieging them. It is therefore necessary that thou with thy whole host and all the necessary muniments of war should hasten thither without loss of time, so as to unite both in heart and deed with our warriors, who are on their way against the enemy. We believe that by the grace of God thou wilt be ready to render useful service to the mighty Sultan, and so be entitled to participate in his favour and liberality. We, moreover, after the end of the solemn feast days which we are wont to keep after our fasts are over, will follow our advance guards with our countless hosts, and thou meanwhile must manfully take this business in hand, so that thy loyalty may shine the more gloriously in martial deeds. Peace be to those who are in the obedience of God."
Poor Cserei, when he had read this letter through, had a worse fit of ague than his master. He anxiously watched the face of the statesman, but the only thing visible in his features was bodily suffering. There was no sign of mental disturbance.
The blood flew to his face, the veins were throbbing visibly in his temples.
"Come hither, my son," he said in a scarcely audible voice; "bring me a glass of water, put into it as much rhubarb powder as would go on the edge of a knife, and give it me to drink."
Cserei fancied that the sick Premier had not mastered the contents of the letter because of a fresh access of fever, and, having prepared the rhubarb water in a few moments, gave it him to drink, whereupon Teleki crouched down beneath his coverlet. He could have done nothing better, for now the ague burst forth again, so that he regularly shivered beneath its attack. Cserei wanted to run for a doctor.
"Whither are you going?" asked Teleki. "Fetch ink and parchment, and write."
The lad obeyed his command marvelling.
"Bring hither the round table and sit down beside it. Write what I tell you."
The pen shook in the lad's hand, and he kept dipping it into the sand instead of into the ink.
Teleki, in a broken voice, dictated a letter as well as the fever would allow him.
"Most Exalted Grand Vizier and Well-beloved Sir,—We learn from your Highness's dispatch that the armies of the Sublime Sultan who have lately been besieging the fortress of Nyitra are now endeavouring to combine their forces, and though this realm has but a meagre possession of the muniments of war remaining to it, we shall be prepared most punctually to hold at your Highness's gracious disposition as much, though it be but little, forage, hay, and other necessary stores as we still possess, you making allowance for all inevitable defects and shortcomings. Moreover, rumour has it that the hostile hosts are beginning to show themselves on the borders of Transylvania, which irruption, though it be no secret, is yet to be confirmed, and should it be so we must meet it with all our attention and energy. As to this your Highness shall be informed in good time, and in the meanwhile we commit you to God's gracious favour, etc., etc."
Cserei sighed and thought to himself: "I wonder whence all the hay and oats is to come?"
But Teleki knew very well that in consequence of last year's bad harvests and inundations the Turkish army was suffering severely from want of hay, so that what with him was an occasion for delay, with them was an occasion for hurrying—whence we may draw the reflection that the great events of this world are built upon haycocks!
"Address the second letter," continued Teleki, "to his Excellency Baron Mendenzi Kopp and to the honourable Achatius Kászonyi, commandants of the fortress of Szathmár," and he thus went on dictating to Cserei, whilst in the intervals of silence the groans which the ague forced from his breast were distinctly audible.
"With joy we learn of the intention of your Honours to endeavour to seize one of the gates of entrance of the enemy of our faith, through which he was always ready to come for our destruction. May the God of mercy forward the designs of your Excellencies. If, on this occasion, your Excellencies could also find time to make a feigned attack upon Transylvania in order to give us a reasonable excuse of our inability to lend the Turks the assistance they expect from us, you would make matters easier for us, and render us an essential service. On the other hand, if we should be compelled against our wills to send our soldiers against the Christian camp, in conjunction with the enemies of our faith, we assure your Excellencies that our host will be a purely nominal one, etc., etc.
"P.S.—The bearer of this letter can be employed by your Excellencies as a courier or otherwise."
Cserei looked with amazement at the man in whom mental vivacity seemed to rise triumphant even over the lassitude of fever.
"Take a third sheet of paper, and address it to the Honourable Ladislaus Ebéni, Lieutenant-Governor of the fortress of Klausenburg.
"We hasten to inform your Honour that preparations are being made by the Commandant of the fortress of Szathmár, which leads us to conjecture that he meditates making an irruption into Transylvania. It may, of course, be merely a feint, but your Honour would do well to be prepared and under arms, lest he have designs against us, and is not merely making a noise. We, meanwhile, will postpone the advance of our arms into Hungary, lest, while we are attacking on one side, we leave Transylvania defenceless on the other. Once more we counsel your Honour to use the utmost caution, etc."
"And now take these letters and carry them to the Prince, that he may sign them."
"And what if he box my ears for allowing your Excellency to dictate?" said the frightened lad.
"Never mind it, my son, you will have suffered for your country. I, too, have had buffets enough in my time, not only when I was a child, but since I have grown up." And with that he turned his face towards the wall and pulled the coverlet over him.
Fortunately Cserei found Apafi in the apartment of the consort, and thus avoided the box on the ear, got the letters signed, and dispatched them all in different directions, so that all three got into the proper hands in the shortest conceivable time. And now let us see the result.
The Grand Vizier blasphemed when he had read his, and swore emphatically that if there were no hay in Transylvania he would make hay of their Excellencies.
Baron Kopp and Mr. Kászonyi chuckled together over their letter. The Commandant murmured gruffly: "I don't care, so you needn't."
Mr. Ebéni, however, on reading his letter, deposited it neatly among the public archives, growling angrily:
"If I were to call the people to arms at every wild alarm or idle rumour, I should have nothing else to do all day long. It is a pity that Teleki hasn't something better to do than to bother me continually with his scribble."
CHAPTER V.
THE DAY OF GROSSWARDEIN.
In order that the horizon may stand clearly before us, it must be said that in those days there were two important points in Hungary on the Transylvanian border: Grosswardein and Szathmár-Németi, which might be called the gates of Transylvania—good places of refuge if their keys are in the hand of the Realm, but all the more dangerous when the hands of strangers dispose of them.
At this very time a German army was investing Szathmár and the Turks had sat down before Grosswardein, and the plumed helmets of the former were regarded as as great a menace on the frontiers of the state as the half-moons themselves.
The inhabitants of the regions enclosed between these fortresses never could tell by which road they were to expect the enemy to come. For in such topsy-turvy days as those were, every armed man was an enemy, from whom corn, cattle, and pretty women had to be hidden away, and their friendship cost as much as their enmity, and perhaps more; for if they found out at Szathmár that some nice wagon-loads of corn and hay had been captured from local marauders without first beating their brains out, the magistrates would look in next day and impose a penalty; and again, on the other hand, if it were known at Grosswardein that the Szathmárians had been received hospitably at any gentleman's house, and the daughter of the house had spoken courteously to them, the Turks would wait until the Szathmárians had gone farther on and would then fall upon the house in question and burn it to the ground, so that the Szathmárians should not be able to sleep there again; and, as for the daughter of the house, they would carry her off to a harem, in order to save her from any further discoursing with the magistrates of Szathmár.
And, last of all, there was a third enemy to be reckoned with, and this was the countless rabble of betyárs, or freebooters, who inhabited the whole region from the marshes of Ecsed to the morasses of Alibuner, and who gave no reason at all for driving off their neighbour's herds and even destroying his houses.
In those days a certain Feri Kökényesdi had won renown as a robber chieftain, and extraordinary, marvellous tales were told in every village and on every puszta6 of him and the twelve robbers who followed his banner, and who were ready at a word to commit the most incredible audacities. People talked of their entrenched fortresses among the Bélabora and Alibuner marshes which were inaccessible to any mortal foe, and in which, even if surrounded on all sides, they could hold out against five regiments till the day of judgment. Then there were tales of storehouses concealed among the Cumanian sand-hills which could only be discovered by the scent of a horse; there were tales of a good steed who, after one watering, could gallop all the way from the Theiss to the Danube, who could recognise a foe two thousand paces off, and would neigh if his master were asleep or fondling his sweetheart in the tavern; there were tales of the gigantic strength of the robber chief who could tackle ten pandurs7 at once, and who, whenever he was pursued, could cause a sea to burst forth between himself and his pursuers, so that they would be compelled to turn back.