CHAPTER VII
THE PRINCESS

After the battle of Nagy-Szöllös John Kemény's faithful followers fled to Hungary and transferred their allegiance from the fallen one to his son Simon Kemény. But his sinking fortunes had few friends, and while the faction of the younger Kemény grew daily less, Apafi's gained from day to day. By his triumph he won over the best and most distinguished of the town, the judges, nobility, commanders of the fortresses, in short everybody hurried to do him homage. The State in a body recognized him as Prince. Only a few places where Kemény had left German garrisons, still resisted, among these Klausenburg. Kutschuk Pasha brought Apafi with a strong force under the walls of this town. He had a tent pitched for him in sight of the old town in Hidele. At that time it was a place of thatched huts, and there the new Prince received deputations. By early dawn Apafi was fairly besieged by the hosts of visitors and place-seekers. At first the newly-chosen Prince, carried away by the novelty of his agreeable position, was able to fulfil the wishes of everybody and refused hardly a request. As soon as Nalaczy and Daczo learned that he had his boots on, they were with him and announced great crowds of people outside the tent eager for entrance. Apafi made haste to dress that no one need wait. He could hardly expect to satisfy everybody. Among the throng was Ladislaus Csaki; he came to offer the Prince as page the same son who had filled Kemény's glass a few weeks before. Apafi could hardly express his pleasure at this offer. Then came Gabriel Haller who bowed countless times and in the name of his two companions made an elaborate speech to Apafi. Apafi could scarcely conceal his childish pleasure in being called Excellency, a title used in Transylvania only for great princes. He invited Gabriel Haller at once to dine with him. At the back of the tent a raised seat had been placed, which the modest Prince positively would not accept until his brother Stephen had forcibly set him there. He received everybody standing and accompanied each one to the door when he went. Then they came singly to present themselves, make requests of the Prince, or swear allegiance.

At the Prince's side stood Nalaczy, Daroczy, Stephen Apafi and John Cserei, who repeatedly urged the Prince to sit down. The oaths of allegiance were received, the commanders of the citadels laid their keys in the Prince's hand and then followed visits.

First came Martin Pok, the jailer at Fogara, with the humble request that he should be made captain of this stronghold instead of the foreign incumbent who had fled with Simon Kemény. Apafi promised to remember him. John Szasz came next, supreme judge in Hermanstadt, to make complaint that his fellow citizens had persecuted him and beg the Prince for help. Apafi took him under his protection. Then followed Moses Zagoni who begged that the Prince would most graciously set him free from certain taxes imposed by Kemény and still in arrears. He too went away comforted by Apafi.

Last of all came before the Prince, a Szekler of the mountains, in short peasant coat and jacket of fur, who, he said, came sent from Olahfalu to bring Apafi the oath of allegiance in the name of his people, and to make his strange requests: first, that Olahfalu should be permitted to be only two miles distant from Klausenburg (the actual distance between the two places was more than twenty); secondly, that there should be a law enacted that if a man had not a horse he should go on foot.

The Prince received these strange requests with laughter. They seemed to put him in extremely good spirits and the young student, Clement, sought to take advantage of this. He was a crooked-nosed, high-cheeked youth, wrapped to the chin in a foxskin, who knelt before Apafi and handed him a roll of parchment that with the aid of his friends Apafi took and unrolled. Within, he found a green leaved tree showing the complete genealogy of his family. In this document he was connected with the Bethlens and Bathorys, taken back to King Aba and on the way connected with Huba, one of the seven leaders of the Magyars. But the good man did not rest even here; the lineage extended even to Csaba, youngest son of Attila. On the mother's side it went still further to the daughter of the Emperor Porphyrogeneta, and on the father's side to Nimrod the first king on earth. This flattery seemed to annoy Apafi somewhat, but he had not sufficient decision to order the flatterer out of the tent. He rolled up the genealogy, put it behind him and undertook to satisfy the impertinent poet with a few ducats. But that did not disturb the Prince's good-humor in the very least. It seemed as if he must express especial thanks to each man for approaching him, and show him the obligation that he felt; and after he had received and listened to the various suppliants, as if this were all too little, he turned to Nalaczy and Daczo with the question, "Is there nothing that I can do for you? What reward shall I make you for the fidelity with which you have stood by me from the first?"

Nalaczy and Daczo had for some time been puzzling their minds as to what request they might make that should not be too small.

"I leave the reward of my trifling services to the generosity of your Excellency," said Nalaczy, thinking that without doubt the Szeklers would now receive a new captain instead of Beldi.

"The little that I have done for your Excellency does not now deserve mention," said Daczo, but it occurred to him that the position of Captain of the train bands at Klausenburg, left vacant by Banfy's flight, would be an appropriate one.

Apafi was well-disposed toward them and perhaps might have made these excellent but useless people his privy counsellors, but to their great misfortune, at that very moment there was a tumult at the entrance to the tent. When the guard drew back the curtain Kutschuk Pasha entered. The Prince sprang from his seat and would have hurried to him, but his brother Stephen pulled his coat and whispered in his ear:—

"Maintain your dignity in the presence of the Turk; he is only a subordinate Pasha while you are Prince of Transylvania."

In spite of the warning Apafi was not satisfied until Kutschuk made him a sign to be seated, and although the Turk remained standing before the Prince, the impression on the bystanders was that Apafi appeared amiable and grateful and Kutschuk haughty and dignified.

"How can I thank you for your exertions in my behalf?" Apafi asked the Pasha, with true feeling.

"Not to me, but to the Sultan have you cause to be grateful," the other replied, drily. "I was only following out his wishes when I placed you on the throne of Transylvania. Your enemies, with God's help, I have laid low, except for a few strongholds still in their possession; as soon as these are won my task is at an end. The rest is my affair. To-morrow I march to the siege of Klausenburg and shall not rest until the city is taken at any cost; when that stronghold has fallen the rest will go of their own accord."

"Then in your judgment it is not necessary that I should order the country troops to horse?" said Apafi.

"I do not need them," replied Kutschuk. "Let them stay at home and look after their own affairs. My troops will do it all."

Apafi was going to thank the Pasha for his generosity, when he suddenly became aware that the eyes of all were turned toward a side entrance of the tent, where somebody had entered without announcement. The Prince looked in that direction, and what he saw caused him to forget for the moment Transylvania, Kutschuk Pasha and Klausenburg. There before him stood his wife, the beautiful and stately Anna Bornemissa.

Her look was indeed princely. How well this imperious countenance knew how to maintain a friendly and yet proud gaze! No adornment was noticeable in her costume, but was there any need of precious stones where such speaking eyes gleamed? Did this royal figure need velvet and ermine to be recognized? Apafi saw her to-day for the first time since his departure. She was as beautiful as ever. Accustomed now to good fortune and comfort, her features had gained a transparent gleam; her eyes, long unfilled with sorrow, were brighter than ever; the smile of her lips that had known such joy only a short time, was all the sweeter, and her figure formerly slight had now gained in roundness. The gracious dignity of her figure and movements suited her well.

When Apafi caught sight of his wife he forgot all propriety and dignity, hurried toward her, seized her hand, drew his trembling wife to him, as was his wont when a plain nobleman, and kissed her mouth and cheeks in a way plainly audible to the assembled states. Anna nestled into the embrace of her husband, offered her beautiful lips to his kisses, and at the same time her great serious eyes, over her husband's shoulder, seemed to be searching the faces of those assembled in the tent, resting a longer or shorter time on each individual. The embrace seemed on Apafi's part to have no end, until Anna with a smile freed herself and said:

"You are lavishing all your effusions on me alone; there is some one else here who claims his share."

She motioned to her maid, Sarah, who with smiling countenance had followed her mistress into the tent, and now disclosed to Apafi's eyes a beautiful sleeping child that, covered with a silken wrap, the maid had lulled in her arms.

Beside himself with joy, Apafi took the child in his arms and kissed the round angel-face again and again. The child woke up, endured the kisses and embraces without a cry, and tugged at his father's beard, to the unspeakable joy of his parents.

The men standing about thought it fitting to congratulate the Prince on his paternal joy.

Apafi turned to them and said:—"Do you see how serious he is? he does not cry, because he is a man."

Anna beckoned Stephen Apafi to her and whispered to him:—"I trust the gentlemen will not be annoyed if family joys and cares withdraw the Prince from public affairs for a few minutes."

"Your ladyship has taken the words out of my mouth," replied Stephen. "I was just on the point of speaking to them."

With that he turned to those present and begged them to leave the Prince to himself for the few moments claimed by family ties, and to withdraw to the adjoining tent. The gentlemen considered the request natural and left the tent, Kutschuk Pasha leading.

Anna took the child from her husband's hands, gave it over to Sarah and sent them away.

When they were alone Apafi approached his wife with new expressions of tenderness. She took her husband by the hand, looked him earnestly in the eye, and said:

"It is to the Prince that I have come."

This earnest look cooled Apafi a little, which did not escape Anna's notice, and she drew toward him again affectionately.

"It seemed to me probable that the Prince might need me more than the husband," and then she added with her irresistible smile, "I hope you will not misunderstand my intentions in this."

Apafi put his arm around his wife and drew her to him. The throne was quite wide enough for both.

"You are right. It is well you have come. There is always something lacking when I cannot see you. You certainly deserve to come nearest my heart; I am not in the least afraid to lay your mind in the balance with any man in the circle."

"Who are all these men?" asked Anna.

"You shall know them by their names. The tall, slender man is Ladislaus Csaki who has just offered me his son for a page."

"No time lost there. It is only a short time since the boy was serving Kemény."

Apafi's face darkened a little.

"The man with the heavy moustache is Gabriel Haller."

Anna clapped her hands with surprise.

"Is that he?"

"What fault have you to find with him?"

"That he has always served your enemies as a spy. He brought Kemény the first news of your coronation, and he was the one who announced the approach of Kutschuk Pasha."

Apafi's face grew darker still.

"And I have invited the man to dine," he muttered between his teeth.

"What do Nalaczy and Daczo wish, that they are here on so friendly a footing?"

"They are my faithful partisans who have been on my side from the beginning."

"Do not for that reason give them the first positions in the land. In a large sphere of activity, simple, ignorant men do more harm than sensible antagonists. Reward them, but only in proportion to their work."

"That I will," said the distressed Prince, and strove in every way possible to make the rôle of husband prominent throughout the rest of the scene, but Anna did not stop.

"What is John Szasz trying to get from you? I saw him too."

"The poor fellow is being persecuted," replied Apafi, curtly, for he began to weary of this fault-finding.

"There are bad reports in circulation about this man. It is said, and plainly, too, that he carried off a young girl from Saxony, and when he had wearied of her had her poisoned. The parents have begun a prosecution and he sees no safety except in winning your favor by flattery."

Apafi started up furious. "If that is true I will show Szasz the door; he shall not find protection with me."

"And for what purpose is the noble ragged Szekler here, I should like to know? His face seemed to me to indicate subtlety, for the Szekler is never so sly and dangerous as when he looks simple."

At this question the Prince was overcome with merriment. Fairly choking with laughter, he said, "He was the deputy of the people of Olahfalu."

At the mention of this name Anna too could hardly repress a smile.

"Poor people, all sorts of untrue stories are told of them; their minds work strangely."

"You understand everybody perfectly. Now explain the meaning of the demand which the Szekler has made of me. He begged for two things. In the first place that the distance between Olahfalu and Klausenburg from this time on should be considered only two miles."

"Oh, the sly simpleton," said Anna. "They already have the privilege of offering their lumber for sale at a distance of two miles and now their purpose is to open a market for themselves in Klausenburg as well."

"You are quite right," replied Apafi, convinced. "Now their second request seems somewhat suspicious to me, although it had nothing to do with their public affairs. They wished it to be established by law that anybody who had not a horse should go on foot."

"I understand," said Apafi's wife, after short reflection, "Olahfalu has recently been made a post-town, and on this ground the couriers, as they pass through, often demand horses. The good people are weary of the burden and for that reason wished a new law which should enforce going on foot for the couriers."

Apafi stamped angrily with his foot.

"The villain, to allow himself such a jest. You will see how I shall pay him for that. But it is time to admit the gentlemen again."

"One word more, Apafi," said Anna, with a winning glance, throwing her arms around her husband's neck. "I noticed Kutschuk Pasha among those waiting. I suppose he came to take leave."

Apafi drew back startled.

"On no account to take leave. Surely you understand that we are here to take Klausenburg by storm? This depends on Kutschuk Pasha."

"Michael," said his wife, entreatingly, and laid her hands on his shoulders;—"will you allow Klausenburg to be taken by the Turks? do you forget that the Ottomans have never of their own accord given back a Hungarian stronghold once taken by them? do you not remember that Klausenburg is the capital of your country and that those within its walls are your own people, of your country and of your faith? will you expose them to the rage of assailants? they who might otherwise be your friends are pagans and foreigners, whom you cannot allow to prevail against your own people. Did not your heart sink when you saw the walls of Klausenburg? could you look at these dwellings, these towers, without remembering that they are the homes of your people, the churches of your God into which the besiegers would throw their firebrands? Could you look at these walls without seeing on them mothers huddled together with their young children in their arms, crying out to you that within dwelt your own people, an innocent, true-hearted folk? and could you make your entry into the capital city of your own country over the fallen bodies of these women and children?"

Apafi stood up, his forehead bathed in perspiration. In his confused expression were traces of involuntary repentance.

"No indeed, Anna, no indeed! do not think me so heartless. I who could never withstand a woman's tears, could I be insensible to the sorrow of an entire people? but what can I do? I had intended to call out the troops of the country, to invest the city and to compel the garrison to yield; but what could I do with Kutschuk Pasha? he is determined to take the city by storm at once, and I can find no valid reason to bring against it."

"Be calm. All those in command of Turkish troops now in Transylvania have received firmans ordering them to join the army of the General-in-chief at Neuhaüsel as soon as possible. Kutschuk has doubtless received a firman of this character."

"I did not know that. Is that the reason he has been in such a hurry to storm the town?"

"You too will receive such an order from the Turkish Council of State. Under the pretext that this order has already come it will be an easy matter to prevail on the Pasha to abandon the siege of Klausenburg."

"I will try it, Anna. I will do it," replied Apafi, pacing back and forth in the tent. "I owe it to my people. Better abandon those walls than force my way through with fire and sword."

"You must not do that either," answered his clever wife. "There are ways and means of getting possession of the stronghold beside taking it by storm."

Apafi stood still and looked at his wife inquiringly. She drew him to her and whispered as follows: "Before you reached the walls of Klausenburg, I commissioned Raldi and several other of our faithful followers to try to win the garrison over to our side; this morning our spies brought me word that the infantry are so won over to us by promises and the force of circumstances that at the first sound of the drum from here they are ready to open the gates and give themselves up to you, bag and baggage. The cavalry alone cannot then offer further resistance."

Apafi in amazement said, "You certainly were created for a prince."

Anna took her husband gently by the arm, led him to the throne and made him take his seat.

"The sceptre is no toy, Apafi," she said, earnestly. "Never forget that posterity and eternity sit in judgment on princes. Every deed and every word of a ruler may mean safety or destruction to millions. Therefore consider everything that you say or do. Now I am going. Be firm."

Anna kissed her husband on the brow and as she did so her glance fell on the roll of parchment of the traveling student.

"What kind of campaign plan is this?" she asked, taking up the parchment.

Annoyed, Apafi tried to take it from her hand, but he was too late. Anna had unrolled it and as she looked at the tuft-hunting pedigree, cast a reproachful glance at the prince who stood before her with downcast eyes.

"Did you have that drawn up?" she asked him, quietly.

"No indeed!" answered Apafi, quickly. "An impertinent poet brought it to me."

"Throw it into the fire," said his wife, calmly.

"That is what I meant to do. I got rid of the author by means of a few ducats."

"He deserved a thrashing, and not gold," said Anna, angrily; then her features grew gentle again. She looked her husband straight in the eye and said in kindly tone;—"Be strong; be a Prince. Grant protection to the faithful, pardon to those who return in penitence, and scorn to the flatterer."

With these words she bowed low, kissed her husband's hand and was gone before he could reply.

Apafi then sent for those in waiting to return. It was very evident from the expression of their faces as they entered that they thought they might now ask and expect everything good from the Prince, for the happiness of the previous family scene would naturally leave him in a state of mind in which he could not refuse anybody.

Stephen Apafi was the only one cool-headed enough to observe the change in his brother's features during this interval. Genuine princely firmness, dignity and energy seemed now enthroned upon this countenance.

"Faithful comrades," began Apafi in a strong voice without waiting for any one to speak;—"in respect to the requests with which you have approached us, it is our wish to send you away with a just and worthy answer. Your oaths of allegiance we have received with due appreciation and hope you will not cease to remain constant in your loyalty. You, Ladislaus Csaki, we hereby permit to return home to share the peace of the family circle; as for your son we will have him maintained in foreign lands at our expense until he seems fitted for our service."

Ladislaus Csaki thanked him gloomily for the favor granted of returning to the peace of his own family circle, when he would so gladly have remained with his family at court.

Gabriel Haller the Prince passed over as if he did not see him, and turned to Nalaczy and Daczo, who made every effort to appear humble.

"My faithful friend, Stephen Nalaczy, in consideration of your active zeal for us we appoint you first chamberlain at our court; and you, John Daczo, we appoint Lieutenant of Csikszerda."

Both men looked as would any one who had expected a great reward and received a very small portion. They could hardly express their thanks to their Prince for his favor, so great was their chagrin.

Meantime Martin Pok had pressed forward that he might not be left out, and completely hid the worthy Cserei, who was standing modestly behind the others.

"Why do you stand so in the background?" said Apafi, beckoning to him.

Thinking that the signal was for him, Martin Pok advanced still farther.

"We meant you, Cserei," continued the Prince. "Do you think we do not know how to search out our tried and faithful followers? Your fidelity and wisdom are known to us and for that reason we deem it advisable to appoint you Captain of the castle at Fogara."

Martin Pok was so amazed that he looked up at the ceiling to see if it was falling.

"Martin Pok on the other hand," continued the Prince, "we confirm in his former position. He will remain jailer of the same castle."

Martin Pok gasped. Cserei wished to remonstrate, but the Prince motioned to him to keep quiet.

The next in turn was John Szasz.

"The charge of a great crime has been brought against you, which we have neither desire nor power to free you from. You will be taken under guard to Hermanstadt and we advise you to try to defend yourself there as well as you can."

John Szasz looked in astonishment to right and left. He was utterly unable to comprehend what had happened.

"You, Moses Zagoni, will give in your accounts to the next treasury officers."

Zagoni considered it advisable to address words of consolation to Szasz by way of concealing his own discomfiture.

Now the Prince came to the messenger from Olahfalu, and it was high time; for while the Prince had been portioning out these different favors the smile had gradually vanished from his countenance and the comical old countryman was now at his own expense to restore cheerfulness to the company.

"What I promised you,"—said the Prince turning toward him, and in doing so he could scarcely conceal his amusement;—"remains pledged to you. Olahfalu shall be just two miles from Klausenburg, if that is of any advantage to you; and also everybody who has not a horse shall go on foot if you wish it; but I make this condition; that you shall not bring any timber to Klausenburg to sell, and that you furnish the post couriers the necessary teams."

The Szekler shook his head, scratched it and raised his eyes to the Prince as if to ask with a look how Apafi had found out his dodges.

The Prince could not keep from laughing at the embarrassed expression of the Szekler and at that the others laughed unrestrainedly. But the Szekler who had thus far smiled confusedly, now grew serious at the general outburst, tossed his head back defiantly, looked furiously at the lords, drew up his coat and hurled these words at those standing around:

"Listen to me, you lords! I will stand it from the Prince that he makes fun of me, but I will ask you not to laugh at my expense."

The Prince motioned them to be silent, and to turn their attention called up the traveling student, Clement, who slouched in on his long, thin legs, looking as if he would fall on his knees at any moment.

"We have given orders to our treasurer," said the Prince, "to pay you from our own private purse for the work which you have done, three groschen."

"Your Excellency says"—stammered out the poet.

"You heard perfectly well. Three groschen, I said; that is the price of the writing material you have spent on the work. Hereafter employ your time more profitably."

Then the Prince signified that the audience was over. They left the tent with low bows. Kutschuk Pasha alone remained. During the entire scene the Pasha had shaken his head in surprise, as if he would not have expected this from Apafi, and when he was left alone with him he noticed that it was no longer necessary to urge Apafi to maintain his princely bearing toward others. Apafi wore a friendly look, but in his friendliness one saw princely condescension.

"With regret we have learned," he began, turning to the Pasha, "that we must shortly lose you, whose bravery we so admired and whose friendship we so honored."

The Pasha hurriedly drew near in surprise.

"What does your Excellency mean?"

"In consequence of those firmans which order the Transylvania guards to assemble in the camp of the Grand Vizier, it will be our misfortune not to see you in our circle longer."

Kutschuk bit his lips angrily. "Whence could he get his information so soon?" thought he.

"We would gladly retain you, for your person is more precious to us than any other. We know that the commands of the Sublime Porte demand immediate obedience, and therefore that you may not for us draw down the displeasure of the Sublime Porte, we have so conducted the taking of Klausenburg that we shall march in without any assault; in that way you will be relieved of the burdensome task of maintaining your troops here any longer. As for your services in establishing our position as Prince, we will settle this in person with the Vizier, as we too have been summoned to Neuhaüsel."

During this speech Kutschuk Pasha with folded arms stared in wonder at the Prince's firm glance, and when the Prince had concluded still kept the same position without answering a word.

Apafi went on calmly:

"However, to express even in a slight degree the gratitude which we owe you individually, accept from us this slight remembrance, more as a token of our high esteem than as reward."

And the Prince took from his neck a gold chain set with beautiful jewels, and hung it about the neck of the Pasha. Kutschuk stood still riveted to the spot. He watched the Prince closely, and wrinkled his forehead gloomily. Then suddenly he began to laugh and said:

"Well done, Apafi, very well done! I observe you are in the habit of giving your intelligence over to your wife for safe-keeping. Salem Aleikum."

And the Pasha went off shaking his head.

Apafi with lightened feelings hurried to his wife.

Gabriel Haller waited for some time at the door, until an attendant informed him that the Prince was dining with his family and then he stole away.

A few days later Apafi made his entry into Klausenburg with fife and drum.

CHAPTER VIII
AZRAELE

While the sunbeams lie aslant over this region, drawing over it a gilded veil of mist, we can hardly distinguish a single object of the panorama. Gradually a broad ravine draws our attention. The mountain peaks which seemed to close in all sides are blue grey, and in the centre of this ravine rises a huge, solitary rock, looking just as if it had fallen from heaven. A hasty glance passes it by lightly, but a more careful observer discovers a small wooden bridge, supported on piles, which appears to connect this circle of mountain summits with one of the steep walls adjoining. Gradually we become aware that this trestle is not the work of nature; those stones forming walls which appear to continue the mountain heights are really the work of man's hand. It is a massive rock-bastion built as high as its support. And as the walls are built out in all directions as high as the steep edges of the cliff, it looks as if it had grown out of the rock, and as if the vines clinging to the walls were there simply to form a natural tangle.

In the year 1664 the eye that glanced over these walls might see within magic buildings. Corsar Bey, the terror of the country, inhabited this stronghold, and at his bidding hedges of roses sprang up on the bastions, and the castle stood in a grove of orange and pomegranate trees. On all sides could be seen those splendid buildings which Oriental pomp erects for the moment's pleasure: spacious domed buildings overlaid with sky-blue enamel where the sun mirrored itself; gay painted towers on the bastions with balconies decorated with Moorish carvings, and on these vases of flowers; slender white minarets covered over with vines; lattice-work kiosks with slender gilded columns, the whole as light as a card house; nothing but gilded wood, painted glass, enameled tiles, and gay-colored rugs. From the pointed roof-tops waved gay flags and high above all shone a golden crescent. Every kiosk, every dome, every minaret was adorned with crescents and flags. It seemed a magic castle ready to vanish; but the walls surrounding this delicate structure impregnable. On all sides were impassably steep rocks behind which the pursued, if he once reached them, could defend himself against a hundred times as many. The guards stood day and night with lighted fuse by the cannon, which Corsar Bey had had cast on the spot, as there was no way of conveying such defence there. Two of these fiery-throated monsters were turned toward the bridge, to blow it to atoms in case of attack.

From this vantage ground Corsar Bey roved the land, plundering and killing defenseless people; if he fell upon an army he ordered his Spahis and Bedouins to turn about while he, taking advantage of the mountain paths, fled to his castle with the booty loaded on beasts of burden, the Timariots, stationed in reserve, made a barricade of trees and stoned to death those who dared follow into the valleys.

Sometimes he allowed his pursuers to follow him close to the castle, and while they shot at the walls of cliff with their small cannon dragged up with the utmost difficulty, and thought to starve him out, he would play the trick on them of bursting out from some subterranean passage to rob and burn in their rear. Every attempt to surprise him, to surround him, was in vain. The inhabitants of the surrounding villages began to withdraw to more remote places to escape this frightful neighborhood.

After the battle of St. Gotthard, (1664) in which the Turkish general lost twelve thousand men in an engagement with Hungarian and Austrian troops, a twenty years' peace was concluded between the Porte, the Transylvania principality and the Emperor, which left the Turk in possession of all the fortresses conquered or built in Hungary. The men of these fortresses now carried on the war on their own account; robbing and burning where they could. The Sultan could not hold each one accountable; all he could do was to empower the complainants to seize the disturbers of peace and do with them as they would.

In these times five or six counties, a few nobles, or the people of single villages would combine to carry on war against the foe within their borders. The country did not concern itself and furthermore could not have done so had it wished. The Roman Emperor was engrossed in the Spanish Succession, the Sultan in a war against Venice, the lesser antagonists struggled as they could.

Now, away from our sight, cold outer world—narrow panorama of mountain and horizon without charm. Arise before us, magic halls! We see a magnificent apartment, the splendor of which bears us to a more beautiful world, while thought flitting from object to object, grows weary of the beautiful and luxurious, sought out by fancy and employed to form a poetic, charming whole.

On a purple couch in the most splendid room of the castle lay Azraele, Corsar Bey's favorite. Beside her rested a live panther, stretched out like a gay footstool, and played with her hair like a young kitten.

The clatter of horses' hoofs was heard ringing out from the winding way that led through the valley and Corsarburg. The noise was heard through the woods long before the riders could be distinctly seen. Soon they reached the height where the road, climbing to the mountain ridge runs along its length. It was Corsar Bey with his robber band. First came the beasts of burden laden with spoils. From the full leathern sacks gleamed church treasures; then came the Bey himself with his gay horsemen recruited from all classes; spahis clothed in silk and carrying long spears. Bashkirs with bow and arrow, Bedouins in white cloaks with brass-hilted swords. The Bey was in his prime, his thin beard and moustache barely showed on his brown face, his high cheekbones and broad chin gave him a bold, cruel look. His dress was covered with jewels in barbaric profusion. His troop followed him in silence. Blood was clinging to all their garments: some had not taken the trouble to wipe it off their faces. The beasts trotted quietly toward the castle urged on by fellahs, while the troop followed them along the mountain ridge.

The shadows of night had fallen.

"I am afraid," said Azraele.

"Why are you afraid?" said Corsar.

"I have had bad dreams," replied Azraele, trembling. "I dreamed that the Giaours stormed your castle by night and murdered you. I tried to throw myself down from the battlements but could not, and I was caught. A Christian had me. Oh, it was frightful."

"Don't be afraid," said Corsar. "The Koran says only the birds can fly and no one can get into this castle who has not learned to fly. But even if it were possible you need not be afraid of falling into the hands of the infidels, for there under the entrance is a fuse reaching to the powder houses; if all is lost you have only to touch that fuse with the night lamp, and the entire place will be blown to atoms, with us and our foes."

"What a comforting thought," said Azraele.

Suddenly she sprang up again with a scream. "Do not you hear the noise of the Djinns?" and she trembled in every limb.

The Bey looked around him in terror. A storm raged without; the weather vanes creaked. From the tops of the minarets the wind threw the tiles on the kiosks below. The lightning flashed and the thunder made the crags tremble.

"Do you hear these invisible creatures howling and rattling the closed windows with their mighty hands?"

"By the shades of Allah, I do," said the man, his eyes fixed with fear.

"Have mercy, have mercy! Away from this house, you bad spirits," cried Azraele. "May the sunbeams strike you and the darkness bury you. Go torment the Christians. May your wings break on the top of our crescents as you float over them. Ha, how their eyes shine! Spirit of Allah, cover us, that they may not see us with their eyes of fire."

The great, strong man trembled like a child. His superstitious fear had taken all strength out of his heart.

"Do you hear how they murmur? Say a prayer quickly aloud and stop your ears, so you shall not hear what they say."

At this moment the frightful storm broke in a window pane and the wind rushing in shook the curtains and made the lights flicker.

"Ah, do you see him?" cried Azraele. "Be still, don't look, don't open your eyes. Cover your face. Asafiel, the angel of Death is here. Don't you feel his cold breath? Hush, cover yourself up, perhaps he does not notice you."

Corsar clung to Azraele and covered his face with his hands.

"What do you want?" called Azraele, as if she were speaking with a visible spirit. "Whom have you come for, black shade, your eyes glowing with blue fire? There is nobody here but me. Corsar has not come. Come later, come an hour later. Away with you, black creature! May Allah crush you!"

Corsar did not dare open his eyes.

"Away with you, I say."

At this moment the lightning struck one of the bastions and shook the mountains to their foundations. When the sound of thunder ceased, a light fall of rain began on the roof; the roar of the storm grew more and more distant; was heard dully near by and howled mournfully in the distant woods.

"He has gone," whispered Azraele, in a barely audible tone. "He promised to be back in an hour. Corsar, you can live just one hour."

"One hour!" repeated Corsar, with dulled senses. "Oh, Azraele, where can you hide me?"

"That is quite impossible. Asafiel is relentless. One hour more and then he will carry you off."

"Bargain with him. If he must have dead men, I will have a hundred slaves beheaded. Promise him blood, treasure, prayers, burning villages, everything. Only beg him to spare my life."

"It is of no use. In my dreams I saw your sword broken in two. Your days are numbered. There is only one way of escape for you—one way of baffling this bloodthirsty angel. Some one of the dead must exchange names with you and Asafiel when he comes for you must drag him off in your stead."

"That is right. That is right," stammered the strong man in fear. "Find me such a dead man who will exchange names with me. You know the incantations. Go call up somebody from his grave; promise him everything, fellah or rajah, I will give him my name and take his. Go, hurry."

"You must go yourself. Throw your cloak around you. Leave your weapons here; spirits are afraid of sharp iron. We will go down into the churchyard under the castle walls, set fire to amber and borax over a tripod, plunge the magic staff into the most recent grave and so compel its inmate to appear before you. When the spirit has appeared you must take three steps toward him and call out three times bravely, 'Die for me!' Then the spirit will vanish and Asafiel will not call for you."

"But you will be near me," said the timid Corsar.

"I will be at your side. Now hurry. An hour is a short time."

Corsar threw on his cloak and repeated the beginning of a prayer the end of which he could not recall.

"Be careful not to wake the guards," said Azraele, cautiously, "if a human being should by chance hear us the power of the enchantment would be broken, for they might utter a prayer that would contradict ours. We will saddle our own horses and go down by the secret path. We must not say a word on the way and you must not look behind."

The Bey was ready. He put on his furlined cloak he was so cold. Azraele called to the panther lying on the rug,

"Oglan, you shall go too and keep watch. If we meet a wild beast you shall defend us."

As if he had understood the words of his mistress the panther rose on his hind feet and laid his paws on her arm, and the trembling man clung to her on the other side. A strange group! A pale woman wrapped in white, and by her side two princely creatures, a haughty man steeled for conflict, and a panther; both mastered by a glance from her, driven to joy or to despair.

The Moslem churchyard below the castle is planted with cypresses. Amid these dark trees of mourning are the graves rising ghostlike with their layers of white stones. At the sound of the approaching steps a grey wolf ran out from the graves, otherwise the place was absolutely desolate. The clouds were broken after the storm; and here and there might be seen the dark blue sky with stars like diamonds. The raindrops were falling from the trees. The rumbling of the thunder was still heard occasionally in the distance and the lightning played over the mountain tops brightening all with its white light.

The figures reached the churchyard by the underground passage and dismounted from their horses beside the graves. Azraele laid the reins of both horses in Oglan's mouth. The clever beast stood still on his hind feet and held the two snorting horses more firmly than any post could.

The man and woman reached a high grave with its stone just showing among the branches of a weeping willow. "It is hardly probable that a slave rests under this stone," whispered Azraele to the trembling knight; she placed her magic pan on the stone and lighted the amber and borax which blazed up and cast a white vapor over the grave. In the distance was heard a slight rustling and Corsar's horse whinnied restlessly.

"What's that?" asked knight.

"The Djinns," answered Azraele. "Don't look behind you."

Then she raised the magic wand and uttered an incantation over the grave interspersing it with unintelligible words.

"Restless spirit, appear at my command. Whether you are beneath the dark tree of Hell, or in the garden of the houris. Whether you sleep bound by chains of fire, or on beds of roses, hear my call. Flee through the air, cleave the darkness and appear before me in living form as you were. Appear!"

At the words she struck with her wand against the side of the stone, and there rose up from behind a figure wrapped in white.

"Now take three steps toward him," said Azraele to the dazed knight, "and speak to him."

Corsar Bey approached the figure before him with tottering steps, and said in a hoarse, quavering voice:

"My name is Corsar Bey; and you, accursed shade, who are you?"

"I am Balassa," said the spirit with a clear voice.

The white shroud fell off and revealed a mighty man with unsheathed sword in his hands.

"Corsar Bey, you are my prisoner," he said to the Turk, who stood petrified at the sudden turn.

The next moment the Bey put his hand to his side and not finding any sword there, ran with a cry of rage to his horse, threw himself into the saddle and used his spurs, but Oglan held the horse firmly with the bridle in his teeth, and when the horse tried to move, the panther dug his claws into him and held him back.

"To Hell with you, you cursed beast," yelled Corsar, foaming with rage, and gave the panther a kick.

But the panther only pulled the bridle this way and that, stood in the horse's way and frightened him with its leaps, compelling him to circle about.

"Speak to your beast, Azraele," screamed the Bey, turning around, and looking for his beloved saw her in the arms of the young Hungarian.

At this instant the churchyard became alive. The Hungarian soldiers who had been lying concealed tore the Bey from his horse. Even when thrown to the ground he tried to defend himself with stones.

"A curse upon you," said the vanquished outlaw.

The troops moved past him along the secret passage to his castle, and an hour later by the light of his burning castle he saw his favorite ride away mounted behind Balassa.

CHAPTER IX
THE PRINCE AND HIS MINISTER

The Turk did not find anything to object to in the constitution of the country; in its privileges, its patriarchal aristocracy, its Latin language and Hungarian costume, nor in its many religions; all that did not concern him. He pitied from his soul the poor people who gave so bright an outlook to the affairs of the country. He did not exert himself in the least to procure them a more exact acquaintance with his own simple system; in this respect he was like the Turk in the story, who when he saw a Hungarian eating with his open knife in hand, sat down behind in confident expectation that the Hungarian would put out his eyes in carrying his knife to his mouth, and when he saw that this did not happen, went away in the pleasant belief that it certainly would happen a little later.

Great changes had taken place in Ebesfalva in this time; the princely residence was no longer the simple manor house. At some distance from that, on a height, the Prince had a castle built with a high square tower, and from each corner rose small pointed turrets; the entrance was guarded by two stone lions, and on the façade was this inscription in high relief:

"Fata viam invenient."

Beyond the carved columns along the front was a corridor connecting one wing of the castle with the other; the windows were all made with pointed arches and with antique decorations, and the inner court was reached through an arched passage under the building. In this courtyard instead of plows and wagons we now see rampart guns and long culverins. Instead of farm boys, we see outside the gates guards in yellow cloaks and red hose. To reach the Prince's office you must pass through long passage-ways and echoing apartments where pages announce your arrival from door to door, and when at last the reception-room is reached you stand not in the presence of the Prince but of Michael Teleki, his first counsellor. He is the same bald-headed man whom we met on that memorable day that saw the death of Nicholas Zrinyi.

In early days the good man had been only a captain fallen into disfavor with George Rakoczi. Since then his affairs had prospered and he was now chief captain of Kövar and all powerful in the name of the Prince. His mother was the sister of the Princess. Through the protection of his aunt he came into the protection of the Prince. Once there Teleki needed no further support; his comprehensive mind, his extended acquaintance, his statesmanlike training made him indispensable to the Prince, who preferred to bury himself in his books and antiquities and considered himself hindered by anything that took him from his family or his studies.

His reception-room to-day was crowded with men who wished to speak to his Excellency. They were the Hungarian fugitives whom the Prince seemed to hold in special horror. These restless, gloomy people, always in quest of war, did not suit the placid, meditative nature of the Prince. Now he shut them all out, and admitted only, of all his courtiers, a learned pastor, John Passai who had a professorship in Nagy-Emged, and was dear to the Prince on account of his learning. Apafi's office looked more like that of a student than a ruler. The walls were covered with bookcases, in the corners were maps, and on the narrow spaces remaining were clocks, which the Prince wound up himself. The chairs and sofas were covered with books needed at once, so that often when the Prince received the visit of a friend he did not know where to seat him. Sometimes even the floor was covered with maps, dusty documents and open books; if Teleki entered at such a moment he would have to pick his way with as much care as a man looking for a dry path through the mud.

At this moment Apafi and the pastor stood before a table on which lay some old coins. Apafi looked carefully at a gold piece, turned it in his fingers and held it to the light. Passai stood in front of the Prince like a post, hat in hand, with knitted brows. Apafi twirled the coin and studied it on both sides.

"Those are not Roman letters," he growled, "neither are they Greek nor Arabic; and they certainly are not Hunnic. I have never seen such characters. Where were they found?" he asked, turning to Passai.

"In Varhely, when the Wallachians were clearing away the old temple."

"Why did they clear it away?"

"It was an old ruin that they called a Roman temple."

"But it cannot have been a Roman temple, for it is not a Roman coin."

"I agree with you, but the Wallachians are in the habit of calling every ruin in Transylvania Roman."

"But why did they clear it away?"

"The villagers thought they might burn the statues for lime."

"O godless people!" cried Apafi, "to make lime out of rare works of art. Did you not try to save at least part from destruction?"

"I bought a cover of a sarcophagus adorned with sculpture, and a well preserved sphinx; but it was not convenient for the Wallachian who was moving them to lift them whole, so he broke the statues in five or six pieces that he might carry them in his cart more easily."

"He deserves to be impaled! I will have a law passed that nobody hereafter shall dare lay hands on any antique."

"I am afraid your Excellency will be too late, for when the people learned that I was paying for their stones, the story went abroad that I was hunting for diamonds and carbuncles in the stones, and they broke them all up in such small pieces that now they might be used for writing sand."

"Have you spoken with the Lord of Deva about the mosaic?"

"He will not let it go at any price. He said that none of his ancestors had ever sold any of their possessions. If he would only allow it to be moved from the spot where it was found,—but he will not even consent to that. As it is the corn-stall stands over it and the oxen lie on the figures of Venus and Cupid."

"I have a great mind to confiscate the property and so get possession of the priceless treasures," said Apafi, with the zeal of a student, and again turned to examine the puzzling coin.

At this moment Teleki entered the Prince's apartment with an important air, took some writing from a silk envelope, opened it and placed it in Apafi's hand. The Prince appeared to read it with care and knit his brow as he did so. Suddenly he called out, "They certainly are Dacian letters!"

"What!" said Teleki, astounded, with wide open eyes. He could not comprehend how the Prince had found Dacian writing in the letter handed him.

"Yes, I am positive. I remember reading, perhaps in Dio Cassius, that the Romans had medals struck with a Dacian inscription and on the obverse the picture of a headless man. Here it is."

"But your Highness," said Teleki with annoyance, "the writing that I handed you"—

Now for the first time Apafi noticed that there was a parchment in his hand waiting to be read, and sullenly gave it back to Teleki.

"I have told you already that I did not wish to see anybody to-day. In a month's time the Diet will be convened and then the Hungarians may talk about their affairs as much as they will."

"But, I beseech your Highness," replied Teleki, satirically, "this writing has nothing to do with the Hungarians, but with his grace the Tartar Khan."

"What does he want?" said Apafi, and glanced at the parchment, but when he saw its length he laid it aside. "I will make short work of him. Who brought the letter?"

"An Emir."

Apafi girded on his sword and went into the reception-room.

"Good-day, good-day," he said, hastily, to those assembled. In this way he made an end of their long greetings, and gave a searching glance through the throng.

"Where is the Emir?"

At this the Tartar deputy came forward. He stood boldly before the Prince with an air of consequence.

"Salem Alech."

"What is it?" said Apafi, curtly.

The Emir measured the Prince keenly with his piercing eyes, threw his head back and said:

"My lord, the gracious Kuba Khan sends word to you, Prince of the Giaours, that you are a false, faithless, godless man. You gave your word of honor that we should live as neighbors and how do you conduct yourself now? A year ago it happened that in passing through Saxony we visited cities the names of which a true-believer may not utter, and there took our usual plunder in due form. They were always profitable, but as some of them were not quite quick enough in the payment of the tribute, at the command of his Grace, Kuba Khan, they were burned to ashes as punishment, that they might improve. Then did they improve? Not at all. For when we visited there again this year we found only the bare walls that we had left before. The unbelieving dogs fled before us and left us only a search. So then, my lord the mighty Kuba Khan sends word to you to know what kind of a Prince you are that you allow these unbelieving dogs to leave their towns and make fools of us. Formerly when we came the hay had been put in barns, the grain threshed and the cattle fatted; now we find nothing but weeds, with hares and other unclean creatures that you unbelievers are accustomed to eat. And that we may not take our revenge, the towns are not built up again. Now if you do not wish to bring down upon your head the wrath of the mighty Khan, see to it that you order those fugitives back to their towns, and send word to the rest of the Saxon towns that have surrounded themselves with inaccessible walls, to open their gates to us. Otherwise we will visit you in Klausenburg with fire and sword and leave not one stone above another."

During this speech Apafi had several times grasped his sword. Then he reconsidered and said calmly:

"Go back, give greetings to your lord, and tell him that we will give him satisfaction at once."

Then he turned his back on the messenger and would have left the room at once, but Teleki placed himself in his way.

"That is not enough, your Highness. Once for all there must be an end made of this dog-headed Tartar's coming into the presence of the Prince of Transylvania with such a speech."

"Then speak to him yourself."

Teleki advanced toward the Emir with an earnest, dignified expression, looked him fixedly in the eye, and said firmly:

"Your lord is indeed the ruler of Tartary, and my lord the Prince of Transylvania, and his Majesty, the Sultan is one lord of us all. Know then that his Majesty the Sultan did not make your lord Khan of Tartary to dwell at Vienna, nor did he set Michael Apafi on the throne of Transylvania to support your lord. Go back to your land and do not come here any more to wonder that a town burned down by you one year is not built up the next. We will take care that the houses are rebuilt and also that the bastions are made high enough to keep you off. If you have any desire to pay us a visit in Klausenburg we will take care that you do not have your trouble for nothing, and shall know how to greet you from afar with our good cannon."

The Emir fumed with rage; his eyes were bloodshot, his hand felt for his dagger and he stammered out:

"If a slave should make such a speech in the presence of my lord he would have his head cut off at once."

Apafi now touched Teleki on the shoulder and said:

"Good, Teleki! you spoke like a man."

The Emir turned on his heel and hurried out of the room, shaking his fist.

This scene put Apafi into a good humor, especially toward Teleki. The minister read this in the Prince's face and took advantage of it at once. Taking one of the bystanders by the hand he brought him up to Apafi and introduced him in these words:

"My future son-in law, your Excellency."

An introduction under any other title would probably have been evaded by Apafi, but in this form it was impossible not to accept it. He found himself compelled to look at the young man. He was a fine-looking, slender youth and had no trace of a beard. With his feminine features the only sign of the man was his independent bearing. Apafi was pleased with him.

"What is the name of your son-in-law?" he asked Teleki.

The latter answered with a peculiar smile:

"Emerich Tököli, son of Stephen Tököli."

At mention of this name Apafi grew serious and said:

"Your father was a good friend of mine." But he did not offer him his hand.

"I know that," replied the young man, "and for that reason I sought your Highness."

"If only he had not been such a disturber of the peace. It is well that you have not followed his counsel. I remember well the contest between the defeated and half-crazed David Zolyomi. Both had married daughters of Bethlen, who had received as dowry in common the castle of Bajda-Hunyad; one had one-half, and one the other; after the two men had taken counsel together they gathered their servants in their respective castle-yards, began battle and shot at each other from the opposite windows; both had a great love for war. Your father was in battle just before his death. In the very hour of death he needed the thunder of cannon and the tumult of the siege. It is well that you are not like him. You look gentle."

"That is praise undeserved," said Tököli, proudly. "I too was in the stormed castle and defended it until my father fell."

Apafi heard this with displeasure. However he wished to show interest in the youth and so after a pause he asked:

"And how did you happen to save yourself?"

At that Emerich turned red and did not answer at once.

Teleki told the truth as if excusing the youthful fire of the young man.

"He is so young that in woman's clothes he easily escaped the notice of the besiegers."

This amusing explanation put Apafi in good humor again. He stroked the bright red cheeks of the boy and motioned to Teleki to introduce the rest of the men. They were all of them Hungarian fugitives. The Prince exerted himself to meet them kindly. Just then an official entered and announced,

"His Excellency, the ambassador of France wishes to be admitted."

Evident confusion came over Apafi. He drew Teleki to him and whispered in his ear,

"I will not, I cannot receive him. Go out and speak with him and explain the matter to him."

Apafi slipped quickly out of the reception-room, rejoiced that this time he had rolled off the burden on Teleki. However he stood and listened at the door thinking that there might be some sudden outbreak after his back was turned. And something did happen, though not of a character to make one's hair stand on end. The ambassador uttered a jovial laugh, and with that all in the room burst out laughing as if at a word of command.

"Something strange must have happened," thought Apafi, "to force these men to such offensive laughter," and he opened the door part way. But he could not fully open the door, for the learned Passai, renowned for his gravity, had fallen into such a fit of laughter that he leaned against the door of the private office.

"Let me in, Passai," said the curious Prince; and when the door was opened the cause of the general laughter became clear. The worthy minister stood in the middle of the room clad in Hungarian costume. You cannot imagine anything more comical! the good man, aside from the fact that he was quite stout, was smooth-shaven and wore always a friendly smile; but this unusual costume gave him an appearance so ridiculous that only a Hungarian can appreciate it. Everybody knows that the Magyar costume for men shows the figure very plainly. Then too the worthy Frenchman moved about so helplessly in his tight hose and spurred boots that it seemed as if he might lose his footing any moment. He had forgotten to put on his scarf, which added to the comical effect of his costume, his long curled wig, making him look for all the world like a lion, and his round hat with a long heron's feather completed his droll appearance. Apafi saw no reason why he should not join in the laughter.

With the French ease in mingling jest and earnest the ambassador tripped up to him and said,

"Your Highness, you have so many times refused me admittance that the idea occurred to me that perhaps I did not come in appropriate costume, and as your Highness sees, results have proved the wisdom of the idea for now that I have approached you in Hungarian costume I have been so fortunate as to see you."

"Parbleu!" replied Apafi, with difficulty, suppressing his desire to laugh. "I am always glad to see you. The only condition I impose is that politics shall not enter into our conversations. But you have no sash, and without the sash the Hungarian costume is as incomplete as the French costume without culottes."

Saying this the Prince took a jeweled sash and himself fastened it about the figure of the ambassador.

"And what does this mean? who told you to stick your handkerchief in your trousers? only a haiduk does that, a nobleman puts his in his calpac. But what a fine handkerchief that is of yours!"

"Is it not a beauty?"

"It is, indeed, with its silk wreaths and gold and silver embroidery around the hem. Paris alone can furnish the like."

"But the truth is it was made in Transylvania."

"Incredible!"

"And what is more in Ebesfalva."

Apafi looked at the Reverend gentleman in astonishment.

"And I am not to know the skilful hands that busy themselves in this way!"

"Your Highness does know them. The name of the maker is in one corner of the handkerchief embroidered in beautiful Gothic letters."

Apafi looked at each corner of the handkerchief in turn; no two were embroidered alike; in one was a wreath of oak leaves, in one a trophy, in the third a Turkish, a Hungarian and a French sword fastened together with a ribbon, in the fourth under a Prince's crown was embroidered the name Apafi.

The Prince read the name aloud. The bystanders looked at him timidly expecting an outburst of anger. To the astonishment of all a smile played over the Prince's lips; he put the handkerchief in the Reverend gentleman's hat, put this on the ambassador's head, and said with very good humor:

"So you have succeeded in winning over my wife?"

The minister laughed at the ambiguous joke.

"But you will not win me," added Apafi, laughing.