A century passed, and Stephen, saint and king, cast down the altars of the fire-worshippers, and built a vast church on the spot where so many false gods had been adored. The sun-worshippers disappeared, and the Christian world called the church after the name of the Archangel Michael.

What sort of church was it?—Nobody can now tell! Two centuries later the Tartars came, levelled town and church with the ground, and put the population to the sword. On their departure they gave to the town the scornful nickname Nigra-Julia.[44]

Our nation's greatest man, John Hunniady, rebuilt it. Traces of his huge Gothic arches may still be found there. In the crypt, built at the same time, all the Princes of Transylvania were buried in richly-carved sarcophagi. Here rested Hunniady himself and his headless son Ladislaus.[45] They rested here, but only for a time. Robber-hordes came and scattered the sacred relics, and devastated the church, and the succeeding princes who patched it up again during the Turkish dominion, added to the Gothic groundwork the peculiarities of Arab architecture, serpentine columns, and Moorish arabesques.

And last of all came the renovations and restorations of modern times—four-cornered towers, with little low windows and shapeless portals. The arabesques were all white-washed, and where here and there the mortar falls from the walls, you may catch a glimpse of the stones with which the church was originally built, relics of every age which has visited the place and vanished tracklessly. Here sculptured fragments of the old Mythra cultus; there mutilated Vestals. Below, the top of an ancient altar with the broken symbol of a sun upon it; above, florid and fantastic arabesques.

And again the town lost its name.

They call it now Karoly-Fehervár.[46]

At the time in which our story is laid, this town was the place where the Princes of Transylvania used to be consecrated and the Diets to be held. Where the episcopal palace now stands stood then the Prince's residence, restored by John Sigismund,[47] with marble inlaid chambers, and walls covered with battle-pieces in fresco. The great hall where the Diet met was separated from the surrounding chambers by a balustrade of tinted marble. Round about the walls hung the busts of princes and woywodes interspersed with trophies. In front stood the throne covered with purple, and round about it a triumphal baldachin made of banners, shields, and morning-stars.

The rest of the town was scarcely in keeping with the pomp of the Prince's residence, for in 1618 the Diet had been obliged to command the inhabitants to cease dwelling in tents, and build up their ruinous houses again.

The Estates of the Realm have already assembled. Every one is in his place. Only the seat of the Prince is still vacant.

There they sit in order of precedence—the Transylvanian patricians, the heads of the Hungarian nobility, the most eminent in wit, wealth, and valour—the Bethlens, the Csakys, the Lazars, the Kemenys, the Mikeses, the Banfis!—those mediæval clans whose will is the nation's, whose deeds form its history, whose ancestors, grandfathers and fathers, have either perished on the battle-field in defence of their princes, or on the scaffold for defying them. And their descendants loyally follow their examples. A new prince comes to the throne, and they take up again the swords which have fallen from their fathers' hands—to wield it for or against him, as Fate may decree.

The Szekler deputies with their homely garb and sullen, dogged faces, and the Saxon burghers with their simple, round, red countenances, and their primeval German costume, form a striking contrast to the dashing and resplendent Hungarian magnates.

The mob assembled in the galleries and behind the barrier presents a most motley picture. Many amongst it can be seen pointing out the celebrities to their neighbours, or shaking their fists at the deputies they dislike.

At last a flourish of trumpets announces that the Prince has arrived. The pages throw open the doors. The crowd shouts "Eljen!" His Highness appears surrounded by his court.

Denis Banfi, as Marshal of the Diet, leads the way, with the national standard in his right hand. Beside him is Paul Beldi of Uzoni, who, as Captain-General of the Szeklers, bears the mace. Behind them comes the Prime Minister, Master Michael Teleki, bringing with him in a silken case the Imperial athname: all three gentlemen are in gorgeous robes of state. In the midst walks the Prince himself, in a magnificent green velvet kaftan and an ermine embroidered hat: he holds the sceptre in his hand. Around and behind him throng the foreign ambassadors, foremost among whom stand the Sultan's envoy in a robe sparkling with diamonds; Forval, the Minister of Louis XIV., a sleek, courtly man, with silken ribbons in his dolman, gold lace on his hat, and a richly-embossed sword-scabbard; his colleague, the Abbé Reverend, with a smiling countenance, his lilac surplice fastened by a purple sash; and Sobieski's minister, wearing a bekesch with divided sleeves, which so closely resembles the Magyar costume.

All these dignitaries now take their places. The ambassadors remain behind the Prince's throne; and while the long and tedious protocols of the last Diet are being read, many of them engage in conversation with the lords behind the barrier.

Among these latter we perceive Nicholas Bethlen, the young Transylvanian whose acquaintance we made a long time ago in Zrinyi's hunting suite. He is now a vivacious and sensible young man, having spent his youth in travelling through all the civilized countries of Europe, cultivating the acquaintance of their most famous men, and even of their princes, and appropriating the progressive ideas of the age, without losing anything of his national peculiarities. The French themselves tell us that it was he who first acquainted them with the hussar's uniform, and that the dolman he wore at Versailles served Louis XIV. as a pattern for equipping his first Hussar regiments.

When Bethlen caught sight of Forval, whom he had learnt to know in Paris, he hastened to his side and greeted him heartily.

"You'll lose the thread of the discussion," said Forval, hearing that something was being read, but not knowing what.

"So far, they can get on without me. The bills now before the house merely regulate how many dishes should be set before servants; or discuss the best method of compelling poor people to grow rich enough to pay more taxes. When the real business of the day begins you will find me also in my place."

"Then tell me in the meantime who are the capable men here, and who are not. You know everything about Transylvania." Forval had only just arrived there.

"Such a classification is by no means an easy one," returned Bethlen. "Formerly, when I was a party man myself, and had seen no country but my own, I was quite convinced that all the members of my own party were honest men, and all its opponents scoundrels without exception; but now that I have severed party ties, and seen a little of the world, I begin to perceive that a man may be a good patriot, an honest man, a valiant warrior, or the reverse, whether he belongs to the Right or the Left. Everything depends on the point of view you take. However, as you desire it, I will give you my own views of the state of parties, you can then draw your own conclusions. That proud man on the right of the Prince is Denis Banfi; the one on the left is Paul Beldi. They are the two most eminent men in the land, and both are determined opponents of the war it is proposed to commence; in all else they are adversaries, but on this one point they are inseparable. Banfi seems to be in league with the Emperor, Beldi with the Turk. In their opinion Transylvania is strong enough to drive back every invader of her territories, but not strong enough to play the invader herself. Now cast a glance at that baldish man on the left of the Prince. That is Michael Teleki. 'Tis the genius of that man which alone keeps the other two in check. He is a near relative of the Princess, and would renew here the war which has been the ruin of the national party in Hungary. The trial of strength between those three men will be an interesting spectacle."

"And if the peace party should prevail?"

"Then the nation will have declared for peace."

"And the Prince cannot go against it?"

"Here, my friend, we are not at the Court of Versailles, where a Prince may venture to say, 'L'état—c'est moi!' Each of those three men has as much authority here as the Prince, and their authority is one with his. But let him only try to act against the will of the nation, and he will soon become aware that he stands alone. So, again, those great nobles would remain isolated if they undertook anything in opposition to the Diet."

"Be candid now. Do you think the war party will prevail?"

"Scarcely this time. I do not yet see the man who can bring a war about. Amongst the whole Hungarian party there is no one fit to become the ideal of a martial nation. Zrinyi has perished. Rakoczi has deserted it. Teleki knows how to overthrow but not how to create parties. Besides, he is no warrior, and it is a warrior that they want. He represents cold reason, and here there is need of a soul of fire. He has no mission to fight for Hungary, but only a political interest. One of the Hungarian magnates, that moustacheless youth yonder, Emerich Tököli, has lately sued for his daughter's hand in order to engage the father in his interests. Mark my words. That young man has a career before him. His one idea is power—and Fortune is fickle, and her instruments are many."

This cold consultation was somewhat distasteful to Forval. Meanwhile the tiresome recitation of the protocols had come to an end, and Bethlen took his seat.

The Prince very sulkily informed the Estates that the reason he had summoned them would now be explained to them by Master Michael Teleki; then, wrapping himself in his kaftan, he leaned negligently back in the depths of his huge arm-chair.

Teleki stood up, waited until the applause of the crowd had subsided, then, casting a calm look upon Banfi, thus began—

"Worshipful and valiant Orders and Estates! The recent events in Hungary are well known to you all, and if you did not know them, you need only cast a glance around you, and the sad, despairing faces with which your assembly has been augmented would tell their own tale. These are our unfortunate Hungarian brethren, once the flower of the nation, now its withered leaves, which the storm has scattered far and wide. You have not denied your kinsmen in their adversity; you have shared hearth and home with them; you have mingled your tears with theirs. But oh! they have not turned to us for the bread of charity, or for womanly lamentations. Thou, Bocskai,[48] thou, Bethlen,[49] whose images now look down upon us from these walls with dumb reproaches; whose victorious, dust-stained banners wave around the throne, why can you not rise up again in our midst to seize those banners, and thunder in the ears of an irresolute generation—The banished beg of you a country, the houseless a home?"

Here Teleki paused as if awaiting applause, but every one remained perfectly silent; mere rhetoric did not affect that Assembly in the least. Teleki saw his mistake, and instantly changed his tactics.

"You reply to my words by silence. Am I to take it that qui tacet, negat? I'll never believe that your hearts are too cold to be fired. You only hesitate because you would count up your forces. But let me tell you that we shall not take the field alone. The sight of our despoiled churches and our enslaved clergy has called all the Protestant princes of Europe to arms. Even the Belgian King, whom our fate concerns least of all, has rescued our brethren in the faith from the Neapolitan galleys; nor has the sword of Gustavus Adolphus grown rusty in its sheath. Nay, more, even the most Catholic of princes, even the followers of Mahommed, are ready to assist our cause. Behold the King of France, at this moment the mightiest ruler in Europe, raising troops for us, not only in his own land, but in Poland also; and, if necessary, the Sultan certainly will not scruple to break a peace that was forced upon him; or he will, at the very least, place his frontier troops at our disposal. And when all around us we hear the din of battle, when every one grasps the sword, shall we alone leave ours in its scabbard, we who owe so much to our brethren and to ourselves? What happened to them yesterday may happen to us to-morrow, and what country will then offer us a refuge? Therefore, my fellow-patriots, hearken to the prayers of the banished as if you stood in their places; for I tell you, that a time may come when you will be as they are now; and as you treat them now, so will Destiny treat you then!"

Teleki had done. He fixed his eyes on Denis Banfi as if he knew beforehand that he would be the first to reply to him.

Banfi arose. It was plain that he was making a great effort to keep within bounds and speak dispassionately.

"My noble colleagues!" he began, in an unusually calm voice. "Compassion towards unfortunate kinsmen and hatred of ancient foes are sentiments which become a man; but in politics there is no room for sentiment. In this place we are neither kinsmen, nor friends, nor yet foes; we are simply and solely patriots, whose first duty it is to coolly calculate, for, to say nothing of the joy or grief resulting from it, the fate of a whole land depends upon the issue of our deliberations. Now the question before us is really this: Are we to stake the existence of Transylvania for the sake of Hungary? Are we to shed our blood for the sake of raising her from the dead? Listen not to your hearts, they can only feel—'tis the head that thinks. Just now there is peace in Transylvania. The people are beginning to be happy; the towns are rising from their ashes; the mourning weeds are gradually being laid aside, and ears of corn are ripening on fields of blood. At present the Magyar is his own master in Transylvania. No stranger, no adversary, no protector exacts tribute from him. None may interfere in our deliberations. The neighbouring powers are obliged to protect us, and we are not obliged to do them homage for it. Reflect well upon all this ere you stake everything on one cast of the die! Would you again see all Transylvania turned into a huge battle-field, and your vassals transformed into an army, perhaps not even a victorious army? And even if our hosts were sufficient, who is there to lead them? None of us has inherited the genius of a Bethlen or of a Bocskai; neither I, nor Master Teleki. And then again, whom can we trust besides ourselves? The capricious Louis XIV. perhaps? His policy can be changed every moment by a pair of bright eyes. If we depended only on him, a petty Versailles intrigue might leave us in the lurch when we most required assistance."

Here Forval coughed to conceal his annoyance.

"As for Sobieski," continued Banfi, "depend upon it he will not attack his present ally the Emperor for our sweet sakes; nor will the Sultan break his oath as lightly as Master Michael Teleki seems to imagine. What then remains for us to do? Call the nomadic Tartars into Hungary, I suppose! The poor Hungarian population would certainly express their gratitude for such assistance as that! Your ideal Hungarian, Nicolas Zrinyi, used to tell a tale which deserves to be handed down to our latest posterity. The devil was carrying a Szekler away on his back. The Szekler's neighbour met and thus accosted him: 'Whither away, gossip?' 'I am being carried to hell,' said he. 'Eh! but that is a very bad job,' returned the other. 'Yes, but it might be much worse,' replied the rogue. 'Just fancy if he were to sit on my back, dig his spurs into me, and compel me to carry him instead!'—Let every one apply this fable as he thinks best. For my part, I cannot quite decide which I fear the most, the enmity of the Emperor or the amity of the Sultan. For, tell me, what will be the end of this war? If we conquer with the aid of the Sultan, Transylvania will become a Turkish Pachalic; if we are conquered, we shall sink into an Austrian province, while now we are a free and independent State by the grace of God! In any case Hungary's fate is bound to improve, and that fate touches my heart quite as much as theirs who fancy they can heal the sick man with the sword. But nothing is to be won in that way. How much blood has not already been shed without the slightest result? Let us try some other way. Surely the Magyar has sense enough to subdue by his intellectual superiority those whom he cannot overcome by force of arms? Subdue your conquerors, I say. You who are second to none in sense, energy, wealth, and the beauty of manliness, why do you not take the highest posts which belong to you of right? If you were to sit where the Pázmáns[50] and the Esterhazys[51] have sat, there would be no room left for a Lobkovich.[52] If instead of fighting petty, fruitless battles now and then, you were to use your intellects and your influence, you might make your land happy without costing her a drop of blood. It rests with you to restore once more the age of Louis the Great,[53] that foreign prince who became enamoured of his adopted people, turned Magyar, and made the nation as great and as powerful as the nation made him. The Estates of Transylvania will undertake to mediate between Hungary and the Emperor, and so get you back your privileges and your possessions. I will be the first to stretch out a helping hand, and assuredly Master Michael Teleki will be the second. If, however, you do not accept this offer, then, I say, beware of what you do. As to the prophecy—Our turn to-day, yours to-morrow! I'll only say, Fear nothing for Transylvania. I'll be bold to say, that whoever invades her by force of arms, will always find a host of equal strength ready to meet him; but let me tell you, that that same host will never be so foolhardy as to invade a foreign land."

"Then Hungary is to you a foreign land?" cried a mocking voice from the crowd.

This interruption was too much for Banfi's composure. He turned furiously towards the quarter whence the question came, and meeting the cold, contemptuous looks of the Hungarians assembled there, he quite forgot himself; everything around him seemed to be in a whirl, and dashing his kalpag to the ground, he cried—

"Right, right—indeed! A foreign land—nay more, a stepmother you have always been to us. We have always had to suffer for your sins. We have won victories, and you have frittered away the fruits of our victories. Your discords have thrice brought Hungary low, and thrice have we raised her from the dust. We have given you heroes; you have given us traitors!"

These last words Banfi was obliged to roar out at the top of his voice to make himself heard above the ever-increasing din. The uproar was general. Every one tried to shout down his neighbour. The Hungarian gentlemen sprang from their seats and reviled Banfi. The graver members of the peace party shook their heads when they saw how Banfi's indiscretion had let loose the passions of the Assembly.

Beldi now arose. All lovers of order cried at once—"Let us hear Beldi!"

Then a young man suddenly leaped over the barrier, and placing his hand on Teleki's arm-chair, planted himself in front of Banfi with a flushed and defiant face. It was Emerich Tököli.

"I too have got a word to say," cried he, in a voice audible above the tumult. "I also have the right to say a word or two within this barrier. If you will deny your mother, Hungary, and draw boundaries between her and you, it is time for me to speak. I am just as good a territorial noble here in Transylvania as that proud and petty demigod, whose father before him was just such another reviler of his mother country!"

Beldi was making his way towards Tököli to stop him from speaking, when some one from behind seized his hand, and turning round, he was astonished to see his own son-in-law, Paul Wesselenyi, who begged him to step outside for a moment.

Beldi retired into the lobby, while Tököli's voice thundered through the hall above the never-ending din.

A veiled lady awaited Beldi in the lobby, whom, when she had unveiled her face, he had some difficulty in recognizing as his daughter Sophia, so much had grief and care changed and broken her. Her beautiful eyes were red with weeping.

"We are homeless fugitives," sobbed Sophia, sinking on her father's breast. "They have taken from us our Hungarian possessions; my husband has been driven from his castle, and a price set on his head."

Beldi became very serious. This unexpected ill-tidings pricked him to the heart. Within, Tököli's thundering voice was raising a perfect tempest of indignation, but Beldi no longer made haste back to quell it.

"Remain with me," said he, with a troubled countenance; "here you can dwell in peace till things improve."

"Too late!" said Wesselenyi. "I have already enlisted under the flag of the French General, Count Boham, as a common soldier."

"You a common soldier! You, the descendant of the Palatine Wesselenyi! And what in the meantime is to become of my daughter?"

"She will remain behind with you—till Hungary has been won back again!" and with these words he placed his wife in Beldi's arms, kissed her on the forehead, and departed with dry eyes.

Within raged the tumult. Beldi heard his daughter sobbing, and a bitter feeling began to fill his breast, a feeling not unlike a nascent desire of vengeance. He felt almost pleased that war was being demanded within there; and he, the leader of the peace party, was also just about to draw his sword, rush into the Diet, and exclaim—"War! war! and retribution!" when the pages led into the lobby an old man as pale as death, who, recognizing Beldi, staggered up to him and addressed him in a trembling voice—

"My lord, are you not the Captain-General of the Szeklers, Paul Beldi of Uzoni?"

"Yes. What do you want with me?"

"I am the last inhabitant of Benfalva!" stammered the dying man. "War, famine, and pestilence have carried off all the others. I alone remain, and feeling that I too am on the point of death, I have brought you the official seal of the place and the church bell. Give them to the Diet. Preserve them in the archives, and write over them—'These are the bell and the seal of what was once Benfalva, the inhabitants of which utterly perished.'"

Beldi's nerveless arm dropped the hilt of his sword, and he tore himself from his daughter's embrace.

"Go to your mother at Bodola, and learn to bear your fate with a stout heart!"

Then he took the seal and the bell from the dying man, and hastened back to the hall of the Diet, where Tököli had just finished his speech, which had produced a terrible effect on the Assembly. The French ministers were shaking hands with him.

Beldi stepped up to the president's table, and placed upon it the seal which had just been handed to him.

Every one looked at him, and seeing that he was about to speak, became silent.

"Look!" cried he, with a voice broken by emotion. "A desolated town sends its official seal to the Diet by its last inhabitant. There are already enough of such towns in Transylvania, and in time there may be more. War and famine have wasted the fairest portions of our land. You should not forget, gentlemen, to place this seal among your other—trophies!"

At these last words Beldi's voice sank almost to a whisper, yet so deep was the silence, that he was heard distinctly in every part of the hall. A thrill of horror passed through every one present.

"Outside that door I hear some one weeping," continued Beldi, with quivering lips. "It is my own dear daughter, the wife of Paul Wesselenyi, who, driven from her fatherland, on her knees implored me, as I loved her, to let the lex talionis assert its rights. But I say, let my child weep, let her perish, may I also perish with my whole family if need be, but let not the curse of war fall on Transylvania! May no one in Transylvania have cause to weep because I suffer. No! I would declare against war though every one here present were for it.... Gentlemen!... this seal ... and the other relic too ... forget not to preserve them among your trophies!"

Beldi sat down. Long after his words had ceased to sound, a death-like silence continued to prevail.

Teleki, ascribing this silence to indignation against Beldi, very confidently arose, and bade the Estates give their votes. But for once he had wrongly felt the pulse of public opinion, for the majority of the Diet, deeply touched by the foregoing scene, voted for peace. So great was still the influence of Banfi and Beldi in the land.

Teleki looked with some confusion at his future son-in-law, who clenched his fists, and murmured bitterly with tears in his eyes—

"Flectere si nequeo Superos, Acheronta movebo!"

As the Assembly broke up, Forval and Nicholas Bethlen again met together.

"So our hope that Transylvania will take up arms has been dashed," observed the crestfallen Frenchman.

"On the contrary, our hope only now begins," returned Bethlen, tapping his friend on the shoulder. "Did you hear that young man Tököli speak?"

"Yes; he spoke very prettily."

"Prettily or not, it strikes me that he is just the man you seek."

"A King of Hungary, eh?"[54]

"Either that or an outlaw. Fate will decide."

CHAPTER VII.
THE JUS LIGATUM.[55]

'Tis a good old custom which requires that every ceremony should end with a feast, and so the boisterous Diet was succeeded by a still more boisterous banquet, whereat Michael Apafi also presided; and here he was in his proper place, for the chronicles tell us that a skin of wine at a sitting was a mere nothing to his Highness.

Wine inflames hate as well as love. When ladies are at table, we must look to our hearts; but when only men sit down together, our heads are often in danger.

After dinner, according to Transylvanian custom, the guests stood up to drink. Conversation flows more easily thus, and the Prince, going the round of his guests, presented to them an overflowing beaker with his own hand, challenging them one by one to drain it—"Come, a toast—my health, the welfare of the realm, and whatever else you like!"

The gentlemen were in high good-humour, and kept falling out with each other and making it up again from sheer lightness of heart. Only one man was quite sober—Michael Teleki, who never drank at all.

Beware of the man who keeps sober while every one else is in his cups.

Teleki went about among the wrangling roysterers, and lingered for a long time round Banfi's chair. When the magnate caught sight of him, creeping about like a cat, he turned sharply round upon him.

"Why, how sad you look!" he cried, with a mocking laugh; "just like a man whose coveted palatinate falls into the dust before his eyes."

That was all Teleki wanted.

With a smile, beneath which there lurked a deadly sting, he replied—

"That is no merit of yours. If Paul Beldi had not been present, you would have been left all alone with your vote. But I must confess that we all bow before such a distinguished man as Paul Beldi. The whole nation cries Amen! to whatever he says."

Teleki then bowed low, with a semblance of deep respect, well aware that he had sent a venomous shaft into the proud magnate's heart, for nothing wounded Banfi so much as to see some one honoured above himself, especially some one who really deserved it.

Teleki next turned to Beldi, drew him into a window-niche, and thus began in his suavest manner—

"I had always held your Excellency for a very magnanimous man, but to-day I learnt to recognize you as doubly such, though it was to my own detriment. The Diet only knows that in voting for peace you sacrificed your fatherly affection; but I know that at the same time you sacrificed your hatred of Banfi."

"I?—I have never hated Banfi."

"I know why you conceal your hatred. You fancy that no one knows your secret reasons for it. My friend, we men know well that a sword-thrust may be forgiven, but a kiss never."

Beldi started. He knew not what reply to make to this man, who, after planting the sting of jealousy in his heart, quitted him with a smiling countenance, leaving the wound to rankle.

At that moment Banfi appeared behind Beldi's back with his haughtiest air. He was burning to make Beldi feel his haughtiness, and was thinking how he could best pick a quarrel with him.

Beldi at first did not perceive him, and when the Prince, chancing to stray into that part of the room, holding a costly pocal set with turquoises, which he affably extended, saying familiarly—"Drink, my cousin!" Beldi, fancying that the invitation was meant for him, and never suspecting that any one was behind him, took the cup out of the Prince's hand, and drained it to his Highness's health, at the very moment when Banfi also held out his hand towards it.

Banfi, purple with rage, turned furiously upon Beldi, and said in his most insulting tone—

"Not so fast, Szekler. You might, I think, have a little more respect for the Marshal of the Diet, and not snatch away the cup from beneath my very nose. Let me tell you, sir, that if you persist in such courses, you and I shall fall out!"

Beldi was anything but a quarrelsome man. Had he been in another frame of mind, he would simply have apologized for his mistake. But now he too was in a pugnacious mood, so, calmly measuring Banfi from head to foot, he replied with suppressed rage—

"Yes, Denis, I am a Szekler, as you say, and a tough one too; and if it came to a bout between us, and I fell uppermost, I'd give you such a squeeze that you'd never raise your head again in this world."

"Come, come! What's all this nonsense about?" cried the Prince, intervening. "I'm surprised at you, gentlemen! Inter pocula non sunt seria tractanda." And, with that, Apafi compelled the two magnates to shake hands with each other, and then passed on, thinking that the whole affair was a mere drunken brawl, and that he had put it right.

But it did not escape Teleki that, immediately after this scene, both the magnates quitted the room, and he learnt soon afterwards that they had suddenly left Fehervár, thus leaving the field clear for him.

Teleki and his satellites remained alone with the half-besotted Prince.

"Drink, gentlemen! drink! be merry!" cried Apafi. "Don't drop off one by one! Who last went out there?"

"Beldi!" cried several voices.

"Ah, I understand! The poor fellow has not seen his wife for a long time. Let him go. And who else has gone?"

"Banfi!"

"What? Banfi too? What's the meaning of that?"

"He has gone to lord it at home?" sneered Szekely, one of Teleki's creatures.

"He can't endure to be anywhere where there is a greater than he," put in Nalaczi.

"I certainly shall not resign the princely diadem to please his Excellency!" cried Apafi.

"That is not necessary!" insinuated Teleki. "He knows how to rule in Transylvania without an athname. When he commands the country must obey, and what the country commands he contemptuously rejects."

"I should like to see him do it!" murmured Apafi angrily.

"But is it not so? We want war, he doesn't, and we must give way. We want peace, and he is immediately up and waging war against our allies on his own account. The throne is ours, the realm is his!"

"Don't say that, Master Michael Teleki!"

"I appeal to you, Nalaczi! What answer did he give in the Zolyomi affair?"

"He said that if the country wished him to surrender the Gyulai property to Zolyomi, it must give him in exchange the domain of Szamos-Ujvar."

"What!" cried the Prince, "the property which the Estates gave to me for my maintenance! My princely domains! The man must be mad!"

"So he said, adding that he would not surrender the property even if Zolyomi saddled us with the Turks in consequence."

"Well, now we've had enough of him. Not a word more about it, gentlemen."

"The insult to the Turks your Highness might overlook," persisted Teleki, "but we really cannot look through our fingers any longer at the way in which he treats the gentry. The latest victim of his tyranny is Lady Saint Pauli. The poor widow's ancestral dwelling was an eyesore to the great lord, because it spoiled the prospect from his palace windows; so he had the house appraised at his own valuation, and turned the poor lady out of doors. The magistrate gave her a letter of indemnity, but my Lord-Marshal tore the letter to pieces, and pulled down the poor widow's sole possession, her ancestral dwelling-place. The Diet, he said, might build it up again if it felt so disposed. Such an act, sir, in ordinary times has been known to cost the doer thereof his head!"

Apafi was silent, but his bloodshot eyes began to glow savagely.

"But that is not all," continued Teleki; "outrages on individuals are of small account when the security of the whole realm is at stake. This great lord can speak very prettily about the blessings of peace, let us see now how he labours to uphold it. He takes the sword out of our hands and closes our mouths, while he himself collects an army and goads the Turk against us, well knowing that we have no money wherewith to buy the gifts necessary to counteract his vagaries. Now, three letters have reached us simultaneously—one from the Pasha of Grosswardein, another from the Pasha of Buda, and a third from the Sultan himself—demanding instant satisfaction, or an indemnity of three hundred purses of gold, for the defeat which the Pasha of Grosswardein has suffered at Banfi's hands. As, however, we cannot expect Banfi to pay the indemnity, will it please your Highness to consider from whence such a large sum of money is to be procured?"

"From nowhither!" cried Apafi furiously, smashing his glass to pieces on the table. "I'll show the world that I'm able to exact satisfaction from whomsoever I will, let him be even as mighty again as Denis Banfi."

"Then I wish your Highness would tell us how, for we know that Banfi will not appear to our summons, and we cannot compel him, for he has shown himself stronger than the whole realm. If we attempted to use force he would call out the banderia and the garrison troops, and then it might fare with us as it fared with Ladislaus Csaky—he would arrest the officers sent to arrest him, and expose us to universal derision."

"As our first counsellor, it is your province to give us good counsel in such cases," cried Apafi wrathfully.

"I only know of one remedy capable of curing the realm thoroughly of this disease."

"Then prescribe it. In what does your remedy consist?"

"In the jus ligatum."

Apafi, despite his semi-besotted state, instinctively shrunk back from such an expedient, and throwing himself into his arm-chair, looked blankly at Teleki.

"Are you not ashamed of yourself," he murmured in broken sentences, as tipsy people usually do, "to propose a secret conspiracy against a free nobleman? To privily conspire against him is contrary to the law of the land."

"It is not my fault if the expedient is shameful," returned Teleki calmly and steadfastly; "but it is shameful that the law should not possess sufficient power to bring a rebel to book, and that one of our own subjects should be able to openly defy justice and laugh at the decrees of the Prince. If in such a state of things the jus ligatum is our only means of defence, the shame falls not upon me but upon the Prince."

Apafi rose angrily from his seat and paced to and fro. The lords remained perfectly silent.

At last the Prince stopped short in front of Teleki, and, leaning on the back of his arm-chair, asked him—

"And how then do you propose to bring about this league?"

Nalaczi and Szekely exchanged a smile. It was plain that the idea had caught the Prince's fancy. Teleki beckoned to Szekely to fetch him writing materials and a strip of parchment.

"We will quickly draw up the necessary articles of impeachment; your Highness will subscribe them, and we'll secretly persuade the great men of the land to consent to Banfi's arrest and join the league before any legal steps have been taken."

At these words many of the gentlemen present began to bite their moustaches and move uneasily in their chairs.

Teleki observed the movement, and added emphatically—

"I perceive that no one here has the courage to put down his name first on the list. Nevertheless I have already found a man, who in dignity and power is every whit Banfi's equal, and when once he has subscribed the list, the other signatures will follow as a matter of course."

"And who may that be?" asked Apafi.

"Paul Beldi!"

The Prince shook his head.

"He won't do it. He is much too honourable a man for that."

Wine-inspired as this sentence was, it completely ruffled Teleki's equanimity. Turning vehemently upon the Prince he cried—

"Then you mean to imply that we are acting dishonourably?"

"I meant to say that Beldi is never very willing to pick a quarrel with anybody. He is a peace-abiding man."

"But I know his sore point, and if you but touch it with the tip of your finger, he'll answer with his clenched fist, and the lamb will become a lion. I'll get him to——"

At that moment the door opened, and, to every one's astonishment, the Princess entered the room.

Nevertheless, her appearance at this time was no freak of chance. You could see by her agitation that she was well aware of what was going on. The lords were confused, and Apafi, despite his tipsy wrath, became so frightened when he beheld the pale face of his consort that he whispered to Teleki—

"For heaven's sake put that document out of sight."

Only Teleki kept his countenance, and instead of hiding the parchment, ostentatiously spread it out before him.

"What are you doing?" asked the Princess. She was very pale, and her bosom heaved tempestuously.

"We are holding a council," replied Teleki grimly.

"A council?" repeated Anna, approaching nearer and nearer to the table.

"Yes; and we venture to ask your Highness by what right you intrude here, while we are deliberating over the most momentous affairs of state?" continued Teleki in a hard, dry tone.

"Deliberating over the most momentous affairs of state, eh?" repeated the lady, measuring Teleki with a searching look. Then with a loud, vibrating voice she exclaimed—"What mean these wine-cups then? You are holding a council of state when the head of the state is drunk, that you may sow discord and confusion."

Teleki sprang from his seat and turned towards the Prince—

"May it please your Highness to dismiss us. We perceive that a domestic scene is about to begin."

"Anna!" cried Apafi, scarlet with shame and wine, "leave the room this instant. We command it—and for a week to come do not presume to appear in our presence."

"Be it so, Apafi. I have nothing more to say to you, for you are not yourself; but to you, Mr. Chief-Counsellor, to you who are always sober, I have a word to say. I raised you from the dust; I helped you into the place where now you stand; you requite me by thrusting yourself between me and the Prince's heart, for I find you in my way every time I approach my husband. You have taken the sceptre out of the Prince's hand, and have substituted for it the headsman's sword; but let me tell you that if I cannot reach the Prince's heart, I can, at least, step in the way of the sword, and as often as it descends, you will find me between the stroke and the victim!—And ye! Nalaczi and Szekely, ennobled lackeys as you are, who cannot explain to yourselves how you became great lords, reflect that the wheel of Fortune debases as often as it exalts, and that as you treat others to-day so may others treat you to-morrow. And I say to you all, ye noble cavaliers, who seek your courage in your cups, bethink you and tremble at the thought, that not wine but innocent blood is foaming in the beakers that you hold in your hands! Shame, shame upon you all! who give wine to the Prince in order to ask blood of him. And now your Highness may add a couple of weeks to my term of banishment."

With these words, the Princess rapidly left the room. The lords were dumb, and dared not look at each other. But Teleki got up, closed the door, dipped his pen in the inkhorn, and said—

"And now we will go on where we left off."

CHAPTER VIII.
DEATH FOR A KISS.

The old servant shook his head; turned into a side-path, and so completely lost himself in the darkness of the night, that he was forced to confess to his master that he really did not know where he was.

Beldi's rage and impatience knew no bounds. Looking about him, he perceived a small light burning at no great distance, and sulkily bade his coachman drive in that direction.

It was into the courtyard of a lonely country-house that they rolled at last, and Beldi recognized in the master of the house, who appeared at the barking of the large watch-dogs, old Adam Gyergyai, one of his dearest friends, who, when he saw Beldi, rushed into his arms, and was beside himself with joy.

"God be with you!" said the good old man, covering his guest with kisses. "I will not ask what piece of good fortune has brought you to me."

"To tell the truth, I've lost my way. I was on the road to Klausenburg. I must get there to-night; but I'll rest my horses here for an hour or two if you'll let me."

"What pressing business is this you have on hand?"

"I must deliver a message," replied Beldi evasively.

"If that be all, why so much hurry? Write it down, and one of my mounted servants shall immediately take it to its destination while you remain here."

"You are right," said Beldi, after some reflection; "it will be better to send a letter," and with that he asked for writing materials, sat down, and wrote to Banfi.

The mere act of writing generally clears and calms the mind, so that it was in a fairly moderate tone that Beldi challenged Banfi to meet him at Szamos-Ujvar on an affair of honour. Beldi then sealed the letter and gave it to Gyergyai, requesting him to forward it at once.

"So you are writing to Banfi, my brother?" said the old man, looking at the address of the letter. "Why, you only parted from him a little time ago! What is all this between you?"

"Do you recollect the time, my father," said Beldi, "when you saw Banfi and me fight together in the lists at the tournament held by Prince George Rakoczy?"

"Quite well! On that occasion you had both vanquished every other competitor, but could do nothing against each other."

"You then said that you would very much like to see which of the two would beat the other if we set to it in earnest."

"Yes; I well remember it."

"Well, now you shall see!"

Gyergyai looked Beldi in the face.

"My brother, I know not what this letter contains, but I can guess your thoughts from your face. My father used to say that a letter written in wrath should never be sent off the same day, but should be put under one's pillow and slept upon. The advice is not bad; follow it, and send off the letter to-morrow morning, for, to be candid with you, I won't send it to-night."

Beldi followed the old man's advice. He put the letter under his pillow, lay down, went to sleep, and dreamt that he was in the bosom of his family, saw his wife and children, and was very happy. It was only the rolling of his carriage into the courtyard next morning which woke him out of his slumbers. The first thing that occurred to him was his letter to Banfi. He broke the seal, read the letter through again, and was much ashamed that he had ever written such a letter.

"Where was your common-sense, Beldi?" he asked himself, tore the letter to pieces, and threw it into the fire. "How the world would have laughed at me!" thought he. "An old fool, to take it into his head all at once to be jealous of the mother of his children!—and for the sake of a kiss too given in drunkenness and rejected with indignation. What a weapon I should have put into Banfi's hands, had I led him to suppose that I was jealous of my wife on his account."

"Let us go to Bodola," said he very gently to his coachman, and with that he took leave of his host.

"But how about that pressing letter of yours?" asked Gyergyai anxiously.

"I have already sent it—up the chimney," replied Beldi, smiling, and set out on his journey with feelings very different from those with which he had started.

So you see a man can be drunk without wine!

While still some distance from Bodola, he could see all the members of his family looking out for him on the castle terrace, and no sooner did they perceive his carriage, than they hastened down to greet him. He met them all in the park, wife and children; they threw themselves on his neck with cries of joy, and he kissed them all, one after another, over and over again; but his warmest embraces were for his darling wife, who smiled up at him with a radiant face, which he could not feast his eyes upon enough. It seemed to him as if her eyes were brighter, her features more enchanting, her lips sweeter than ever they had been.

"What a fool a man is, to be sure," thought Beldi, "who, when his wife is out of sight, is capable of supposing everything bad of her, and when she stands before his eyes cannot make too much of her."

In the abandonment of his joy he did not at first perceive that there was a strange face in the family circle—a handsome, stately young Turk, with frank and noble features, not unlike an Hungarian.

"You do not even notice me, or perhaps you forget me," said the youth, stepping in front of Beldi.

Beldi looked at him. The youth's features were familiar to him, and yet he could not recall his name till his youngest daughter, Aranka, who was dangling on her father's arm, remarked archly—

"What! Not recognize Feriz Beg, papa! Why, I knew him at the first glance."

Beldi at once held out his hand and heartily greeted the youth, whose manly features however wore a grave and serious look.

"My father sends me to you on an urgent errand," said he, "and had you not come, I must have gone to seek you, for my message admits of no delay."

Beldi was struck by the youth's earnest tone, and on reaching the castle immediately took him aside into a private room, and there the young Beg handed him a parchment roll tied round with silken cord, and sealed with a yellow seal. Beldi broke the seal and read as follows—