At every step she felt her strength diminishing; with swimming head she staggered against the wall, the steps seemed to have no end; if only she could hold out till she reached the door with her, and then for a moment might see Feriz Beg and hear from his lips the words: "Well done!"—then Israfil, the Angel of Death might come with his flaming sword.

For some time she had gathered from the hollower resonance of the steps in the darkness that she was approaching the door; rallying her remaining strength, she tottered forward a few paces with her load, and when the latch of the door was already in her hand, her knees gave way beneath her, and along with the Princess and the child, she fell in a heap on the threshold, being just able to shove the key into the lock and turn it twice.

Feriz Beg, with the Magyar nobles, plunged again beneath the shade of the deep arch of the gate of the fortress garden and with wrapt attention listened for the muezzin to proclaim midnight. It was then that Azrael had said she would come.

It never occurred to him that the woman could not come, so deeply had he looked into her heart that he felt sure she would fulfil her promise.

If only the muezzin would proclaim midnight from the mosque.

At last a cry sounded through the stillness of the night, but it was not the voice of the muezzin from the mosque, but Hassan's yell of terror from the fortress window and the din which immediately followed it, proclaiming that there was danger.

Feriz's heart was troubled, but he never moved from the spot. He knew right well what that noise meant. They had tried to help the Princess to escape and her escape was discovered.

"What is that noise?" asked the Prince apprehensively, sticking up his head.

Feriz did not want to alarm him.

"It is nothing," he answered. "Some one has stolen away on the bastions, perhaps, and they are pursuing him."

Then the first cannon-shot resounded.

Feriz, for the first time in his life, was agitated at the sound of a cannon.

"That is an alarm-signal," cried Tököly, drawing his sword.

"Keep quiet!" whispered Feriz, "perhaps they are shooting at the people who are thronging the gates."

Nevertheless the shots were repeated from every bastion; the tumult, the uproar increased; a tattoo was beaten, the trumpets rang out and a whole concourse of people could be seen running along the bastions with torches and flashing swords in their hands.

"They are pursuing someone!" cried the Prince, and unable to endure it any longer, he leaped upon the bank.

"I know not what it is," stammered Feriz, and a cold shudder ran through his body.

Ghyka grasped his sword, and would have rushed up the hill as if obeying some blind instinct.

"What would you do?" whispered Feriz, grasping the hand of the Prince, and pulling him back by force under the gate.

For a few moments they stood there in a dead silence, the tumult, the uproar seemed to be coming nearer and nearer—if it were to overtake them?

"Hush!" whispered Feriz, holding his ear close to the door. He seemed to hear footsteps approaching from within and the plaintive wail of a child.

A few moments afterwards there was a fumbling at the latch and a key was thrust into the lock and twice turned. Feriz hastened to open the door and the senseless forms of the two women fell at his feet.

The youth quickly dragged the Prince after him, and recognising Mariska, who still lay in the embrace of Azrael, he placed her in her husband's arms together with the weeping child.

"Here are your wife and child," said he, "and now hasten!"

"Mariska!" exclaimed the Prince, beside himself; and embracing the child whom he now saw for the first time, he kissed the rosy face of the one and the pallid face of the other again and again.

That voice, that kiss, that embrace awoke the fainting woman, and as soon as she opened her eyes, she quickly, passionately, flung her arms round her husband's neck while he held the child on his arm. No sound came from her lips, all her life was in her heart.

"Quick! quick!" Feriz whispered to them. "Get into this skiff. When you get to the other side it will be time to rejoice in each other; till then we have cause to fear, for the whole of the Buda side of the river is on the alert. But I'll look after them here. On the other bank my servant is awaiting you with the swift horses; mention my name, and he will hand them over to you. On the banks of the Raab you will find another of my servants with fresh relays. Choose your horses, and then to Nógrád as fast as you can. Thence it will be easy to escape into Poland. Do not linger. Every moment is precious. Forward!"

With that he conducted the fugitives to the skiff which was ready waiting for them, and at the bottom of which two muscular servants of his were lying out of sight. These helped them in, Feriz undid the rope, and at a few strokes of the oars they were already some distance from the shore.

Then only did Feriz breathe freely, as if a huge load had fallen from his heart.

"May they not pursue them?" inquired Tököly anxiously.

"They may," returned Feriz; "but they cannot transport the horses in boats, as the fugitives now sit in the only boat here; the bridge, too, has been removed and they will hardly be able to build another in time on such a night as this."

The fugitives had now reached the middle of the Danube, when Mariska, who had scarce been herself for joy and terror in her half-unconscious state, suddenly bethought her of her companion who had saved her with such incomprehensible self-sacrifice and energy, and standing up in the skiff waved her handkerchief as if she would thereby make up for the leave-taking which she had neglected in her joy and haste.

"What are they doing?" cried Feriz angrily, seeing that they were attracting attention in consequence.

Fortunately the night was dark and the people rushing down from the bastions could not see the skiff making its way across the Danube; presently its shape even began to vanish out of sight of the young eyes that were watching it.

Feriz looked up to the sky with a transfigured face. Two stars, close together, looked down very brightly from amidst the fleeting clouds. Did he not see Aranka's eyes in that twin stellar radiance?

Tököly took the hands of the young hero and pressed them hard.

"Once before we stood face to face," he said with a feeling voice, which came from the bottom of his heart, "then I prevailed, now you prevail. God be with you!"

Then the young Count mounted his horse, and beckoning to his comrades, galloped off in the direction of Gellérthegy.

Feriz stood there alone on the shore with folded arms and tried to distinguish once more the shape of the skiff already vanishing in the darkness.

Nobody thought of the poor odalisk who had saved them.

All at once the youth felt the contact of a burning hand upon his arm. Broken in mind and body, the odalisk dragged herself to his knees, and seizing his hand drew it to her breast and to her lips. She could not speak, she could only sob and weep.

Feriz looked at her compassionately.

"Thou hast done well," he said gently.

The girl embraced the youth's knees, and it was well with her that he suffered her to do so.

"I thank thee for keeping thy word," said Feriz; "look now! that woman was not my beloved. She has a husband who loves her."

Indescribably sweet were these words to the damsel. In them she found the sweetest reward for her sufferings and self-sacrifice. Then it was not love after all which made Feriz save this woman through her!

The uproar meanwhile was extending along the shore, the pursuers could see that they were on the track of the fugitives.

"We must be off," said Feriz; "wouldst thou like to come with me?"

"Come with him!" What a thought was that for Azrael! To be able to live under the same roof with him!

Yet she answered: "I will not come."

It occurred to her that if she were found with the dear youth he would perish because of her. And besides, she knew that the invitation was due not to love but to magnanimous gratitude.

"I want to go over to the island," she said in a faint voice.

"Then I'll help thee to find thy skiff," said the youth, extending his hand to the odalisk to raise her up.

She was still kneeling on the ground before him.

She fixed upon him her large eyes swimming with tears, and whispered in a tremulous voice:

"Feriz! Thou wert wont to reward those damsels who sacrificed themselves for thee, who died nobly and valiantly because they loved thee. Have not I also won that reward?"

Feriz Beg sadly lowered his head as if it afflicted him to think of the significance of these words; then softly, gently, he bent over the damsel, and drawing her lovely head towards him, pressed a warm, feeling kiss on her marble forehead.

The odalisk trembled with rapture beneath the load of that more than earthly sensation of pleasure, and leaping up and stretching her arms to Heaven, she whispered:

"I am happy!—For the first time in my life. Now I may go—and die."

Feriz, tenderly embracing her, led the damsel to her skiff. Then she stopped suddenly, and leaning her head against the shoulder of the youth, murmured in his ear:

"When thou reachest thy kiosk, lie not down to sleep! Sit at thy window and look towards the island in the direction of sunrise. The night will be over ere long, and the dawn will come sooner than at other times. When thou seest this portent think of me and say for me the prayer which is used before the cold dawn, and say from thy heart: 'That woman does penance for her sins!'"

The odalisk felt two tear-drops falling upon her cheek. They fell from the eyes of the youth.

She could never feel happier in this world than she felt now.

A few minutes later the skiff was flying over the rocking waves.

CHAPTER XX.
THE VICTIM.

The boatman did not understand much about it; but, anyhow, he understood that he could not give the damsel a lift up there, so he drew back his canoe and departed.

Azrael remained alone on the island, quite alone; for that day everyone had been withdrawn by command of the Vizier; the damsels, the guards, and the eunuchs had all migrated to the fortress, the paradise was empty and uninhabited.

Azrael strolled the whole length of the shore of the island. The mortars were still thundering down from the fortress, the horsemen were still shouting on the river's bank, the signal fires were blazing on the bastions, the night was dark, the wind blew tempestuously and scattered the leaves of the trees—but she saw neither the beacon fires, nor the darkness; she heard neither the tumult of men nor the howling of the blast; in her soul there was the light of heaven and an angelic harmony with which no rumour, no shape of the outer world would intermingle.

She came to the kiosk in the centre of the island. Wandering aimlessly she had hit upon the labyrinthine way to it unawares. The sudden view of the summer-house startled her, and it awoke a two-fold sensation in her heart, it appealed equally to her memory and her imagination. She bethought her of the resolve she had made on coming to the island. She remembered that when she parted from the youth of her heart she had said: "When thou comest to thy kiosk, do not lie down to sleep; sit down at thy window, and look towards the island in the direction of the dawn. This night will be soon over, and the dawn will dawn more quickly than at other times. When thou seest it think of me and say for me the prayer of direction for the departing."

She reflected that the youth must now be sitting at the window, looking towards the island, with his fine eyes weary of staring into the darkness. She would not weary those fine eyes for long.

She hastily opened the door with her silver key and entered the hall. A hanging lamp was burning in the room just as the servants had left it in the morning. She drew forth a wax taper, and having lit it, proceeded to the other rooms, which opened one out of another, and whose floors were covered by precious oriental carpets, whose walls were inlaid with all manner of woods brought from foreign countries, and covered with tapestries, all splendid masterpieces of eastern art; the atmosphere of the rooms was heavy with intoxicating perfumes.

All this was frightful, abominable to her now. As she walked over the carpets, it was as if she were stepping on burning coals; when she inhaled the scented atmosphere, it was as though she were breathing the corruption of the pestilence; everything in these rooms awoke memories of sin and disgust in her heart—costly costumes, porcelain vases, silver bowls, all of them the playthings of loathsome moments, whose keenest punishment was that she was obliged to remember them.

But they shall all perish. And if they all perish, if these symbols of sin and the hundred-fold more sinful body itself become dust, then surely the soul will remember them no more? Surely it will depart far, far away—perchance to that distant star—and will be happy like the others who are near to God and know nothing of sin, but are full of the comfort of the infinite mercy of God, who has permitted them to escape from hence?

With the burning torch in her hand she went all through the rooms, tearing down the curtains and tapestries, and piling them all on the divan; and when she entered the last of the rooms she saw a pale white figure coming towards her from its dark background. The shape was as familiar to her as if she had seen it hundreds of times, although she knew not where; and its face was so gentle, so unearthly—a grief not of this world suffused its handsome features and the joy of heaven flashed from its calm, quiet eyes—its hair clung round its head in tiny curls, as guardian-angels are painted.

The damsel gazed appalled at this apparition. She fancied Heaven had sent her the messenger of the forgiveness of her sins; but it was her own figure reflected from a mirror concealed in the dark background—that gentle, downcast, sorrowful face, those pure, shining eyes she had never seen in a mirror before; the cut-off hair increased the delusion.

Tremblingly she sank on her knees before this apparition, and touching the ground with her face, lay sobbing there for some time; and when she again rose up, it appeared to her as if that apparition extended towards her its snow-white arms full of pity, full of compassion; and when she raised her hands to Heaven it also pointed thither, raising a face transformed by a sublime desire. No, she could not recognise that face as her own, never before had she seen it so beautiful.

Azrael placed her hands devoutly across her breast and beckoned to the apparition to follow her, and raising the curtain she returned into that room where she had already raised a funeral pyre for herself.

There, piled up together, lay cushions of cloth of gold, Indian feather-stuffs, divans filled with swansdown, light, luxurious little tables, harps of camphor-wood adorned with pearls, lutes with the silvery voices of houris, a little basin filled with fine fragrant oils composed from the aroma of a thousand oriental flowers; this she everywhere sprinkled over the heaped-up stuff, and also saturated the thick carpets with it, the volatile essence filled the whole atmosphere.

Then she pressed her hand upon her throbbing heart, and said: "God be with me!"

And then she fired the heaped-up materials at all four corners, and, as if she were ascending her bridal bed, mounted her cushions with a smiling, triumphant face, and lay down among them, closing her eyes with a happy smile.

In a few moments the flames burst forth at all four corners, fed freely by the light dry stuff, and combining above her like a wave of fire, formed a flaming canopy over her head. And she smiled happily, sweetly, all the time. The air, filled with volatile oil, also burst into flame, turning into a sea of burning blue; white clouds of smoke began to gather above the pyre; the strings of the harp caught by the flames burst asunder one by one from their burning frame, emitting tremulous, woeful sounds as if weeping for her who was about to die. When the last harp-string had burnt—the odalisk was dead.

The night was now drawing to a close. Feriz Beg, quietly intent, was sitting at the window of his kiosk, as he had promised the odalisk. He had not understood her mysterious words, but he did as she asked, for he knew instinctively that it was the last wish of one about to die.

Suddenly, as he gazed at the black waves of the Danube and the still blacker clouds in the sky, he saw a bright column of fire ascend with the rapidity of the wind from the midst of the opposite island, driving before it round white clouds of smoke. A few moments later the flames of the burning kiosk lit up the whole region. The startled inhabitants gazed at the splendid conflagration, whose flames mounted as high as a tower in the roaring blast. Nobody thought of saving it.

"No human life is lost, at any rate," they said quietly; "the harem and its guards were transferred yesterday."

The wind, too, greatly helped the fire. The kiosk, built entirely of the lightest of wood, was a heap of ashes by the morning, when Feriz, accompanied by the müderris in his official capacity, got into a skiff and were rowed across to the island. Not even a remnant of embers was to be found, everything had been burnt to powder. Nothing was to be seen but a large, black, open patch powdered with ashes. The fire had utterly consumed the abode of sin and vice. Nothing remained but a black spot. In the coming spring it will be a green meadow.

In the afternoon of the following day we see a familiar horseman trotting up to the gates of the fortress—if we mistake not, it is Yffim Beg.

All the way from Klausenburg he had been cudgelling his brains to find words sufficiently dignified to soften the expression of the insulting message which the Estates of Transylvania had sent through him to his gracious master. On arriving in front of Hassan's palace he dismounted as usual, without asking any questions, and gave the reins to the familiar eunuchs that they might lead the horse to the stables.

There was no trace of the scaffold that had been erected in front of the gate the day before. Yffim Beg entered and passed through all the rooms he knew so well, all the doors of which were still guarded by the drabants of Hassan as of yore; at last he reached Hassan's usual audience chamber, and there he found Olaj Beg sitting on a divan reading the Alkoran.

Yffim Beg gazed around him, and after a brief inspection, not discovering what he sought, he addressed Olaj Beg:

"I want to speak to Hassan Pasha," said he.

Olaj Beg looked at him, rose with the utmost aplomb, and approached a table on which was a silver dish covered by a cloth. This cloth he removed, and a severed bloody head stared at Yffim Beg with stony eyes.

"There he is—speak to him!" said Olaj Beg gently.

CHAPTER XXI.
OTHER TIMES—OTHER MEN.

It was, of course, a dangerous game to risk one kingdom in order to gain another, for both might be sacrificed. There was even a party in Transylvania itself which was indisposed to risk the little Principality for the sake of the larger kingdom, and though the most powerful arm of this party, Dionysius Banfy, had been cut off, it still had two powerful heads in Paul Béldi and Nicholas Bethlen.

So one fine day at the Diet assembled at Fogaras, the Prince's guard suddenly surrounded the quarters of Paul Béldi and Nicholas Bethlen, and informed those gentlemen that they were State prisoners.

What had they done? What crime had they committed that they should be arrested so unceremoniously?

Good Michael Apafi believed that they were aiming at the princely coronet. This was a crime he was ready to believe in at a single word, and he urged the counsellors who had ordered the arrest at once to put the law into execution against the arrestants. But that is what these gentlemen took very good care not to do. It was much easier to kill the arrestants outright than to find a law which would meet their case.

In those days worthy Master Cserei was the commandant of the fortress of Fogaras, and the castle in which the arrestants were lodged was the property of the Princess. As soon as Anna heard of the arrest she summoned Cserei, and showing him the signet-ring on her finger, said to him: "Look at that ring, and whatever death-warrant reaches you, if it bears not the impression of that seal, you will take care not to execute the prisoners; the castle is mine, so you have to obey my orders rather than the orders of the Prince."

The Prince and his wife then returned together to Fejérvár. On the day after their arrival the chief men of the realm met together in council at the Prince's palace, and it was Teleki's idea that only those should remain to dinner who were of the same views as himself. So they all remained at the Prince's till late in the evening, and thoroughly enjoyed the merry jests of the court buffoon, Gregory Biró, who knew no end of delightful tricks, and swallowed spoons and forks so dextrously that nobody could make out what had become of them.

Apafi had not noticed how much he had drunk, for every time he had filled his beaker from the flagon standing beside him, the flagon itself had been replenished, so that he fancied he had drunk nothing from sheer forgetfulness. But his face had got more inflamed and bloodshot than usual, and suddenly perceiving that the chair next to his was empty, he exclaimed furiously: "Who else has bolted? It is Denis Banfy who has bolted now, I know it is. What has become of Denis Banfy, I say?"

The gentlemen were all silent; only Teleki was able to reply:

"Denis Banfy is dead."

"Dead?" inquired Apafi, "how did he die?"

"Paul Béldi formed a league against him and he was beheaded."

"Béldi?" cried Apafi, rising from his seat in blind rage, "and where is that man?"

"He is in a dungeon at present, but it will not be long before he sits on the throne of the Prince."

"On the scaffold, you mean!" thundered Apafi, beside himself, in a bloodthirsty voice, "on the scaffold, not the throne. I'll show that crafty Szekler who I am if he raises his head against me. Call hither the protonotarius, the law must be enforced."

"The sentences are now ready, sir," said Nalaczi, drawing from his pocket three documents of equal size; "only your signature is required."

He was also speedily provided with ink and a pen, which they thrust into the trembling hand of the Prince, indicating to him at the same time the place on the document where he was to sign his name. The thing was done.

"Is there any stranger among us?" asked Teleki, looking suspiciously around.

"Only the fool, but he doesn't count."

The fool at that moment was making a sword dance on the tip of his nose, and on the sword he had put a plate, and he kept calling on the gentlemen to look at him—he certainly had paid no attention to what was going on at the table.

The three letters were three several commands. The first was directed to Cserei, telling him to put the prisoners to death at once; the second was to the provost-marshal, Zsigmond Boer, to the effect that if Cserei showed any signs of hesitation he was to be killed together with the gentlemen; the third was to the garrison of the fortress, impressing upon them in case of any hesitation on the part of the provost to make an end of him forthwith along with the others. All three letters, sealed with yellow wax, were handed over to Stephen Nalaczi, who, placing them in his kalpag, pressed his kalpag down upon his head and hastened quickly from the room. He had to pass close to the jester on his way out, and the fool, rushing upon him, exclaimed. "O ho! you have got on my kalpag; off with it, this is yours!" and before Nalaczi had recovered from his surprise he found a cap and bells on his head instead of a kalpag.

The magnate considered this jest highly indecent, and seized the jester by the throat.

"You scoundrel, you, where have you put my kalpag? Speak, or I'll throttle you."

"Don't throttle me, sir," said the jester apologetically, "for then you would be the biggest fool at the court of the Prince."

"My kalpag!" cried Nalaczi furiously, "where have you put it?"

"I have swallowed it, sir."

"You worthless rascal," roared Nalaczi, throttling the jester, "would you play your pranks with me!"

"Truly, sir, I shall not be able to bring it up again if you press my throat like that."

"Stop, I mean to search you," said Nalaczi; and he began to tear up the coat of the jester, whereupon the kalpag came tumbling out from between its folds. "You clumsy charlatan," laughed Nalaczi, "well, you hid it very well, I must say." Then he put on his kalpag again, in which were all three letters well sealed with yellow wax, but he now hastened outside as rapidly as possible in case the fool should spirit them away again.

The same night he galloped to Fogaras, though it cost him his horse to get there, summoned Cserei, and giving him the letter addressed to him said:

"You, sir, are to execute this strict command to the very letter."

The commandant took the letter, broke the seal, and then looked at the magnate in amazement:

"I know not, sir, whether you or I have been made a fool of—but there's not a scrap of writing in this letter."

Nalaczi incredulously examined the letter. It was a perfect blank. Hastily he broke open the other two letters. In these also there was nothing but the bare paper.

The fool, while the nobleman was throttling him, had substituted blanks for the letters sent, and sent the sentences the same evening to the Princess, who thereby had discovered all that the Prince and his councillors were doing.

In the morning the Princess went to Apafi with the three sentences in her hand, and reproached him for wanting to murder his ministers.

The worthy Prince was amazed at seeing these orders signed by himself. He knew nothing about it, and embracing his wife, thanked her for watching over him and not allowing him to send forth such orders. As for Nalaczi, the shame of the thing made it impossible for him to show himself at Court, and he could only nourish a grudge against the fool.

This accident greatly upset the worthy Prince, and he immediately rushed to release the captives. First of all, however, they had to sign deeds in which they solemnly engaged not to seek to revenge themselves on their accusers.

Paul Béldi was wounded to the heart, but he regarded this calamity as a just retribution for having been the first to sign the league18 against Denis Banfy; it was a weapon which now recoiled upon himself.

But this private grief was the least of his misfortunes, for while Paul Béldi and Nicholas Bethlen had been sitting in their dungeon the war party had had a free hand, so that when the two gentlemen were released they were astounded to learn from their partisans that only the sanction of the Diván was now necessary for a rupture of the peace.

Béldi perceived that to remain silent any longer would be equivalent to looking on while the State rushed to its destruction. He immediately assembled all those who were of the same opinion as himself—Ladislaus Csaky, John Haller, George Kapy—and consulted with them as to the future of the realm.

Béldi opined throughout that the Prince should be spared, but he was to be compelled to dismiss such councillors as Teleki, Székely, Mikes, and Nalaczi, and form a new council of state. Kapy would have done more than this. "If we want as much as that," said he, "it would be better to declare ourselves openly; and if we draw the sword, we shall have no need to petition, but can fight, and whoever wins let him profit by it and become Prince."

"No!" said Béldi, "I have sworn allegiance to the Prince, and though I love my country, and am prepared to fight for it, yet I will never break my oath. My proposition is that we assemble in arms at the Diet which is convened to meet at Nagy-Sink, together with the Szekler train-bands, and if we show our strength the Prince assuredly will not hesitate to change his counsellors, for I know him to be a good man who rather fears than loves them."

The gentlemen present accepted Béldi's proposition.

"Then here I will leave your Excellencies," said Kapy, stiffly buttoning his mente.19 "I am not afraid of war, for there I see my enemy before me, and can fight him; but I do not like these armed appeals, for they are apt to twist a man's sword from his hand and turn it against his own neck."

And he withdrew. The other gentlemen resolved, however, that they would all arm their retainers. At a word from Béldi the armed Szeklers of Háromszék, Csik, and Udvarhelyszék rose at once; they were ready at an hour's notice to rise in obedience to the command of their generalissimo.

The news of this audacious insurrection reached Michael Teleki at Gernyeszeg, who was beside himself with joy, well aware that Béldi was not the sort of man who was likely to prevail in a civil war whilst the contrary case would bring about his ruin, as he had now gone too far to draw back again. He immediately hastened to the Prince and, arousing him from his bed, told him that Béldi had risen against him, and so terrified Apafi that he immediately got into his coach, and fled by torchlight to Fogaras. Gregory Bethlen, Farkas, and the other counsellors also took to their heels in a panic—only Teleki remained cool. He knew the character of Béldi too well to be afraid of him.

So the spark of ambition and rage was kindled in Paul Béldi's heart, and for some days it looked as if he would be the master of Transylvania, for nothing could resist him with the Szekler bands at his side, and all the regular troops were scattered among the frontier fortresses.

But Béldi thought it enough to show his weapons without letting them be felt. Instead of a declaration of war he sent a manifesto full of loyalty to the Prince, in which he assured his Highness that he had taken up arms not against his Highness but in the name of the state; all he demanded was that the counsellors of the Prince should be tried by the laws of the realm.

Whilst this wild missive was on its way, Teleki had had time to call together the troops from the frontier fortresses, and send orders to those of the Szeklers who had not risen to assemble under Clement Mikes in defence of the Prince; and while Béldi awaited an attack, he proceeded to take the offensive against him at once.

One day Béldi was sitting in the castle of Bodola along with Ladislaus Csáky, when news was brought them that Gregory Bethlen, with the army of the Prince, was already before Kronstadt.

"War can no longer be avoided," sighed Csáky.

"We can avoid it if we lay down our arms," returned Béldi.

"Surely you do not think of that?" inquired Csáky in alarm.

"Why should I not? I will take no part in a civil war."

"Then we are lost."

"Rather we shall save thousands."

The same day he ordered his forces to disperse and return home.

The next day Gregory Bethlen sent Michael Vay to Bodola, who brought with him the Prince's pardon.

Csáky ground his teeth together. It occurred to him that he had got Denis Banfy beheaded, yet he too had received a pardon, and he inquired of Vay in some alarm: "Can we really rely on this letter of pardon?"

Michael Vay was candid enough to reply: "Well, my dear brethren, though you had a hundred pardons it would be as well if you courageously resolved to quit Transylvania notwithstanding."

Csáky gave not another moment's thought to the matter, but packed up his trunks, and while it was still daylight escaped through the Bozza Pass.

Béldi decided to remain; shame prevented him from flying.

Nevertheless, Michael Vay told his wife and children of his danger and they insisted, supplicating him on their knees, that he should hasten away and save himself.

"And what about you?" asked Béldi, looking at his tearful family.

He had two handsome sons, and his daughter Aranka had grown up a lovely damsel; she was the apple of her father's eye, his pride and his glory.

"What about you?" he asked with a troubled voice.

"You can more easily defend us at Stambul than here," said Dame Béldi; and Béldi saw that that was a word spoken in season.

That word changed his resolve, for, indeed, by seeking a refuge at the Porte, he would be able to help himself and his family much more, and perhaps even give a better turn to the fortunes of his country. There, too, many of the highest viziers were his friends who had very great influence in affairs.

He immediately had his horse saddled, and after taking leave of his family with the utmost confidence, he escaped through the Bozza Pass the same night with an escort of a few chosen servants into Wallachia, where he found many other fugitive colleagues, and with them he took refuge at the Porte—then the highest court of appeal for Transylvania.

CHAPTER XXII.
THE DIVÁN.

Through the parted curtains passed the members of the Council of the Diván. First of all came the Grand Vizier, a tall, dry man with rounded projecting shoulders; his head was constantly on the move and his eyes peered now to the right and now to the left as if he were perpetually watching and examining something. His brown, mud-coloured face wore an expression of perpetual discontent; every glance was full of scorn, rage, and morbid choler; when he spoke he gnashed his black teeth together through which he seemed to filter his voice; and his face was never for an instant placid, at one moment he drew down his eyebrows till his eyes were scarce visible, at the next instant he raised them so that his whole forehead became a network of wrinkles and the whites of his eyes were visible; the corners of his mouth twitched, his chin waggled, his beard was thin and rarely combed, and the only time he ever smiled was when he saw fear on the face of the person whom he was addressing; finally, his robes hung about him so slovenly that despite the splendid ornaments with which they were plastered he always looked shabby and sordid.

After the Grand Vizier came Kiuprile, a full-bodied, red-faced Pasha, with a beard sprawling down to his knees; the broad sword which hung by his side raised the suspicion that the hand that was wont to wield it was the hand of no weakling; his voice resembled the roar of a buffalo, so deep, so rumbling was it that when he spoke quietly it was difficult to understand him, while on the battle-field you could hear him above the din of the guns.

Among the other members of the Diván there were three other men worthy of attention.

The first was Kucsuk Pasha, a muscular, martial man; his sunburnt face was seamed with scars, his eyes were as bright and as black as an eagle's; his whole bearing, despite his advanced age, was valiant and defiant; he carried his sword in his left hand; his walk, his pose, his look were firm; he was slow to speak, and rapid in action.

Beside him stood his son, Feriz Beg, the sharer of his father's dangers and glory, a tall, handsome youth in a red caftan and a white turban with a heron's plume.

Last of all came the Sultan's Christian doctor, the court interpreter, Alexander Maurocordato, a tall, athletic man, in a long, ample mantle of many folds; his long, bright, black beard reaches almost to his girdle, his features have the intellectual calm of the ancient Greek type, his thick black hair flows down on both shoulders in thick locks.

The viziers took their places; the Sultan's divan remains vacant; nearest to it sits the Grand Vizier; farther back sit the pashas, agas, and begs.

"Most gracious sir," said Maurocordato, turning towards the Grand Vizier, "the poor Magyar gentlemen have been waiting at thy threshold since dawn."

The Grand Vizier gazed venomously at the interpreter, protruding his head more than ever.

"Let them wait! It is more becoming that they should wait for us than we for them."

And with that he beckoned to the chief of the cavasses to admit the petitioners.

The refugees were twelve in number, and the chief cavasse, drawing aside the curtains from the door of an adjoining room, at once admitted them. Foremost among them was Paul Béldi, the others entered with anxious faces and unsteady, hesitating footsteps; he alone was brave, noble, and dignified. His gentle, large blue eyes ran over the faces of those present, and his appearance excited general sympathy.

Only the Grand Vizier regarded him with a look of truculent indifference—it was his usual expression, and he knew no other.

"Fear not!—open your hearts freely!" signified the Grand Vizier.

Béldi stepped forward, and bowed before the Grand Vizier. One of the Hungarians approached still nearer to the Vizier and kissed his hand; the others were prevented from doing the same by the intervention of Maurocordato, who at the same time beckoned to Béldi to speak without delay.

"Your Excellencies!" began Béldi, "our sad fate is already well-known to you, as fugitives from our native land we come to you, as beggars we stand before you; but not as fugitives, not as beggars do we petition you at this moment, but as patriots. We have quitted our country not as traitors, not as rebels, but because we would save it. The Prince is rushing headlong into destruction, carrying the country along with him. His chief counsellor lures him on with the promise of the crown of Hungary in the hope that he himself will become the Palatine. Your excellencies are aware what would be the fate of Hungary after such a war. A number of the great men of the realm joined me in a protest against this policy. We knew what we were risking. For some years past I have been one of those who disapproved of an offensive war—we are the last of them, the rest sit in a shameful dungeon, or have died a shameful death. Once upon a time, as happy fathers of families, we dwelt by our own firesides; now our wives and children are cast into prison, our castles are rooted up, our escutcheons are broken; but we do not ask of you what we have lost personally, we ask not for the possession of our properties, we ask not for the embraces of our wives and children, we do not even ask to see our country; we are content to die as beggars and outcasts; we only petition for the preservation of the life of the fatherland which has cast us forth, and which is rushing swiftly to destruction—hasten ye to save it."

Kucsuk Pasha, who well understood Hungarian, angrily clapped his hand upon his sword, half drew it and returned it to its sheath again. Feriz Beg involuntarily wiped away a tear from his eyes.

"Gracious sirs," continued Béldi, "we do not wish you to be wrath with the Prince for the tears and the blood that have been shed; we only ask you to provide the Prince with better counsellors than those by whom he is now surrounded, binding them by oath to satisfy the nation and the Grand Seignior, for none will break such an oath lightly and with impunity; and these new counsellors will constrain him to be a better father to those who remain in the country than he was to us."

When Béldi had finished, Maurocordato came forward, took his place between the speaker and the Grand Vizier, and began to interpret the words of Béldi.

At the concluding words the face of the interpreter flushed brightly, his resonant, sonorous voice filled the room, his soul, catching the expression of his face, changed with his changing feelings. Where Béldi calmly and resignedly had described his sufferings, the voice of the interpreter was broken and tremulous. Where Béldi had sketched the future in a voice of solemn conviction, Maurocordato assumed a tone of prophetic inspiration; and finally, when in words of self-renunciation he appealed for the salvation of his country, his oratory became as penetrating, as bitterly ravishing, as if his speech were the original instead of the copy. Passion in its ancient Greek style, the style of Demosthenes, seemed to have arisen from the dead.

The listening Pashas seemed to have caught the inspiration of his enthusiasm, and bent their heads approvingly. The Grand Vizier contracted his eyelids, puckered up his lips, and hugging his caftan to his breast, began to speak, at the same time gazing around abstractedly with prickling eyes, every moment beating down the look of whomsoever he addressed or glaring scornfully at them. His screeching voice, which he seemed to strain through his lips, produced an unpleasant impression on those who heard it for the first time; while his features, which seemed to express every instant anger, rage, and scorn in an ascending scale, accentuated by the restless pantomime of his withered, tremulous hand, could not but make those of the Magyars who were ignorant of Turkish imagine that the Grand Vizier was atrociously scolding them, and that what he said was nothing but the vilest abuse from beginning to end.

Mr. Ladislaus Csaky, who was standing beside Paul Béldi, plucked his fur mantle and whispered in his ear with a tremulous voice:

"You have ruined us. Why did you not speak more humbly? He is going to impale the whole lot of us."

The Vizier, as usual, concluded his speech with a weary smile, drew back his mocking lips, and exposed his black, stumpy teeth. The heart's blood of the Magyars began to grow cold at that smile.

Then Maurocordato came forward. A gentle smile of encouragement illumined his noble features, and he began to interpret the words of the Grand Vizier: "Worshipful Magyars, be of good cheer. I have compassion on your petition, your righteousness stands before us brighter than the noonday sun, your griefs shall have the fullest remedy. Ye did well to supplicate the garment of the Sublime Sultan; cling fast to the folds of it, and no harm shall befall you. Now depart in peace; if we should require you again, we will send for you."

Everyone breathed more easily. Béldi thanked the Vizier in a few simple sentences, and they prepared to withdraw.

But Ladislaus Csaky, who was much more interested in his Sóva property than in the future of Transylvania, and to whom Béldi's petition, which only sought the salvation of the fatherland, and said nothing about the restitution of confiscated estates, appeared inadequate, scarce waited for his turn to speak, and, what is more, threw himself at the feet of the Vizier, seized one of them, which he embraced, and began to weep tremendously. Indeed, his words were almost unintelligible for his weeping, and Mr. Csaky's oratory was always difficult to understand at the best of times, so that it was no wonder that the Grand Vizier lost his usual phlegm and now began to curse and swear in real earnest; till the other Magyar gentlemen rushed up, tore Csaky away by force, while Maurocordato angrily pushed them all out, and thus put an end to the scandalous scene.

"If you kneel before a man," said Béldi, walking beside him, "at least do not weep like a child."

Before Béldi could reach the door he felt his hand warmly pressed by another hand. He looked in that direction, and there stood Feriz.

"Did you say that your wife was a captive?" asked the youth with an uncertain voice.

"And my child also."

The face of Feriz flushed.

"I will release them," he said impetuously. Béldi seized his hand. "Wait for me at the entrance."

The Hungarian refugees withdrew, everyone of them weaving for himself fresh hopes from the assurances of the Vizier. Only Ladislaus was not content with the result, and going to his quarters he immediately sat down and wrote two letters, one to the general of the Kaiser, and the other to the minister of the King of France, to both of whom he promised everything they could desire if they would help forward his private affairs, thinking to himself if the Sultan does not help me the Kaiser will, and if both fail me I can fall back upon the French King; at any rate a man ought to make himself safe all round.

Scarce had the refugees quitted the Diván when an Aga entered the audience-chamber and announced:

"The Magyar lords."

"What Magyar lords?" cried the Grand Vizier.

"Those whom the Prince has sent."

"They're in good time!" said the Vizier, "show them in;" and he at once fell into a proper pose, reserving for them his most venomous expression.

The curtains were parted, and the Prince's embassy appeared, bedizened courtly folks in velvet with amiable, simpering faces. Their spokesman, Farkas Bethlen, stood in the very place where Paul Béldi had stood an hour before, in a velvet mantle trimmed with swan's-down, a bejewelled girdle worthy of a hero, and a sword studded with turquoises, the magnificence of his appointments oddly contrasting with his look of abject humility.

"Well! what do ye want? Out with it quickly!" snapped the Grand Vizier, with an ominous air of impatience.

Farkas Bethlen bent his head to his very knees, and then he began to orate in the roundabout rhetoric of those days, touching upon everything imaginable except the case in point.

"Most gracious and mighty, glorious and victorious Lords, dignified Grand Vizier, unconquerable Pashas, mighty Begs and Agas, most potent pillars of the State, lords of the three worlds, famous and widely-known heroes by land and sea, my peculiarly benevolent Lords!"

All this was merely prefatory!

Kiuprile began to perspire; Kucsuk Pasha twirled his sword upon his knee; Feriz Beg turned round and contemplated the fountains of the Seraglio through the window.

"Make haste, do!" interrupted Maurocordato impatiently; whereupon Farkas Bethlen, imagining that he had offended the interpreter by omitting him from the exordium, turned towards him with a supplementary compliment:

"Great and wise interpreter, most learned and extraordinarily to be respected court physician of the most mighty Sultan!"

Kiuprile yawned so tremendously that the girdle round his big body burst in two.

Farkas Bethlen, however, did not let himself be put out in the least, but continued his oration.

"Our worthy Prince, his Highness Michael Apafi, has been much distressed to learn that those seditious rebels who have dared to raise their evil heads, not only against the Prince but against the Sublime Porte also, as represented in his person, in consequence of the frustration of their plans, have fled hither to damage the Prince by their falsehoods and insinuations. Nevertheless, although our worthy Prince is persuaded that the wisdom of your Excellencies must needs confute their lying words, your goodwill confound their devices, and your omnipotence chastise their audacity, nevertheless it hath also seemed good to his Highness to send us to your Excellencies in order that we may refute all these complaints and accusations whereby they would falsely, treacherously and abominably disturb the realm ..."

Maurocordato here took advantage of a pause made by the orator to take breath after this exordium, and before he was able to proceed to the subject-matter of his address, began straightway to interpret what he had said so far for the benefit of the Grand Vizier, being well aware that the Vizier would not allow anyone to speak a second time before he had spoken himself.

The speech of the interpreter was this time dry and monotonous. All Farkas Bethlen's homiletical energy was thrown away in Maurocordato's drawling, indifferent reproduction.

The Grand Vizier replied with flashing eyes, his face was twice as venomous as it had been before, and his gestures plainly indicated an intention to show the envoys the door.

Maurocordato interpreted his reply.

"The Grand Vizier says that not those whom ye persecute but you yourselves are the rebels who have broken the oath ye made to the Sublime Porte, inasmuch as your ambitious projects aim at the separation of Transylvania from its dependence on the Porte and at the conquest of Hungary—both sure ways of destruction for yourselves. Wherefore the Grand Vizier gives you to understand that if you cannot sit still and live in peace with your own fellow-countrymen, he will send to you an intermediary, who will leave naught but tears behind him."

The Hungarian gentlemen regarded each other in astonishment. Not a trace of simpering amiability remained on the face of Farkas Bethlen, who was furious at the failure of the speech he had so carefully learnt by heart. He bowed still deeper than before, and sacrificing with extraordinary self-denial the remainder of his oration, especially as he perceived that any further parleying would not be permitted, he had resort to more drastic expedients.

"Oh, sir! how can such accusations affect us who have always been willing faithfully to fulfil your wishes? We pay tribute, we give gifts, and now also our worthy Prince hath not sent us to you empty-handed, having commanded Master Michael Teleki not to neglect to provide us with suitable gifts, who has, moreover, sent to your Excellencies through me two hundred purses of money,20 as a token of his respect and homage, beseeching your Excellencies to accept this little gift from us your humble servants."