Part 39 (1/2)

[Footnote 42: _Gyula_ = Julius. The heathen Prince of Transylvania at the end of the tenth century.]

[Footnote 43: _Gyula-Fehervar._ White Julius' town.]

A century pa.s.sed, and Stephen, saint and king, cast down the altars of the fire-wors.h.i.+ppers, and built a vast church on the spot where so many false G.o.ds had been adored. The sun-wors.h.i.+ppers disappeared, and the Christian world called the church after the name of the Archangel Michael.

What sort of church was it?--n.o.body 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]

[Footnote 44: _Nigra Julia._ Black Julia.]

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.

[Footnote 45: _Ladislaus Hunniady._ The eldest son of the great hero, treacherously beheaded in 1456.]

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-Fehervar.[46]

[Footnote 46: _Karoly-Fehervar._ White Charles' town.

German: Karlsburg.]

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 bal.u.s.trade 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, s.h.i.+elds, and morning-stars.

[Footnote 47: John Sigismund Zapolya (1540-1571), with whom the line of the Transylvanian princes began.]

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 a.s.sembled. 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 n.o.bility, the most eminent in wit, wealth, and valour--the Bethlens, the Csakys, the Lazars, the Kemenys, the Mikeses, the Banfis!--those mediaeval 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 das.h.i.+ng and resplendent Hungarian magnates.

The mob a.s.sembled 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 amba.s.sadors, 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 Abbe 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 amba.s.sadors 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.”