Part 26 (1/2)

Making his way through them, Apafi had to cross a hall and an ante-chamber, brimful with praying dervishes, who, squatting down with legs crossed, were reading aloud from books with large clasps, only so far paying attention to each other as to see which could yell the loudest.

The Prince did not address them, as it was clear that he would get no answer, but went straight towards the third door.

The chamber beyond was also full of spiders'-webs and dervishes, but a red cus.h.i.+on had been placed in the midst of it, and on this cus.h.i.+on sat a big, pale, grey man in a roomy yellow caftan. He also was holding a large book in front of him and reading painfully.

Apafi approached, and even ventured to address him.

”Merciful Olaj Beg, my gracious master, find a full stop somewhere in that book of yours, turn down the leaf at the proper spot, put it down, and listen to me.”

Olaj Beg, on hearing the words of the Prince, put the book aside, and turning with a sweet and tender smile towards him, remarked with emotion:

”The angels of the Prophet bear thee up in all thy ways, my dear child.

Heaven preserve every hair of thy beard, and the Archangel Izrafil go before thee and sweep every stone from thy path, that thy feet may not strike against them!”

With these words the Beg graciously extended his right hand to be kissed, blinking privily at the Prince; nor would Apafi have minded kissing it if they had been all alone, but in the presence of so many dervishes it would have been derogatory to his dignity; so, instead of doing so, he took the Beg's hand and provisionally placed it in his left hand and gave it a resounding thump with his right, and then shook it amicably as became a friend.

”Don't trouble thyself, my dear son, I will not suffer thee to kiss my hand,” cried Olaj Beg, drawing back his hand and making a show of opposition so that everyone might fancy that Apafi was angry with him for not being allowed to kiss it.

”You have deigned to send for me,” said Apafi, taking a step backwards; ”tell me, I pray, what you desire, for my time is short. I am overwhelmed with affairs of state.”

These last words Apafi p.r.o.nounced with as majestic an intonation as possible.

Olaj Beg thereupon folded his hands together.

”Oh, my dear son!” said he, ”the princely dignity is indeed a heavy burden. I see that quite well, nor am I in the least surprised that thou wishest to be relieved of it; but be of good cheer, the blessing of Heaven will come upon us when we are not praying for it; when thou dost least expect it the Sublime Sultan will have compa.s.sion upon thee, and will deliver thee of the heavy load which presses upon thy shoulders.”

Apafi wrinkled his brows. The exordium was bad enough; he hastened towards the end of the business.

”Perchance, you have heard, gracious Olaj Beg! that the unfortunate Mariska St.u.r.dza has taken refuge with us.”

”It matters not,” signified the Beg, with a rea.s.suring wave of the hand.

”She took refuge in my palace without my knowledge,” observed Apafi apologetically, ”and what could I do when she was all alone? I couldn't turn her out of my house.”

”There was no necessity. Thou didst as it became a merciful man to do.”

”If you had seen her you would yourself have felt sorry for her--sick, half-dead, desperate, she flung herself at my feet, imploring compa.s.sion, and before I could reply to her she had fainted away.

Perhaps even now she is dead.”

”Oh, poor child!” cried Olaj Beg, folding both his hands and raising his eyes to Heaven.

”Her husband had left her in great misery, and alone she plunged into jeopardy,” continued Apafi, trying to justify the persecuted woman in every possible manner.

”Oh, poor, unhappy child!” cried Olaj Beg, shaking his head.

”And more than that,” sighed Apafi, ”the poor woman is big with child.”

”What dost thou say?”