Part 27 (1/2)
”d.a.m.n you soft sawder!” murmured Apafi between his teeth. ”My lord,” he resumed, ”would you carry away with you a sick woman whom only the most tender care can bring back from the sh.o.r.es of Death, and who, if she were now to set out for Buda, would never reach it, for she would die on the way?”
Olaj Beg piously raised his hands to Heaven.
”Life and death are inscribed above in the Book of Thora, and if it there be written in letters embellished with roses and tulips that Mariska St.u.r.dza must die to-morrow, or the day after to-morrow, die she will most certainly, though she lay upon musk and were anointed with the balm of life, and neither the prayers of the saints nor the lore of the Sages could save her--but if it be written that she is to live, then let the Angels of Death come against her with every manner of weapon and they shall not harm her.”
Apafi saw that he would have to speak very plainly to this crafty old man.
”Worthy Olaj Beg! you know that this realm has a const.i.tution which enjoins that the Prince himself must not issue ordinances in the more weighty matters without consulting his counsellors. Now, the present case seems to me to be so important that I cannot inform you of my resolution till I have communicated it to my council.”
”It is well, my dear son, I have no objection. Speak with those servants of thine whom thou hast made thy masters; sit in thy council chamber and let the matter be well considered as it deserves to be; and if thereafter ye decide that the Princess shall accompany me, I will take her away and take leave of thee with great honour; but if it should so fall out that ye do not give her up to me, my dear son, or should allow her to escape from me--then will I take thee instead of her, together with thy brave counsellors, my sweet son.”
The Beg said these words in the sweetest, tenderest voice, as old grandfathers are wont to address their grandchildren, and descending from his pillows he stroked the Prince's face with both his hands, and kissed him on the temples with great good will, quite covering his head with his long white beard.
Apafi felt as if the whole room were dancing around him. He did not speak a word, but turned on his axis and went right out. He himself did not know how he got through the first door, but by the time he had shut the second door behind him he bethought him that he was still the Prince of Transylvania, and by descent one of the first n.o.blemen of the land, whereas Olaj Beg was only a nasty, dirty Turkish captain, who had been a camel-driver in the days of his youth, and yet had dared to speak to him, the Prince, like that! By the time he had reached the third door he had reflected that in the days when he was nothing but the joint-tenant of Ebesfalu, if Olaj Beg had dared to treat him so shamefully, he would have broken his bald head for him with a stout truncheon. But had he not just such a stout truncheon actually hanging by his side? Yes, he had!
and he would go back and strike Olaj Beg with it, not exactly on the head perhaps, but, at any rate, on the back that he might remember for the rest of his life the _stylus curialis_ of Transylvania.
And with that he turned back from the third door with very grave resolves.
But when he had re-opened the second door he bethought him once more that such violence might be of great prejudice to the realm, and besides, there was not very much glory after all in striking an old man of eighty. But at any rate he would tell him like a man what it had not occurred to him to say in the first moment of his surprise.
So when he had opened the first door and was in the presence of Olaj Beg, he stood there on the threshold with the door ajar, and said to him in a voice of thunder:
”Hearken, Olaj Beg! I have come back simply to tell you----”
Olaj Beg looked at him.
”What dost thou say, my good son?”
”This,” continued Apafi in a very much lower key, ”that it will take time to summon the council, for Beldi lives at Bodola, Teleki at Gernyeszeg, Csaky at Deva, and until they come together you can do what you think best: you may remain here or go”--and with that he turned back, and only when he had slammed to the door he added--”to h.e.l.l!”
CHAPTER XV.
THE WOMEN'S DEFENCE.
This incident was the occasion of great affliction to the Estates of Transylvania. The counsellors a.s.sembled at the appointed time at the residence of the Prince, who at that moment would have felt happier as a Tartar captive than as the ruler of Transylvania.
On the day of the session everyone appeared in the council chamber with as gloomy a countenance as if he were about to p.r.o.nounce his own death-warrant.
They took their places in silence, and everyone took great care that his sword should not rattle. There were present: old John and young Michael Bethlen, Paul Beldi, Caspar Kornis, Ladislaus Csaky, Joshua Kapi, and the protonotarius, Francis Sarpataky. For the Prince, there had just been prepared a new canopied throne, with three steps; it was the first time he had sat on it. Beside it was an empty arm-chair, reserved for Michael Teleki.
As soon as the guard of the chamber announced that the counsellors had a.s.sembled, the Prince at once appeared, accompanied by Michael Teleki and Stephen Nalaczi.
It could be seen from the Prince's face that for at least two hours Teleki had been filling his head with talk. Nalaczi greeted everyone present with a courtly smile, but n.o.body smiled back at him. Teleki, with cold gravity, led the Prince to the throne. The latter on first looking up at the throne, stood before it as if thunderstruck, and seemed to be deliberating for a moment whether it ought not to be taken away and a simple chair put in its place. But after thinking it well out he mounted the steps, and, sighing deeply, took his seat upon it.
Michael Teleki stood silent in his place for some time, as if he was collecting his thoughts. His eyes did not travel along the faces of those present as they generally did to watch the effect of his words, but were fixed on the clasp of his kalpag, and his voice was much duller than at other times, often sinking to tremulous depths, except when he pulled himself together and tried to give it a firmer tone.
”Your Highness, your Excellencies,--G.o.d has reserved peculiar trials for our unfortunate nation. One danger has scarce pa.s.sed over us when we plump into another; when we try to avoid the lesser perils, we find the greater ones directly in our path, and we end in sorrow what we began in joy. Scarcely have we got over the tidings of the battle of St. Gothard (we had our own melancholy reasons for not partic.i.p.ating therein), and the consequent annihilation of the far-reaching designs of the Turkish Empire, by the peace contracted between the two great Powers, amidst whose quarrels our unhappy country is buffeted about as if between hammer and anvil, when we have a fresh and still greater occasion for apprehension. For the generals of the Turkish Sultan impute the loss of the battle to the premature flight of Prince Ghyka, and at the same time hold us partly responsible for it--and certainly, had our soldiers stood in the place of the Wallachian warriors, although they would not have liked fighting their fellow-Magyars, nevertheless, if once they had been in for it, they would not have ran away and so the battle would not have been lost--wherefore the wrath of the Sublime Sultan was so greatly kindled against both the neighbouring nations, that he sent his cava.s.ses to seize the Prince of Moldavia and carry him in chains to Stambul with his whole family. As for Transylvania, but for the mercy of G.o.d and the goodwill of certain Turkish statesmen, we might have seen it suddenly converted into a sandjak or province, and a fez-wearing Pasha on the throne of his Highness. Now it has so happened that the Prince of Moldavia, wresting himself and his wife out of the hands of their pursuers, took the shortest road to Transylvania. We sent a message to them that on no account were they to try to come here, as their flight would cost us more than a Tartar invasion. The Prince, therefore, took refuge in the mountains, but let his wife continue her journey, and, in an evil hour for us and herself, she arrived here a few days ago with the knowledge and under the very eyes of the Sultan's plenipotentiary.
The husband having escaped, the whole wrath of the Sultan is turned upon the wife and upon us also if we try to defend her. What, then, are we to do? If we had to choose between shame and death, I should know what to say; but here our choice is only between two kinds of shame: either to hand over an innocent, tender woman, who has appealed to us for protection, or see a Turkish Pasha sitting on the throne of the Prince!”